The erratic movements do play havoc with speed and heading estimation.
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All Wo-rk and No Play: An Abyssal's Trials in the Job Market (KC)
- Thread starter PyrrhicSteel
- Start date
Retsof
I will keep you safe.
well now I wonder how often submarine combat turns into... close quarters combat shall we say.
- Location
- Warszawa Polska
- Location
- Kansas
Getting in in her eyes likely wouldn't do much as the eyes are basically the bridge windows, right? The nose or the mouth would be a more serious issue. The nose would be the ventilation system, meaning her crew would be getting pepper sprayed. The mouth on the other hand has taste buds, and Wo-chan appears to be a major spicy wimp. I could see her running around like a chicken with its head cut off if she gets some of that stuff in her mouth.
Interlude: Emergency
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
When Katrina Patrick joined the Air Force, she hadn't expected to stay long. She'd do a tour or two, see some interesting parts of the world, and get out in a few years with college tuition paid and some stories to tell. Even after training and assignment, it seemed like a perfect plan. Sure, Anderson would be in the crosshairs if the ball dropped with North Korea or China, but if that happened Katrina wouldn't be safe in the States, either. Besides, nuclear deterrents and the silent pull of trade were stronger than any war hawk, right?
She'd never know. Guam was hit, not by a swarm of ballistic missiles, but by a horde of supernatural monsters with naval artillery.
Katrina's war had ended in less than a week. An Abyssal shell had removed her leg, earning her a ticket on one of the last C-17's out of Guam. Now, she was sitting in the states with a free ticket to any college she wanted, an amazing health plan, and a shiny new prosthetic leg.
All nice, and people told her it was well earned, but to Katrina had found it difficult to agree. Her friends had died to get her out of there, just like she'd fought to keep the Abyssals off of the last convoy out. Now, others were doing the same, putting their lives on the line so she could worry about small stuff like grades and rent.
Making a better life for herself was important, sure, but with a war on her own life seemed so small.
Her job as a 911 dispatcher helped with that. It was horrifying, it was stressful, and it was punishing, but she was helping. That knowledge helped her work through the rough calls, get to every class she was in, and stay awake these long nights in the call center.
Even at this hour, MAECOM was fully staffed. The sound of quiet conversation and telephones ringing filled the office, as the various dispatchers handled this or that crisis which was unfolding in Mason County. Another dispatcher told her the call center used to be a lot more spacious, but with refugees flooding in they'd had to add several more work stations.
Now, Katrina was nursing a cup of coffee, her array of monitors sandwiched between a wall and a photocopier. They seemed to be overstaffed tonight, which was fortunate, but a thirty-minute lull in calls brought its own problems.
After finishing a call, one of her coworkers left the room for a cup of coffee. The man at the station next to her was trying to calm someone down, and his repeated questions were only setting Katrina further on edge. It was just hot enough to make Katrina uncomfortable.
When her phone finally sounded its monotone tattoo, she couldn't help but relax a little.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Uh… Hello." A woman replied, her voice slow and wavering. "I'd like to report a robbery."
"Are you in danger?" Katrina queried, glancing at the caller ID. Hadn't Fred Meyers been closed for several hours now?
"No. Not anymore." Good news there.
"Alright, you're at the Fred Meyers on Wallace Kneeland, correct?"
At the caller's response in the affirmative, Katrina turned her attention to the computer. There seemed to be an idle car nearby, meaning the caller wouldn't be alone for long.
"Alright, an officer is on its way." The dispatcher assured. "Could you describe the suspect?"
"Uhh…" The woman started, pausing for a moment. Judging by the way she spoke, Katrina judged she was dealing with someone who was only awake because of adrenaline. "A woman, with white skin, white hair, and glowing eyes. I think-" The woman stopped for a moment, warring with fatigue or sudden doubts. "I think I've been robbed by an Abyssal."
Katrina froze, her blood going cold. An Abyssal? In Shelton? Forget the police, she had to contact the military, and even then the closest base was miles away. Memories from Guam flooded back to her. A burning city, refugees dying in the hundreds as enemy aircraft strafed the fleeing column. An explosion catching a taxing fighter, the aircraft she'd worked hard to arm disappearing in a fireball. The numb feeling of detachment as meds prevented her from properly saying goodbye to her friends.
Except that wasn't happening here, was it? If there had truly been an abyssal at the local Fred Meyers, she'd be dead already. Not waiting for a phone to ring.
Not funny, asshole.
"Ma'am." She started, fighting to keep her voice even. "Abyssals don't rob people. They kill them." The anger started to subside as her discipline and professionalism fought to keep it under control. The caller was tired, so mistakes were bound to happen, especially in observation. Malice versus incompetence, as Haddock's Razor states. Or was it Hammond's Razor?
