this state of affairs is incorrect

[unblinkered]

Brenda's is closed. Brenda's is never closed. Not during its usual hours, not at 5am. Except on national holidays, or during severe weather, neither of which is present today. There's no notice on the door, just the Open sign flipped around to Closed. This state of affairs is incorrect.

There was no indication that the coffee shop was in financial trouble. Max knew as much from eavesdropping on the teens working in the back. The manager didn't come out much, but she never seemed alarmed or upset- always a little smug, if anything. Max wasn't sure if her name was Brenda, or if that was just the chain- she was always Ma'am to the staff. Her employees-only room down the hall, near the bathrooms- usually dead quiet. All day long, at least when Max was there. Enough activity- footsteps, occasional laughter- to tell she was there, but nothing that indicated any trouble for the store.
An emergency, then. She'd been called away on some urgent business, and... told the kids not to come into work? It wasn't as if she did much managing- could she not trust her staff to do their job unsupervised, despite more or less doing so day in and day out? And...
And no, she couldn't have gone somewhere. Her car, that Volkswagen beetle was there. It was definitely hers, she left to go get lunch every day at 1:00. No other cars parked nearby, that he could see. So, unless she'd gone on foot to something extremely urgent, she was still in the building.
Max knocks. There's no answer.
Max goes around behind the building and takes the key from under the dumpster, where a less than cautious morning-shift barista had been fool enough to retrieve it while someone like Max could have been watching. He opens the door and goes inside, because they don't have cameras and he's a regular- they wouldn't charge him with breaking and entering, he's sure, even if they did find out.

People who aren't Max might have shrugged and gone to a different coffee shop. People who are Max are instead inclined to find out what it is that disturbed their nice, orderly little universe and demand it account for itself. 

It's dark and no one is there. Max looks around for anything out of place, and finds that there is exactly one thing out of place. The manager's door is open. This is considerably more unusual than the related fact, which is that the manager isn't there. Max has seen how careful she is to lock that door before going anywhere.
He goes inside. Privacy is not something Max has a lot of regard for- more something he resents, to some extent. And the room is clearly the sort of thing someone might want to keep private. 

There are bookshelves, and there is a desk, and there are chalkboards, and they are all covered in paper. As is the floor. The paper is covered in smears. Some huge collection of notes, or documents, or something, all smudged into illegibility. Written in pencil, erased by a particularly smeary eraser. Most of the shapes of the smears suggest diagrams and math more than they do writing. Max inspects all of it, searching for clues. Nothing is legible, except for a few notes posted by the door.
The other door. Not the one leading in. A door with scorch marks and dents. A door set into the wall, where according to the geometry of the building, it ought to open into the alleyway, despite no such door being present. The legible notes, written in ink and taped to the wall, read "I HAVE TO GO", "DO NOT OPEN" and "SOMEONE PLEASE BLOCK THIS OFF" and "DON'T LET HER IN" and "YOUR NAME IS PRECIOUS", scribbled in hasty capital letters.

Max wonders what is behind the door. He's unnerved somewhat by the surrounding evidence of the manager having some sort of psychotic break, but his thoughts have not had sufficient time to settle into questions before opening the door. He is still in the information-gathering stage, and there can clearly be nothing behind the door but additional information to gather. The question of whether to open the mysterious door in the mysterious place fails to even cross his mind. 
He steps into a dark room.

Which abruptly stops being a dark room, and starts being a brightly-lit forest. Max's hand, halfway through reaching for the light switch, falls to his side.

Comments

[unblinkered]

"Do people here get possessive about their river detritus? Random strangers in the habit of giving mortals orders just to check if they've accidentally swallowed some of their trash? Or... do fairies have a sense for when someone becomes vassaled to them?"

He walks down the river bank, looking for a good place to cross. She'll probably point it out when he reaches it.

