... Why are they prodding the chicken with a rifle butt?
Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
Breakaway25
All hail the Mighty Tomcat
- Location
- Stuck on the Quarterdeck
Because it looks funny, and they're trying to break the people standing formation.
I do it all the time, best move I pulled was doing mock rifle drill with a traffic cone, then moving onto a lightsaber battle with said cone.
- Location
- 'Murica
Naka: I totally won though.
I got that. I just ... Of all the things to do, pinning a chicken to the ground with your boot and prodding it with a rifle would be very far down on my list.
Old Iron
Admiral Unfun
- Location
- The Southwestern Deadlands of America
We expect no less.
Methinks you need to add more to the list. I have a turkey hat I wear at the office on Thanksgiving. I am somehow able to be taken even less seriously.
And I found this. It's kinda awesome.
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
Is it just me, or does she actually look older in that picture?
- Location
- People's Republik of Kalifornia
Take one well worn restraint/knockdown drill, replace human miscreant with squeaky toy, stir well. It makes sense for that audience.
Old Iron
Admiral Unfun
- Location
- The Southwestern Deadlands of America
A bit, yeah. I'd chalk it up to the art style.
Or an Abyssal landed a lucky shot and broke her coffee pot. She ran out of fucks to give that day.
It also gives a much sharper squeak than squeezing it by hand.
The old British Boat lends her aid.
- Location
- 'Murica
With a hiss of compressed air and the exhausted grunt of an overstressed diesel engine, the ten-ton truck groaned to a halt. Crowning'd made sure to plan ahead for parking, but Seattle's tangled mess of narrow streets and steep hills gave him precious little room to maneuver. The truck had to park almost a mile away in an empty university parking lot.
Not that Crowning particularly minded. The winter air was more crisply brisk than actually cold, especially compared to some of the winters he'd endured on the East coast, and the body of the walk was along a gentle, scenic canal.
And of course, he didn't have to walk alone. "You need some help there, Jersey?"
The battleship hissed at him and clambered down the back of the truck. Crowning tried not to stare, but the view of her stern was too entrancing to ignore. Jersey filled out her jeans to bursting, and even the denim wasn't enough to totally hide the tension in those massive muscles of hers.
"There," She dropped to the floor with a loud thump, and the trucks' suspension groaned as her immense weight was finally removed. "Okay…" She pursed her lips and stuffed her hands into her pockets.
She looked… like a dream given form. Her long hair streamed over her shoulders in a messy half-braid. Its fiery tips hung past her waist, kissing the plump shape of her stern with ever passing breeze. Puffs of rolling breath slipped though her lips, and her icy blue eyes soaked in the afternoon sun.
"You look fine, Jersey," Crowning chuckled. "C'mon, it's just this way."
The battleship nodded and fell into formation off his side. For a while, the two just walked. Or to be more accurate, Jersey walked while Crowning sort of half-walked half-trotted. Jersey's stunning legs were long even for her height, and she was a very tall girl.
"Doc?" Jersey's cheeks glowed a brilliant red, and she kept her eyes pointed straight ahead as she spoke. "Uh… can I ask you something."
"Of course," Crowning smiled at her.
"This isn't a date," the battleship's voice carried equal tones command and desperation, "But… um… to you think maybe we could act like it was?"
Crowning winced internally. He could think of a few reasons why Jersey wanted to avoid calling this outing a date, from military decorum to winning some sort of convoluted bet. But the most depressingly probable possibility was her desperate need to avoid cutting herself even the slightest bit of slack for her own mistakes. The same reason she so vehemently protested that she was anything more than a ship.
"Yeah," He nodded, and forced a slight smile. Jersey had her issues, and she'd have to work them out herself. The best he could do is love her unconditionally and support her any way he could. "I was in the drama club in high school."
Jersey shot him a withering glance though her shades. "You're such a dork."
Crowning chuckled, and put his arm around her waist. Even though the fabric of her jacket and thick sweater, he could feel her rippling muscle tense under his grasp. For a moment, she felt like corded steel, and he saw her chest start to flutter with quick, shallow breaths.
But then, ever so slowly, she settled down. Her muscles loosened under his fingers, and he felt a tinge of soft humanity under all that fighting steel. And then she started purring. It was a very soft, quiet sound that he felt though his touch more than he heard with his ears. But there was no mistaking it. She was purring, and it was just as adorable as it sounded.
For minutes that felt like hours, the two walked in silence along the canal. Every so often, the battleship would squirm in his grasp and try to work herself closer. Soon, she was practically pressed against him, and every sashaying step sent her broad hip crashing against him. But her purring never stopped, not even for an instant.
Then the pair reached a soring drawbridge. Crowning had made sure to look up the route, and even call up one of Solette's friends in the Army Corps of Engineers to double-check for him. The bridge was built for heavy car traffic, it could bear their weight without a second thought. That didn't keep it from groaning alarmingly with every step the battleship took, though.
"Crowning," Jersey hissed as she planted one footed foot before the other. "If you call me fat, I will fucking eat your babies."
Crowning smirked. Jersey was fat, there was no denying that. She just happened to carry all of it in exactly the right places. But just as he was about to voice his opinion, a horrified look passed over Jersey's aquiline face.
"No," she hissed. "I didn't… that's not what I meant!"
It took the professor a second to catch on, but he shrugged it off like the battleship's angry utterance had flown over his head. She was just grouchy from hunger, it was just a slip of the tongue, it had to be. "If you say so, Jersey."
