All of this was extremely strange to her - the natives and being on a ship in general. The closest she's ever come to being on a ship is a small boat out on the water. Now apparently Rapunzel is drifting among the stars. Never once had she thought that would possible and yet here she is. She's gathered up as much as her seventy-foot long hair in her arms so that it doesn't get tripped over though sometimes it slipped out and she has to stop to pick it up. However, once she's in the shuttle it's pooled to sit in the seat next to her and spilling out on the floor in between the seats.
Rapunzel is far too interested to peer out the tiny shuttle windows to see if she can see anything in the blackness but stars and ships. She was something of a mix of worry and excitement - can't deny her curiosity. Without looking the teenager spoke up. "Are we really among the stars?"
Garden
Of course she's found the garden. It's her favorite place anywhere within the Fleet. While she doesn't particularly like the idea of being trapped, Rapunzel is used to spending her time in a much smaller space. However, there's plenty to do here unlike in her tower. Yet she always came back to the garden - the most colorful place that's as close to home as she can get. Rapunzel has let her hair go free, it zigzags through the greenery and will lead anyone to her exact location should they feel the urge to follow it.
The owner of all of that hair has her back pressed up against the trunk of a great tree and there's a sketchpad in her lap. Her eyebrows are scrunched together and the end of her pencil is stuck in her mouth as she considered the drawing in front of her. After a moment, Rapunzel's nose wrinkles and she erases a part of her drawing. "That's no good either."
Anyone who looked at the paper would see that she's drawing one of the alien plants across from her but it isn't the flower that she's having trouble with. On the drawing of the flower is a small creature - one that she's clearly drawing from memory. "Pascal would be so disappointed. Well, not as upset if I'd sewn him another dress but still..."
Rapunzel | Tangled
All of this was extremely strange to her - the natives and being on a ship in general. The closest she's ever come to being on a ship is a small boat out on the water. Now apparently Rapunzel is drifting among the stars. Never once had she thought that would possible and yet here she is. She's gathered up as much as her seventy-foot long hair in her arms so that it doesn't get tripped over though sometimes it slipped out and she has to stop to pick it up. However, once she's in the shuttle it's pooled to sit in the seat next to her and spilling out on the floor in between the seats.
Rapunzel is far too interested to peer out the tiny shuttle windows to see if she can see anything in the blackness but stars and ships. She was something of a mix of worry and excitement - can't deny her curiosity. Without looking the teenager spoke up. "Are we really among the stars?"
Garden
Of course she's found the garden. It's her favorite place anywhere within the Fleet. While she doesn't particularly like the idea of being trapped, Rapunzel is used to spending her time in a much smaller space. However, there's plenty to do here unlike in her tower. Yet she always came back to the garden - the most colorful place that's as close to home as she can get. Rapunzel has let her hair go free, it zigzags through the greenery and will lead anyone to her exact location should they feel the urge to follow it.
The owner of all of that hair has her back pressed up against the trunk of a great tree and there's a sketchpad in her lap. Her eyebrows are scrunched together and the end of her pencil is stuck in her mouth as she considered the drawing in front of her. After a moment, Rapunzel's nose wrinkles and she erases a part of her drawing. "That's no good either."
Anyone who looked at the paper would see that she's drawing one of the alien plants across from her but it isn't the flower that she's having trouble with. On the drawing of the flower is a small creature - one that she's clearly drawing from memory. "Pascal would be so disappointed. Well, not as upset if I'd sewn him another dress but still..."
Clearly she's used to talking to herself.