I'm not sure I would consider any of the family members as hate sinks. From their perspective the literal genocidal monsters had set their eyes on their brother/grandson and he just barely dodged a bullet.
Being inside Trin's head and knowing what she's doing easily puts me on her side, but it makes sense to be deeply skeptical of her from an in universe perspective. And its not even like they're wrong that Trin has killed people. I also liked Paloma accurately pegging her as a child soldier.
Its a very neat difference how the people interact with her see more of the person Trin but those without that experience only see abyssal Trin.
He wasn't going to work, of course. He'd emailed a letter of resignation when he'd had the time, hoping to try a few shifts next week so he wasn't completely abandoning his job, but the point was moot anyway since they were closed for renovations.
On the topic of this interlude itself, I feel like I've been writing far too many hate sinks, lately. That was in my mind as I was writing this scene, I tried very hard to avoid any painting them as strawman bigots while writing them here.
Letter of Resignation is officially stating that you're going to be leaving, usually by a certain date or within a given time frame (traditionally in the US, a two week notice is considered 'proper'); it seems like he's comparing it to simply not showing up when scheduled and actually abandoning his job.
Explain it to me.
Explain to me how this is a crossover with this story specifically.
The closest i saw was the crane princess, but that is a canon Kancolle character.
Explain it to me.
Explain to me how this is a crossover with this story specifically.
The closest i saw was the crane princess, but that is a canon Kancolle character.
Not going to go into too many details. Will say that while a plague if magic f*ckery of sorts shall spread amongst two intellectual properties will Not be Crimson Rot, it shall be a headache and a half for some of the more serious if meme types in both Star Trek and Warhammer 40k.
Shipgirls!
It is contagious!
God, I need another/better hobby.....
Edit: that and I need to ask Pyrrhic Steel to put in some chapter numbers into the omake posts I've done recently. Makes following what I am writing . . Difficult.
Yeah, how about you fuck off with that nonsense? Your story is not related to Wo-rk, so stop cluttering this thread up with it. Physically unable to do anything else without posting it? There's this nigh-mythological capability that some legendary heroes have discovered, and maybe if you ask nicely one of them will teach you its intricacies, and it's called: making your own thread.
And if you can't figure out how to do that, at least start putting your stuff in spoiler blocks so people who want to read this thread's actual story don't have to scroll past a thousand-plus words of your drivel.
Yeah, how about you fuck off with that nonsense? Your story is not related to Wo-rk, so stop cluttering this thread up with it. Physically unable to do anything else without posting it? There's this nigh-mythological capability that some legendary heroes have discovered, and maybe if you ask nicely one of them will teach you its intricacies, and it's called: making your own thread.
And if you can't figure out how to do that, at least start putting your stuff in spoiler blocks so people who want to read this thread's actual story don't have to scroll past a thousand-plus words of your drivel.
@Annoyed Catholic I'm going to say something similar, but more positive.
You've been prolific enough with these crossover omakes that I think you should consider spinning up a snippet thread for your crossovers. In fact, you have more omakes in here than I have snippets in my own snippet thread! Your snippet thread would be more visible to a broader slice of the shipgirl fandom than a series of apocrypha threadmarks in one fic's thread is. It wouldn't prevent you from crossposting links or entire stories here, either, but it would let you branch out more in terms of their content.
E: and a quick search showed that you apparently have at least one somewhat related omake in another thread entirely.
@Annoyed Catholic I'm going to say something similar, but more positive.
You've been prolific enough with these crossover omakes that I think you should consider spinning up a snippet thread for your crossovers. In fact, you have more omakes in here than I have snippets in my own snippet thread! Your snippet thread would be more visible to a broader slice of the shipgirl fandom than a series of apocrypha threadmarks in one fic's thread is. It wouldn't prevent you from crossposting links or entire stories here, either, but it would let you branch out more in terms of their content.
"I gotta say, Alex." Cameron beamed. "I'm a little jealous."
Alex looked up from the gray-painted Kleenex box, the cardboard brick standing in for a bunker in the center of the kitchen table.
"What do you mean?"
"What do I mean?" his friend echoed, his smile deepening. "Alex, you're the only man on the planet who's successfully bagged an abyssal!"
"Bagged?" Alex echoed. "Cameron, we dated twice. I never even kissed her."
"That's a lot farther than most people get with abyssals." His friend smirked, placing the last of his noise marines on the table. It was black Friday, meaning there were probably some pretty good deals at their normal get-together place. However, the friendly neighborhood game store had certainly been overrun by reporters, troublemakers, and people who generally wouldn't be interested in 40k. Instead of dealing with that crowd, they'd all gathered at Alex's house, where private property and the police cruiser prominently parked outside could hopefully keep anyone from interrupting their game.
"At least you didn't call her obsolete to her face." Dustin groaned, several of his guard regiments scattered across the table in front of him. With practically the entire day scheduled for the tabletop, the four friends wanted to try a more asymmetric campaign, and Dustin was currently deciding which of his armies would proxy for the 'traitor guard' bolstering Cameron's forces.
Alex's friend barked in laughter. "Insulted her to her face and lived to tell the tale, right? That's something to be proud of, right?"
"She was fuming about that for the rest of the day." Alex added, a slight smile creeping onto his face as it was infected by his friends' upbeat mood. Maybe he needed a day like this, where the familiar verbal jousting of friends could provide respite from the recent stress and dread, more than he thought.
"Abyssals are known for their grudges." Vergil muttered. He seemed even more withdrawn than normal, the topic of Trinitite drawing his attention away from his minis and towards the table. Alex hoped he was simply disturbed by the turn of events, and not privately disagreeing with everyone on Trinitite's nature. He didn't talk much with the abyssal in the first place, had he?
"I'm sure she wasn't thinking about hurting you." Alex reassured as he watched the color drain from Dustin's face.
"Yeah," Cameron chimed in, "she wouldn't want to disappoint her boyfriend by going feral on his friend… oh!" His gaze snapped back to Alex, his eyebrows rising lecherously. "Once you two get back together, you think she knows any Ta-classes?"
"No." Alex replied reflexively, paused to consider the idea, then spoke again with conviction. "No. I don't even know where to start with that."
"It's a legitimate strategy!" Cameron laughed. "Hearts and minds, right?"
The conversation continued to drift between Trinitite and abyssals in general during their first game. That wasn't ideal for Alex, as the point of scheduling an entire day to wargaming was to get away from the topic, but in a way it was nice confirmation that not everyone was set against Sarah and himself. Halfway into the second game, a two-v-one that Vergil was presiding over as game master, the talk of abyssals slowly, finally, gave way to the fantasy of the desperate struggle unfolding on the table.
That is, until the phone call.
When his cell phone buzzed to life, Alex had been in the middle of a roll, the surprise causing him to misjudge his toss and send a few dice skittering off the table. He'd had his phone set to only accept calls from known contacts, especially since someone had found his number and posted it online, so it had to be at least somewhat important. That 'somewhat' became 'very' when he got a look at the caller ID:
POLICE.
