[ Okay. March is fairly certain she's not going to bolt out of the cabin to start scrapping again--he really wouldn't put it past her--he's going to grab a mason jar normally reserved for their moonshine and fill it almost to the brim with water. ]

You kidding? They're all from Victorian England. They probably have brain damage already from boiling fur in mercury to make jaunty little hats. Drink. Then you can tell me what the fuck just happened.

[ He's pouring a mason jar sized glass of water for himself, too. his head is killing him ].