The battleship blushed, and grumbled something under her breath. The only words he caught were "motherfucking Freud," followed by stifled giggles.
"Get it?" said Jersey. The battleship prodded him in the side, "Motherfucking Freud? Because… you know…" Jersey made a circle with her fingers and started frantically jamming her other finger in the cavity she'd created. "Motherfucking?"
Crowning rolled his eyes.
"Fuck you," Jersey huffed. "That's fucking comedy Go—"
Crowning stood up on his toes, planted a hand on the battleship's head, and started gently scratching at her blond locks. In an instant, the fiery battleship's temper cooled and her voice turned into a gooey purr.
"Where were we?" said Jersey.
"Getting pie," chuckled Crowning.
"Right," The battleship threw her fist in the air. "Onwards, to pie!"
The last few blocks took nearly as long to get though as the entire rest of the walk. Now that the pair were into the city proper, they couldn't go more than a few dozen steps before being asked to stop for pictures. Jersey basked in the attention, though she seemed utterly astonished at how so many people recognized her without her usual uniform.
At least she was until Crowning pointed out she towered over literally every other person in the whole city. And that the Pie shop had hung a "closed to feed New Jersey sign in the door with a stylized drawing of Jersey gobbling down pie by the truckload.
Jersey blinked. "I need that," she smirked and planted her hands on her belly like the little drawing of her. Her own stomach wasn't nearly as rotund as the drawing, but somehow Crowning knew she'd do everything in her power to rectify that.
"Yo," Jersey ducked though the door into the surprisingly narrow restaurant. A half-dozen smiling workers looked over at her from behind the counter, and the warm air was a welcome contrast from the chill outside. "Who—"
Jersey stopped and sniffed. Crowning chuckled. The air was heavy with the sent of baking pies and sweet caramelizing fruits.
The battleship scowled and shook her head, "Who did this…" she trailed off and leaned over a pile of mini-pies. No doubt they were intended as single-serving pies for someone who didn't have the appetite of a first-rate fast battleship. "Uh…"
"Don't worry," said Crowning, "She does this all the time."
"Fuck you," Jersey flipped him off while still staring at the little white-topped concoctions. "These are pies."
"Yes," smiled a waifish young man with his hair in a top knot.
"They smell like meat," Jersey poked one of the pies, only to come back with a bit of creamy mashed potato stuck to her finger. "Explain." She pointed her potato-kissed finger at topknotted fellow with a look of pure desperation, "EXPLAIN THIS WIZARDRY!"
For his part, the baker just smiled at her sudden confusion, "They're Shepherd's pies. We thought you'd like it."
Jersey yanked off her shades to examine the mini-pies more carefully. She very carefully plucked one from its little porcelain cup, turned it around in her hands, and dumped the whole thing in her mouth. Then her eyes lit up and she grinned from ear to ear. She swallowed the whole thing in one bite and grabbed the baker in a crushing hug.
"THIS IS AMAZING!" she thundered. She let go of the baker only to grab another pie and all but pounce on Crowning. She slammed him against the wall while her breasts piled up against his face. "Look at this!" she eased up just along enough to shove the pie in his line of sight, "there's meat in a pie!"
Crowning coughed and sucked down a desperate breath.
"I fucking love America," Jersey popped the pie in her mouth and walked back to the counter. "Anutha pluhs?"
"Jersey," Crowning took in another breath and tried not to think about what'd just knocked the wind out of him.
The battleship was already busy gobbling her way though all the meat-related pies the bakery had ready.
"Shepherd's pie is British." Crowning smirked at her.
You could have heard a pin drop as the battleship slowly pivoted around to stare at him. Her stare was cold as ice, and the muscles in her neck tensed under her sweater. She would've been terrifyingly imposing if she didn't have specs of pie crust sticking to the corners of her mouth. "The fuck you say?"
"Shepherd's pie is a British invention," said Crowning.
Jersey scowled, then she smirked. "Fuck you, It's American now."
"How does that even make sense?"
"FREEDOM!" Jersey threw a plastic spoon at him, which he effortlessly parried away with the back of his hand.
Crowning and the baker shared a sideways look.
"Freedom motherfuckers!" Jersey laughed and face-planted in a freshly baked apple pie. She'd licked the tray clean in under a a minute. "More please?"
This went on for some time.
Crowning tried to strike up a conversation with the bakers when they weren't frantically trying to bake faster than Jersey's ravenous appetite could consume. For her part, Jersey tried to be as personable as possible, but she was limited to grunts while eating and the odd few words gasped out while she changed plates.
For a while, all was well. Watching Jersey gorge herself might not be every man's idea of a perfect date, but Crowning couldn't imagine anything he'd rather be doing. And then it all went downhill once the subject of after-dinner activities came up.
And one of the bakers said something very, very stupid. "If you guys have time, you should check out the statue of Lenin."
Jersey froze mid pie. Slowly, icily, mechanically her head pivoted up to lock eyes with the topknotted baker. Her gaze burned with fury, and the cherry filling smeared over her face suddenly looked a whole lot like the blood of her slain enemies. "Do you want," she hissed with icy anger, "To say that one more time."
The baker blinked, and staggered back a step under the force of her glare. "It's… it's just a block down thirty-sixth."
Jersey thought for a second. Then she cracked a wicked grin. "Bring me all the cream pies you have."
Crowning sighed. Somehow, this was exactly how he imagined a date with Jersey would end.
