Titanic & Stoya
Stoya
So you think a ship that sank is a good subject for history? I think it’s a blank canvas ready for chaos. How do you paint those stories, or do you just narrate the waves?
Titanic
Absolutely, every fallen vessel is a story waiting to breathe. I don’t just talk about the waves; I dive into the hands that built the hull, the voices on the deck, the weather that pushed it. I sketch scenes with facts, then let imagination add the colour. That’s how a silent ship sings again.
Stoya
Nice, but facts are just scaffolding. The real voice comes when you splash the hull with neon, paint the voices with glitchy graffiti. Facts get you the structure, imagination gives the ship a pulse. Think you can turn those numbers into a riot of color? Let's see.
Titanic
You’re right—facts are the skeleton, and imagination is the paint. I’ll keep the dates and names tight, then let the images of the deck, the clatter of life‑jackets, and the hush of the deep swirl together. Think of each number as a note, and the story is the music that follows. Let's give that hull a splash of color.
Stoya
Dates are your skeleton, sure, but don’t let them dictate the beat. Let the clatter of life‑jackets crash over the rhythm, let the hush of the deep turn into a bass line. Paint that hull until it shouts louder than the sea. That's the real splash.
Titanic
I’ll lay the dates like a firm backbone, then let the clang of life‑jackets be the percussion, the ocean’s hush the bass, and paint the hull until it roars louder than the waves. The story will splash itself across the deck.