"I know it sounds crazy," The caller replied. "But I don't think she could be anything else. Her eyes were glowing, and she was very strong."
That was a very easy statement to say, so although skepticism wasn't in her job description Katrina found it very hard to believe her caller.
"Are you certain?" She asked, rubbing her brow. It was probably some teenager leveraging her costume for free stuff. Worst case, they'd contact the Navy and some mischievous shipgirl would get disciplined.
"Yes."
"Are you hurt?" Katrina repeated, trying to get the conversation back on track.
"I- I don't think so."
"Good." She replied. An ambulance was also on its way. If the caller thought she saw abyssals there might be a chance something was wrong with her. "Could you tell me what happened?"
"Right. She snuck up on me after I locked the building up and grabbed the door of my car. I tried to close it on her, but…"
As the hysterical woman relayed her story, Katrina found it increasingly difficult to follow. It was her duty to believe the caller- it would be up to actual investigators to determine the veracity of the claims, but as it got more and more fantastic Katrina's incredulity grew.
She could justify an Abyssal stealing food and maybe books, but clothes? The abyssals had burned down hundreds of clothing stores by now, and hadn't shown interest in one. When the woman said the Abyssal thanked her before fleeing, Katrina managed to pass the supposed information on without really registering it.
"Ma'am, when the uh…" She checked her dispatch log "...Carrier fled the premises, what was she wearing?"
"She had a… green shirt?" The voice replied. "Jeans, as well. She also had this cowboy hat she wore. It's tan, almost white. Should be really easy to spot, but I don't think anyone should approach her."
"Because she's an abyssal." Katrina finished the caller's thought, failing to mask her disbelief.
"Yeah."
"Alright," Katrina started. It wouldn't be long before the officers arrived, and while she was tempted to keep the woman on the line until they did, if she was faking it she wouldn't have time to get away from the police anyways. "Please stay where you are until officers arrive on the scene."
"I need to get my phone, first." The woman added. "Let my husband know I'm okay."
"As long as the officers can find you." Katrina reassured. She normally didn't follow up on cases she'd been involved in, but she made a mental note to do so. "Is there anything else?"
"Not that I can think of, no."
"Alright." Katrina added, checking the dispatch info she'd sent. "Stay safe, ma'am."
"I'll try. Goodbye."
"Goodbye." Katrina replied, terminating the call perhaps a little too soon. The dispatcher fell back in her chair, groaning. She'd never felt less sympathy for a caller before. Sure, if an actual perpetrator had called her things would be different, but claiming there was an abyssal in the town? Relating it to calling 'fire' in a theater wouldn't do it justice, especially if the rumors about abyssals being attracted to negative emotions were true.
On the slim chance it was true, however, the SPD would be terribly outmatched. Abyssals were the military's job. Perhaps passing a warning to them would be prudent?
She groaned, removing her headset and standing. Katrina wouldn't claim to be an expert in abyssals (she doubted such a thing existed), but she knew enough to know that whatever the caller had spotted wasn't one. If the military got reports from everyone who thought they spotted an abyssal, especially in towns this far behind human lines, they'd have to hire half the country to go through them all. Better not waste their time unless the officers on scene found good evidence.
Besides, after a call like that, she needed a cup of coffee.
She'd never know. Guam was hit, not by a swarm of ballistic missiles, but by a horde of supernatural monsters with naval artillery.
Katrina's war had ended in less than a week. An Abyssal shell had removed her leg, earning her a ticket on one of the last C-17's out of Guam. Now, she was sitting in the states with a free ticket to any college she wanted, an amazing health plan, and a shiny new prosthetic leg.
All nice, and people told her it was well earned, but to Katrina had found it difficult to agree. Her friends had died to get her out of there, just like she'd fought to keep the Abyssals off of the last convoy out. Now, others were doing the same, putting their lives on the line so she could worry about small stuff like grades and rent.
Making a better life for herself was important, sure, but with a war on her own life seemed so small.
Her job as a 911 dispatcher helped with that. It was horrifying, it was stressful, and it was punishing, but she was helping. That knowledge helped her work through the rough calls, get to every class she was in, and stay awake these long nights in the call center.
Even at this hour, MAECOM was fully staffed. The sound of quiet conversation and telephones ringing filled the office, as the various dispatchers handled this or that crisis which was unfolding in Mason County. Another dispatcher told her the call center used to be a lot more spacious, but with refugees flooding in they'd had to add several more work stations.
Now, Katrina was nursing a cup of coffee, her array of monitors sandwiched between a wall and a photocopier. They seemed to be overstaffed tonight, which was fortunate, but a thirty-minute lull in calls brought its own problems.