Large cruiser Alaska balanced her laptop on her belly and waited. She'd only nets the Skype request to Dreadnought a few seconds ago, but it already felt like hours had passed.
She pursed her lips and puffed out her belly as much as she could. The fabric of her parka went taunt as her laptop rose until it commanded a high vantage point over her nonexistent bosom. Could she really be pregnant? It seemed kinda hard to believe, but Atago's logicdid seem sound and concrete.
"Hmmm," Alaska cradled her belly and hummed to herself. Would it be a girl or a boy, she wondered. She was kinda hoping for a girl, but the large cruiser wasn't married to either option.
Speaking of, she wasn't married at all. She might want to take care of that before she gave birth.
Unfortunate, that'd require her to talk to a cute, or otherwise desirable, boy, something she'd thus far been utterly incapable of doing. Maybe she could get some of her faeries to communicate by semaphore?
But before Alaska could ponder her brilliant idea for a silent wedding, her laptop sparked to life with the kindly visage of HMS Dreadnought.
Alaska let out a tiny eep of surprise as the steel-haired old battleship filled the screen. She was old, but in that timeless British sort of way, and her loose bun was kept in place by a little tripod pin. There was even an itty-bitty Union Jack flying from the tip.
"Alaska, hello," Dreadnought smiled at Alaska, her clipped yet somehow soothing accent washing over the American's ears like buttered toast.
"Dreadnought," Alaska smiled back and fussed with her own snowy white hair. Hers was so much messier than the proper brit's. "I like your pin."
"This old thing?" Dreadnought tossed a bashful wave at the camera, "Your superstructure's so much cleaner."
"Yeah, but it's pretty." Alaska sighed, and drummed her fingers against her thigh.
"So," the old battlewagon adjusted the little half-moon glasses resting on the tip of her distinguished ram-bow of a nose. "You tell me you're carrying a little bundle of joy?"
"Mmhm!" Alaska smiled sweetly and tilted her laptop so Dreadnought could see her belly.
"Very little," said Dreadnought slyly.
"Hey!" Alaska bristled at the insult levied against her unborn daughter. "She's perfect just the way she is!"
Dreadnought just laughed. "I see you've already got your maternal instincts down," she said. "When'd you realize you had one on the slips?"
"Actually, I didn't," said Alaska. "My best friend Atago did." She moved her computer to frame her half-finished model, "She saw me building this on the floor and put two and two together."
"Splendid!" Dreadnought smiled and positively giggled with joy. "You've got a very insightful friend there. Tell me, how's the father taking this?"
Alaska blinked.
Dreadnought's smile faded slightly.
Alaska blinked again. "Father?"
"Of your child, sweetie."
Alaska blinked again. "I don't follow."
"Alaska, child," Dreadnought took off her glasses and wiped them on the end of her knit shawl, "It takes two, as they say."
"Oh," Alaska nodded. She tried not to think of things like that too much, it wasn't healthy to live in such lewdness. "There's this one boy I like… at least I think I like him…"
"But?"
"But every time I see him," said Alaska, "My… it's like someone hid all my signal flags. I can't get a word out."
"You haven't even talked to him?" Dreadnought had to stifle her mirth with a quick cough.
"No," Alaska nodded glumly.
"Dear… then you're not pregnant," said Dreadnought. The old battleship tried to put her glasses back on, but the effort of keeping in her laughter was too much for her to keep her hand steady.
"But…" Alaska glanced from the computer to her model and back, "Model."
"Dear," Dreadnought's cheeks puffed out as she snorted out a laugh. "I'm… you're not pregnant. You can't be."
"But boat," mumbled Alaska with a nod towards her kit.
"You go to the baths when you're wounded, yes?" asked Dreadnought in a tone that implied this was more than a simple request for information. "Does that mean you're wounded every time you take a shower?"
"No," said Alaska. For a second she thought. Then another. Then yet another. "Ooooooooooooh."
"Sorry dear," Dreadnought smiled sweetly at the poor confused cruiser. "I'm sure you'll make a wonderful mother some day. Just… after Kongou, the old girl's claimed dibs."
"I know," Alaska sighed. At least she wouldn't have to find someone to cover her duties, "Thanks for picking up, by the way."
"Oh, it's no trouble," assured the battleship. "There's hardly anything for an old ship like me to do around here."
"Well thanks anyway," said Alaska, "You're a good friend."
Jersey's shirt was off before the door even closed behind her. She'd enjoyed her outing—even with the minor Communist detour and the police interview that came with it—more than she thought she would. The ride back had been calming, with every bump in the road gently stirring the pie sloshing around in her stuffed belly. Even her parting with Crowning had gone off like a dream.
They'd exchanged a few words of thanks, he told her to stay safe, she bragged about her invincible battleshipness, but thanked him none the less. He kissed her—or at least tried. She had to pick him up so he could really get his lips to hers—and they'd parted ways.
Officially, Jersey just needed a quick shower to freshen up and wash the pepper spray off her skin. But that was just an excuse, she was too badass to be bothered by pepper spray, even if her CBR sprinklers hadn't flushed all the chemical agents over the side.
No, all she knew is that she really, truly desperately needed a long, hot shower.
The battleship tore at her boots, clawing at the laces in a desperate attempt to free herself of their clutches. Next came her pants. Jersey plowed face-first into her bunk with a grunt nearly as loud as the groans of bedsprings creaking under her immense weight.
