"Stop. No more about my son. Just look at him. He’s alive. I’m alive. Your brother is alive. And so are you. Gamblin’ don’t give ya’ better odds," Rick asserted, his voice firm yet tinged with a subtle tenderness.

An awkward pause settled between them as Rick swiftly cleared the table, his movements deliberate despite their seeming randomness. Amelia watched, intrigued, as he began tapping out a simple rhythm on the metallic surface with his four mechanical arms. The melody intertwined with a whistling tune, surprising her with its unexpected beauty.

"Listen for now," Rick urged, a soft chuckle escaping him as he continued to whistle. The tune caught Roy's attention across the platform, and as if on cue, Roy joined in, humming and whistling alongside Rick. The platform's bells and whistles seemed to quiet, falling into harmony with the makeshift melody.

"Change! A tough inevitability!" Rick suddenly sang, his voice carrying a playful lilt.

“What are you doing?” Amelia asked, suspicion laced with a hint of amusement as her mood began to lighten.

“That’s still my son. He used to love the aerophone! Flutes, pipes, what-not. Just listen,” Rick said, his tone nostalgic and warm.

Rick and Amelia both turned their attention to Roy, who was dancing carefree while operating the Pappy Long Legs' machinery, his movements surprisingly fluid for a machine.

“I think it’s best we take this sing-song as far as we can right now,” Rick continued, humming the same tune that Roy was whistling. “Please,” he added, extending his arm toward Amelia.

A moment of silence passed before Amelia, feeling the lump in her throat dissipate, found herself tempted to join in.

“What about Bolton?” she asked, her curiosity sparking anew. “Is he alright?”

“Likely. Can’t say for certain, but I believe fate has a backward gaze on everything turning out okay. There ain’t much value in digging yourself into a hole and looking down,” Rick replied smoothly, the rhythm of Roy’s whistling providing a soothing backdrop.

Amelia looked up at Rick, her frown slowly giving way to a shaky smile. She began to tap her leg in time with the metallic beat Roy created, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the quirky duo.

"Change! A gained ability! For some," Rick sang in a playful tone, "when the world isn’t watching! And our story is long forgotten! You must—most of all—REMEMBER TO CHANGE!" His voice rose in a spirited crescendo as he leaned over the table, rising into a lighthearted dance.

"Rick, isn’t there a better time for this?" Amelia pouted, trying to suppress a grin.

“Listen to the wind, Amelia! We’re alive and breathing! We’re on a quest! Ain’t a better privilege than that!” Rick roared, turning to Roy, who had picked up a flute-like instrument and joined in with an infectious tune. "Dear Amelia," Rick said warmly, "you, of all citizens of New Dwarden, should know that song is the ultimate cure for a life that seems bent on stranglin’ us. Now, don't let Roy's hard work of beating on pots and pans go silent in the wind. Just listen to the sound of the ultimate airship—the Pappy Long Legs!"

The Pappy Long Legs, which had previously been a cacophony of mechanical sounds, transformed into a living, breathing orchestra. The whirs and clanks of its machinery melded together, creating a symphony that filled the air. Like an aerophone choir, it whistled angelic tunes that danced with the wind. Each note carried a whisper of magic, resonating through the metallic frame of the airship and turning it into a vessel of ethereal melodies.

"I damn well know you know this one, Amelia!" Rick remarked, his tone soothing and melodic. "It's one of those sing-songs sung deep in those mines and in the minds of those who park themselves in all thirteen quadrants of New Dwarden. I promise you, if you humor me, life will feel that much lighter," Rick challenged, a smirk spreading across his face as he reached his hand toward Amelia.

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Amelia raised her head skyward, her gaze fixed on the evening sky. Then, turning to Rick, she noticed a glimmer of hope reflecting in his eyes. "My mother used to say something before every lullaby, every song. It was like a sign of respect," Amelia reminisced. "She had this silly belief that one should be grateful to sleep because you’ll never know if you wake." She stood up from her chair, reached toward Rick, and shook his metallic claw of a hand.

"The Queen was wise. Nothing silly about that at all," Rick nodded, firmly shaking Amelia’s hand.

"Nothing at all," Amelia agreed, her voice soft yet resolute.

“Went like this,” recited Amelia, her tone shifting to one of gentle reverence.

Dear Amelia:

Deep in the night, you twist and you turn

Hush now and sleep, for peace will return

Work through the night, rest through the day

In dreams, find comfort, lead worries astray

For gears and cogs, cost fingers a day

Awake forever, I’m here to stay

"I always hum the tune before every song, prance, or dance," Amelia admitted, chuckling at the memory.

“Unconventional indeed, Crowny!” Rick cheered, his spirit-lifting.

"And with that, everything will magically fall into place, I assume?" Amelia quipped, arching an eyebrow at Rick.

“Smell the flowers that come after the storm! We simply must embrace all of the signs given to us. Each and every scent! Whether it’s bitter like Quadrant Three’s Barley Beer or sweet as Whistletop’s Candy! That’s the philosophy this New Dwarden has given us," Rick explained earnestly, his gaze thoughtful.

"Alright! I’ll bite. Best show you this Yardrat’s secret skill," Amelia remarked, her voice infused with determination as she prepared to join Rick in their musical endeavor, her movements becoming more fluid with the tune around her.

Of gears o' brass and steam we dwell,

Where toil and hustle our feet never fell,

A world of wonders, shinin’ and bright,

But change creeps in wi' each comin' night.

(Chorus)

Oooooooh, winds of change, they’ve blown so strong,

In this steam world below all the fog,

Wi' every cog n’ every gear,

Our future's path been never so clear.

Ooooo airships glide o'er skies o' gold,

Tales o' change are often told,

For progress marches to ever-unfold,

Through the clockwork mist, our destinies mold.

(Chorus)

Oooooooh, winds of change, they’ve blown so strong,

In this steam world below all the fog,

Wi' every cog n’ every gear,

Our future's path been never so clear.

"Enough," declared Amelia, her voice firm yet gentle. "I've heard plenty of songs down in the Conkle. I know what you’re doing," she added, playfully pointing at Rick with a twinkle in her eye. “Yardrats are no strangers to tap-dancin’ song, old man.”

From the corner of her eye, Amelia saw Roy observing her from a distance, his large, spotlight-like eyes softening with a hint of disappointment.

"Oh, and what do you reckon I'm up to, dear Amelia?" chuckled Rick, his laughter warm and hearty. "Just trying to make sense of fate's craptastic joke," he continued, pointing back at Amelia with a knowing grin.

"Feelin’ all... cheery... and well… it’s certainly okay, but… Roy’s gotta be finished fuelin’ the ship by now," Amelia grumbled, rubbing the small bump at the top of her head, her mood conflicted. “Albeit, it was a cute and wholesome attempt," she admitted while stealing a glance at Roy, a soft smile of approval tugging at her lips. “And…I appreciate it, Roy.”

"Damn shame we stopped then," Rick lamented, shaking his head lightly. "You've got a pleasant worker's rasp in your voice," he remarked with a playful glimmer in his eye. He patted Amelia's back with his mechanical arm, inviting her for a cup of warm tea. "Can't please everyone," he added with a shrug and a smile.

"When do I pack my bags?" Amelia asked in a light-hearted tone, quickly taking a sip from her tea.