- Location
- Georgia
Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
- Location
- State of Denial
What would we hold the press and stop the phones? Everyone must know about this!
Season's gifts
- Location
- 'Murica
"You wanted to see me, Admiral?"
Goto glanced up from the piles of supposedly-organized paperwork dominating his desk with a tired sigh. The logistics problem was as tight as it'd ever been, but hopefully the new arrival Richardson had been so kind to lend him would at least smooth over the more trivial matters. "Yeah," The Admiral leaned back in his chair, rubbing the grit from his eyes with the heel of his hand.
"Ahem," The lithe American stepped into his office proper, her gritty white-on-black swimsuit soaking up the office lighting like a sponge. "USS Albacore reporting, sir."
She wasn't anything like what he'd expected. His submarines bounced around in bright blue swimsuits perpetually glistening with a slick, wet sheen. Swimsuits that they'd come spilling out of if they so much as breathed the wrong way.
But not Albacore, her swimsuit couldn't have been more utilitarian if it tried. The high-necked cut kept any cleavage the American had neatly covered, and only the proud "US NAVY" painted across her otherwise unremarkable chest drew the eye from her salty spiked-up fauxhawk.
She was even wearing pants. Pants open at the front and rolled back over her hips to show where Albacore had written 'Albie's!' in pink glitter pen—complete with heart over the eye—over the original owner's sharpied-in 'Richardson' tag.
"Albacore," Goto smiled and offered her his hand. "It's good to have you here." His experience with the American sub was limited to her reports. Reports so text-book perfect he almost didn't notice they were written in gel pen with hearts over the I's.
"Thank you, Sir!" the submarine's cheeks glowed and her whole body seemed to swell with pride. "And, uh… you can just call me Ablie if you'd like."
"Albie then," Goto nodded. So she had a cute nickname. At least she wasn't bouncing around in a swimsuit three sizes too small while turning the mere mention of the word 'torpedo' into something unspeakably lewd. "You've gotten settled in?"
Albie nodded, "Nagato bunked me with Imuya and Shioi." The American planted her hands on her hips and tutted her tongue. "They, uh…" she scratched at her salty up-do, "what does 'sempai' mean?"
Goto hung his head, "Why do you ask?"
"Because they both insist on calling me that," said Albie, "It's really weird."
Goto sighed, "I'll tell you later. For the time being, I've got a job for you."
"Sir!" Albie instantly dropped her confused, girlish demeanor and fell back into proper military line.
"Shinano came back not long ago," said Goto, "but beyond her duty uniform, she doesn't have so much as a spare sarashi to wear."
"Yikes," Albie winced sympathetically.
"We've called around," Goto slid Shinano's section of Janes' Fighting Kanmusu towards the submarine, "But there's not a store in the city that carries anything in her size."
Albie scanned over the numbers, her eyebrows briefly jolting up. "So… you brought me all the way up here… for that?"
Goto shrugged, "You're an American submarine, my girls are Imperial Japanese. They don't have a hope in hell of matching your… logistical magics."
"Uh, sir," Albie coughed, "We prefer the term 'blatant, unrepentant thievery'."
Goto cocked an eyebrow.
"What?" Albie smiled sweetly at him.
bGoto rolled his eyes, "Look, Albie, we need your skills. And from what Richardson's told me, you've been begging to visit Akihabara?"
Albie nodded, "Really a lot, sir."
"You're on loan to me for a week," said Goto. "You finish up early, take the rest of it off."
Albie smiled from ear to ear. "Thank you, sir!"
Goto gave her a weary sliver of a smile. From what Richardson had told him, giving Albie an order was as good as declaring it done. "Dismissed."
Albie snapped off a salute and vanished.
Goto sighed and turned back to his paperwork. In the scant few minutes he'd been talking with the American submarine, the paper seemed to have multiplied. It was breeding. There was a giant paperwork orgy going on right on his desk, and it was all he could do to fill out forms faster than they were produced.
Good thing he had—
Goto's hand closed around air where his coffee mug… used… to be.
The Admiral glanced up at nothing and scowled. This was payback from Richarson, he just knew it.
But mostly, Shinano wasn't looking forwards to her bath because that meant being naked. In front of Ryuujou and Jun'you. Shinano hated being naked, it made her feel… well, naked.
When she was at sea, she could be a carrier. She could bind down her battleship heritage under tightly-woven canvas and heavy steel. She could pick up her bow and sling her deck over her broad shoulders. She could fight, and she would fight for her beloved Japan. But that was while she was at sea.
