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

[routemistress]

Sometimes when we try and talk
The words just come out wrong
So we have to say I love you in a song.

[Iris offers him an I actually can't help this right now halfshrug of insincere, grinning regret to go with the brief melody.]

[deadly_ned]

Right.

...I think it might be better if I come back next week. After everyone's done singing.

[routemistress]

Can't stop, addicted to the shindig...

[She closes her mouth, scrunches her eyes determinedly and manages to shift herself back to normal speech.]

Only be another day or so. Honestly, love, this is nothing. Wait'll we get a bodyswap flood or a breach. Those can be a right laugh. Or a bloody nightmare.

[deadly_ned]

I have enough nightmares without adding to more.

But complaining about it won't do anything. So...singing. Okay. Singing isn't so bad by comparison of playing the three card shuffle with human bodies.

Though I'm not so convinced about the whole singing your heart out, birds chirping, suspiciously mysterious rhythm bands popping up out of nowhere.

[routemistress]

Why do birds suddenly appear, whenever you are near?

...ahem.

Last one we 'ad were compulsive oversharing, the one before that we shrunk to six inches 'igh. Best you learn 'ow to enjoy it, petal, or you'll 'ave a miserable stay 'ere.

[deadly_ned]

I tend to have a miserable stay anywhere I'm currently staying. It's not the Barge. It's me. Unfortunately.

haaaaa this was a bad idea. I should have listened to Emerson. It was a bad idea to come here but no I just had to.


Yeahhh.


I'm sorry. It's rude of me to talk so much about myself.

[routemistress]

Nonsense, lovey, I'm interested. Who's Emerson when 'e's at 'ome?

Aye, you might 'ave trouble if you're not good at shifting wi' changes. It's why I love it 'ere meself; it never gets dull.

[deadly_ned]

A friend. A very smart friend with very smart ideas, one of which was not to come here but I didn't listen, like an idiot.

..Hooray..

[routemistress]

Look at it this way, lovey, if you were bein' miserable anyway, you might's well be miserable 'ere and do some good, eh?

[Just call her Pollyanna.]

[deadly_ned]

That's a wonderfully upbeat way of looking at it.