"Meteorological equipment?" Rosalind asks with a reflexive scoff. Meteorology is a reasonable profession, one she has a great deal of respect for considering her last home was suspended, in perpetuity, above the Atlantic Ocean. The actual equipment necessary to chart weather patterns, however? That she can build in her sleep.

"Shall I build you a potato clock while I'm at it?" she says and then, somewhat belatedly, realizes that half the conversation has not happened. She looks to her right and makes a small, unhappy face before looking back at him.

"Make a list of equipment you would like," Rosalind says, instead. "If the technology littering the ship is as advanced as it appears, I'll be able to create something to do the job. I would appreciate a copy of your data for reference, of course."