"Of course they aren't", - reflectively answered the new person. A skinny teenager with a strange, raspy voice - rather low for a woman, rather high for a man, but not impossible for either - in black robes with a bag on their shoulder and a longsword on their hip, they seemed to be as surprised by finding themself in the place as those who stared at them. They looked around incredulously. - "This… this isn't the elven capital".

The nearer out of the two people sitting by wall-desks pulls a handgun and aims it squarely at Apparition. The other four non-table-sitters follow suit. Table-sitter looks in the direction of Apparition, freezes, and says, "What?"

"I said... Wait a second". The teenager does not seem afraid of the objects aimed at them, looking at them instead with... interest? "Where am I? Who are you all? I... I know I am armed, but I mean no harm. I'm not even supposed to be here!"

"No shit", breathes the table-sitting teenager. Why isn't he showing any fear . . . Forget that, why did he just - appear -

Nearer-wall-desk-sitter rises off of their ergonomic wobbly stool and becomes nearest-stander. They look maybe twenty-five. "This", they say emotionlessly, "is the [Refutation of the Protein Delta]*. We are in the middle of a cult meeting. If you don't convince me that you are of no danger to us or our community, I will shoot your heart out."

*This phrase sounds much more poetic in the language Apparition hears.

"Shoo... a cult... OK, this is weird. But really, I haven't heard of your community before, and..." - the teenager seems to be rapidly scrambling their mind to say something, anything. - "Look, if I could just go back to where I was and pretend I never saw this, I would, but I have no idea how I got here to begin with. I sat down in a tavern, and next thing I see is... you guys. I am not going to tell on you, I wouldn't even know whom I could tell! I am... I am really lost. If you want to send an arrow through my heart, so be it."

Nearer-wall-desk-sitter hovers on the verge of a stance change. "Do you have paper and a pen on your person, that you can draw your self-portrait without requiring any of us to distract ourselves taking your picture?"

Teenager's shock at the question was obvious - as well as their not quite understanding what "taking a picture" means. "Would you really trust me if I said I had and then reached in my bag?.. I think I have pen and paper but not ink, as that could spill all over my other belongings. So... do you have ink or something like that for making a picture?" "Making" was seemingly an attempt by the teenager to subtly correct the asker's wording - or, at least, show how it was understood.

"Don't move", says Nearer-wall-desk stander.

Nearer-wall-desk-stander looks over at Table-sitter, who is already reaching under the table and pulling out a digital camera - a little silver box with a black lens on the front - pressing a button with the lens pointed in Apparition's direction - and - without looking away from Apparition - flashing the glowing screen on the back of the camera to where Nearer-wall-desk-stander can see it. Apparition may catch a glimpse of a perfect color image of himself and the room behind him, on that little screen.

Nearer-wall-desk-stander says, "Show it to him". Table-sitter turns the back of the camera in Apparition's direction, allowing him to examine the picture on the screen. It's uncannily perfect, every detail of shape and color replicated more faithfully than the best artist could accomplish given many hours - except for some of the blacks, which aren't quite as black as they could be, and the colors, which are a little too unvibrant.

"Convince me that you mean us and this community no harm", says Nearer-wall-desk-stander. The five-inch, strangely greebled dull metal cylinder he's pointing at Apparition hasn't moved or sagged an inch.

For an uncertain reason, teenager clearly tried to suppress a smirk at "show it to him". The smirk, however, quickly disappears, as they are shown the picture, and mouth opens slightly in shock. This was a picture, merely a picture, but an uncannily good one…
"Magic, - they whisper, then raising their eyes at the Nearer-wall-desk-stander. - I don't know who you all are, except for what you just told me, I don't know where I am, and I don't know what the things you point at me do, although I guess the one in your hand is probably related to your threat to shoot me - does magic push the arrow or is there just a tiny string hidden in the back?.. OK, irrelevant, - the teenager quickly adds. - Anyway, if someone meant harm to you, wouldn't they send someone who… er… isn't a complete stranger to everything? I've traveled most of the continent but never seen anything like… this."

Nearer-wall-desk-stander (N-w-d-s) blinks, looks taken aback.

One of the other people aiming at Apparition lowers his greebled cylinder, asks "How did you get here?"

"I don't know, I've told you!" - the teenager seems slightly irritated now. - "I wish I knew! I was just sitting in a tavern, having eaten my lunch, then I blink, and someone starts talking about snakes, and then you're all here pointing strange artifacts at me!"

Someone else pipes up. "He is right, he did say that before."

The one with the lowered cylinder doesn't reply to that, but his eye twitches. "Well," they say. "What's your name? I'm Pel Hanazanoleo Sareksal, apprentice carplane mechanic."

Stressed as the teenager was, a slight smile crossed their face at that question - or perhaps slightly before?
"Apprentice what, sorry?" - the teenager sighs. - "My name… I usually go by Toy-Mun. It's technically shortened but the full name is too… too full of pathos? It means something like 'wise warrior' or something in an old language, I don't remember."