In the baths, naked, what she was reared its ugly head at her. Without her tight bindings, breasts bigger than any carriers' bulge from her chest. Without her thick canvas kimono, her flanks rippled with an armor belt built for close-range brawling. In the bath, she was reduced to what she was. What she was born as.
The last Yamato.
A battleship obsolete before her keel kissed the ocean.
Shinano sniffed and pulled her massive legs up against her soft, squishy, uncarrierlikechest. She'd hug herself if her other arm wasn't a mangled stump. She hated being reminded of what she was, and she really hatedgetting attention.
She hadn't even done anything special. She'd just spotted handful of planes. Any other girl would've done the same in her position. The praise made her feel flighty…. Well, flightier than usual.
Shinano sniffed and rested her chin on her chest. And then she noticed something. Her locker was ajar. Strange, she swore she'd remembered to close it. White had been very specific about that, watertight doors aren't worth anything it you leave them open.
The big support carrier stood to her feet. Which was easier said than done. Shinano was not a very coordinated girl at the best of times, and her missing arm conspired with the slick tile to degrade her already feeble gymnastic skills. She fell flat on her stern with a wet squish and crack of shattering tile once before she got her screws under her.
She tried not to think about the damage her fall had done. The light carrier docks really weren't built for ships of her immense displacement. None of them really were except the battleship docks. And Shinano would giveanything to stay out of them.
She idly rubbed her sore stern with her only remaining hand and wandered towards her locker. There was something inside that she hadn't put there.
"Hmm?" Shinano muttered to herself and slowly settled onto her knees. She pushed the door aside with her hand. And then she started to cry.
Waiting for her in a neatly folded pile was a swimsuit. And not one of the perpetually glistening blue outfits the submarines threatened to burst out of with each bouncy step.
No, this one was… utilitarian. The fabric was a gritty black that seemed to soak up light like a sponge. Only storm-gray panels on the sides gave an indication of the wearer's figure. The high-necked cut covered all of Shinano's cleavage, and a stenciled rising sun on the bust gave her something to be proud of on her chest.
And there was also a little node. A small paper card filled with the most stunningly beautiful handwriting Shinano had ever seen.
Heard you were around, thought you could use this. -A
Shinano let out a squeal and hugged her new swimsuit to her breast. She didn't know who'd bought her this, but she didn't care. She'd treasure it for ever! Now if she could just figure out how to get it one with only one arm…
A few hundred yards off her flank, Lou cupped her hands to her face and futilely tried to warm them up. Her flaming hair was throughly quenched from the days-long rainstorm, and her sunkissed skin showed even though the drenched fabric of her once-crisp whites. "Brazil… was…" she rubbed her hands together and whimpered, "Never like this."
"Mmm… Brazil," Frisco stuck her hands under her armpits and squeezed them tight. She was still as drenched as ever, but… Actually no. She wasn't any colder. She was just cold and miserable in a new, exciting way.
"The water's seventy degrees there," Lou wiped a dripping wet strand of hair from her face.
"Seventy degrees," Frisco moaned at the thought.
And then a sound wafted over the choppy waters. A sound that bounced with a happy lilt altogether unsuited for the soggy downpour. A sound that eerily resembled someone trying to staunch a strong, Teutonic laugh with a wet-gloved hand, but failing miserably at it.
Frisco scowled in the general direction of her German divisionmate.
True to her suspicious, the tall, blond, non-treaty-compliant German cruiser held both hands clapped over her mouth. It wasn't doing much. Prinz Eugen's cheeks were glowing even more than they normally did, and her whole body was quivering from the effort of holding back her giggles.
"What?" Frisco sighed and hiked up her gunbelt. She had to have gained half her weight in water. Good thing her hips weren't as flat as her chest, or she'd have lost her pants somewhere in the Bering sea.
"This…" Prinz Eugen's clipped accent rang with what could only be described as girlish Prussian giggles. "This is not cold."
Frisco shivered in protest. "This i-is c-cold, what're you t-talking about?"
Prinz Eugen shook her head. "No. This… This is nippy."
Frisco flinched and gave herself a quick once over. But no, her searchlights were still nice and secured. Lou didn't even bother to check. Either the light cruiser wasn't as jumpy as Frisco was, or she just didn't care anymore. South America did strange things to a girl.
The German-born cruiser giggled like a pigtailed school girl. "Come spend a few days in a Norwegian fjord-"
Frisco and Lou shivered.
"-in February-"
Frisco and Lou shivered more.
"And then we'll talk about cold, ja?"
For a minute, Prinz Eugen just beamed at the two American-born cruisers with a smile that put even Japanese night-fighting searchlights to shame while Frisco and Lou shivered at her.