[imeanforever]

"We have that sense about names but not about the food thing, but mortals are uncommon and interesting enough that someone might well test orders on you to see if they've got an incidental claim like that. Especially if you don't look taken, or only taken by a very new leaflet with no vassals of her own to bring to bear." She points out a shallow swath of river with tall rocks. "Can you wade that?"

[unblinkered]

He shrugs. He's never waded across a river before, but there's no reason he shouldn't be able to. Besides how there's lots of quickly-moving water and rocks and it seems like a generally risky thing to do.

He takes off his socks and shoes and folds his slacks around them. After a moment, he takes off his suitjacket and buttons it closed around the bundle.

"D'you mind carrying these across?"

[imeanforever]

She shrugs, takes the bundle, and flies across the river with it to wait perched on a rock on the other side.

[unblinkered]

...it's probably not a safe assumption that a fairy wouldn't lie about being unable to carry him in order to trick him into wading half-naked through a river for laughs, in general. But Promise doesn't seem the type to do something like that. He's sure.

The river water is cold and the riverbed is gross and squishy and the river is moving very fast and it's rather harder to stay upright than he expected. Not harder than it would have been if he had been properly modeling it as a massive wall of liquid falling horizontally as opposed to a thin band of wet, but harder than he was expecting nonetheless.

Halfway through he slips and smashes his head against a rock. Not hard enough to knock him out, but hard enough to get him stunned and washed downstream a few meters before catching himself on another rock.

What a colorful vocabulary he has.

[imeanforever]

Promise puts his bundle down and flits over to the rock, and hovers over him. "...I can help pull you back to the shallow bit, if you think having me hauling on your hand would be more use than using it to swim," she says. "Or I can try to get you - branches or something?"

[unblinkered]

"I'm FINE! I- ffffuck, I just didn't know the rock would wobble, I- bollocks, I can-"

Wait, no. Help is good. Asking people for help is fine and a good idea and reduces the probability of drowning. He'd lost track of this, on account of the head injury.

He grabs her hand. "Iz... izzit bleeding, christ, I can't tell if it's bleeding..."

[imeanforever]

Promise has a bit more difficulty hovering when he's got hold of her hand, but she manages. "A bit. It doesn't look huge, just enthusiastic. I know a healing spell that should work on you but I don't have it completely memorized, I'd have to look it up."

[unblinkered]

Maxwell groans some unintelligible expression of assent. Swimming back to the shallow water is difficult, but he suffers no further complications on the way to the far shore. He retrieves his bundle of clothes- he'll have to wait til he's dry to put them on.

He ties one of his socks around his head. They're clean enough, he put them on this morning. That's how hygiene works. Definitely.

"Healing spell. Also very complicated, specialized magic. I'm... going to need to understand the fundamentals of this before I can decide what sorts of things ought to be surprising, now."

[imeanforever]

"The one I'm thinking of is simple," Promise says. "Introductory."

[unblinkered]

"Well, yes, sure. I meant- in the context of- bodies are complicated and medical magic in general sounds..."

He's not sure if it's the head injury diminishing his willingness to press the issue, or hunger. He stops talking, walking along in silence. Questions can wait for when his head isn't swimming anymore. It appears it didn't get the memo about the rest of the body being done with that.

[imeanforever]

Forest forest forest specific hawthorn tree with a door in it.

"I'm afraid you'll be cramped, although you should be able to fit," she says, opening the door for him.

[unblinkered]

Max ducks under the doorway- it's just a little too short- and steps inside. Of the tree. With a house in it, that gave birth to a yada yada yada magic. He's resolved to postpone his magical-mechanics inquiries for the books.

He locates seating and slumps. "Walking. Back home I don't have to do that so much."

Back home he also didn't ford rivers or acquire head injuries, but those things weren't strictly typicaly parts of getting around in this place.

[imeanforever]

"I don't walk much either, though I suppose it's for different reasons. The water in that pitcher," she adds, pointing at a glass vessel on what appears to be the fairy treehouse equivalent of a kitchen table, "is safe for you if you're thirsty."

