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

[takeyouapart]

Hello, Ned.

I don't know how much you've been told, but what's happened is the result of a Barge event called a flood. There's no real water involved - they affect certain people at random and change them somehow.

This week it's...making people burst into song. They only last a few days.

[deadly_ned]

That...seems like an odd thing for a flood to do. Especially a flood without water. A flood without water that makes people....sing.


I'm not so sure I was prepared for this.

[takeyouapart]

I don't think anyone really is, when they first arrive here. It's something you have to get used to.

[deadly_ned]

Ah.


Well that just...speaks to bureaucratic mismanagement, doesn't it? I mean. I don't want to insult whoever's running the show or in this case steering the boat but it seems a little counterproductive to invite people up onto your showboat and not tell them that midway around the third act there's a breakout musical number and you're supposed to play along.

Not a happy surprise.

[takeyouapart]

I think that might be why he doesn't tell people.

[deadly_ned]

Obviously he didn't think anyone would actually come willingly until they were already here.

That's...devious. Is it always so devious around here?

[takeyouapart]

Well, it's a prison, sort of. There's always going to be a bit of...deviousness.

[deadly_ned]

Right. Prison. I keep forgetting. I see boat and my mind does not automatically gravitate to prison. It gravitates to seasickness and middle-aged people in Hawaiian shirts and pirates, of which there thankfully seems to be very little.

[takeyouapart]

No, I don't think the Barge has any of that at all. You'll adjust, I promise.

What do you do at home, Ned?

[deadly_ned]

You seem abruptly sure of that.

I'm a piemaker. I make...pies.

And...investigate murders...?

Mostly as a side job to the piemaking.

[takeyouapart]

Sounds like it'd be messy to do both at the same time.

...everyone adjusts eventually. So, yes, I'm sure.

[deadly_ned]

Which is why I try not to do both at the same time. It doesn't always work.

Then I should probably tell you I'm the least abled-adjustable person in the history of adjusted objects, and less so than the gear shift of a rusted-out Buick if it were covered in superglue. I don't mean to sound pessimistic but the random singing is throwing me off my game.

[takeyouapart]

I don't know what a Buick is. [He could only really offer a good guess on what superglue is.] Still, it'll be easier when the singing stops and you can talk to other people normally.

[deadly_ned]

We are talking normally. Which is a fact I am currently eternally grateful for.

I don't think you told me your name. Which is sort of a passive way of asking..


Who are you?

[takeyouapart]

Sorry - I'm Merlin. I'm a Warden here, and I work in the Infirmary, but hopefully you won't have to see me there.

[deadly_ned]

[As the Piemaker listened to the strange young man in the odd clothes explain himself, he felt the familiar tinge of acid reflux brought on by a combination of a profound dislike of magic, a profound admiration for Arthurian mythology, and a sprinkling of childhood trauma]

Merlin.

Merlin the magician. Wizard. Do you prefer magician or wizard? Or does it not matter?

...I think I need a lozenge. Merlin. Okay.

[takeyouapart]

I would say sorcerer. But usually, I prefer just Merlin.

[deadly_ned]

Well...Just Merlin, then. That's good. I'm Just Ned. And...it is a little incredible to meet you right now.

A lot. It's a lot incredible, mostly made by the fact that I didn't even know you actually existed until right this minute.

And you...do magic, I presume.

[takeyouapart]

Yes, I do. But I can't make pies.

[Can't cook at all beyond the basics, really.]

[deadly_ned]

My...brothers. They would have loved to meet you. They're, uh. Magicians too. Not sorcerers. Sorcery of any sort does not exist where I come from. At all. Sadly.


...Piemaking isn't magic but it's. I mean. I could teach you. If there's a kitchen on the prison ship which there should be because you have all these people here and none of them have starved to death, as far as I can ascertain.

[takeyouapart]

I'd like that.

There's a kitchen here, but it's locked while it's not being used to prepare meals. There are three Wardens who manage that, they all have keys- I'm sure at least one of them would happily lend you theirs in exchange for pies.

[deadly_ned]

I suppose teaching Merlin how to bake pies is probably the best possible outcome I could have imagined in climbing aboard a prison ship that traverses dimensions. Granted, I didn't...actually imagine anything like this could ever happen until it happened, but it's nice.

You think so? Do you know who they are?

[takeyouapart]

[He has to smile at that.]

I do. Laura at breakfast, Lua at lunchtime and Gaheris in the evening.

[deadly_ned]

Laura. Lua. Gaheris.

...What if the sudden urge to bake really just hits me and I need to get into a kitchen to relieve stress? If I'm stressed I need to stress bake and the fact that the kitchen is closed in between meal times is disconcerting.


Maybe I can put an oven in my room.

[takeyouapart]

Maybe. The Admiral can rearrange your cabin to something that would work for you better, if you ask.

[Not that he'd like to offer odds on that right now, but discretion might be the way to go here.]