"This? This is the best you have?" Marisa bent down and picked up the cup, glued together from a dozen pieces. "We can't go to the investors with this!"
"Let me tell you a story," Philip said looking up from the table cluttered with broken pottery.
"A short one."
"Big city. Big bomb. Everything destroyed to ash. Nothing found in five hundred years until now."
Marisa looked the cup over again; I don't do mornings written in the old language on the side. She gently sat it back down on the table before her brother.
"Good work," she said softly.