Knowing their luck, Merlin does have to wonder if the hotel is actually a universe that is constantly growing. And if that does wind up to be the case, Merlin will just throw the god dammed towel in. Until then the Scotsman will be defiant against anything that seems like magic.

"It's nice to know we won't be dying of scurvy any time soon." Not that the food on display is acceptable; it never is, and for once Merlin knows he would sell his right arm for an egg butty and a proper mug of tea.

"I'm surprised. If the hosts are 'magic' -" Merlin can't help the unimpressed tone of voice there. "- and are intent on keeping everyone here, the least they could do is whisk up actual meals. Or did they fail their culinary classes?"