001 - Rhubarb

[deadly_ned]

[Young Ned was eight years, one hundred and twelve days, ten hours, and twenty-three minutes old when he took a ride on his first boat. It was, he recalled, little bigger than a ferry, and had been a part of a seaside vacation with his mother. The waves had rocked the little boat, the ride was lonely and boring, and his beloved dog, Digby, wasn't there to play with him. Young Ned hadn't liked it. He liked it even less thirty-three minutes later when he promptly vomited over the starboard bow.

It is now fifty-eight minutes and twenty seconds since the Piemaker arrived on the Barge via the mysterious and altogether rather upsetting administrations of the ship's administrator, the Admiral. He was having...difficulty adjusting to the change. And while this boat was significantly larger and more stable than the tiny boat that had rocked so violently all those years ago, he discovered to his unhappiness that the waves, too, had increased in size and threat.]


I think I'm going to vomit.


Which is not to say I'm seasick. I'm not. The boat is stable. Surprisingly. I'm sick because I'm slow to adjusting to change and this is a...big, big change and a new beginning and I do not...I'm not a fan of new beginnings.

Ah.

Hello. My name is Ned. It's um. I would say it's nice to be here but I've just had two different people...sing at me very loudly and that's. Upsetting. And not at all nice.

I will try to make things nicer while I'm here.

Comments

[deadly_ned]

Yes. Yes he did.

He seems. Uhm.



....No, 'uhm' is the right word for what he seems.

[takeyouapart]

Yes, I think it is.

You should still ask, though, if that's how you deal with stress.

[And yes, Ned, you should be inferring from this that you'll need all the stress relief you can easily access.]

[deadly_ned]

I should, shouldn't I. I will. Sometime. When people aren't running around singing.

How do you deal with stress?

[takeyouapart]

I just try to stay busy however I can.

[deadly_ned]

Pie-baking is busy work. Let me help with that. My brothers would kill me if they let an actual wizard - sorry, sorcerer - slip past without at least feeding him.

[takeyouapart]

Wizard is fine, really. Just don't ask me where my beard and pointy hat are.

So what do your brothers do, if they're magicians but there's no magic in your world?

[Stage magic has completely passed him by up to this point.]

[deadly_ned]

Technically they're half twin brothers. I should have mentioned that before, but brothers is a more succinct explanation.

They're stage magicians. Or, illusionists. People who pretend to saw women in half, make a rabbit disappear and reappear out of a hat. That sort of...thing.

[takeyouapart]

[what]

Why would anyone want to watch a woman being sawn in half in the first place?

[deadly_ned]

I don't know. I hate it. Other people like it but it gives me acid reflux.


All...magic tends to do that.


Anyway. That's what they do. Professional conjurors of illusions for entertainment.

[takeyouapart]

[Still struggling here.]

So they pretend they have magic even though everyone knows they don't, and that's entertainment where you're from?

[He doesn't sound disapproving, just kind of bewildered.]

[deadly_ned]

Even though everyone knows magic isn't real where I'm from, there's a tiny part of them that wants to believe and to be fooled, and that tiny part of them is the part that watches a woman get sawed in half and come out all right again and thinks that it's fun and wonderful.

And I guess, if you're a magician, it's impressive to illustrate the illusion so precisely.

[takeyouapart]

I think that's always going to sound very strange to me.

[Not least because where he's from, pretending to have magic would get you very actually murdered.]

[deadly_ned]

It's not just you. It is strange. If strange were another word for uncomfortable and difficult to watch.

[takeyouapart]

Hmm.

Anyway, I'll let you settle in. Send me a message if you need anything, Ned.

[deadly_ned]

Send Merlin a message. Heh.

That I can do.