"Carplane mechanic - I fix and maintenance personal flying cars?" Pel looks stymied, glances around. "Do any of y'all know what 'warrior' means?"

'No's and head-shakes from everybody else.

Pel raises his eyebrows at Toy-Mun. Then he realizes he hasn't reciprocated, and hastily adds "My name meant righteous-indignation in one of the dialects I grew up around. It was associated with a particular meme I disagreed with. Pretty standard story."

Toy-Mun would say they're joking when they said they don't know what a warrior means, but they, on the other side, had no idea what "cars" were, and they would probably find it as funny.
- Warrior? - Toy-Mun bites their lip. - Warrior is someone who fights for a living. No, that went out wrong - not like a mercenary… Someone whose duty is to fight, more like. Turned out to describe me pretty well, although of course no one would know that when I was born and given that name.
It seemed like they almost added something to that but stopped themself.
- So... a cult, you said... Is this an often-found thing here to call one's own community "cult"? Most places I know of regard this as kinda a bad word...

A voice from behind Toy-Mun says, "That's weird. Er, hi, I'm Asic Iya Sareksal. Uh, do people not want other people doing cult things where you're from?" Asic sounds incredulous.

- Hi! - Toy-Mun doesn't turn back - not after being specifically warned to not make quick movements. - And… yeah, kinda? Basically, people who are totally a cult will often say 'we're not a cult, we're a church' or something. So it's... interesting that you use the word without fear.

". . . Okay, any of y'all know what a church is?" says Asic.

"Yeah," says Table-sitter. "It's jargon from anthropology, more or less - a word for an old type of building where the members of a cult that believed in gods would gather." To Toy-Mun: "Why would a cult want to be mistaken for believing in gods? Or am I misunderstanding?"

Toy-Mun looked at the Table-sitter incredulously.
- I think there's certainly some misunderstanding. You have asked me why people would choose to worship gods? You know, those super-powerful beings that literally come and smite those who mess with their plans?

Pel raises his gun at Toy-Mun again. It's the genre-savvy thing to do.

N-w-d-s glares at Pel mutinously. Pel, you moron, if he's a god and was going to smite us, he already would have, and normal-speed bullets probably wouldn't be able to kill him.

N-w-d-s is right but there's nothing to be gained by re-lowering the gun now.

The fourth standing person, smallest and dark-mopped and as yet unheard, pipes up: "If you mean to sell us on the idea that gods really control the world, you're going to have a lot of explaining to do in terms of why they're necessary, given how so far literally every time someone's come up with a supernatural-personal explanation for some phenomenon, they've been wrong and the phenomenon has turned out to be explicable by purely impersonal means just like all the ones before it, and how in most imaginable cases there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for why Person X would generate a personal-supernatural explanation for Phenomenon Y, but algorithmically the prior is extremely low on Phenomenon Y actually having been caused by supernatural agency." Person4 inhales. Just a little.

Toy-Mun looks at the fourth person. There is a lot of questions in their head about what was just heard, including nearly every word in the last twenty words or so.
- What is "supernatural"? - finally, they settle on the word that has seemed to carry the most weight in the response. - I mean, given we have magic, creatures that can use that magic instinctively are quite natural…

"Define 'magic'," spits Person4, black eyes gleaming.

Toy-Mun tilts their head, clearly surprised.
- I mean... there's this ambient energy around us, and it allows us do things like this... Oof, I'm really bad at this, sword is more my speed, but I guess... Uru'ia tosartu igrael, - they commanded, extending and raising their hand - slowly - and the camera they were shown began floating in the air.

"Oh, so it's, just, like, magnetism or something," says Person4, steam evaporating. "Sorry, I've done a lot of research into the kinds of things people have attributed to 'magic'."

"Well," says N-w-d-s decisively, "given everything else about this situation that makes it unlikely you're part of some classified operation that has access to nonpublic teleportation and telekinesis tech - at least for the practical deception-penetrating purposes of this helpless little cult - I think that pretty well proves you're from another world, which goes a long way toward making you look honest and in good faith here. Asic, Pel, if y'all agree, I think y'all will be fine to lower y'all's weapons for now. We can start taking rolling shifts, me and Kwaiets" he glances at Person4 "first." Pel does lower his gun. Asic, from behind Toy-Mun, grimaces in Toy-Mun's direction.

"You said you were armed, earlier," says Asic. "Sorry, but could you show us what with?"

Table-sitter blinks. "He's . . . got a sword?"

"A what?"

"The giant double-sided knife? You know, what people used for close-range threats before guns?"

"That can't be what he meant!"

(Kwaiets mutters something about agreeing but at least knowing what a sword is.)

"That… that is exactly what I meant, - Toy-Mun looked at them in amusement. - And… I am not going to attack you first but, in theory, no one of you is far enough from me to be individually safe, in case you never met a swordsperson."