After finishing a call, one of her coworkers left the room for a cup of coffee. The man at the station next to her was trying to calm someone down, and his repeated questions were only setting Katrina further on edge. It was just hot enough to make Katrina uncomfortable.
When her phone finally sounded its monotone tattoo, she couldn't help but relax a little.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Uh… Hello." A woman replied, her voice slow and wavering. "I'd like to report a robbery."
"Are you in danger?" Katrina queried, glancing at the caller ID. Hadn't Fred Meyers been closed for several hours now?
"No. Not anymore." Good news there.
"Alright, you're at the Fred Meyers on Wallace Kneeland, correct?"
At the caller's response in the affirmative, Katrina turned her attention to the computer. There seemed to be an idle car nearby, meaning the caller wouldn't be alone for long.
"Alright, an officer is on its way." The dispatcher assured. "Could you describe the suspect?"
"Uhh…" The woman started, pausing for a moment. Judging by the way she spoke, Katrina judged she was dealing with someone who was only awake because of adrenaline. "A woman, with white skin, white hair, and glowing eyes. I think-" The woman stopped for a moment, warring with fatigue or sudden doubts. "I think I've been robbed by an Abyssal."
Katrina froze, her blood going cold. An Abyssal? In Shelton? Forget the police, she had to contact the military, and even then the closest base was miles away. Memories from Guam flooded back to her. A burning city, refugees dying in the hundreds as enemy aircraft strafed the fleeing column. An explosion catching a taxing fighter, the aircraft she'd worked hard to arm disappearing in a fireball. The numb feeling of detachment as meds prevented her from properly saying goodbye to her friends.
Except that wasn't happening here, was it? If there had truly been an abyssal at the local Fred Meyers, she'd be dead already. Not waiting for a phone to ring.
Not funny, asshole.
"Ma'am." She started, fighting to keep her voice even. "Abyssals don't rob people. They kill them." The anger started to subside as her discipline and professionalism fought to keep it under control. The caller was tired, so mistakes were bound to happen, especially in observation. Malice versus incompetence, as Haddock's Razor states. Or was it Hammond's Razor?
"I know it sounds crazy," The caller replied. "But I don't think she could be anything else. Her eyes were glowing, and she was very strong."
That was a very easy statement to say, so although skepticism wasn't in her job description Katrina found it very hard to believe her caller.
"Are you certain?" She asked, rubbing her brow. It was probably some teenager leveraging her costume for free stuff. Worst case, they'd contact the Navy and some mischievous shipgirl would get disciplined.
"Yes."
"Are you hurt?" Katrina repeated, trying to get the conversation back on track.
"I- I don't think so."
"Good." She replied. An ambulance was also on its way. If the caller thought she saw abyssals there might be a chance something was wrong with her. "Could you tell me what happened?"
"Right. She snuck up on me after I locked the building up and grabbed the door of my car. I tried to close it on her, but…"
As the hysterical woman relayed her story, Katrina found it increasingly difficult to follow. It was her duty to believe the caller- it would be up to actual investigators to determine the veracity of the claims, but as it got more and more fantastic Katrina's incredulity grew.
She could justify an Abyssal stealing food and maybe books, but clothes? The abyssals had burned down hundreds of clothing stores by now, and hadn't shown interest in one. When the woman said the Abyssal thanked her before fleeing, Katrina managed to pass the supposed information on without really registering it.
"Ma'am, when the uh…" She checked her dispatch log "...Carrier fled the premises, what was she wearing?"
"She had a… green shirt?" The voice replied. "Jeans, as well. She also had this cowboy hat she wore. It's tan, almost white. Should be really easy to spot, but I don't think anyone should approach her."
"Because she's an abyssal." Katrina finished the caller's thought, failing to mask her disbelief.
"Yeah."
"Alright," Katrina started. It wouldn't be long before the officers arrived, and while she was tempted to keep the woman on the line until they did, if she was faking it she wouldn't have time to get away from the police anyways. "Please stay where you are until officers arrive on the scene."
"I need to get my phone, first." The woman added. "Let my husband know I'm okay."
"As long as the officers can find you." Katrina reassured. She normally didn't follow up on cases she'd been involved in, but she made a mental note to do so. "Is there anything else?"
"Not that I can think of, no."
"Alright." Katrina added, checking the dispatch info she'd sent. "Stay safe, ma'am."
"I'll try. Goodbye."
"Goodbye." Katrina replied, terminating the call perhaps a little too soon. The dispatcher fell back in her chair, groaning. She'd never felt less sympathy for a caller before. Sure, if an actual perpetrator had called her things would be different, but claiming there was an abyssal in the town? Relating it to calling 'fire' in a theater wouldn't do it justice, especially if the rumors about abyssals being attracted to negative emotions were true.
