Reaver

Well, that was certainly amusing -- though disconcerting. So many in need of a little bargewater to find an excuse to celebrate. This is no way to live life. If you find cause, use it, and if you can find none, then you are welcome to invent something.

I must admit, the traditions I see mentioned and displayed here at this time of year are of much greater variance than those apparent in the early autumn. Some staples are familiar to me, though they have differing names. [Particularly the red hats, he thinks.]

For the sake of continuing to offer something soothing with the same appreciable bite after coming into the pub from the bitter cold, I will continue for the rest of the month to serve my special recipes, all of them warm, all of them delicious: Hot Apple Cider, Hot Toddies, and Spiced Mid-Winter Wine.

Adults only, naturally.

[Private to the Admiral]

I suppose we ought to get this other with, oughtn't we? 

For Merlin - Some decent clothes, preferably something that does not conform to his "chipper little vagrant" motif.

For Morgana - A circlet. Something sufficiently "noble" to adorn her brow. Silver and freshwater pearl, I think will do nicely.

For the other Pub Workers - Fancy hats. None so nice as my own, however, I've a reputation to maintain, you know.

For the Barge in General - A bottle of fine wine from my Albion. The best that money could buy.

A new Admiral? I, for one, approve of the change. [He says this but his heart just doesn't sound like it's in it.] I wait with baited breath to see where it is we shall land.

[Private to Merlin]

It seemed prudent to ascertain whether you were still on the ship.

(ooc: So after the snow globe incident, Reaver has been holed up in his room, predominantly. He hasn't attended shifts in the kitchen, he hasn't talked to anyone, he hasn't even looked at the network.)

[The following text should not be public, but a jumble of improperly sequenced keystrokes appear to be to blame for the filter not setting properly, as the writer's hands are shaking too much for him to get it right.]

what have you done you WRETCHED LITTLE BEAST WHAT HAVE YOU DONE

(ooc: Merlin has cursed Reaver with old age. He is presently holed up in his room and after the initial tantrum is too physically tired to manage a greater distance than that between his bed and his writing desk. ALSO YAY CHRISTOPHER LEE.)

[What appears onscreen here is a snow white mink, with a little tuft of black fur on the end of his tail. He settles on his haunches, sitting up his full, weasel-like height and straightens his fur with his forepaws like he's smoothing a fine suit. When he begins to speak, the expected squeaking does not occur, but rather everyone can perfectly hear the deep, dulcet murmurings of one Reaver.]

Dear me, but this is quite unusual, isn't it? Can anyone hear me? Merlin, darling, have you been likewise affected? 

[clearing his little mink throat]

People of the Barge -- birds, bees, canines and felines! The Admiral would appreciate your patience in this time and encourages everyone not to panic. As you can see many of us have assumed rather unusual new forms. Consider this an opportunity. Why, what better way to understand these creatures than to inhabit their skins for a while, indulge in their senses, marvel at the newness? For some of you this could be just the pick-me-up you need, after all!

Finally, I don't suppose there are any persons who've become mice or salmon, are there?