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Dec 07, 2021 1:32 AM
an amentan lands in the bobbiverse
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Dawn rises; nobody immediately comes knocking on her door or anything.

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Nuta does a little language-ing until she feels she is capable of asking necessary breakfast questions and then goes in search of food.

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There’s a large dining room with a wide array of food items in it! Everything has a little note in front of it with a description, written in... a writing system that her language app has entirely failed to cover... but a very short woman wearing butterfly wings and ten-inch platform shoes is happy to translate!

She can choose between chunks of lavender flavored granola, tea flavored cake things, weird looking sliced tomatoes that have been copiously salted, savory spinach pastries, plain buttered rice, extremely spicy rice, and tiny, thin little strips of nearly burnt beef in some sort of honey-yogurt sauce.

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Well this is all completely unfamiliar but she is least intimidated by the spinach pastries and the salty tomatoes and the tea cakes.

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The dining tables are also hexagonal and connected to each other in weird configurations, the salty tomatoes are very acidic, the tea-flavored cakes are very mildly sweet and sort of crunchy, and the spinach pastries are vaguely spicy and textured a bit like baklava.

A woman with firetruck red hair eventually wanders in and fetches food.

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Nuta startles, nearly retches, hugs herself and reminds herself that these are aliens.

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The alien-of-revolting-hair-color doesn’t seem to notice this, and leaves after acquiring a plateful of granola. Some people at nearby tables are staring at her.

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Nuta does not finish the rest of her breakfast but she does keep what she's eaten down. She collects herself and runs to the bathroom for a shower.

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They don’t seem to make a habit of combining showers and restrooms but she can find an individual shower stall! It exists in a room with several other shower stalls, some occupied, and has a dozen different kinds of soap and conditioner and - one dispenser of honey? - available. 

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Oh good a dozen soaps. She will tolerate the swimming-pool-like shower conditions and use a dozen soaps.

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The shower does not object to this behavior. 

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Good.

After a long time (but not actually five hours) in the shower she emerges and swipes a clean towel to wrap around herself and asks the next person she sees if there are clothes she can borrow.

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They have an entire room dedicated to clothing that people have ceased to want and she can grab an outfit from there!

It contains a wide variety of clothes and some of them are about her size, or else relevantly adjustable; she can go for a bright pink dress with excessive ribbons, a brown jumpsuit with snail shell buttons, a bedazzled white sari, several other saris doing increasingly ridiculous things, lime green overalls, or flowy blue pants that she could pair with a slightly-too-large floofy white shirt.

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She will go with the jumpsuit, she supposes.

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If she then proceeds to exit the room she’ll find that the concerned alien from yesterday has been looking all over the house for her and would like to head over to the competent people now, please, if that would work for her?

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Yes please!!!

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“Thank [unknown word that sounds profane]!” the concerned alien says, sounding exasperated with the world.

And then they can get into a golf-cart-ish thing and ride at a sensible fifteen miles per hour through all the nearby fields and gardens and miscellany, and then through a long track of deciduous forest, only occasionally interrupted by more fields and gardens and miscellany and, at one point, by an indecisive deer.

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The deer is weird looking! Also this is so much forest? Who needs that much forest? Is it just a really extra tree farm??

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The trees contain no answers to her questions.

They eventually arrive at a small train station! Concerned!alien parks her golf-cart-thing in a little nook off to the side, and then they can get on the train. To amentan sensibilities it’s probably a really mediocre train but it does take them to an actual city within half an hour or so! 

The buildings are reasonably tall, and most of them have direct walkways between their upper stories; it looks like you could navigate most of the city without touching the ground. The general style leans maximalist and floral; most buildings have hanging vines growing along the side, terraced gardens, or some other incorporation of plant life into their design, and the ones that lack plant life compensate with water features and bizarre architectural choices. The streets are narrow and full of little golf-cart-things and larger golf-cart-thing-buses; the sidewalks are large and painted in interesting designs. 

There are, also, precisely zero people below two years old present, and a dozen people in sight with plausibly amentan hair colors, including a pair with pink hair and one on the red-orange border.

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Maybe they have very long years and their children aren't even tiny any more by the time they can have new ones. Also they are ALIENS, ALIENS! she reminds herself when she flinches a little from the pink-haired person.

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The pink-haired person doesn’t pay any particular attention to her.

They can navigate to their destination with a brief walk and an elevator ride; the elevator contains a small fountain with pretty rocks in it, for some reason. And then concerned!alien politely jabbers back and forth with a receptionist, in the incomprehensible language with all the clicks and weird consonants that people seem to prefer when not talking to her, and then she’s escorted alone to the office of someone with a taste for faux-fur.

”Hello! I’m Nuwalati,” says Nuwalati, who looks like she’s about to drown in the mass of her own coat. “In addition to my other duties, I field concerns about potentially anomalous events. If you demonstrate sufficient evidence for your anomalous claims, I will either act on them myself, or send you to a superior office with the power to further test them and then act upon them. If I choose not to act on your claims, or send you to a superior office, I will not, necessarily, be making the claim that your experiences are false, but will instead be making the claim that they fail to meet our verification standards. Do you have any questions?”

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Nuta repeats several of those words in a puzzled tone. She has studied this language for a day and a half, okay.

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Nuwalati defines them for her and then repeats herself.

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"...what will happen to me if you don't believe me?"

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“You would be set up with a temporary ID, a bank account, housing, or other necessities, as determined necessary, those being other capacities of my office. If you asked me to arrange access to psychiatric services that would also be within my power.”

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