She at least managed to peel herself out of the tight-fitting jeans with out any drama. Unfortunately, Bowers had suggested Jersey wear something lacy and cute instead of her usual utilitarian sports bra and boyshorts. Well, the lacy and cute things were now lying in a pile of shredded fabric smeared accros most of her floor.
With her turbines roaring at close to maximum RPM, the battleship dove into her shower and slammed the faucet on as hot as it could go. She yelped in pain as the nearly-scalding water splashed against her skin.
But then… then she calmed down. The water was hot, but it felt good against the steel of her hull. She screwed up her eyes and let the water cascade down her body.
Jersey held her breath, letting the hot steam fill her lungs while she counted to ten in her head. Slowly she felt her body relax as her crew stood down to condition two. It wasn't much… but it was enough.
And then someone slapped her bare ass.
Really really hard.
It was like someone'd broken a 2-by-four across her stern. Which meant it could only be…
"Oi," barked a little Australian voice. "Now why aren't you already shacked up with the good professor?"
Jersey narrowed her eyes. "Victory…"
"Answer the question, ya wanker." The short, one-eyed British warship smiled at her reflection in the condensation-covered shower stall. By the look of it, she was wearing her gigantic Admiral's hat. And only the hat.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Victory rolled her eyes and started pacing. "I mean look at him, if I wasn't a figment of your fracturing Yankee imagination, I'd be all over that." She wheeled around and thrust a finger at Jersey's nose.
Or tried to at least. Jersey was so much taller than her her hand ended up lost in the American's soaking wet cleavage. "Have you heard him talk? Or seen him work with those hands? Now go get some for the both of us."
"Not helping!"
Victory carried on like the American hadn't said a thing. "And if those destroyers are to be believed, the way he handles a sword is phenomenal.
Jersey let out a resigned sigh. "There are too many innuendos for me to even begin."
"How about you start," Victory flashed a wicked grin, "with the ones where he buries his sword in your endo?"
Jersey aimed a swat at the man-o-war that she deftly dodged. "Not. Helping," she hissed between clenched teeth.
"Bah." Victory shook her head. "So, how was your date?"
"Wasn't a date," barked Jersey.
"Oh, of course not," Victory put a hand to her little chest like she'd just committed some great faux pas. "You're just two unattached singles who are of the opposite sex and supposedly adults going to an eatery together."
"Not. A. Date," hissed Jersey.
"Did you at least enjoy the pie, mate?" Victory planted her hand on her hip and stared up at the battleship.
"Yes," sighed Jersey. "Yes it was quite good."
"What is it with you and pie anyways?"
Jersey stared at the naked sailing ship like she'd just proclaimed up was down, or that American didn't own the moon. "Because it's fucking delicious, duh."
"And not because Crowning baked you one as a bribe?" Victory elbowed Jersey in the gut. Or tried to, anyways. Her feeble wind-driven strength wasn't enough to even budge the American's abs of (literal) steel.
"No," hissed Jersey.
"Hmm," Victory clicked her tounge. "Ya know, you might wanna try baking one for him?"
Jersey thought. For once, the stupid Aussiboat actually had a decent idea. She should pay Crowning back for his generosity. She was a battleship after all, she should actually do shit instead of sitting around getting pampered. "I… guess that'd be the nice thing to do."
"You'd enjoy seeing him taste it, right?" asked Victory. Her accent slipped until it sounded almost but not quite English. There wasn't even a hint of her usual gently-mocking lilt.
"Yeah," Jersey smiled. She always liked to see him smile, and there's nothing that inspires smiles like— "wait, where are you going with this?"
In an instant, Victory's face changed from honestly concerned old woman to utterly smug old woman. "Well," she said with a gleaming smile, "I did always figure that you'd like to have him eating your-"
"Oh my fucking god!" Jersey swiped at Victory, only for her fist to pass right though like smoke. "You are the most EMBARRASSING ghost I have ever had living inside me!
The sailing ship bilnked. "Wait, I'm honestly confused, is that a large number? You say that as if there's more than one."
"Just…" Jersey scowled, "Let me shower in peace, will you. I have a movie to watch."
Victory sighed, "Fine. But remember what I said."
"I'm actively trying to forget it as we speak."
Victory huffed. "You Yankees, always so serious about love." Then she shrugged, and slipped out of the battleship's vision. "Enjoy the film, mate."
"Thanks, I…" Jersey glanced around. Once again she was alone in her shower. "Fucking hate when she does that…"
Not that Crowning particularly minded. The winter air was more crisply brisk than actually cold, especially compared to some of the winters he'd endured on the East coast, and the body of the walk was along a gentle, scenic canal.
And of course, he didn't have to walk alone. "You need some help there, Jersey?"
The battleship hissed at him and clambered down the back of the truck. Crowning tried not to stare, but the view of her stern was too entrancing to ignore. Jersey filled out her jeans to bursting, and even the denim wasn't enough to totally hide the tension in those massive muscles of hers.
"There," She dropped to the floor with a loud thump, and the trucks' suspension groaned as her immense weight was finally removed. "Okay…" She pursed her lips and stuffed her hands into her pockets.
She looked… like a dream given form. Her long hair streamed over her shoulders in a messy half-braid. Its fiery tips hung past her waist, kissing the plump shape of her stern with ever passing breeze. Puffs of rolling breath slipped though her lips, and her icy blue eyes soaked in the afternoon sun.
"You look fine, Jersey," Crowning chuckled. "C'mon, it's just this way."