On the slim chance it was true, however, the SPD would be terribly outmatched. Abyssals were the military's job. Perhaps passing a warning to them would be prudent?
She groaned, removing her headset and standing. Katrina wouldn't claim to be an expert in abyssals (she doubted such a thing existed), but she knew enough to know that whatever the caller had spotted wasn't one. If the military got reports from everyone who thought they spotted an abyssal, especially in towns this far behind human lines, they'd have to hire half the country to go through them all. Better not waste their time unless the officers on scene found good evidence.
Besides, after a call like that, she needed a cup of coffee.
It's Hanlon's razor, in case you want to google.
This chapter was difficult, partially because there's no Wo shenanigans to mess around with, and partially because researching 911 dispatching is really draining. Google does not give you gentle 911 calls to listen to.
As such, this is probably one of the least authentic chapters yet. I had to relate to a slow and steady approach to getting words out, and that's not conductive to good research. Hopefully I got it good enough it isn't distracting.
Also, posting from mobile is great fun. I'm never doing it again. That's why this post is a few hours late compared to SB. Normally I try to get both out at the same time, but for some reason I couldn't get the formatting right on mobile. Apologies for the delay.
This chapter was difficult, partially because there's no Wo shenanigans to mess around with, and partially because researching 911 dispatching is really draining. Google does not give you gentle 911 calls to listen to.
As such, this is probably one of the least authentic chapters yet. I had to relate to a slow and steady approach to getting words out, and that's not conductive to good research. Hopefully I got it good enough it isn't distracting.
Also, posting from mobile is great fun. I'm never doing it again. That's why this post is a few hours late compared to SB. Normally I try to get both out at the same time, but for some reason I couldn't get the formatting right on mobile. Apologies for the delay.
- Location
- Kansas
Ah, typical Malfean stealth at its finest. Our adorkifying Wo-chan is getting away, because she is doing stuff so out of character for her race/faction, that no one believes she did it. All the while leaving the wrecked building behind her and thinking she was being as sneaky as a sub.
- Location
- earth's dirty crust
The hot spicy cctv recording will be too spicy to show in TV, won't it? I mean, nude nubile girl, abyssal or not, is not gonna fly on daytime TV time.
That Said, I await the rampant muted panic of everyone as they try to find trinite. And how trinite is doing as people try to find her
That Said, I await the rampant muted panic of everyone as they try to find trinite. And how trinite is doing as people try to find her
Retsof
I will keep you safe.
That what censor blurs are for.
Hmm. Does Katrina's favorite coffee shop have a help wanted sign? =)
Now I really want to see a series of crack omakes where Trinitite winds up being a new hire at wherever Nashville happens to be patronising kind of like the Sesame Street sketches with Grover and the Blue Skinned Man.
Dromeosaur
Feathery Raptor of snowy planes and frozen sea
- Location
- The land of Trees and Squirrels
The best part of the fic is just starting - and I can't wait to see the results....
- Location
- Philippines, Manila, Tarlac City
You could PROBABLY get away with showing it on daytime tv by claiming that ita a ship and not a human similar to how you can draw lolis legally, I think.
Right up till Iowa asks if that applies to her too.... while angry
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
Just wait until the National Enquirer/another supermarket tabloid hears about this.
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- Location
- Philippines, Manila, Tarlac City
*Cuty burns in the background*
A small price to pay in pursuit of perfection
14: A Saucy Discovery
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
Between her new shoes and the ambient glow from the nearby road, Trinitite had no trouble keeping her footing. Despite being distracted by the foodstuffs she'd been snacking on, weaving through the well-lit trees came easily to her. It had been an hour since her warehouse raid, plenty of time to enjoy some of its bounties.
This "Italian bread," for example, was the first foodstuff she'd tried that wasn't a familiar meat or fruit. Its taste was subtle but firm, and the Abyssal could get used to the way it flaked and melted in her mouth.
As Trinitite smacked a branch out of the way with her walking stick, she wondered what made this particular bread 'Italian.' She knew from overhearing snippets of Princess' conversations that Italy was a nation like the 'America' she was in, but while she couldn't point to it on a chart she knew it wasn't close. They wouldn't ship something so simple this far, so it had to be something else. Perhaps in the method of manufacturing it? If Italy put their name on something as dull (not bad, the Abyssal admitted, just not remarkable) as this bread, the rest of their food they made must be frightfully boring. If only it wasn't so dry…
Trinitite reached into her hold, reviewing her inventory of liquids. Many had been moved to her refrigerator, but a collection of bottles and cans still commanded a respectable part of her storage. It made sense, as well. Beyond fuel and water, the Abyssal didn't have much experience with drinks, but considering the food humans liked (The bread she was eating would be a soggy mess if it was as juicy as her favorite fish or fruit) the idea wasn't particularly surprising.
