Despite Merlin's mood, Imogen's touch shit until something glows explanation earns a lopsided smirk and he nods. He can do that. Just to be thorough, he quickly touches the candle's flame before moving on, beginning to investigate the table and each item resting atop it. The thimbles and caps and the minute chunks of food. He recalls discussing this muscheron with Willow and finds himself vaguely curious how all this had turned out for the little creature. And less vaguely wondering if the girl is among the missing.

The feeling of Imogen's hand on his back makes him pause and he glances over at her. And the bottle. "Alcohol poisoning, that's what," he retorts, his amused affection clear even with the are you serious? raise of his eyebrows.