Fenna Van Daalen “Takin’ the shit we care about and ruining it three cars later… The hell is with this train?”
“I wish I knew. I’m lucky my thing is a rock, I guess. Though on that note, just a sec…”
Taran hangs his stuff on a plank stuck in the sand and checks his inventory, that is, runs through his pockets and the big zippered bag he acquired in the IKEA car (and pulled off the beach on arrival).
“Yeah, that photo I got out of the gumball machine is uhh, mush. It WAS loose in there with the rock. The hall pass thing is okayish. My wallet is gone, dammit. And the you-know-what you left me with is super gone.” Sigh. “That one is probably for the best.”
Taran’s mind starts racing about improvements he could make to his bag. Pockets. Could he scrounge up a needle? Usually he’d procrastinate on serious stuff by working on music, but he didn’t exactly have his gear out here. He absentmindedly pulls a length of rope out of the sand before turning his attention back to Fenna.
“Sorry, my train of… Nah. Anyway, I’ll help you look for the book. Even if it’s kinda trashed, it’s probably worth hanging onto, right? Nothing else I should be on the lookout for?”