The battleship nodded and fell into formation off his side. For a while, the two just walked. Or to be more accurate, Jersey walked while Crowning sort of half-walked half-trotted. Jersey's stunning legs were long even for her height, and she was a very tall girl.
"Doc?" Jersey's cheeks glowed a brilliant red, and she kept her eyes pointed straight ahead as she spoke. "Uh… can I ask you something."
"Of course," Crowning smiled at her.
"This isn't a date," the battleship's voice carried equal tones command and desperation, "But… um… to you think maybe we could act like it was?"
Crowning winced internally. He could think of a few reasons why Jersey wanted to avoid calling this outing a date, from military decorum to winning some sort of convoluted bet. But the most depressingly probable possibility was her desperate need to avoid cutting herself even the slightest bit of slack for her own mistakes. The same reason she so vehemently protested that she was anything more than a ship.
"Yeah," He nodded, and forced a slight smile. Jersey had her issues, and she'd have to work them out herself. The best he could do is love her unconditionally and support her any way he could. "I was in the drama club in high school."
Jersey shot him a withering glance though her shades. "You're such a dork."
Crowning chuckled, and put his arm around her waist. Even though the fabric of her jacket and thick sweater, he could feel her rippling muscle tense under his grasp. For a moment, she felt like corded steel, and he saw her chest start to flutter with quick, shallow breaths.
But then, ever so slowly, she settled down. Her muscles loosened under his fingers, and he felt a tinge of soft humanity under all that fighting steel. And then she started purring. It was a very soft, quiet sound that he felt though his touch more than he heard with his ears. But there was no mistaking it. She was purring, and it was just as adorable as it sounded.
For minutes that felt like hours, the two walked in silence along the canal. Every so often, the battleship would squirm in his grasp and try to work herself closer. Soon, she was practically pressed against him, and every sashaying step sent her broad hip crashing against him. But her purring never stopped, not even for an instant.
Then the pair reached a soring drawbridge. Crowning had made sure to look up the route, and even call up one of Solette's friends in the Army Corps of Engineers to double-check for him. The bridge was built for heavy car traffic, it could bear their weight without a second thought. That didn't keep it from groaning alarmingly with every step the battleship took, though.
"Crowning," Jersey hissed as she planted one footed foot before the other. "If you call me fat, I will fucking eat your babies."
Crowning smirked. Jersey was fat, there was no denying that. She just happened to carry all of it in exactly the right places. But just as he was about to voice his opinion, a horrified look passed over Jersey's aquiline face.
"No," she hissed. "I didn't… that's not what I meant!"
It took the professor a second to catch on, but he shrugged it off like the battleship's angry utterance had flown over his head. She was just grouchy from hunger, it was just a slip of the tongue, it had to be. "If you say so, Jersey."
The battleship blushed, and grumbled something under her breath. The only words he caught were "motherfucking Freud," followed by stifled giggles.
"Get it?" said Jersey. The battleship prodded him in the side, "Motherfucking Freud? Because… you know…" Jersey made a circle with her fingers and started frantically jamming her other finger in the cavity she'd created. "Motherfucking?"
Crowning rolled his eyes.
"Fuck you," Jersey huffed. "That's fucking comedy Go—"
Crowning stood up on his toes, planted a hand on the battleship's head, and started gently scratching at her blond locks. In an instant, the fiery battleship's temper cooled and her voice turned into a gooey purr.
"Where were we?" said Jersey.
"Getting pie," chuckled Crowning.
"Right," The battleship threw her fist in the air. "Onwards, to pie!"
The last few blocks took nearly as long to get though as the entire rest of the walk. Now that the pair were into the city proper, they couldn't go more than a few dozen steps before being asked to stop for pictures. Jersey basked in the attention, though she seemed utterly astonished at how so many people recognized her without her usual uniform.
At least she was until Crowning pointed out she towered over literally every other person in the whole city. And that the Pie shop had hung a "closed to feed New Jersey sign in the door with a stylized drawing of Jersey gobbling down pie by the truckload.
Jersey blinked. "I need that," she smirked and planted her hands on her belly like the little drawing of her. Her own stomach wasn't nearly as rotund as the drawing, but somehow Crowning knew she'd do everything in her power to rectify that.
"Yo," Jersey ducked though the door into the surprisingly narrow restaurant. A half-dozen smiling workers looked over at her from behind the counter, and the warm air was a welcome contrast from the chill outside. "Who—"
Jersey stopped and sniffed. Crowning chuckled. The air was heavy with the sent of baking pies and sweet caramelizing fruits.
The battleship scowled and shook her head, "Who did this…" she trailed off and leaned over a pile of mini-pies. No doubt they were intended as single-serving pies for someone who didn't have the appetite of a first-rate fast battleship. "Uh…"
"Don't worry," said Crowning, "She does this all the time."
"Fuck you," Jersey flipped him off while still staring at the little white-topped concoctions. "These are pies."
"Yes," smiled a waifish young man with his hair in a top knot.
"They smell like meat," Jersey poked one of the pies, only to come back with a bit of creamy mashed potato stuck to her finger. "Explain." She pointed her potato-kissed finger at topknotted fellow with a look of pure desperation, "EXPLAIN THIS WIZARDRY!"
For his part, the baker just smiled at her sudden confusion, "They're Shepherd's pies. We thought you'd like it."
