Plastic detour

Get a few drinks into a Bluerton, ideally some aged Prem’gon, and you may hear whispered gossip that, in the infinitely rare moment among the infinite worlds – impossible though it may sound – us 6-manifold objects can observe/be observed in...
the Universe going in for a spot of whimsy.

With a quick pop, the convertible, the departure terminal, and the world around them disappeared. “Gah!” Alex and his daughter Amanda were now sitting in what, as Alex’s spit-take improved to just nervous glancing around, appeared to be a medical office.

Pamphlets lined the counter, and some long medical bed was in the center of the room. Alex and Amanda were sitting side by side against the wall; a third seat was empty.

“So, anyway, so, like, daddy – how big do you think I should go on the lips?” His daughter pouted her completely normal lips. “I know mom used to say nothing over 1ml, but um, like I know Dr. Fake like looov-“

“A-Amanda!” Alex’s eyes were bulging. “Where are we?” A beat passed and he frowned, wilting a bit from the overhead lights. Alex had always hated going to the doctor. If this even was a doctor's office.

“Um, dad... is this a geo, uh. Geographic test?” The teen girl pouted in concentration. “Maybe like, Americas?” She giggled, opening her arms for a hug.

The door crashed open, and an unbelievably plastic woman strode in. The sound of her stilettos was like gunfire in the sterile room. Alex watched as Amanda shrank into her chair, her pout receding.

“Awwww, look at who it is. Little miss tiny lips. How adorable.” The woman's thick, unnatural lips curled up into a plastic mockery of a smile. She glanced over to Alex. “And this here is dad. I just love it. Who's ready to fix this little violet, hm?" Wild, emerald eyes returned Alex's stare.