Sodas, oils, soups… where could she start? With such a variety, there had to be a drink that would go best with her bread, but how could she know? She'd have to experiment.
Stowing her walking stick, the carrier accepted a glass bottle from her quartermaster, bringing it in front of her. The Abyssal hefted the grenade-sized container, turning it to reveal the label. While the lighting was great for nighttime, it was still a little too dim to make out the label. Reviewing her surroundings, the Carrier reactivated her island lighting and illuminating the bottle.
"Tabasco?"
Trinitite wasn't entirely sure what this was, but it seemed familiar enough. Perhaps some kind of artificial blood? It was the correct color, and a quick shake demonstrated the proper consistency. Seemed as good a drink to start with as any other.
Thanks to the cap's hexagonal design, removing it with only her thumb was fairly easy. Angling it towards her shoulder for a crewman to grab, she took another look at the bottle. Was it best to douse the bread in the drink, or take a bite and then a sip?
She started with the latter, enjoying the feeling of the bread's 'meat' melting in her mouth. It made sense why these were so dry. Soggy messes probably wouldn't sell as well. Now for the drink.
The Tabasco bottle touched her lips, and with a sudden motion she upended the container. The red liquid poured between her lips, filling her mouth and-
It burns.
For a painful split second, Trinitite seized up, stunned by the fire that was consuming her insides. The bottle shattered in her hands, broken glass and burning liquid falling on her face, soaking her ventilation, her clothing, her hull and her eyes.
As panic took hold in her bridge and throughout her crew, the Abyssal leaned forwards, spitting and coughing as tears fell to the ground below. She moaned, clawing at her throat as she fell to her knees. The liquid was scouring her paint, slipping down her throat, and seeping through her ventilation…
But it wasn't too bad, was it?
She was most certainly in pain, but compared to the human missiles? It hurt, but no aircraft had been lost, no serious casualties had been reported, and her hull hadn't been breached. She'd pushed through much worse before. Calm down, Wo.
What was that white liquid the fishermen had given her? She'd encountered several similar drinks in the warehouse, and while she wasn't sure which one she'd drunk on the Lilly they seemed similar enough. Her quartermaster fetched one from her refrigerator, the abyssal sparing a split second to view the label. Half-and-half. Half of what?
The Abyssal took a cautious sip from the jug, then a hearty gulp. It wasn't the same as the Pacific Lilly's drink, but it seemed to do the job. Soon, the bottle had been emptied, and the burning in her mouth and throat had subsided to a subtle tingling. Next, to deal with the stuff on her hull and in her clothes. Nothing that the paint-and-chip detail couldn't deal with.
She could imagine how much teasing Firestorm would have given her for the incident. Hypocenter wouldn't have said anything, of course, but her expression would have told Trinitite plenty about her opinion.
Oh, deep, she missed them so much it hurt. What was she doing here? She stood, hands hanging limply at her side, slowly spinning to view the woods around her. The closest abyssal was thousands of miles away, and odds were she would sink Trinitite rather than helping her. The Navy had already crippled her ability to fight, the Army could be anywhere, and the Firebringers were constantly buzzing above her. She was standing alone, dressed in human clothing and soaked in who-knows-what.
After all this pain, all this effort, and all this danger, had she really gotten closer to finding her princess?
Trinitite shook her head sharply, wiping her eyes and resuming her march. Of course she had. The carrier hadn't had time to second-guess herself since she'd left bikini, and despite her disguise that hadn't changed just yet. She'd just get her paint-and-chip detail to clean her clothes, apply the human camouflage, and then she'd have the time to rest, relax and perform proper repairs. Until then, she couldn't afford to break down.
Worry about the immediate problems first. Figure out what this Tobasco was, then get it off her. One step at a time.
- - -
This was certainly a learning experience.
First off, she'd determined that sauces weren't for direct consumption. She'd found the term 'pepper sauce' on the torn remnants of the cursed drink's label, and a cautious sip from a bottle of Worc- Worsh- Woostersher- a dark sauce she'd found confirmed her suspicions. Not painful to drink, but far too strong for her tastes. What they were actually for was beyond her, but she wasn't feeling particularly curious as to their purpose.
Second, her paint-and-chip detail was not kind to human clothing. Chisels and power-washers tore through the fragile weave, tearing holes in her shirt and snapping her bra. A good thing, as if the sudden failure hadn't drawn Trinitite's attention to her crew's work they probably would have finished their horrific paint job.