Then Frisco snorted out a laugh and hugged herself not to keep warm, but to keep from exploding in giggles. Lou followed suit mere seconds later. The flame-haired light cruiser threw her head back and howled out a roaring belly laugh.
Before long, all three cruisers were doubled over with mirth.
"You know?" Lou slapped her thigh and smiled at the giggling German. "Whoever said Germans don't have a sense of humor lied."
"And whoever said," countered Prinz Eugen, "That Americans are friendly and welcoming did not know the half of it!"
Goto glanced up from the piles of supposedly-organized paperwork dominating his desk with a tired sigh. The logistics problem was as tight as it'd ever been, but hopefully the new arrival Richardson had been so kind to lend him would at least smooth over the more trivial matters. "Yeah," The Admiral leaned back in his chair, rubbing the grit from his eyes with the heel of his hand.
"Ahem," The lithe American stepped into his office proper, her gritty white-on-black swimsuit soaking up the office lighting like a sponge. "USS Albacore reporting, sir."
She wasn't anything like what he'd expected. His submarines bounced around in bright blue swimsuits perpetually glistening with a slick, wet sheen. Swimsuits that they'd come spilling out of if they so much as breathed the wrong way.
But not Albacore, her swimsuit couldn't have been more utilitarian if it tried. The high-necked cut kept any cleavage the American had neatly covered, and only the proud "US NAVY" painted across her otherwise unremarkable chest drew the eye from her salty spiked-up fauxhawk.
She was even wearing pants. Pants open at the front and rolled back over her hips to show where Albacore had written 'Albie's!' in pink glitter pen—complete with heart over the eye—over the original owner's sharpied-in 'Richardson' tag.
"Albacore," Goto smiled and offered her his hand. "It's good to have you here." His experience with the American sub was limited to her reports. Reports so text-book perfect he almost didn't notice they were written in gel pen with hearts over the I's.
"Thank you, Sir!" the submarine's cheeks glowed and her whole body seemed to swell with pride. "And, uh… you can just call me Ablie if you'd like."
"Albie then," Goto nodded. So she had a cute nickname. At least she wasn't bouncing around in a swimsuit three sizes too small while turning the mere mention of the word 'torpedo' into something unspeakably lewd. "You've gotten settled in?"
Albie nodded, "Nagato bunked me with Imuya and Shioi." The American planted her hands on her hips and tutted her tongue. "They, uh…" she scratched at her salty up-do, "what does 'sempai' mean?"
Goto hung his head, "Why do you ask?"
"Because they both insist on calling me that," said Albie, "It's really weird."
Goto sighed, "I'll tell you later. For the time being, I've got a job for you."
"Sir!" Albie instantly dropped her confused, girlish demeanor and fell back into proper military line.
"Shinano came back not long ago," said Goto, "but beyond her duty uniform, she doesn't have so much as a spare sarashi to wear."
"Yikes," Albie winced sympathetically.
"We've called around," Goto slid Shinano's section of Janes' Fighting Kanmusu towards the submarine, "But there's not a store in the city that carries anything in her size."
Albie scanned over the numbers, her eyebrows briefly jolting up. "So… you brought me all the way up here… for that?"
Goto shrugged, "You're an American submarine, my girls are Imperial Japanese. They don't have a hope in hell of matching your… logistical magics."
"Uh, sir," Albie coughed, "We prefer the term 'blatant, unrepentant thievery'."
Goto cocked an eyebrow.
"What?" Albie smiled sweetly at him.
bGoto rolled his eyes, "Look, Albie, we need your skills. And from what Richardson's told me, you've been begging to visit Akihabara?"
Albie nodded, "Really a lot, sir."
"You're on loan to me for a week," said Goto. "You finish up early, take the rest of it off."
Albie smiled from ear to ear. "Thank you, sir!"
Goto gave her a weary sliver of a smile. From what Richardson had told him, giving Albie an order was as good as declaring it done. "Dismissed."
Albie snapped off a salute and vanished.
Goto sighed and turned back to his paperwork. In the scant few minutes he'd been talking with the American submarine, the paper seemed to have multiplied. It was breeding. There was a giant paperwork orgy going on right on his desk, and it was all he could do to fill out forms faster than they were produced.
Good thing he had—
Goto's hand closed around air where his coffee mug… used… to be.
The Admiral glanced up at nothing and scowled. This was payback from Richarson, he just knew it.