Jersey yanked off her shades to examine the mini-pies more carefully. She very carefully plucked one from its little porcelain cup, turned it around in her hands, and dumped the whole thing in her mouth. Then her eyes lit up and she grinned from ear to ear. She swallowed the whole thing in one bite and grabbed the baker in a crushing hug.
"THIS IS AMAZING!" she thundered. She let go of the baker only to grab another pie and all but pounce on Crowning. She slammed him against the wall while her breasts piled up against his face. "Look at this!" she eased up just along enough to shove the pie in his line of sight, "there's meat in a pie!"
Crowning coughed and sucked down a desperate breath.
"I fucking love America," Jersey popped the pie in her mouth and walked back to the counter. "Anutha pluhs?"
"Jersey," Crowning took in another breath and tried not to think about what'd just knocked the wind out of him.
The battleship was already busy gobbling her way though all the meat-related pies the bakery had ready.
"Shepherd's pie is British." Crowning smirked at her.
You could have heard a pin drop as the battleship slowly pivoted around to stare at him. Her stare was cold as ice, and the muscles in her neck tensed under her sweater. She would've been terrifyingly imposing if she didn't have specs of pie crust sticking to the corners of her mouth. "The fuck you say?"
"Shepherd's pie is a British invention," said Crowning.
Jersey scowled, then she smirked. "Fuck you, It's American now."
"How does that even make sense?"
"FREEDOM!" Jersey threw a plastic spoon at him, which he effortlessly parried away with the back of his hand.
Crowning and the baker shared a sideways look.
"Freedom motherfuckers!" Jersey laughed and face-planted in a freshly baked apple pie. She'd licked the tray clean in under a a minute. "More please?"
This went on for some time.
Crowning tried to strike up a conversation with the bakers when they weren't frantically trying to bake faster than Jersey's ravenous appetite could consume. For her part, Jersey tried to be as personable as possible, but she was limited to grunts while eating and the odd few words gasped out while she changed plates.
For a while, all was well. Watching Jersey gorge herself might not be every man's idea of a perfect date, but Crowning couldn't imagine anything he'd rather be doing. And then it all went downhill once the subject of after-dinner activities came up.
And one of the bakers said something very, very stupid. "If you guys have time, you should check out the statue of Lenin."
Jersey froze mid pie. Slowly, icily, mechanically her head pivoted up to lock eyes with the topknotted baker. Her gaze burned with fury, and the cherry filling smeared over her face suddenly looked a whole lot like the blood of her slain enemies. "Do you want," she hissed with icy anger, "To say that one more time."
The baker blinked, and staggered back a step under the force of her glare. "It's… it's just a block down thirty-sixth."
Jersey thought for a second. Then she cracked a wicked grin. "Bring me all the cream pies you have."
Crowning sighed. Somehow, this was exactly how he imagined a date with Jersey would end.
—|—|—
Large cruiser Alaska balanced her laptop on her belly and waited. She'd only nets the Skype request to Dreadnought a few seconds ago, but it already felt like hours had passed.
She pursed her lips and puffed out her belly as much as she could. The fabric of her parka went taunt as her laptop rose until it commanded a high vantage point over her nonexistent bosom. Could she really be pregnant? It seemed kinda hard to believe, but Atago's logicdid seem sound and concrete.
"Hmmm," Alaska cradled her belly and hummed to herself. Would it be a girl or a boy, she wondered. She was kinda hoping for a girl, but the large cruiser wasn't married to either option.
Speaking of, she wasn't married at all. She might want to take care of that before she gave birth.
Unfortunate, that'd require her to talk to a cute, or otherwise desirable, boy, something she'd thus far been utterly incapable of doing. Maybe she could get some of her faeries to communicate by semaphore?
But before Alaska could ponder her brilliant idea for a silent wedding, her laptop sparked to life with the kindly visage of HMS Dreadnought.
Alaska let out a tiny eep of surprise as the steel-haired old battleship filled the screen. She was old, but in that timeless British sort of way, and her loose bun was kept in place by a little tripod pin. There was even an itty-bitty Union Jack flying from the tip.
"Alaska, hello," Dreadnought smiled at Alaska, her clipped yet somehow soothing accent washing over the American's ears like buttered toast.
"Dreadnought," Alaska smiled back and fussed with her own snowy white hair. Hers was so much messier than the proper brit's. "I like your pin."
"This old thing?" Dreadnought tossed a bashful wave at the camera, "Your superstructure's so much cleaner."
"Yeah, but it's pretty." Alaska sighed, and drummed her fingers against her thigh.
"So," the old battlewagon adjusted the little half-moon glasses resting on the tip of her distinguished ram-bow of a nose. "You tell me you're carrying a little bundle of joy?"
"Mmhm!" Alaska smiled sweetly and tilted her laptop so Dreadnought could see her belly.
"Very little," said Dreadnought slyly.
"Hey!" Alaska bristled at the insult levied against her unborn daughter. "She's perfect just the way she is!"
Dreadnought just laughed. "I see you've already got your maternal instincts down," she said. "When'd you realize you had one on the slips?"
"Actually, I didn't," said Alaska. "My best friend Atago did." She moved her computer to frame her half-finished model, "She saw me building this on the floor and put two and two together."
"Splendid!" Dreadnought smiled and positively giggled with joy. "You've got a very insightful friend there. Tell me, how's the father taking this?"
Alaska blinked.
Dreadnought's smile faded slightly.
Alaska blinked again. "Father?"
"Of your child, sweetie."
Alaska blinked again. "I don't follow."
