They had not been sat long, when they noticed something immensely strange. Even by the standard of being invited to a circus themed tea party by a being of uncanny origins. Even when compared to the blinking flowers (in both senses.)

That was the realisation, that occasionally, just for a fleeting moment, the scenery around them was fading out. Almost like they were waking up from a fever dream. Their host was very polite, and carefully did all they could to ignore the issue, but the reality you are currently in flickering, like a poorly done illusion spell? That sort of thing was hard to ignore, and Mibbet realised, with a sinking feeling in her gut, that she was going to have to ask the question. (A terrible idea, I’m sure you will agree, but so is becoming unanchored from existence because you were too polite to raise an issue at a party. Or get the hell out of there before the entire thing collapses. If you don’t believe me, write to Mrs manners and ask, I’m pretty sure she would agree with me on this. It just doesn’t come up often, it pays to never say never on the issue of etiquette.)

“Umm, excuse me, I can’t help noticing the occasional flickering of the realm, please tell me it isn’t going to collapse on us. Which just in the interests of clarity I must specify is not an instruction to tell me what I wish to hear. More an enquiry as to the likelihood of that happening, I really don’t want to be trapped between worlds.” She asked, as politely as one could possibly ask, about the potential for somebodies entire world collapsing around them.

Their host carefully fished around through in a small portal, rummaging until their hand emerged triumphantly holding some sheets of paper, and an assortment of crayons. Then started to write, while Mibbet and the others tried their best to keep level heads. It didn’t look like, whatever this place was, had an exit in the traditional sense. Meaning they were very much dependent on retaining the good will of their strange companion if they were to make it back. Mibbet made a mental note adding strange portals to the extensive list of places not to follow strangers into. Right alongside ancient shrines, storage places for mysterious artefacts, windowless carriages, recruiting offices, and mysterious churches that offer you salvation, and offer to keep an eye on all your worldly goods for you, for the duration of your visit. Oh, and of course Smiletown, but that was already filed as “no way Jose, nu-uh never, ever, ever”, category, so that wasn’t going to be happening anyway.

After a time, a tattered, dog-eared note was passed over. “WoRld NoT GO BoOm. ThIS PlACe LaST a FEw YeErs StILl. PleEZ StAY. YoO HeLP, SMeLl LyKE GOd. KeYPs Bad TiNGs AwaE For a LiTTuL Wyle.”

The words Bad things weren’t exactly reassuring. This place didn’t exactly scream happy, happy fun times. (Though the Calliope did occasionally scream, gibber, or make assorted noise not typically associated with hand cranked musical instruments. Or any other appendage cranked for that matter.)

“Tell you what, unfortunately we do have other business, but we can stay for one more cup of tea. On the condition it is not spiked, cursed, bottomless, near bottomless, magically refilling. Likely to drink us as we drink it, consciousness altering beyond the level of regular tea poured into a cup that never fills, or temporal looping. Oh, and must be something drinkable by humans, excluding the cat, who will not drink anything if you ask them to, or Addy as she is biologically incapable of drinking. They will however be allowed to leave with us. At which point we’ll ask you what the situation is here, and help you fix it. Sound fair?”

Another grubby sheet of paper was handed over. It said “DeYUl.”

“Alright, let’s shake on it.” she said, extending a hand, and politely ignoring the strange feeling of the appendage she was shaking. It felt like a hand, sculpted by an amateur, out of some kind of non-Newtonian oatmeal. But one thing she had figured out pretty quickly, was the stranger things seemed, the more important it was to reach a bargain. Things that twisted reality into a pretzel tended to take rules and bargains seriously, and you had to word your deals more carefully than you would in parliament, under the watchful gaze of the local housing planning commission, who were looking for a loophole.

But if you did it right, and were very, very careful, they kept their word. Even if they spotted a few bits you had missed. Maybe they thought it cute that the mortals were trying. (That said never try this with a Demon, or worse a Lawyer, they will not stay quiet about the loopholes, and will exploit them for everything they’re worth. If you are in a situation like this, your best bet is to look for a creature that can’t actually read the rules, can’t hear to admit to understanding, and has a perception of the multiverse too alien to comprehend the text. This may just buy you a few years. Failing that, maybe try a chess game against them, it won’t work, but it will at least provide a distraction from your impending doom, or worse, eternal internship.)

Now at least they had a pretty solid chance of getting out of here, though as you can imagine, it is hard to sit there sipping tea, and chewing on cake, while being stared at by the floral arrangements, and noticing the reality you are in flickering in and out seemingly at random. Including occasionally swapping to views of other realms, that seemed rather difficult for mortal minds to comprehend.

Well, it was times like this all the royal training was made for. (Well not exactly like this, circumstances like these aren’t exactly everyday occurrences, unless your name is Mibbet it seems, then, maybe they are.) Mibbet sat down, put on her best “princess face”, to reassure the others, then settled down to drink her tea.