Her hat was in tatters, half-dyed a deep black where it hadn't been shredded. Her shirt was a mess, bleached white where her crew had finished their task. The less she said about the remnants of her scarf, the better.
"What are you doing!"
The Wo-class jumped, removing her hat and pulling at her shirt. What had been regular procedure to her had completely ruined her fragile human clothing, and by extension her disguise. The abyssal would have to change clothes, now.
Stripping in the woods, without any decent guard and perhaps hundreds of humans passing on the road not too far from her, Trinitite started feeling more and more exposed. The military was still chasing her, and at any time a human could stumble through the trees and catch her completely unprepared.
In the lighting she couldn't really determine the coloring of her new outfit, and in her rush to get dressed she broke a few items and had to start over, but fairly soon she was sporting dry underwear, a new shirt, and a tight hat that covered her ears. She'd have time to reassess her choices when the sun rose again.
Now, it was time to put more distance between that warehouse and herself.
The line of trees she was following narrowed, another road running parallel with what a commandeered road map labeled as Highway 101. Lingering in the trees might no longer be a good solution- there wasn't enough vegetation to hide in anymore, and pushing through bushes was probably visible from the road now- so the carrier resorted to walking along the side of the road. The rare vehicle that passed her didn't seem to mind.
At least, that was what she thought until a large vehicle sped by, abruptly turned around, and came to a stop next to her. A window quietly slid open, and Trinitite found herself making eye contact with the uniformed driver.
"Good morning." The man started.
The Abyssal froze, returning the man's stare. The blue uniform wasn't quite navy, but she'd only seen the man on the boat. Maybe they had other uniforms. The white vehicle was larger than the majority she'd seen so far, and the words 'STATE PATROL' were printed on the side of one of the doors, but besides a simple star on the side the white vehicle didn't scream 'military' to the abyssal at all.
"Uh… Good morning." She replied weakly. If she'd been found out, she doubted the person who'd spotted her would just pull over for conversation. Why would he stop, then?
"You walking somewhere?" he replied, nodding in the direction the Abyssal had been walking.
"Yeah." She replied, recalling the map she'd smuggled. With her island lights off she couldn't read it particularly well, but she'd memorized plenty of landmarks before cutting the lights. "Seattle."
"Alone?" He replied, his forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows raised. "That's a ways off, ma'am."
"It is." She replied, although she didn't quite agree. It wouldn't take too long to sail there.
"Hop in." The man leaned forwards, popping the door facing Trinitite open. "I can't get you all the way there, but there's plenty of motels in Olympia."
Was… was he offering transport? Did Trinitite's disguise already working so well humans were trusting her inside their vehicle? The Wo-class took a moment to stare at the door, mentally judging its strength. It shouldn't be too difficult to break out she was figured out during their transit.
"Okay." She answered, grabbing the roof of the car and hauling herself inside. A risk? Sure, but she couldn't think of a better way to shake the military.
This "Italian bread," for example, was the first foodstuff she'd tried that wasn't a familiar meat or fruit. Its taste was subtle but firm, and the Abyssal could get used to the way it flaked and melted in her mouth.
As Trinitite smacked a branch out of the way with her walking stick, she wondered what made this particular bread 'Italian.' She knew from overhearing snippets of Princess' conversations that Italy was a nation like the 'America' she was in, but while she couldn't point to it on a chart she knew it wasn't close. They wouldn't ship something so simple this far, so it had to be something else. Perhaps in the method of manufacturing it? If Italy put their name on something as dull (not bad, the Abyssal admitted, just not remarkable) as this bread, the rest of their food they made must be frightfully boring. If only it wasn't so dry…
Trinitite reached into her hold, reviewing her inventory of liquids. Many had been moved to her refrigerator, but a collection of bottles and cans still commanded a respectable part of her storage. It made sense, as well. Beyond fuel and water, the Abyssal didn't have much experience with drinks, but considering the food humans liked (The bread she was eating would be a soggy mess if it was as juicy as her favorite fish or fruit) the idea wasn't particularly surprising.
Sodas, oils, soups… where could she start? With such a variety, there had to be a drink that would go best with her bread, but how could she know? She'd have to experiment.
Stowing her walking stick, the carrier accepted a glass bottle from her quartermaster, bringing it in front of her. The Abyssal hefted the grenade-sized container, turning it to reveal the label. While the lighting was great for nighttime, it was still a little too dim to make out the label. Reviewing her surroundings, the Carrier reactivated her island lighting and illuminating the bottle.
"Tabasco?"
