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Steam:
his tongue between his teeth
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"The steam's pushing through too fast," Tom is saying, voice bouncing around the vast warehouse. The words sound like they're coming from somewhere far behind or above Franky, where he's sitting on the cowcatcher, but he knows Tom's just around the other side of the engine.
There are a few metallic bangs - a wrench being set down, Iceberg hitting the steel toe of his boot against the Rocketman's heavy iron plating.
"If the firebox were longer," he says, "maybe the throttle would work better. That valve's supposed to control the amount of steam leaving the boiler, but it just isn't doing it. The steam is bursting out too quickly for it to catch." Franky hooks a foot around one of the rails, tongue between his teeth as he swipes the brush, finishing the upward arch in one smooth line. He drops his hand to swirl the brush in the bucket of white paint he's holding in his free hand. "The tubes would be longer, as well - that may help regulate the temperature."
He hears Tom hum in thought, probably pulling at his beard, "About how much longer do you think, Iceberg?"
"Oh my." Iceberg hesitates and Franky laughs under his breath, filling in a triangle and mouthing along, "Another foot, at least."
He and Iceberg had talked about it for over an hour the other day, while they were taking turns shoveling coal into the firebox, trying to build up the steam for another run. Iceberg had mentioned extending the engine as a passing thought, but it made a hell of a lot of sense, and Franky had told him as much. They bounced several ideas back and forth - Iceberg jabbing at the coal with his shovel and Franky leaning against his - but when telling Tom about it came up, Iceberg had shaken his head. Some crap about not wanting to interfere with Tom's original designs. It's taken Franky this long, and another failed attempt, to get him to open his stupid mouth about it.
Franky rocks forward on the cowcatcher, eager to hear what Tom thinks of the idea.
"Ta-haha! I was thinking about the same!"
Franky grins, pecking the brush against the side of the paint can.
"Hey, Mr. Tom!" he calls, like he hasn't been listening, his voice sharp and hollow-sounding against the metal right in front of him. He dips in the brush, filling in another white triangle and moving on down the line until a jagged grin begins to appear. "What color are you gonna paint the Sea Train, once it's finished?"
He hears Tom laughing again, but the footsteps on the concrete belong to Iceberg and Franky looks over at him when he ducks to look at the underside of the front of the smokebox. Iceberg has a hand on the engine, but he doesn't touch the wet paint.
"Franky, what's with this weird face?"
"It's a runaway train!" Franky says, "I thought it should have a dangerous look to it. Like, uh - " He grins, broad but almost apologetic, raising his shoulders. "Like Ms. Kokoro when she's pissed off, right? Nothin's scarier than that, I mean - "
He trails off, a little uncertain when Iceberg lifts a gloved hand to cover his mouth, staring at the face of engine. Tom has come around and stepped back to take a better look at it, but when he hears what Franky says he stops, as well - and then he starts laughing, voice booming back at them. Franky's grin returns full-force. When he looks at Iceberg, who's looking at Tom out of the corner of his eye, Franky sees his cheeks pushing up and narrowing his eyes, that he's hiding a grin behind his hand. Tom laughs until he's wheezing for breath, until he has to bend forward with a hand on his knee, the other dipping into his side to press against the stitch in his ribs.
Eventually he has to sit.
By then the commotion has attracted Kokoro herself, and when she comes out onto the balcony from the second floor, leaning against the rail, Franky blanches a bit. Iceberg covers his mouth again, turning to look at her, but Tom is still laughing harder than ever.
Kokoro looks amused, exasperated.
"My goodness, Tom, what is it? I can hear you from upstairs!" Tom can't quite get the words out. He sucks in a breath, flat on his back and huffing out another long laugh. Kokoro spots the the sharp smile on the front of the smokebox, and Franky pulls his lips between his teeth, staring wide-eyed at the back of Iceberg's head. Paint splashes across his thigh, dripping from the brush in his hand. Kokoro tilts her head, an eyebrow cocked, and asks, "Franky, what have you done to that train?"
Franky swallows hard, opens his mouth.
Iceberg beats him to it, lifting his hand to say, "He's drawn a shark, Ms. Kokoro."
Tom laughs so hard he starts to cry, and Kokoro makes a face at him.
"Honestly," she says, going back inside, "One of you boys get him a glass of water, before he chokes himself."
Franky trips over himself climbing over the cowcatcher, hitting the bottom of the bucket on the rail, spilling the paint across the concrete and his feet and legs. Iceberg hauls Tom upright, lifting the fishman's back off the floor, first, and then pushing with his shoulder until Tom can lean forward and keep himself up, for the most part. Franky trails white foot prints into the apartment and out again, a glass of water in his hands when he returns.
"Green - " Tom wheezes and laughs, his face a burnt orange color that Franky has never seen before as he accepts the water and gets his breath. He pauses after a short drink to laugh again, rubbing his vast neck, "We'll probably paint it green, boys."
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-BobTAC