"Alaska, child," Dreadnought took off her glasses and wiped them on the end of her knit shawl, "It takes two, as they say."
"Oh," Alaska nodded. She tried not to think of things like that too much, it wasn't healthy to live in such lewdness. "There's this one boy I like… at least I think I like him…"
"But?"
"But every time I see him," said Alaska, "My… it's like someone hid all my signal flags. I can't get a word out."
"You haven't even talked to him?" Dreadnought had to stifle her mirth with a quick cough.
"No," Alaska nodded glumly.
"Dear… then you're not pregnant," said Dreadnought. The old battleship tried to put her glasses back on, but the effort of keeping in her laughter was too much for her to keep her hand steady.
"But…" Alaska glanced from the computer to her model and back, "Model."
"Dear," Dreadnought's cheeks puffed out as she snorted out a laugh. "I'm… you're not pregnant. You can't be."
"But boat," mumbled Alaska with a nod towards her kit.
"You go to the baths when you're wounded, yes?" asked Dreadnought in a tone that implied this was more than a simple request for information. "Does that mean you're wounded every time you take a shower?"
"No," said Alaska. For a second she thought. Then another. Then yet another. "Ooooooooooooh."
"Sorry dear," Dreadnought smiled sweetly at the poor confused cruiser. "I'm sure you'll make a wonderful mother some day. Just… after Kongou, the old girl's claimed dibs."
"I know," Alaska sighed. At least she wouldn't have to find someone to cover her duties, "Thanks for picking up, by the way."
"Oh, it's no trouble," assured the battleship. "There's hardly anything for an old ship like me to do around here."
"Well thanks anyway," said Alaska, "You're a good friend."
—|—|—
Jersey's shirt was off before the door even closed behind her. She'd enjoyed her outing—even with the minor Communist detour and the police interview that came with it—more than she thought she would. The ride back had been calming, with every bump in the road gently stirring the pie sloshing around in her stuffed belly. Even her parting with Crowning had gone off like a dream.
They'd exchanged a few words of thanks, he told her to stay safe, she bragged about her invincible battleshipness, but thanked him none the less. He kissed her—or at least tried. She had to pick him up so he could really get his lips to hers—and they'd parted ways.
Officially, Jersey just needed a quick shower to freshen up and wash the pepper spray off her skin. But that was just an excuse, she was too badass to be bothered by pepper spray, even if her CBR sprinklers hadn't flushed all the chemical agents over the side.
No, all she knew is that she really, truly desperately needed a long, hot shower.
The battleship tore at her boots, clawing at the laces in a desperate attempt to free herself of their clutches. Next came her pants. Jersey plowed face-first into her bunk with a grunt nearly as loud as the groans of bedsprings creaking under her immense weight.
She at least managed to peel herself out of the tight-fitting jeans with out any drama. Unfortunately, Bowers had suggested Jersey wear something lacy and cute instead of her usual utilitarian sports bra and boyshorts. Well, the lacy and cute things were now lying in a pile of shredded fabric smeared accros most of her floor.
With her turbines roaring at close to maximum RPM, the battleship dove into her shower and slammed the faucet on as hot as it could go. She yelped in pain as the nearly-scalding water splashed against her skin.
But then… then she calmed down. The water was hot, but it felt good against the steel of her hull. She screwed up her eyes and let the water cascade down her body.
Jersey held her breath, letting the hot steam fill her lungs while she counted to ten in her head. Slowly she felt her body relax as her crew stood down to condition two. It wasn't much… but it was enough.
And then someone slapped her bare ass.
Really really hard.
It was like someone'd broken a 2-by-four across her stern. Which meant it could only be…
"Oi," barked a little Australian voice. "Now why aren't you already shacked up with the good professor?"
Jersey narrowed her eyes. "Victory…"
"Answer the question, ya wanker." The short, one-eyed British warship smiled at her reflection in the condensation-covered shower stall. By the look of it, she was wearing her gigantic Admiral's hat. And only the hat.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Victory rolled her eyes and started pacing. "I mean look at him, if I wasn't a figment of your fracturing Yankee imagination, I'd be all over that." She wheeled around and thrust a finger at Jersey's nose.
Or tried to at least. Jersey was so much taller than her her hand ended up lost in the American's soaking wet cleavage. "Have you heard him talk? Or seen him work with those hands? Now go get some for the both of us."
"Not helping!"
Victory carried on like the American hadn't said a thing. "And if those destroyers are to be believed, the way he handles a sword is phenomenal.
Jersey let out a resigned sigh. "There are too many innuendos for me to even begin."
"How about you start," Victory flashed a wicked grin, "with the ones where he buries his sword in your endo?"
Jersey aimed a swat at the man-o-war that she deftly dodged. "Not. Helping," she hissed between clenched teeth.
"Bah." Victory shook her head. "So, how was your date?"
"Wasn't a date," barked Jersey.
"Oh, of course not," Victory put a hand to her little chest like she'd just committed some great faux pas. "You're just two unattached singles who are of the opposite sex and supposedly adults going to an eatery together."
"Not. A. Date," hissed Jersey.
"Did you at least enjoy the pie, mate?" Victory planted her hand on her hip and stared up at the battleship.
"Yes," sighed Jersey. "Yes it was quite good."
"What is it with you and pie anyways?"
Jersey stared at the naked sailing ship like she'd just proclaimed up was down, or that American didn't own the moon. "Because it's fucking delicious, duh."
