Promise in Sunnydale
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He's moving her to a different court to see if it'll improve her attitude. She's allowed to fly. It's been a long, long time since she was allowed to -

She is only allowed to fly to her destination, not anywhere else. She notices that she is not where she should be, that she cannot progress to where she was told to go, and she careens out of control when her wings won't flap anymore, and she crashes.
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The location where she crashed is a grassy area populated primarily by a semi-regular arrangement of small stone monuments adorned with impenetrable mortal inscriptions such as SOPHRONISBE ALPERT 1908-1941. There are also occasional trees, and larger stone buildings between those.

Just outside the entrance of one such building close by, a... mortal, let's go with mortal... leans against a stone pillar and observes her with a skeptical expression.
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She looks at him. She can't really do anything else, can she.
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"Good morning," says the mortal. (It is night.)

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Okay, she can also look up at the sky. Which is dark.

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"Is there a particular reason you're in front of my crypt?"

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Yeah, but she can't tell you because you're not a member of her master's court who fits the criteria for someone whose direct questions she has to answer, dude.

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"Oh, so it's like that, is it?"

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So it's like what?

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He sighs.

"Are you, by any chance, in need of assistance."
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Blink.

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"Was that a yes?"

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Blink.

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"Good enough for me. Would you like to come into my crypt? It's not well furnished but it will prevent my neighbours from stumbling across you and deciding you'd make a nice snack."

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Blink.
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"Come in, then. Unless I'm going to have to carry you...?"

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Blink.

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He sighs again.

He scoops Promise off the ground and carries her into the stone building, where he proceeds down a half-concealed stairway into a smallish room. The only item of furniture present is a bed. The mortal deposits Promise on the edge of it and then sits where he can see her face, next to the room's remaining objects: a mug, a box of teabags, some large jugs of water, and a kettle.

"Fancy a cup of tea?" he inquires.
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Blink!

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He pours; the kettle was already hot. "Tea now, or tea in ninety seconds at a less painful temperature?"

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Blink. (When he says 'now'. The water's not actually boiling, she's had worse it'll heal -)

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The mortal shrugs. He brings over the mug and arranges it in a drinkable configuration relative to her face.

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Promise opens her mouth.

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Technically-non-boiling tea goes in.

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It's hot. She swallows it anyway.

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He inputs the entire mug of tea and then stands back and regards her.

"No doubt there is a next step to this puzzle."
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