[unblinkered]

Oh, good, the clean water he-

"Uh. I don't... think I swallowed any river water, but it definitely got in my mouth. Is that... something to worry about? What's the threshold there?"

He doesn't see any cups- he supposes he's supposed to drink from the pitcher. He lifts it to his mouth, and...

And if she were lying about water being safe, and not wanting to make him her vassal? Not eating, not giving his name, those were in his control. If she were to enslave him, this is how she would do it.

He hesitates. Waits on the answer to the river question.

[imeanforever]

"...Well, there's nothing to do about it if it's going to get you in trouble, really," says Promise. "I'm not sure, though. Did you swallow it? Let me get you a cup -" She gets him a cup. It's made of wood.

[unblinkered]

Max pours a cup, but doesn't drink it yet.

"I don't think I swallowed any mouthfuls, no- although I could have missed doing so when I was dazed- but I did ordinary swallowing, and some of that- you said, detritus- could have lingered in my mouth. If you don't know the rules there, I don't suppose it matters."

[imeanforever]

"Well, rinse and spit - into the potted fern over there, please -" there is indeed a potted fern, and, on inspection, no sink - "if you think you might have something stuck between your teeth, but otherwise I'm afraid I can't help you figure out whether you've got claim on you or not until some flowertender or something tells you to stand on your head and you do it."

[unblinkered]

"I don't think I could stand on my head, ordinarily- would I just be forced to try, would I be granted special balance, or...? What happens if you're ordered to do something impossible?"

Max rinses and spits. He refills the wooden cup. He still doesn't drink.

[imeanforever]

"Well, if someone ordered you to levitate, nothing would happen; standing on your head it probably depends on how thoroughly you can't." She starts browsing her bookshelves, wings twitching occasionally to help her keep her balance. "Maybe you have to try, maybe you're just barely close enough to being able to do it that when you really have to you can? But it doesn't give you special powers."

[unblinkered]

"And... what if more than one fairy knew my name? Is it first-come first-served, or is there sharing? What happens if you've got two masters- assuming you can share- and you get conflicting orders?"

He looks apprehensively at the cup.

[imeanforever]

"You can have any number of masters. They can contradict each other and you obey as many of the orders as you can, most recent taking precedence, and they can't order you to ignore the others - or to harm anyone who qualifies as your master, either. Nobody likes situations like that, though, unless it's an actual chain - A masters B masters C, A collects C's name from B and then sends out B and C to do things together with B in charge between the two of them, like that. There's relatively amicable ways of settling it when it's messy. If you'd walked in and introduced yourself by name to me and some other fairy I'd have tried to get you in a dice game because I'm good at Rain Dice and think I'm liable to be nicer than anyone else you'd encounter, and then the other fairy would most likely leave you be, if I won."

[unblinkered]

"Nicer than anyone else I'd encounter? You're telling me you're the nicest person in the world? By random happenstance, the very first fairy I meet is the only one I can trust, you're saying?"

He sets the water down on the table. This is too much.

[imeanforever]

"Anywhere I'd be, in this forest, yes. I can't vouch for how nice the fairies in the rainbow desert five days' flight south would be, but you wouldn't find me and one of them in the same place, would you? I'm not claiming much exceptionalism, there aren't that many fairies in this forest or my neighboring haunts. I know for a fact that if your gate had disgorged you in the scribes' place, for instance, the scribe would have done his level best to get your name or get you fed and use you for slave labor copying books."

[unblinkered]

He ponders this for a moment. On the no doubt extensive list of unpleasant tasks to be enslaved for, copying books from another world is not, strictly speaking, the worst possible fate. He has half a mind to visit once he has his own food, if they'll let him help copy without being vassaled.

But...

"These scribes- mortals aren't that uncommon, are they? In my world, we have... these machines that let you copy and print off lots of pages quickly, which would probably speed up that kind of thing like wow. Do they have some kind of magic that's more efficient than mortal technology? Or is there some other reason they don't swipe office printers from our world?"