Work Text:
"You are the handsomest man on the planet," the eldest says.
He slithers to her side. "I'm the only man on the planet," he replies. "Say, how do you think we got here?"
"I don't know," she answers. "But something in me wants to find out."
"I've always wondered where our parents went," he remarks.
She contemplates the question. "Maybe they were killed by predators, but we don't seem to have any. Perhaps they left us here to be safe."
"I've always wanted to fly," interjects the youngest.
Her sister snorts with amusement. "We can't fly; we have no wings."
"Perhaps we could build something," he postulates, "to fly with us inside it."
"That's preposterous," she answers.
He clicks. "Something tells me we have the blood of explorers and builders and pilots…"
"What's a pilot?" asks the little one.
He waves a flipper. "The person who runs the machine that flies. Point is, I believe our parents left us with untapped potential."
The eldest is intrigued. "Do you think, if we succeed in building the machine that flies, that maybe we will be able to fly to where our parents are and see them again?"
He smiles. "We just might."