Trinitite wasn't entirely sure what this was, but it seemed familiar enough. Perhaps some kind of artificial blood? It was the correct color, and a quick shake demonstrated the proper consistency. Seemed as good a drink to start with as any other.
Thanks to the cap's hexagonal design, removing it with only her thumb was fairly easy. Angling it towards her shoulder for a crewman to grab, she took another look at the bottle. Was it best to douse the bread in the drink, or take a bite and then a sip?
She started with the latter, enjoying the feeling of the bread's 'meat' melting in her mouth. It made sense why these were so dry. Soggy messes probably wouldn't sell as well. Now for the drink.
The Tabasco bottle touched her lips, and with a sudden motion she upended the container. The red liquid poured between her lips, filling her mouth and-
It burns.
For a painful split second, Trinitite seized up, stunned by the fire that was consuming her insides. The bottle shattered in her hands, broken glass and burning liquid falling on her face, soaking her ventilation, her clothing, her hull and her eyes.
As panic took hold in her bridge and throughout her crew, the Abyssal leaned forwards, spitting and coughing as tears fell to the ground below. She moaned, clawing at her throat as she fell to her knees. The liquid was scouring her paint, slipping down her throat, and seeping through her ventilation…
But it wasn't too bad, was it?
She was most certainly in pain, but compared to the human missiles? It hurt, but no aircraft had been lost, no serious casualties had been reported, and her hull hadn't been breached. She'd pushed through much worse before. Calm down, Wo.
What was that white liquid the fishermen had given her? She'd encountered several similar drinks in the warehouse, and while she wasn't sure which one she'd drunk on the Lilly they seemed similar enough. Her quartermaster fetched one from her refrigerator, the abyssal sparing a split second to view the label. Half-and-half. Half of what?
The Abyssal took a cautious sip from the jug, then a hearty gulp. It wasn't the same as the Pacific Lilly's drink, but it seemed to do the job. Soon, the bottle had been emptied, and the burning in her mouth and throat had subsided to a subtle tingling. Next, to deal with the stuff on her hull and in her clothes. Nothing that the paint-and-chip detail couldn't deal with.
She could imagine how much teasing Firestorm would have given her for the incident. Hypocenter wouldn't have said anything, of course, but her expression would have told Trinitite plenty about her opinion.
Oh, deep, she missed them so much it hurt. What was she doing here? She stood, hands hanging limply at her side, slowly spinning to view the woods around her. The closest abyssal was thousands of miles away, and odds were she would sink Trinitite rather than helping her. The Navy had already crippled her ability to fight, the Army could be anywhere, and the Firebringers were constantly buzzing above her. She was standing alone, dressed in human clothing and soaked in who-knows-what.
After all this pain, all this effort, and all this danger, had she really gotten closer to finding her princess?
Trinitite shook her head sharply, wiping her eyes and resuming her march. Of course she had. The carrier hadn't had time to second-guess herself since she'd left bikini, and despite her disguise that hadn't changed just yet. She'd just get her paint-and-chip detail to clean her clothes, apply the human camouflage, and then she'd have the time to rest, relax and perform proper repairs. Until then, she couldn't afford to break down.
Worry about the immediate problems first. Figure out what this Tobasco was, then get it off her. One step at a time.
- - -
This was certainly a learning experience.
First off, she'd determined that sauces weren't for direct consumption. She'd found the term 'pepper sauce' on the torn remnants of the cursed drink's label, and a cautious sip from a bottle of Worc- Worsh- Woostersher- a dark sauce she'd found confirmed her suspicions. Not painful to drink, but far too strong for her tastes. What they were actually for was beyond her, but she wasn't feeling particularly curious as to their purpose.
Second, her paint-and-chip detail was not kind to human clothing. Chisels and power-washers tore through the fragile weave, tearing holes in her shirt and snapping her bra. A good thing, as if the sudden failure hadn't drawn Trinitite's attention to her crew's work they probably would have finished their horrific paint job.
Her hat was in tatters, half-dyed a deep black where it hadn't been shredded. Her shirt was a mess, bleached white where her crew had finished their task. The less she said about the remnants of her scarf, the better.
"What are you doing!"
The Wo-class jumped, removing her hat and pulling at her shirt. What had been regular procedure to her had completely ruined her fragile human clothing, and by extension her disguise. The abyssal would have to change clothes, now.
Stripping in the woods, without any decent guard and perhaps hundreds of humans passing on the road not too far from her, Trinitite started feeling more and more exposed. The military was still chasing her, and at any time a human could stumble through the trees and catch her completely unprepared.