—|—|—
Support carrier Shinano wasn't looking forwards to her bath. Partly because baths were scary. The giant carrier always felt uneasy when she slipped beneath the warm, soothing waters. Maybe if White was there to hold her hand it wouldn't be as scary, but the heroic little American was busy doing real carrier things in the Emperor's Lake. She couldn't come even if Shinano asked.
But mostly, Shinano wasn't looking forwards to her bath because that meant being naked. In front of Ryuujou and Jun'you. Shinano hated being naked, it made her feel… well, naked.
When she was at sea, she could be a carrier. She could bind down her battleship heritage under tightly-woven canvas and heavy steel. She could pick up her bow and sling her deck over her broad shoulders. She could fight, and she would fight for her beloved Japan. But that was while she was at sea.
In the baths, naked, what she was reared its ugly head at her. Without her tight bindings, breasts bigger than any carriers' bulge from her chest. Without her thick canvas kimono, her flanks rippled with an armor belt built for close-range brawling. In the bath, she was reduced to what she was. What she was born as.
The last Yamato.
A battleship obsolete before her keel kissed the ocean.
Shinano sniffed and pulled her massive legs up against her soft, squishy, uncarrierlikechest. She'd hug herself if her other arm wasn't a mangled stump. She hated being reminded of what she was, and she really hatedgetting attention.
She hadn't even done anything special. She'd just spotted handful of planes. Any other girl would've done the same in her position. The praise made her feel flighty…. Well, flightier than usual.
Shinano sniffed and rested her chin on her chest. And then she noticed something. Her locker was ajar. Strange, she swore she'd remembered to close it. White had been very specific about that, watertight doors aren't worth anything it you leave them open.
The big support carrier stood to her feet. Which was easier said than done. Shinano was not a very coordinated girl at the best of times, and her missing arm conspired with the slick tile to degrade her already feeble gymnastic skills. She fell flat on her stern with a wet squish and crack of shattering tile once before she got her screws under her.
She tried not to think about the damage her fall had done. The light carrier docks really weren't built for ships of her immense displacement. None of them really were except the battleship docks. And Shinano would giveanything to stay out of them.
She idly rubbed her sore stern with her only remaining hand and wandered towards her locker. There was something inside that she hadn't put there.
"Hmm?" Shinano muttered to herself and slowly settled onto her knees. She pushed the door aside with her hand. And then she started to cry.
Waiting for her in a neatly folded pile was a swimsuit. And not one of the perpetually glistening blue outfits the submarines threatened to burst out of with each bouncy step.
No, this one was… utilitarian. The fabric was a gritty black that seemed to soak up light like a sponge. Only storm-gray panels on the sides gave an indication of the wearer's figure. The high-necked cut covered all of Shinano's cleavage, and a stenciled rising sun on the bust gave her something to be proud of on her chest.
And there was also a little node. A small paper card filled with the most stunningly beautiful handwriting Shinano had ever seen.
Heard you were around, thought you could use this. -A
Shinano let out a squeal and hugged her new swimsuit to her breast. She didn't know who'd bought her this, but she didn't care. She'd treasure it for ever! Now if she could just figure out how to get it one with only one arm…
—|—|—
"S-so cold," Frisco hissed though chattering teeth and hugged herself tighter. Her raven black hair lay glued to her back like a wet, tired dog. Water dripped off the ragged tear in her soaked-though crop-top and ran down the pale skin of her scarred-over stomach.
A few hundred yards off her flank, Lou cupped her hands to her face and futilely tried to warm them up. Her flaming hair was throughly quenched from the days-long rainstorm, and her sunkissed skin showed even though the drenched fabric of her once-crisp whites. "Brazil… was…" she rubbed her hands together and whimpered, "Never like this."
"Mmm… Brazil," Frisco stuck her hands under her armpits and squeezed them tight. She was still as drenched as ever, but… Actually no. She wasn't any colder. She was just cold and miserable in a new, exciting way.
"The water's seventy degrees there," Lou wiped a dripping wet strand of hair from her face.
"Seventy degrees," Frisco moaned at the thought.
And then a sound wafted over the choppy waters. A sound that bounced with a happy lilt altogether unsuited for the soggy downpour. A sound that eerily resembled someone trying to staunch a strong, Teutonic laugh with a wet-gloved hand, but failing miserably at it.
Frisco scowled in the general direction of her German divisionmate.
True to her suspicious, the tall, blond, non-treaty-compliant German cruiser held both hands clapped over her mouth. It wasn't doing much. Prinz Eugen's cheeks were glowing even more than they normally did, and her whole body was quivering from the effort of holding back her giggles.