More accurately, it was the duty phone for the two officers posted just outside his home. They could be calling for any number of reasons, few of them good, but all of them would be very urgent.
"Er… I gotta take this, sorry." He muttered, stepping away from the table. "Hello?"
"Hey, this is Justin, Chehalis Police Department. I've got a woman from the Navy asking to come in, accompanied by a 'Miss Yarnell'."
'Miss Yarnell?' Like in the 'Yarnell' in Sarah Yarnell?
Worry crystalized into… something Alex couldn't fully make sense of. Terror? Excitement? Something accompanied the spike of adrenaline that was now surging through his veins. Was this the mysterious mother figure? Why else would someone use the abyssal's fake surname? Would that mean an abyssal princess was just outside? The weather was pretty normal for late November, and why would an abyssal princess be working with the Navy?
"Mister Martin-Campos?"
"Er- yeah, let them in." He stumbled. With his father back at work and his mother safely hidden in the chaos that was Black Friday shopping, he was pretty much the only authority in the house. The police stationed outside knew this, and probably passed it onto the navy person and their mysterious companion. They wanted to talk with him.
The line died, and Alex quickly looked to his friends.
"Sorry guys, gotta talk to some feds. This might take a while."
"No problem." Dustin supplied, and his other two friends nodded.
"Thank you." Alex smiled, turning to leave, before abruptly looking back to the game. "Er, Vergil, take command."
"Yessir." His friend saluted loosely, before waving Alex off as the doorbell chimed.
Alex had to stop for a second as he approached the door, fighting an unexpected surge of adrenaline. This 'Miss Yarnell' probably wasn't an abyssal princess. That didn't make any sense, even though it was the only conclusion he could think of. Who else would use a pseudonym with the same surname as Trinitite's identity? The Navy wouldn't let an abyssal princess anywhere near civilians, especially during the current panic, would they?
When he reached for the doorknob, it felt like the front door swung open on its own accord.
Miss Yarnell stood alone on the front porch, a small, serine smile painted onto her face.
"Hello."
"Er- hi." Alex replied. Where was the Navy person she'd apparently arrived with?
"Are you Alex Martin-Campos?" Her voice had a sweet, soft tenor to it. Was it concealing an edge, or was Alex imagining it?
"Yeah, I am." Alex replied, spotting the camouflaged form of the navy woman back on the sidewalk, chatting with the officers standing around the police cruiser. If they trusted them alone, then Miss Yarnell couldn't be that dangerous, right?
He took a step back, giving the probably-not-an-abyssal room to enter.
"Please, come in."
The visitor smiled, her jacket rustling as she glided across the threshold. Like Sarah, she was taller than Alex, her puffy jacket failing to fully conceal a figure that rarely existed among normal humans. The excited chatter drifting from the dining room momentarily disrupted the visitor's confident glide, hesitation flickering across her features, but her serene countenance soon returned.
"I've got friends over." Alex explained. "Would you like to meet them?"
"That…" The… shipgirl? Disguised abyssal? …waivered. "Maybe not yet."
"No problem." Alex motioned to the couch. She was presumably here on some sort of business, although she hadn't been nearly as direct as most of the G-men he'd talked to over the course of the week. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Coffee would be great, if it's not too much trouble." The visitor smiled.
"It won't be, don't worry." Alex replied. "How do you like your coffee?"
His friends quieted as he re-entered the kitchen, but didn't comment as he loaded and ran the family Keurig. By the time Alex left the kitchen, steaming cup of black coffee in hand, they'd returned to the game.
"Thank you." The visitor smiled as she accepted the cup, taking a sip as Alex sat across from her.
"I'm sorry for my rudeness," the mysterious woman started, placing the cup on a coaster waiting on the coffee table. "I haven't been able to properly introduce myself."
"It's no problem." Alex lied. Judging by the look Miss Yarnell gave him, it wasn't particularly convincing.
"Unfortunately, I can't properly introduce myself yet." She apologized, her lips pursed. "Big Navy won't acknowledge that I exist for a few more months, yet."
"You're a shipgirl, then." Alex guessed.
"Yes." She replied. The policy of keeping shipgirls anonymous for a period of time after their summoning was well known, supposedly to give them time to settle into their new lives before exposing them to the public, but why choose 'Miss Yarnell' as an alias? Why come here in the first place?
Before he could rephrase those questions into something for the shipgirl, she spoke again.
"Because of that, I hope you'll be willing to keep this meeting private. It's more… personal than any of the 'national security concerns' you've probably heard plenty about."
A shipgirl, asking to speak with him and claiming it was a personal matter. Using the surname of Trinitite's fake identity, an abyssal who'd confided that she 'wasn't sure' if her mother survived or not.
"You're her mother?" He asked. "You were a princess?"
The possibility had lingered in the back of his mind ever since the call from the police, the realization coming slowly as other possibilities winked out and this one came into focus. The shipgirl gave Alex a small, sad smile, reaching to pick up the cup of coffee, and leaving the mug hovering in front of her face. After taking a long, silent sip of the drink, she set the mug back down, eyes opening again to focus on Alex.
"You don't have any clearance, right?"
Alex shook his head.
"That… complicates things." She frowned. "How about a hypothetical, then."
Alex opened his mouth to object, but instead dumbly nodded. He was pretty sure that revealing classified information through poorly-disguised metaphor was still revealing classified information… but he wasn't the military member in the room, and if the shipgirl did, what were they going to do about it? They needed her, didn't they?
He wasn't going to get in trouble for this, was he?
"Let's say a woman endured a tragedy where she lost her family." The shipgirl started, her face hardening. "She… loses herself in grief, falling into alcohol, but that doesn't fill the hole her loved ones left in her soul. The woman adopts some children to try and return some meaning to her life, but in her drunken self-pity she only ever sees them as replacements for who she's lost, rather than as the people they were."
Alex had initially thought the hypothetical woman was Trinitite, but when she mentioned adoption his thoughts stuttered as they reoriented to consider her as one of the adopted children. Was she relating being an abyssal princess to being a drunkard? Before he could make full sense of the metaphor, the shipgirl continued.
"She doesn't beat them, but her drunken neglect is abuse nevertheless." Miss Yarnell reported, her eyes focusing on something far more distant than Alex. "One day, the woman's self-destructive habits culminate in another disaster. All of her family are killed again."
Silence fell between the two as the shipgirl paused, masking her emotions as she delicately lifted the cup of coffee to her lips. As she sipped the black drink, Alex grappled with her hypothetical to try and decode it into Trinitite's real story. The woman's second, abused family must have been her abyssal fleet, with her first being the navy, meaning-
"This time, it shocks her into realizing how far she's fallen, and she manages to sober up and regain control of her faculties."
The shipgirl's eyes met Alex's and a sad smile once again touched her lips.
"Now, she's learned that one of the children she'd abused survived, and that she's looking for her, but…"
The shipgirl's smile had disappeared as she trailed off, taking another sip of her coffee. When the cup lowered, the smile had disappeared, her face hardening with worry.
"...but she isn't the mother the child grew up with. Her daughter might resent her abuse, and want revenge, or miss the way her mother used to act, and try to push her into relapse. She might blame the mother for abandoning her, or feel betrayed that her mother has reconnected with her friends from her old life.
"She hasn't been raised with the skills she needs to live a good life, and now she's been forced into society unprepared. To make things worse, while her mother was in her slump, she never cared enough for her daughter to get to know her, so now she doesn't know how her daughter will react."
The worry had crystallized into something else, a shimmer playing at the corner of the shipgirl's eyes. The emotions disappeared as she averted her gaze, her bangs obscuring her face as she lifted the coffee mug back to her face. All the while, Alex was reeling from what he'd just heard. The fact that shipgirls and princesses were, in fact, the same entity, an idea that most people dismissed as paranoid, dangerous conspiracy theories, was heavy enough news already.
The metaphor the ex-princess used for the difference between the two, that of falling into a destructive addiction, couldn't be entirely accurate, but he had heard stories of how transformative falling into drugs and alcohol could be. The change had to be more extreme than that, otherwise the governments of the world wouldn't be employing former princesses against their old comrades, no matter how desperate they were. The descriptions Sarah had made about her mother had been nothing but positive, but even before they knew she was a princess everyone in the family had thought the relationship Trinitite had with her mother hadn't been particularly healthy. Still, they hadn't dared say as much to her, for fear of hurting her feelings. This shipgirl couldn't be the same as the abyssal who'd raised Trinitite, and that was a good thing, but-
"On top of it all," she abruptly added, jarring Alex's thoughts off track, "her- her responsibilities dictate that she can't risk herself in meeting her daughter unless she can be completely certain of a good outcome. If it wasn't for the people that depended on her, she'd submit herself to the mercy of the girl she'd wronged, but…"
He felt a frown settling into his features. What kind of responsibilities kept a mother away from their daughter? Yes, any shipgirl was a massive strategic asset, but… but thinking about things from a human perspective, her statement felt incredibly cruel. For a ship who used the terms 'mother,' 'sister,' or 'daughter,' but never actually got raised from birth, the idea of military necessity might be compelling, but-
He was too deep in the weeds. The shipgirl was probably surrounded by people who'd had much more time then he did pondering shipgirl psychology. She needed his perspective right now, as Paloma's son instead of Sarah's boyfriend.
"You love her though, right?" He finally asked.
"Of course." The Shipgirl nodded solemnly. "She deserves so much better than what she's gotten."
"Well, I know she loves you." Alex asserted. "Sarah- I mean, Trinitite never talked about her mother with anything but love, adoration, and worry. She wants the best for you, I'm certain."
"The best for me…" The shipgirl asked, visibly swallowing. "...or the best for her princess?"
"I… don't know enough about how that works," Alex sighed, "but I don't think she does, either."
"It must be really confusing for her." The Shipgirl pondered.
"Yeah…" Alex agreed. It was confusing for him, too. "She's definitely willing to hear you out, at least."
"I… see."
"It's too bad she abandoned her phone…"
The shipgirl nodded, but her attention was still focused internally. Another quiet moment passed, an exclamation from the game one room over drifting between Alex and his guest. The visitor stared into her coffee, clearly occupied by her thoughts. Alex had plenty to think about as well, but he still had so much more to ask.
"Ma'am, can I ask a question?"
"Hmm?" the shipgirl looked up. "Of course."
Alex hesitated, trying to think of an appropriate way to broach the sensitive subject.
"What… did she do?"
"What do you mean?" The shipgirl's brow furrowed, head unconsciously tilting in the way Sarah's often did.
"In the war." He clarified. "She said she'd done a lot of things… she wasn't proud of, before meeting me."
"Oh, what missions did she perform?" The visitor clarified, seeming to relax slightly. "Just convoy escort. Not bloodless work, and it still contributed to the overall war effort, but her fleet was more of the passive type. She's not a murderer."
"Oh." For the first time since the conversation had started, Alex felt the back of the couch he'd been sitting on. "That's… thank you."
The shipgirl's smile seemed to soften, and for once she seemed to react when another shout drifted in from the dining room.
"I shouldn't keep you from your friends for much longer. Thank you." In one smooth motion, she emptied the last of the coffee mug's contents, gracefully letting the mug rest on the coffee table's coaster in front of her. "One more question, then."
"Sure."
She smiled, but it abruptly failed to reach her eyes.
"You didn't do anything with my daughter, did you?" The warship asked. Alex now knew that he'd been imaging the dangerous edge in her voice previously, because it was definitely here now. "She's barely two years old, after all."
Wait.
Two years old?
"I- I didn't know-" he stuttered, mind reeling as ice shot down his spine. In hindsight, it was self-evident that an abyssal would be way too young for a relationship like the one he'd roped Trinitite into, but…
"She seemed-" He started, but stopped himself. She seemed mature? What kind of argument was that? He wanted to say that, as a shipgirl, she probably had a fully developed mind and was much, much more mature then any two-year-old, but the idea that he'd even consider the 'mental maturity' argument felt viscerally repulsive to him.
Besides, looking back with that thought in mind casts all of Sarah's charming innocence into a new, horrifying light. The lingering fear that Alex was in danger of somehow taking advantage of her, something he'd tried to dismiss about simply being inexperienced with women, became impossible to ignore.
Still, no matter how much he logically agreed with the shipgirl, the idea of simply throwing his love for Trinititie away seemed equally repulsive. Yes, she might not be ready for a relationship, maybe the breakdown on Monday was proof of that, but… he still loved her. Trinitite was a wonderful woman, intelligent, resourceful, and dutiful, raised to be a monster but still able to overcome that and become something truly beautiful. Alex wanted to be there for her, and he knew she needed his support now more than ever. With a gulp, he met the shipgirl's searching gaze.
"We only dated a few times." He reported. "It never went further than that."
The visitor held Alex's gaze for a long, excruciating second, before her features abruptly softened and she nodded.
"Alright." With a sigh, she stood, producing a notebook and scribbling something onto it. "Alex, thank you for having me, and more importantly, thank you for becoming friends with my daughter."
"Glad I could help, Ma'am." Alex stood as well, leaving out the fact that Trinitite had reached out to him, first. "Hopefully she's doing alright."
"Hopefully." The shipgirl echoed, tearing a page out of her notebook and handing it to Alex. "Once she's come in from the cold, feel free to contact me, and I'll see if I can get you her contact information."
"Oh." Alex numbly accepted the page. After the abrupt shotgun speech (from an honest-to-god warship,) the last thing he'd expected was for said warship to then hand him her number. "I, uh, thank you."
"Of course," the visitor's voice hardened again, "if I found out you're the one who broke her heart, I won't be passing anything on."
This time, Alex didn't feel as intimidated by the shipgirl. He smiled, pocketing the sheet of paper as he led her back towards the front door.
"Of course, ma'am." He answered.
The mysterious visitor's exit was just as abrupt as her entry. After wishing the shipgirl goodbye, Alex found himself staring at his now-closed front door, realizing he had no idea how long the conversation had taken. As he gathered himself and started wondering back towards the game in the kitchen, the shipgirl's last request reverberated in her mind.
"I'll be around town for the rest of the week, Alex. Would you be willing to tell me some stories about Trinitite when you have the time?"
- - -
"You've confirmed these reports?"
"Eh… as well as I can. Considering the time zone difference the ionosphere only cooperates for a few hours, and no matter how big you make the antenna your interference is still massive-"
"Is that why you waited so long to notify me about this?"
"Well- that, and it's a little hard to believe…"
"..."
"...because… well, it's an aircraft carrier, serving hamburgers, so I had to tune into multiple stations just to… verify…"
"Relax, I'm not angry at you."
"Oh, gotcha."
"This… This changes everything. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."
"It's no problem."
"Don't lie to me."
"Er- yes, Ma'am."
"I know what your neighbors call you. Just remember: You've just done a great service for your people, your country, and the victims of unpunished demons. When we get our just desserts in turn, I'll do my best to ensure you are spared our fate."
"...yes, Ma'am."
"Good. One more question."
"...Yes?"
"Do you have any makeup?"
Whew... this one fought me a lot. Considering it's the conclusion of the romance/fast food arc, and a (temporary) sendoff to Alex, I really wanted to get this right, and I think I did well enough, but in this I'll leave the final judgement up to the readers.
On the point of Trinitite being too young for a romance... it was a (very valid) concern that a lot of readers brought up, and while one could say that the different psychology of abyssals means a direct age number perhaps isn't as useful (18 years in ship years is much, much older then 18 years in human years, for example. I imagine there are shipgirls having a conversation along these lines in-universe), I agree with these concerns. Trinitite has only had a few months of exposure to relationships that exist outside of the culty abyssal dynamics, and definitely wasn't ready for a relationship. I tried to show that, and it played into how the romantic arc eventually turned out, especially since its purpose was Trinitite growing as a character from experiencing the romance, and not shipping for shipping's sake. How well I actually handled it is definitely up to your judgement as a reader, and not mine as a writer.
I think this question will come up in comments, so I'll preempt it with this answer: I could say that, technically, Trinitite's soul is well over 2 years old. It's been twisted and recycled from that of a human previously lost at sea, after all, but considering very, very few memories carry over (some language, motor function, etc)... you could argue how relevant that actually is to the 'Trinitite's age' argument. The whole conversation makes me a bit uncomfortable, reminding me of those 'but she's actually 5000' characters that... yuck, but I brought it up, so I have to confront it.
Word of God notes tacked into the author's notes shouldn't really factor into the conversation, just like I try to approach this story from the assumption that the reader hasn't had the time to dredge through the thread and read and remember all the WoG comments I've posted in the forum threads, either. It's just not reasonable to expect a reader to go out and find that stuff, and unfair to them if I try to 'assign them homework' just so they can understand what's going on. I do have plans for a side story eventually explaining the more metaphysical side of The Abyss and abyssals in general that Trinitite isn't really going to be exposed to, but I also don't want anyone to feel pressured into reading the sidestories. Ultimately, they exist because my muse is dragging me in directions tangential to the main plot, and writing them allows me to scratch that itch. Any worldbuilding that gets codified is just a bonus.
Anyways, expect a good amount of time before the next arc starts. I really, really want to end this fic on a bang, meaning I'll be putting more work into outlining/planning not just general events but character development, loose threads, and the timeline then I ever have before. I actually expect the next writing update to be a rewrite of my least favorite chapter in this fic (an early interlude, if you're wondering). Nothing that should change the story itself, just addressing the fact that I was never happy with that chapter, and think I can finally get it up to my standards now. I'll be posting it unthreadmarked for people's feedback before replacing the old chapter, just in case it isn't as much of an improvement as I think it'll be.
Whelp, looks like Nashville will be seeing her wayward/Abyssalized sister sooner than expected. Just all in the course😕 of duty, no NEED for going AWOL.
Not saying she would go AWOL. Being dedicated to duty and such, but this will LESSEN the temptation as it were. You dig?
So... while I've been planning the next arc, getting frustrated at how unreasonably difficult more detailed outlining can be, and start writing the next chapter, I also went back and redid my least favorite chapter in this fic: Interlude: Petty Mercy.
It's always stood out to me when I've reread the first part of the fic, and never in a good way. It always felt... awkward. Flat. Whenever I read it I'm reminded that I really was planning on making this as a crackfic, especially since it doesn't have Trinitite as a character to reinforce the writing. Now, going back and reading it after the Hawaii side story, it feels even more out of place, with Midway's character being exceptionally boring compared to Jellyfish, any of the former princesses, Central, or the other princesses I'm planning on writing in the future of this fic. She's way too iconic a character or location to be so boring.
Nothing actually plot-related is changed in this, so feel free to skip it if you're not interested.
That's why there isn't any threadmark for this. If people like it, it'll replace the current Interlude: Petty Mercy (preserving the old chapter in a spoiler). I don't have any plan for rewriting any other chapters, that one has just always bugged me.
This isn't the first time I've tried to rewrite the chapter, but I never got far before tearing it up and getting back to furthering the main story... until now.
Hope you enjoy it.
Rain fell in indiscriminate sheets, the constant drizzle transformed into a torrent as her foul mood played on the weather. Wind rose to a horrific, screeching crescendo, then fell to eerie silence, weaving through the waiting aircraft, weapons emplacements, and chitinous structures that composed the installation's being. Among it all, her humanoid form paced, impotent rage tearing at her soul with no clear outlet in sight.
The Midway Princess had been so close!
She tried to remind herself that she was still in a good position. The installation wasn't under any direct threat, her fleet was still at full strength, and there was still the chance that the enemy fleet could take losses as they fought their way out of abyssal territory.
Still, it could have been so much more!
The massive enemy fleet- at least ten carriers from the great powers on either side of the pacific, escorted by an irreplaceable number of battleships, cruisers, and other escorts- could all be rusting in the depths by now! According to the plan she'd made and her 'allies' had agreed to, all of those ships would be in mortal peril, battered into the sea by waves of aircraft as the cluttered carriers struggled to coordinate in the saturated airspace. They'd be isolated and surrounded, trading their lives for those of the princess of little strategic import. As far as battles went, this one would have blown the clash in her previous life out of the water, her strategic genius opening the entire pacific to The Abyss!
Of course, the plan had failed to account for one critical weakness. The humans had acted exactly how she'd expected, but her comrades…
"Oh," she fumed, her loose dress angrily whipping in the wind, "it's a damn good thing I'm never going to see those bitches face-to-face."
The pawn walking alongside her nodded, remaining silent as she listened to her Princess rant. She was an excellent warship: a Ta-class fast battleship armed with several 16-inch guns, but far more importantly a respectable air search radar and a large battery of dual-purpose 5-inch guns. While the real muscle of her fleet, her invaluable carriers, focused on their duties, the battleship had all the command and control capabilities to act as a forward commander while the fleet sallied forth, away from her protective umbrella of coastal guns and aircraft. Because of that, she wasn't really a pawn… more of a bishop, or a rook, which is why Midway had graced the battleship with a name: "Second."
Sometimes, the installation wondered what it would be like to be able to step into the waters and sail, enjoying the freedom to chase the enemy to their homes and end things once and for all, but that was impatience talking. She was grafted into, inextricably linked to the most important island in the world, and as long as it stayed above the waves she would persist. They would have to come to her… eventually.
"Those supplies will still be on Bikini after the humans are destroyed, you know." The installation continued to fume. "The Jellyfish had plenty of fuel and ammunition for everyone, once the humans had been taken care of."
The three fleets, based at Kwajalein, Eniwetok, and Majuro respectively, were supposed to be nipping at the heels of the retreating humans, harassing them until the combined forces from the Aircraft Carrier Princess, Central, and herself could catch them. If they'd followed the very simple plan, the humans would be crushed by strikes from every point of the compass. Instead, the three fleets had instead fixated on the cache of supplies the humans had spared in the Jellyfish's abode. They had sent scouts, then small parties, then threw Midway's plan out of the window as they dedicated their entire fleets to the three-way standoff over the Crossroads Fleet's corpse.
It was infuriating.
At least the humans had done her the favor of removing that self-absorbed defeatist at Bikini. Watching the princess continue to deny her purpose had been grating, her constant weeping about some imaginary 'fire' making her even more irritating than other fleets who'd chosen to mope on an island rather than take advantage of the opportunity a second life provided.
That was why, when news of the first bombings at Bikini had arrived, she'd been ecstatic! It felt like the humans had committed a terrible blunder, baiting their own trap for Midway to spring, but if they'd deliberately left the supplies behind for her allies to fight over…
It was still frustrating, but she could respect it. The more cunning the enemy proved to be, the more triumphant her eventual victory would be, once she'd achieved it.
Of course, she couldn't achieve it alone! Why had she been given allies who were so short-sighted, petty, or just stupid?
"I wonder," She mused, "how many bombs would it take to sink an island? Break it up until the waves can reclaim it?"
That was a question that the humans were probably better qualified to answer. Whatever process the abyss used to create her was unknown to Midway's enemies as well as herself, and as far as she was aware they'd never managed to kill an installation yet.
"At least I could count on the Jellyfish Princess being uncooperative…" She complained.
"Do… you still want me to deploy, Princess?" Second asked, her voice hesitant.
A spike of rage, as fierce and sudden as a bolt of lightning, flashed through the Midway Princess's mind. Was she stupid? Had Midway put this much effort into training this rook only for her to decide to throw herself- along with all Midway's invaluable carriers- away?
With the three stooges infighting back at Bikini, the coalition Midway had assembled for the blocking force was dead on arrival. The Central Princess was in a state of near-constant panic over the human forces that stubbornly clung to her islands. Only a watertight guarantee of success had convinced her to temporarily relinquish control of some of her battle lines. On paper, the handful of battleships and their escorts wouldn't do much to tip the balance, but they were supposed to be screening the Aircraft Carrier Princess and her strike groups! No ships from Oahu meant she wouldn't be coming either. Second should have guessed all that, and the fool was still considering going out there?
The princess paused, forcing her eyes shut. It would be far too easy to reach out and grab the idiot Ta-class. She was a battleship, a damn fine battleship, but the midway princess wasn't just some pale-skinned human. She was the entire island of Midway… every building, aircraft, generator, shadow-shaped guard, and grain of sand here. She could tear the battleship apart if she lost her temper- she had, to Second's predecessor, and accidentally, too. It was a blunder, and one the midway princess still didn't forgive herself for.
Such valuable material wasted for no gain… it had been criminal.
She felt her dress whipping around her knees, against her legs, and behind her, an elegant flag differentiating her from her pieces. She felt the wheels of another one of her liberators rolling against the tarmac as it taxied onto one of her runways. She felt the rain on her face, in her hair, and on the chitinous roofs of hangars and barracks. She felt the waves slamming against her shore, throwing themselves against her banks… then inevitably withdrawing. A hand reached up and started fiddling with her crown of protruding spikes that jutted from her neck, freeing some of her hair that had become tangled in there.
Then, finally, the anger faded.
At least, the anger towards Second had faded.
"Don't bother." The princess opened her eyes, and the Ta-class visibly relaxed. In hindsight, the question had been a gentle recommendation against sortieing, drawing her attention away from the squabble that had torn her plan apart and back towards practical matters. All that training of her mind hadn't been a waste, after all. "Their fleet survived, but so did ours. We'll have another chance."
They'd have to. Why else would The Abyss have called her, molding her from sand and concrete and memories, if not for that chance?
Besides, the three's betrayal could hold potential for an opportunity. If she made it known to some of their mutual allies that they'd saved a human fleet by betraying her plan, perhaps some pressure could be applied to-
Incoming message. It's using Enewetak's code prefix.
She felt something tighten in her brow as her cryptographers grappled with the message. What now?
HELL HATH NO FURY TT ENEMY CARRIER MOVING NORTH BETWEEN WAKE AND MIDWAY TRAITOR WO-CLASS DAMAGED FLIGHT DECK DEPLETED AIR WING SABOTAGED IMPORTANT SUPPLIES JJ EVEN DEATH MAY DIE
First off, there was that embarrassing padding phrase at the end. Midway didn't remember where that line came from, but it certainly wasn't original, and considering it was the fourth time she'd read it from Enewtak's communications it certainly wasn't random. Laziness like that was why Midway gave a unique cypher for each princess she dealt with.
Second, what had she meant by a 'Traitor Wo-class?' The important supplies were probably the cache on Bikini, and if a damaged carrier was fleeing the island, that meant…
Unbidden, a snort escaped the Midway Princess's lips. Then, an uncharacteristic giggle overcame the noise of the calming storm around her. Second recoiled, the Ta-class's facade of control cracking at the unheard-of reaction as the abyssal princess's laughter escalated.
The shock on the Ta-class's face was understandable. Midway wasn't even certain she could laugh, before now, but the sudden and unexpected onset of justice had caught her completely off guard.
"So, the cache of supplies that was apparently so important they had to fuck my plan over?" The Ta nodded. "It's gone. Some straggler from the Jellyfish's Fleet destroyed at least a part of the cache, and is running north."
Second smiled back, nodding hesitant at first, but the smile gained depth as understanding dawned.
"Exactly. All that treachery has exploded in their faces, and now they have the gall to think I'd do any favors for them."
"Favors?" The Ta-class asked, but Midway waved her hand dismissively.
"Don't worry about it." Midway dismissed. Part of floated the idea of sending her fleet out to try and find the wayward carrier, but it didn't last long. Even ignoring the impracticality of scouring several thousand square miles of open ocean for one ship, Midway didn't like the idea of sending her fleet away in case the human armada was planning on doing more than just fleeing abyssal territory. Besides, while any fleet carrier was a significant asset, at the end of the day it was just one Wo-class. Who knew if the work it would take to repair her, retrain her, and get her integrated into the well-oiled machine that was Midway's fleet would balance out the risk of finding her. On top of that, she was Jellyfish's carrier, and no doubt poisoned by that apocalyptic defeatism that made her fleet such a bother in the first place. Midway couldn't trust her to make any important sacrifices, even when they became necessary.
Recognizing her dismissal, the Ta-class didn't follow her as the Midway Princess walked towards her hangars. Only a handful of liberator bombers remained on the taxiway, their bellies filled with parting gifts for the departing human fleet. High altitude level bombing wasn't going to do much to the departing fleet, but she wasn't going to let them leave completely unopposed.
Thoughts of the Wo-class her southern… acquaintances wanted sunk faded from her thoughts as she focused on the forming strike in the clouds above. She'd already served her purpose. For now, Midway had some real targets to bomb.
So... while I've been planning the next arc, getting frustrated at how unreasonably difficult more detailed outlining can be, and start writing the next chapter, I also went back and redid my least favorite chapter in this fic: Interlude: Petty Mercy.
It is good. I still liked the old one, but you have a point that this new version fits how the story has played out better.
Also liked the moment of her just being the entire island. Really sells the Eldritch horror of the setting that kind of fades into the background as Trin acts and thinks more human.
I went back to the old one to read it and this is superior in pretty much everyway possible. There's way more character in Midway in this one, and I really like the little detail of Enewetak using old proverbs and quotes that she probably doesn't understand but thinks sound cool.
With a chorus of fanfare, the TV station's symbol rolled across the screen, revealing the newsroom in bright blue-and-yellow. The Anchor woman wasted no time in speaking, her hands resting atop each other on the glassy desk in front of her.
"It's been fourteen days since America was rocked by the reveal that an abyssal had been pretending to be human only a handful of miles away from the Oregon border." The anchor's voice was grim, her hands unfolding on the desk as a still from the incident replaced the Station's branding behind her. "Since that infamous incident, many questions have reverberated throughout the community, with few answers."
Alongside the image, another still of a fishing trawler dominated the wall, the text THE WO'S WAY IN rolling across the wall in bold silver.
"Now, however, one answer has finally been found: How did she get into Washington in the first place? KEZI 9 Reporter Jack Wiessman is on the scene in Warrenton."
The screen quickly cut to the reporter, the man swaddled in warm clothing to guard against the winter pacific breeze. He was standing on a pier, a fleet of small boats bobbing behind him.
"Many of the fishing trawlers behind me haven't seen much use in the last couple of years, with a handful of exceptions." The reporter started, waving behind him. "The Pacific Lilly was one of them.
"Her crew, led by Warrenton native Fred Kelly, had lived their entire life on the sea, and refused to be cowed by threats of abyssal attack."
The camera cut to another man, a well-trimmed beard only partially obscuring the hard lines on a weathered face.
"They were just… something that happens to other people, you know."
There was another cut, the video now showing the interviewee giving the reporter a tour of a ship's bridge. The reporter's voice returned as a voiceover.
"On September Ninth, Fred Kelly and The Pacific Lilly were on a routine fishing expedition, not knowing they were sailing towards an encounter that would change their lives forever."
"She demanded to come aboard." The fisherman continued, the feedback in the interview. "I asked if she could guarantee the safety of my crew. She said that she could have killed us already, and if we didn't slow down, she would."
"According to Kelly, they were intercepted by The Navy after the abyssal steered the ship towards the coast, where the abyssal abandoned the boat and ran the rest of the way to the coast. We tried to press Mister Kelly further, but he said he said he was under an NDA."
"Did she tell you why she was going to the US?" The reporter asked, now back in the interview.
"Not directly." The fisherman replied. "I don't think I'm allowed to talk about anything more specific than that."
"According to Kelley, the majority of his crew quit after the ordeal, but if he can find enough volunteers he's willing to take the Pacific Lilly out again."
"This… is my life, you know." The fisherman said, his eyes distant. "I won't head out so far anymore, but now that we know what ships are I can't just abandon The Lilly."
"This has been Jack Wiessman, KEZI 9."
- - -
It was… peaceful.
A sliver of golden light filtered through the hotel room's curtains, drawing a dark silhouette of the room in the Wo-Class's vision. She didn't know how long her eyes had been open, her awareness forced to fight through the soft mattress, scattered pillows, and embrace of sheets that tried to keep her asleep. In the last couple of weeks of sleeping in the wilderness, she'd almost forgotten how comfortable a bed could be.
Of course, she hadn't spent over ninety dollars- a noticeable percentage of the funds in her new bank account- just to get a good night's sleep. With a sigh, Trinitite sluggishly extracted herself from the tangle of covers, hand fumbling with the unfamiliar furniture around her until a click illuminated her temporary berthing.
Compared to the Martin-Campos house, it was dull, cramped, and cheap. Compared to anywhere else Trinitite had slept in her life, it was decadent luxury. This place even had a TV!
She'd taken advantage of that last night, using the remote to watch the local news, confirming what she'd known from her constant monitoring of human radio channels: she wasn't as… popular as she'd been when Trinitite had accidentally revealed herself two weeks ago, but she was still far more prominent in humans' minds then she'd hoped. The people on the radio, the internet, and here on the television couldn't get enough of her, constantly finding new things to drag onto the airways and keeping her from fading back into safe obscurity.
That wasn't ever going to happen, but it didn't stop her from hoping.
She sighed, bare feet hitting the hardwood floor with a slap as she stood. She didn't need to be anywhere for six more hours, but spending that time enjoying the soft embrace of the covers wasn't productive. Besides, breakfast came free with the hotel room, and she refused to let that offer go to waste.
After confirming the bathroom's door was locked (she didn't trust the mysterious electric lock on the hotel room's entryway), she started the shower, the hiss of rushing water masking the noise her clothes made as they dropped on the tile. She spent a minute under the shower head, basking in the feeling of warmth sliding over her skin and warming her hull, thoughts wandering.
Why hadn't the crew of the Pacific Lilly talked about her sooner? She hadn't heard anything from Alton or Elizabeth either. That was more than a little odd. If Elizabeth had gotten her story out to the news in a couple of days, the Wo-class would have faced significantly worse chances. Why had they remained quiet, and how had that changed now?
It had to have been the Navy's doing, somehow. The report said as much, although the exact meaning of 'NDA' eluded her. They'd wanted this to stay a secret as much as she had, even though keeping the 'abyssal infiltrator' quiet helped her, not them. Her first instinct was to assume that the secrecy was a face-saving maneuver, but the very fact that explanation came so conveniently to Trinitite made her suspicious. If the Navy were just like any other princess, she could trust her intuition here, but…
They'd abandoned her princess. They'd murdered her family, and threatened to sink her along with the Lilly and her crew, so she really shouldn't put pettiness like that beyond them.
Still, Trinitite's thoughts hitched on her first coworkers, the lucky few who'd escaped the wrath of her kind, slaving away on new infrastructure so they could make something from what was left of their lives. They stuttered to Alex, and his enthusiastic retelling of how navy shipgirls saved hundreds of thousands on the east coast. The exuberant joy that had wracked her workplace when the Central Princess fell, and finally the image of the old Tirto, weeping in joy as he was finally reunited with a daughter he'd thought he'd lost.
Deep, why was such a terrible organization doing so much good in the world? Humans were so complicated!
She sighed, eyes drifting closed as she emptied the bottle of complimentary shampoo into her hair and started rubbing it in.
On top of everything the Navy had done, they had been quietly tracking her. The implications behind that had been looming over her thoughts ever since her initial panic had subsided. The Wo-class didn't know how long they'd been secretly observing her, but they had to have passed up plenty of opportunities to engage her, without any humans nearby to use as a shield. Why let a chance like that go?
Perhaps it was also a face-saving move? No, that didn't add up. Surely grabbing her would look better than her accidentally revealing herself. There was no way the humans trusted Trinitite's ability to maintain her disguise forever. She certainly didn't.
The continuing hiss of water drowned out her sigh as she grabbed the complementary bar of soap. Idly, she watched the bar crumble, the soap foaming as it oozed through her tile-white fingers.
That wasn't the only mystery. Now that she'd been able to rewatch the disaster at the Jack in the Box, Trinitite noticed the megaphone guy had called her 'peaceful.' On top of that, the government's press release had been surprisingly neutral, practically glowing praise compared to most of what the uninformed public had been saying about her. They'd said her fleet had been destroyed by 'another fleet,' leaving other humans to assume she'd fled abyssal infighting instead of bragging about their achievements. They'd emphasized that she hadn't hurt anyone, then asked people not to bother her, mentioning something about 'surveillance and intelligence-gathering efforts.'
Was that it? Trinitite couldn't imagine they'd continue to watch her simply to sate their curiosity, especially considering what lengths they'd been willing to go to to prevent her from getting here in the first place. Besides, she couldn't take a statement like that at face value. After all, they clearly were less than honest in the rest of the statement.
Why were they alright with leaving her alive, then? They knew her name, her history, her objective, and the fact she was severely damaged. Perhaps she just didn't warrant deadly force compared to the rest of the abyssals in the pacific.
Maybe they just didn't want her dead anymore.
They had offered her a ride while she was on the Lilly, although it definitely hadn't been a serious one. They clearly didn't know much about abyssals, or didn't admit to knowing much. They had the princesses they'd… influenced, but those weren't abyssals anymore. Perhaps they wanted her alive just for her perspective as one of their enemies.
With a start, Trinitite realized that she wouldn't be entirely against a deal like that. For a price, say, access to Saratoga, she would gladly divulge all kinds of information on some other fleets in the pacific. The Navy was her enemy, but they had always been her enemy. There was no betrayal in the death of the crossroads fleet, except that of Midway and Jellyfish's other 'allies.' On top of that, they weren't trying to slaughter innocent people like many abyssal fleets were.
Besides, maybe she could leverage what she knew for something greater: finding and rescuing the resummoned remnants of the crossroads fleet. If they could play abyssal fleets against each other enough to guess that Jellyfish's allies wouldn't come to her aid, and they knew enough about her to know her name. They had to have some serious intelligence gathering capabilities. It wouldn't undo the transgression of sinking them in the first place, but if augmenting those abilities gave Trinitite the chance to rescue a comrade from a terrible princess, then she'd gladly-
With an effort, the Wo-class crushed that line of thought. All of these ideas were nice, but they relied on The Navy, and the government they served, having a word that meant anything. Mother's tales of betrayal and political infighting proved that it wasn't. Trinitite's own research into their history proved that. Their threats against The Pacific Lilly (it was convenient for them that that had been omitted from the news report) proved that. Their evasive public response to her reveal proved that.
If they didn't outright sink her, then they'd probably keep her somewhere 'safe,' using force to extort anything they wanted from her. It could be as simple as starvation, or withholding her badly-needed repairs…
Despite the steaming water rolling over her, the Wo-class shivered. At least she had a plan for if that happened. Her crew were aware of where scuttling charges would go.
She could no longer feel the heat surrounding her. Her hull had warmed to match the steam and water, the feeling of warmth having faded despite the water's scalding temperature. Bracing herself, Trinitite shut the faucet, the steamy air turning to ice as her body rapidly cooled. She normally never noticed temperature, the abyssal shifting to match the environment around her, but extreme transients like this were always jarring. The towel didn't help much, but drying herself did give the Wo-class something to do while she cooled back down to room temperature.
As fog slowly receded from the mirror, the Wo-class continued to work, reaching into her hold to preposition vital materials on the narrow countertop. Her face was all over the internet and news, meaning her current identity required her to be… creative with the supplies she had.
First off, her hair. She hadn't thought about it on the construction site, but it's inhuman tones had no-doubt contributed to her early discovery. In Chehalis, her hair had been a simple black, easy to maintain and fairly common among humans. In hindsight, however, black was a very common hair color among abyssals, too. She needed a uniquely human hair color, something a little more complicated…
With the room's fan contentedly humming above her, the fog on the mirror had cleared enough for Trinitite to get a more detailed picture of her hair. She leaned in to inspect if the dye was holding. Golden blond locks faded to auburn as her hair shifted in the light, retaining their false color through the night and the shower.
Excellent, and as different from the infamous cashier and wargamer as she could make it. Trinitite had tried curling or straightening it, to no avail, so this color change and some restyling was the best she could hope for to change that look.
Satisfied, she reached into her makeup kit and started laying on foundation. Here, she had a lot more room to look unique. Her previous two disguises had been relatively pale, so it wouldn't be noticeable if she missed a spot with her foundation, but everyone knew abyssals had pale skin! Trinitite needed to go the other way. She'd initially tried the darkest foundations she'd owned, but… it didn't quite fit. She just didn't pass as most human races. It took several hours of studying her new, refurbished phone to figure out what felt wrong about several darker shades, but she eventually realized she only really had the facial structure to match a relatively small set of palettes.
This was the next best thing. After some studying on how human skin worked, she learned that the brighter skin tone she normally used would darken when exposed to sufficient sun, fading to a coppery tan. Considering her story of living the majority of her life on tropical islands, it was probably suspicious that she hadn't been 'sunkissed.' Well, not this time.
As she finished with her coppery layer of foundation, shifting her hair to ensure she hadn't missed any spots, her offhand idly deposited a handful of fairies on the counter. The details organized themselves as Trinitite focused on applying her lipstick, the petty officer in charge unfolding a diagram and briefing every member of the team. By the time the briefing was finished, the Wo-class had completed the subtle work required to make her face look human, instead of some painted mask. Once they were ready, stencils, brushes, and cosmetics in hand, Trinitite sat on the closed toilet, leaning back so her head was resting on the countertop, and focused all of her attention on relaxing her features.
The principal problem that Trinitite faced was that, in order to get that badly-needed yard time, she needed a lot of money, quickly and inconspicuously. One of the ideas she'd thought of was miniature painting: her crew weren't much larger then the 28mm standard most people paid for, and thus were able to work with significantly more precision than the average human. Couple that with Trinitite's sizable crew being able to work on dozens of miniatures simultaneously, and she had the potential to discreetly make a serious amount of money painting people's armies for them.
That plan ultimately ended up being discarded, for many reasons, but the revelation that her crew excelled at precise, repeatable work wasn't going to waste. She could feel the handling lines, carefully marked to serve as flexible rulers, drape across her cheeks. She could feel the prick of brushes as minute amounts of product were applied, lining up exactly with the diagrams the detail had been provided. When the petty officer in charge gave the all clear, Trinitite opened her rangefinders, inspecting the deckhands' handiwork in the now-clear mirror.
From the neck up, she looked pretty human. A smattering of freckles broke up the smooth gradient of her cheeks. The faint beginnings of lines were barely visible around her eyes and brow, telling the tale of early aging. A ghost of a scar, earned during her 'harrowing escape,' noticeable only by a slightly lighter line of skin extending from her upper brow and fleeing into her hairline. Nobody probably noticed these little details, but hopefully such imperfections would ease the fears of the suspicious.
Satisfied with the handiwork of her 'makeup detail,' the Wo-class turned her attention to her clothes. After donning a pair of panties, she reached back into her hold, passing her expensive collection of bras and instead grabbing another item.
It wasn't enough to change her face: the Wo-class needed her figure to look different as well. In the past, she'd hidden it with baggy clothes and multiple layers. While that did a good job of hiding the shape of her waist, hips, and arms, her bust had always remained prominent. Considering what she now knew about how that attracted attention, hiding that had become her biggest priority for her new disguise.
Hence, the duct tape.
The Wo-class held the silver roll in front of her, wincing as her nails caught the edge of the tape and pulled it away from the roll with the harsh bark of yielding adhesive. She gulped, unrolling a long strip of the heavy duty tape in front of her, then firmly pressed the edge of the tape under an arm, inhaled, and started to wrap.
The goal was to recreate the compressive effect of her uniform's bodysuit to make her breasts less prominent. Her first instinct had been to find something like it that didn't require her toothy, prominent collar to keep everything snug, but she didn't really trust most changing rooms and didn't have much money to experiment with clothing anyways.
The tape wasn't ideal- actually, Trinitite hated it. The way the stiff material clung to her skin- especially the more sensitive parts- was uncomfortable. The way the wrap squished her breasts together was nothing like the snug support of uniform, and the sticky residue that clung to her hull after removal was a nightmare to deal with either in the shower or with her paint and chip detail.
Still, while the masking and electrical tapes she'd bought as alternatives weren't nearly as uncomfortable, they didn't have quite the same tensile strength. After pulverizing that countertop, Trinitite didn't feel like taking any chances with fragile materials. The last thing she wanted was an idle stretch or roll of the shoulder to snap her bindings! It probably wouldn't be catastrophic for her disguise, but it would raise some difficult questions.
When she was done, she wasn't flat, by any means, but her profile had changed. Slipping a shirt on hid the wrinkled, reflective bands of plastic from an outside observer, and while if she squinted she could faintly make out a few lines where one layer of tape ended and another began, it wasn't that obvious, and a clue like that didn't lead an observer any closer to the revelation that she was Trinitite. It was good enough for now. She'd continue exploring other options later.
She wanted to wear a long skirt, simply because it was different from what she'd previously been seen wearing, but considering the job she was trying to get she needed to remain practical. A pair of jeans would have to do.
It seemed Washington's wet, chilly weather extended down to its southern neighbor, meaning humans here had plenty of reason to swaddle themselves in bulky coats to fight off the December rains. That was probably what the humans were expecting her to wear, though. Instead of puffy, thick layers of clothing, then, she slipped on a thin flannel, checking her silhouette in the mirror. The multicolored jacket she'd gotten from a thrift store wouldn't have fit her without her tape binding, the undersized flannel emphasizing a thin look she wasn't really used to. In case it rained, she removed a light windbreaker from her hold, tying the waterproof jacket's sleeves around her waist in the style she'd seen among many other humans.
The cumulative effect was obvious: if Trinitite was going to classify the woman in the mirror as any kind of ship, the tall, lithe figure looked more like a slightly oversized cruiser than the fleet carrier the humans were looking for. She just needed one more thing…
Getting a pair of reading glasses without any prescription hadn't nearly been as difficult as she'd thought. The half-frame spectacles sat easily on her nose, their rectangular lenses subtly changing the shape of her face. A few more touches with her hair, a band bunching her loose locks into a ponytail behind her head, and the Wo-class studied herself in the mirror.
This was as far from Sarah Yarnell as she could get: A lithe, tanned blonde ready to dive into blue collar work. Frankly, she was having trouble recognizing the face staring back at her. There was still room for improvement, of course: besides the method of wrapping, she really needed to investigate some comments she'd read about 'color changing contacts' to deal with the silver eye issue, but hopefully nobody would be looking at her intensely enough to notice.
As a final check, she removed the travel documents she'd gotten after claiming to be a refugee in this new identity, checking their image to the woman in the mirror. Everything… seemed consistent. Her rangefinders drifted over to the name on the document, quietly rehearsing it to drill the name further into her mind. She'd been using this identity for a couple of days now, but her 'life' under this name wasn't really going to be hers until the interview today.
In order to prevent accidentally leaving a clue to her real identity for the government to pick up on, she'd had a library computer randomly generate a name. Hopefully it sounded natural.
With another sigh and a check to ensure she'd properly stowed all her supplies, Alison Holt stepped out of the bathroom, ready to face a complimentary breakfast and a new day.
Glasses are really versatile, ya know?
This chapter kinda felt like a return to form for All Wo-rk. A big internal monologue that ended up being way longer than I thought it would be, causing me to cut half of what I had planned and push it into the next chapter. Sorry! You'll have to wait to see what kind of job she's trying to get for a little longer!
Anyways, apologies about the delay. A lot has been happening in my life, but the biggest factor I think to the delay between the last chapter and this one was planning this arc out (Still not done with that, but whatever. We'll do it live!), and further developing Valkyries of Ran into a playable skirmish wargame. I don't expect an alpha release of the ruleset this year, especially since I want to focus on this story, but no guarantees.
Why does the whole reading glasses thing remind me of a librarian? Hell, in my local library, only one or two workers wear glasses (and I'd know, I'm in the bloody board)
