William Bush

[The Bush who addresses the barge is-- well, extremely different. His manner is a little less formal, his clothes much less so-- it is his old uniform jacket, but frayed and much the worse for wear, open over a tattered silk waistcoat found who knows where; he carries a sense of dampness, hair plastered all about his face, and exuberant life. He is not younger, exactly, but -- timeless. His pigtail is wrapped with what on closer look is the leaves of kelp, and a colony of small mussels have colonized it stubbornly. A patch of what look like flowerbuds fan across the front of his jacket-- they are closed sullenly in surprise, but have enough magic about them not to be stunned to death by this sudden remove into air. His hat is absolutely no-where in evidence, and his epaulet has been fastened to the opposite shoulder, denoting for his own sense of propriety that he is a lieutenant. ]

I have picked a fine time to come back aboard, it seems! Anyone unaffected by this flood can tell me how long it has been? It is at least a few years for me. [And one year for the barge, in the future he is from.]