"And not because Crowning baked you one as a bribe?" Victory elbowed Jersey in the gut. Or tried to, anyways. Her feeble wind-driven strength wasn't enough to even budge the American's abs of (literal) steel.
"No," hissed Jersey.
"Hmm," Victory clicked her tounge. "Ya know, you might wanna try baking one for him?"
Jersey thought. For once, the stupid Aussiboat actually had a decent idea. She should pay Crowning back for his generosity. She was a battleship after all, she should actually do shit instead of sitting around getting pampered. "I… guess that'd be the nice thing to do."
"You'd enjoy seeing him taste it, right?" asked Victory. Her accent slipped until it sounded almost but not quite English. There wasn't even a hint of her usual gently-mocking lilt.
"Yeah," Jersey smiled. She always liked to see him smile, and there's nothing that inspires smiles like— "wait, where are you going with this?"
In an instant, Victory's face changed from honestly concerned old woman to utterly smug old woman. "Well," she said with a gleaming smile, "I did always figure that you'd like to have him eating your-"
"Oh my fucking god!" Jersey swiped at Victory, only for her fist to pass right though like smoke. "You are the most EMBARRASSING ghost I have ever had living inside me!
The sailing ship bilnked. "Wait, I'm honestly confused, is that a large number? You say that as if there's more than one."
"Just…" Jersey scowled, "Let me shower in peace, will you. I have a movie to watch."
Victory sighed, "Fine. But remember what I said."
"I'm actively trying to forget it as we speak."
Victory huffed. "You Yankees, always so serious about love." Then she shrugged, and slipped out of the battleship's vision. "Enjoy the film, mate."
"Thanks, I…" Jersey glanced around. Once again she was alone in her shower. "Fucking hate when she does that…"
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Wait: does America not have the meat pie? I dislike mashed potatoes, so I don't like shepherds pie all that much, but steak and gravy filled pies are very common in Australia. I thought America was the same?
- Location
- New Braunfels, Tecas
Um, has Jersey seen Mo since she's come back?
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Big strides.
Suuuuuuuuuuuuure.
OK Jersey, we won't make you deal with your feelings... this time.
'Ere you go Jer, not so bad now is it?
rofl:A far larger and taller woman is cuddling you as you walk and audibly purring from you just touching her. Public Displays of Affection anyone?
I don't know how I failed to make the connection before, but I can see Jersey and one Michael J. Caboose getting along pretty damn well.
Suuuuuuuuuuure.
Of course Jersey doesn't know how badly you want to have kids with her Crowning.
If you have to explain the joke, it is not funny.
BOO! Get off the stage! Yang has better material than you!
1. Yeah, a woman who looks like she either stepped out of a Danbooru picture or a Halo novel? Gonna draw attention.
2. That fucking sign.
rofl: And thus Jersey gets a souvenir for her not-date.
rofl:
1. Dude. Jersey. Let the man breathe.
2. I need to get more laughter reaction images for situations like this.
Jersey. You are. Such. A. Child.
Of course it is Jersey.
Shenanigans like this should probably be boring to me by now...
NAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
whelp.
Why am I suddenly thinking of Grunt's birthday party?
Oh, fulfilling this already?
Daaaaw.
*facepalm* Oh my lord, you're just as bad as them!
*whew* OK, Dreadnought hasn't gone completely senile.
Took you long enough.
Yup. Grunt's birthday part mission.
@theJMPer, you go into great detail on the shipgirls' bodies and sexuality, but once an actual kiss happens you have it happen off-screen?
rofl:Not now Musashi!
Oh. Never mind folks, it's not romp in the shower, it's just some mental masturbation.
Good thing Jersey's not Atago or Iowa. Victory'd never get that hand back.
1. Michael J. Caboose people.
2. 'America didn't own the moon'. I give, I give, my lungs can't take much more of this.
Watch as Jersey utterly destroys the kitchen.
You have no right to complain Jersey. Not after making those jokes.
Depends on your definition of her fairies.
- Location
- Northish
If it exists there is a place that makes a pie of it, but that does not mean non-dessert pies are all that popular. I don't think meat pies are that popular or widely sold, but I am more of a cake man.
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That seems ... weird. Every bakery I've ever seen in Australia (or Britain, for that matter) automatically has a hot display for meat pies and sausage rolls.
It's even in song: 'Football, meat pies, kangaroos and Holden cars', 'I love you just like a pie' ... discovering it isn't common in the US is a bit of cognitive dissonance.
Spectre
eternal servant to the Fire/EMS gods
- Location
- NY
which inevitably leads to the question
who wins in a fight, Jersey or Tex
Battleship_Fusou
(The Itty-Bitty Pretty Battleship Kitty)
- Location
- Surigao Strait
Oh Alaska is soooo entertaining.
LGear
Secret Society BLANKET
One reason I love Australia is because when I'm at work there, I can walk up to any bakery I see and get a meat pie or sausage roll. Even the 7-11's sell them, though obviously the freshly-baked ones are better. And considering my job's free-roaming nature allowing me to see a different part of New South Wales every day, that's saying something.
- Location
- 'Murica
How so?The more i read about Jersey the more i dislike her
- Location
- Russia, Moskow
There nationalistic pride and patriotism and there New Jersey...
Old Iron
Admiral Unfun
- Location
- The Southwestern Deadlands of America
(^ワ^＝)
She's Dreadmomboat, she's just a sliver more... people sane than the others.
She's adorkable as all get out.
LGear
Secret Society BLANKET
That's what makes her funny though.