In the lighting she couldn't really determine the coloring of her new outfit, and in her rush to get dressed she broke a few items and had to start over, but fairly soon she was sporting dry underwear, a new shirt, and a tight hat that covered her ears. She'd have time to reassess her choices when the sun rose again.
Now, it was time to put more distance between that warehouse and herself.
The line of trees she was following narrowed, another road running parallel with what a commandeered road map labeled as Highway 101. Lingering in the trees might no longer be a good solution- there wasn't enough vegetation to hide in anymore, and pushing through bushes was probably visible from the road now- so the carrier resorted to walking along the side of the road. The rare vehicle that passed her didn't seem to mind.
At least, that was what she thought until a large vehicle sped by, abruptly turned around, and came to a stop next to her. A window quietly slid open, and Trinitite found herself making eye contact with the uniformed driver.
"Good morning." The man started.
The Abyssal froze, returning the man's stare. The blue uniform wasn't quite navy, but she'd only seen the man on the boat. Maybe they had other uniforms. The white vehicle was larger than the majority she'd seen so far, and the words 'STATE PATROL' were printed on the side of one of the doors, but besides a simple star on the side the white vehicle didn't scream 'military' to the abyssal at all.
"Uh… Good morning." She replied weakly. If she'd been found out, she doubted the person who'd spotted her would just pull over for conversation. Why would he stop, then?
"You walking somewhere?" he replied, nodding in the direction the Abyssal had been walking.
"Yeah." She replied, recalling the map she'd smuggled. With her island lights off she couldn't read it particularly well, but she'd memorized plenty of landmarks before cutting the lights. "Seattle."
"Alone?" He replied, his forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows raised. "That's a ways off, ma'am."
"It is." She replied, although she didn't quite agree. It wouldn't take too long to sail there.
"Hop in." The man leaned forwards, popping the door facing Trinitite open. "I can't get you all the way there, but there's plenty of motels in Olympia."
Was… was he offering transport? Did Trinitite's disguise already working so well humans were trusting her inside their vehicle? The Wo-class took a moment to stare at the door, mentally judging its strength. It shouldn't be too difficult to break out she was figured out during their transit.
"Okay." She answered, grabbing the roof of the car and hauling herself inside. A risk? Sure, but she couldn't think of a better way to shake the military.
Here's a fun fact: State police typically run on a different dispatch system than local police do. This guy isn't in his jurisdiction, but we've all seen State Troopers to driving outside of their jurisdiction, so this seems plausible enough to me.
So, yeah. I don't have much to say about this one, except I really enjoy writing Trinitite's 'learning experiences.' I'm a little weary about driving the spicy foods joke into the ground, so I'll probably be tip toeing around it in the future.
Had a few days where I couldn't find any time to write, and I'm A bit under the weather right now, so expect the next chapter to fall sooner than this one did. I've already got a good amount of the next chapter done, so don't expect as big a delay as last time.
So, yeah. I don't have much to say about this one, except I really enjoy writing Trinitite's 'learning experiences.' I'm a little weary about driving the spicy foods joke into the ground, so I'll probably be tip toeing around it in the future.
Had a few days where I couldn't find any time to write, and I'm A bit under the weather right now, so expect the next chapter to fall sooner than this one did. I've already got a good amount of the next chapter done, so don't expect as big a delay as last time.
Twei
I have a face!
- Location
- the land where they write things
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Who's talking here? It sounds like someone's talking to Trinitite since she jumps, but then we never see an actual person or anything?
PyrrhicSteel
Look natural.
- Location
- Idaho
The sequence of events I was trying to convey were:
- Trinitite noticing her paint-and-chip detail making her clothes worse, not better.
- Trinitite jumping at the realization.
- Trinitite shouting at them.
Retsof
I will keep you safe.
War is hell all around I guess. I hope she finds someone she can open up to. Also a new way to traumatise the shipgirls when they realise some of the Abyssals they've hunted down are "innocent" or something close to it....I kind of want her to (non lethally) end an altercation with the "good guys" with an Indigo Montoya style "I want my sisters back, you bitch."
- Location
- Kansas
I'm actually hoping something more along the lines of Wo-chan tracking down her mom/flagship without any of the fleets realizing she got that close and then glomping her. It would be funny to see the shipgirls trying to figure out how to handle an Abyssal that snuck into one of their bases to hug a carrier and say how she missed her.
...I kind of want her to (non lethally) end an altercation with the "good guys" with an Indigo Montoya style "I want my sisters back, you bitch."
Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
And then Trinitite just breaks down crying as she lets all the built up stress out, making the entire situation infinitely more awkward as it slowly dawns on everyone that the terrifying monster is developmentally around the same level as a young child crying for her mummy.
- Location
- USA
There will be awkward headpats. Many awkward headpats.