Coleman adjusts the netting on Sasha with distaste and more than a little bit of distrust. It's always seemed presumptious, the way that some train crews tinker on their train. New functions, welded-on limbs, the odd weaponized steam whistle. And maybe the Train approves of it, and sometimes it's beneficial, but it still leaves a sour taste in his mouth to alter Sasha in any way. She can't approve or disapprove yet, so how could he try to improve on perfection?

Still, with some reluctance, he's built a sturdy-enough barge around her, and strapped a bit of hinged piping to her smokestack. Not welded! Don't worry, baby, this isn't a permanent thing, we'll get you across the water, and take that nasty bit of dross off of you. Still, between the pressure of the smoke exiting the smokestack and the crude oars, it ought to be simple to jet down the pond and across it.

It certainly doesn't bear thinking about what'll happen if the storm gets there first, because while he wouldn't trust a train's weight to a barge if it weren't sturdily built, he's also keenly aware that it's far from what you'd call fit to weather the storm.