@fullofthatwant
Ark Log! Hour Twelve.
No tools procured yet! Working on it. There is a girl sitting on the train. She’s got something in her hands, a box. A recorder, perhaps? It looks a little like it in shape.
A hand spun out of hair jams itself in between the train doors before they close, and Entrapta follows it. Once she’s in, she hardly stops for breath before she jogs over to the girl, sitting down next to her.
“Hello!” She waves two hands in greeting, one flesh and the other hair. Her other actual hand is reaching out towards the box in the girl’s hands. “What is that? Can I see it? Is it a recording device or one of these ‘phones’? What does it run on?” Her questions come at a mile a minute, bright eyes fixed on the girl’s device and hair writhing behind her in excitement.
“Did you make it yourself?”
All of the seas suck.
Crises is the worst, of course, full of rats and smog and conversation and the constant squeal of brakes. But Nectar is bad in its own ways, too - it stinks of dead fish, and the breeze gets sand in everything. Even Tranquility is always threatening to give her Summer Scouts flashbacks.
That’s why she’s tinkering on the train. The thousands of points of light out the window are oddly soothing, and whatever it is that propels the cars between planets is completely soundless. It’s quiet and pristine and completely free of distraction and oh my G-d where did that girl come from --
Venus tumbles out of her seat in shock, spilling her box of radio parts onto the ground. She lands with a hiss of pain, and it takes a few seconds for her to process the other girl’s question. “Um, yeah,” she says, “it’s a really basic radio.” She scoops it up off the floor, and gives it a doubtful glance. “Or... it’s supposed to be one, anyways. I’ve been trying to tinker it together myself, but I can’t find the right parts around here. Would you believe that no one on the Ark is selling a half-decent hunk of quartz?”