"What?" Frisco sighed and hiked up her gunbelt. She had to have gained half her weight in water. Good thing her hips weren't as flat as her chest, or she'd have lost her pants somewhere in the Bering sea.
"This…" Prinz Eugen's clipped accent rang with what could only be described as girlish Prussian giggles. "This is not cold."
Frisco shivered in protest. "This i-is c-cold, what're you t-talking about?"
Prinz Eugen shook her head. "No. This… This is nippy."
Frisco flinched and gave herself a quick once over. But no, her searchlights were still nice and secured. Lou didn't even bother to check. Either the light cruiser wasn't as jumpy as Frisco was, or she just didn't care anymore. South America did strange things to a girl.
The German-born cruiser giggled like a pigtailed school girl. "Come spend a few days in a Norwegian fjord-"
Frisco and Lou shivered.
"-in February-"
Frisco and Lou shivered more.
"And then we'll talk about cold, ja?"
For a minute, Prinz Eugen just beamed at the two American-born cruisers with a smile that put even Japanese night-fighting searchlights to shame while Frisco and Lou shivered at her.
Then Frisco snorted out a laugh and hugged herself not to keep warm, but to keep from exploding in giggles. Lou followed suit mere seconds later. The flame-haired light cruiser threw her head back and howled out a roaring belly laugh.
Before long, all three cruisers were doubled over with mirth.
"You know?" Lou slapped her thigh and smiled at the giggling German. "Whoever said Germans don't have a sense of humor lied."
"And whoever said," countered Prinz Eugen, "That Americans are friendly and welcoming did not know the half of it!"
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obssesednuker
Commander of 10 Million Men
- Location
- In the Kremlin, activating Perimtr.
Albie never finding out is going to be a running gag, isn't it?
HolyDragoon
Call Gespenst!
- Location
- Portugal
Oh Goto. You can't say Albie didn't warn you...
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
Prinz best CA all years 10/10, would cook bratwurst and potato salad for.
Have a chat with some of the destroyers who pulled Arctic convoy escorts, Frisco. They'll be happy to tell you what cold is.
or some Bering Sea crab boats.
...well some of us, I just tend to be a right Arse even when I don't want to be one.
- Location
- North Carolina
Yeah, or Frisco could ask the ships that got stuck in the ice in Antarctica or the Arctic, they will be able to tell you what cold is. Still Albie really knows what she is doing, she managed to cheer Shinano up, still, I wouldn't want to introduce her to a submarine girl named Archerfish, for a good reason, because USS Archerfish was the name of the submarine that sank her after all.
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- Location
- 'Murica
Hmm... she was, wasn't she? What letter does Archerfish start with again?
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Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
... Huh, you know, Acadia is over a hundred years old now. Grant you, her displacement in BelBat means that she would be an animal unfortunately if she self-summoned...
Oh goddammit, stop giving him ideas, Thor! :lol
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
But I thought that Prinz liked pudding the best though...
- Location
- State of Denial
Well you see . . . that'd be cannibalism.But I thought that Prinz liked pudding the best though...
Spectre
eternal servant to the Fire/EMS gods
- Location
- NY
or, depending on if they have any memory of being museum ships and they do show up in story, USS Little Rock and USS The Sullivans. 70 degrees is about what Lake Erie hits during summer.Have a chat with some of the destroyers who pulled Arctic convoy escorts, Frisco. They'll be happy to tell you what cold is.
- Location
- North Carolina
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
- Location
- North Carolina
For some reason, I actually imagine Prinz going into a towering rage if one of her comrades is gravely injured in the battle that will follow.
- Location
- Little Red Dot
Now my dear boy, there is a cross-cultural joke at work here that might be a tad obscure.
It comes from the fact that Kantai Collection's Prinz Eugen happens to be a German ship in a Japanese game, and Japanese just so happens to be a language in which foreign words such as those derived from English and Deutsch (hope I got this one right, or joke's on me) are very often expressed not as they are, but as their closest -or sometimes not very close- approximate in the Japanese language.
This leads to some hilarity in Pringles' case.
Prinz Eugen --> プリンツ・オイゲン (pronunciation approximation - Purintsu Oigen)
Pudding --> プリン (approximation - Purin)
Now, neither of these are exact approximations, but there they are. And thus the extended joke of "Prinz Eugen loves pudding - oh wait but that would be cannibalism" was born. Albeit after a rash of pictures featuring her liking or being protective of pudding was released first.
A movement of artistic direction that Exhibit A above is a part of, since the manner of her portrayal is less Hannibal Lecter and more Clarice Starling.
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- Location
- North Carolina
Very informative and that also makes a lot of sense! You know what they say: