Dark Mage
Sanity is really overrated...
- Location
- Out of My Mind
Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
Burning Baron
This position needs more entrenching.
- Location
- In here, not out there.
Plus, a swarm of DDs would pick all potential noms clean, in this case an entire neighbourhood's worth of candy. And, for years afterwards, the Soccer Moms would tell horror stories of the Bug Children that descended like a Biblical Plague.*
*All is non-canon nonsense.
*All is non-canon nonsense.
Nicholas
No longer teaching battlethings on a battleship
- Location
- Ashore again
- Pronouns
- He/Him
***PLUSHIE UPDATE!***
Asked my boss about the plushies today.
The bad news is that full-sized sixteen-inch shells probably won't happen. Too expensive/unwieldy. The good news, however, is that we may be moving forward with either scaled-down sixteen-inch or full-size five-inch shells.
So yeah. Shell plushies may be on the way! Tell Jersey she might want to visit her big sis sometime soon!
Asked my boss about the plushies today.
The bad news is that full-sized sixteen-inch shells probably won't happen. Too expensive/unwieldy. The good news, however, is that we may be moving forward with either scaled-down sixteen-inch or full-size five-inch shells.
So yeah. Shell plushies may be on the way! Tell Jersey she might want to visit her big sis sometime soon!
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Burning Baron
This position needs more entrenching.
- Location
- In here, not out there.
That is SO F*CKING METAL!
Sir_Gaea
More Stories Please
- Location
- The Region
Awesome! Wait, when you say full 16 inch, would that have been the ~6 foot tall shell New Jersey uses to wreck someone's day?
If it is, I'll take a scaled down one.
- Location
- Malaysia
Who is Abyssko again?...i'm afraid my brain is...overloaded with other characters and things to remember....
Abyssal!Bismarck. Bisko is a popular nickname for Bismarck in Kancolle fandom.
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
You know, I find that funny for reasons I can't exactly disclose.
Adamantium9001
Sworn enemy of the dragon-tyrant
- Location
- Inside my own head
That joke was abysmalOh wait.
Richardson
CAN YOU HEAR THE PEOPLE SING?
- Location
- Yes
I would be totally fine with 1/2 scale 16 inch shells.
- Location
- United States, EST
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I don't know why, but "Abyssmarck" makes me think more of a currency of some form than anything.
Alternate thought: What about 1/12-scale shells? Small enough (1-1/3"/33.87mm diameter, 6"/152.4mm long for AP, 5-1/3"/135.47mm long for all others) that they'd be convenient to store and inexpensive to make (even if you decided to make 'em actual steel castings--in which case they're also sized completely wrong for any firearm ever, avoiding any possible BATFE problems), and they'd be awesome to put next to the ever-popular 1/12-scale anime figures.
Which now has me picturing a whole line of shells in common figure and model scales, from 1/6 through 1/35 and 1/48 all the way to 1/72 and even 1/87.1 and 1/160 for model railroaders... somehow, I suspect styrene would be the proper material for those, though. (And, if you're masochistic enough, 1/350 and 1/700 scale ones as "superdetail parts" for battleship models...)
- Location
- State of Denial
"Abyss Mark, official currency of the Abyssal forces"
*Abyssmarck is confused constantly*
Steelhooves
Star Paladin
- Location
- Maripony-Damn it.
when they come about I would gladly order on from you if possible.
Musical Accompaniment
- Location
- 'Murica
A moan of pain slipped through large cruiser Alaska's clenched teeth. The healing bathwater stung against her tender skin. Half her body was covered in charred-over flesh, while the rest was shiny and raw where her doctors had had to peel away melted fragments of her once-pristine wolfs' fur parka.
In her short life as a ship of steel and fire, and her even shorter life as whatever she was now, Alaska hadn't actually fought much. She'd never had to stand against someone her own size, let alone fight a foe a full weight class above her before now. Now she knew what it was like. And she didn't like it.
"Owwwwwww," Alaska hissed as water washed over her chest and tickled at the char ringing her neck. Every breath felt like drinking ground glass, and just settling down into her berth was agony on her battered hull.
At least she could see again, however poorly. Her crew had setup a few makeshift observation posts on the burnt, twisted wreckage that'd once been her superstructure. It wasn't enough to fight with. It was barely even enough to navigate with, but it was something.
In a strange way, Alaska was happy she couldn't see very well. Atago, her best friend in the whole wide world lay just across the pier. As badly as she was hurt, she knew Atago was worse. Her Japanese friend didn't have her damage control, nor her armor. Alaska couldn't bear the sight of her best friend laying battered and bleeding beside her, but she knew it was true.
Alaska hadn't heard even one of her bubbly best friend's cheerful "panpakapans". All that sounded from that side of the pier was the raspy, rattly sound of labored breathing and a few groans of tortured metal being stressed beyond its breaking point.
Atago would pull though, she and Nachi both. They were good ships, good soldiers. They were used to fighting in conditions that'd make even the sternest American pale with horror. They'd come back from this, and stronger too.
But they were also her friends, and they were in pain. And that hurt Alaska more than the worst the Princess could inflict.
"T-" Alaska pursed her split lips. "Tago?" she asked in a voice so hoarse and raw it startled even herself.
A barely-audible murmur wafted over the pier. Alaska saw the vague shape of Atago, her shimmering blond hair burned short and almost black, loll over in the gentle waves towards her.
The American didn't know what to do. She wasn't a repairship, and even if she was, she didn't know the first thing about Japanese shipbuilding, and even if she did, her crew was far to busy just keeping her afloat.
But even if she couldn't do anything to help, Alaska could at least try to take their mind off the pain. Her throat might be scorched raw, but she could still speak. She could still sing, and she knew a few songs.
Two, actually. She knew two. And one of them was the Spongebob Squarepants theme, which she didn't really consider appropriate. But she knew one other song. And while she still had breath in her breast, she'd do all she could to make her friends feel better.
"She's the ship," Alaska screwed up her eyes and tried to block out the rattle banging up her vocal chords. She could sing. For her friends, she would sing. "Of happy landings."
On the piers beside her, Alaska felt her Japanese friends relax by fractions. Atago's breathing was still labored and rough, but her chest seemed to heave with a gentler rythm now.
"Largest man-o-" Alaska coughed, and clenched her hands into fists. "Man-o-war afloat. She's the mother ship to or'e a hundred planes."
The large cruiser smiled in spite of herself. A mother ship… She'd thought she'd become one not too long ago. Maybe she'd be one yet.
"She's the queen of our great navy-"
—|—|—
She's the queen of all the seas
What?
That song…
She'd heard that song before.
She knew that song.
That was her song.
But…
How.
How did anyone still know her song.
People still… knew her?
Loved her, even?
She thought her country was done with her. She'd served them with pride. She'd soldiered on when her sister failed. She'd nailed her tattered colors to the mast and held the proudly aloft until newer, fresher, better warriors arrived to hold it high.
She'd given her life in pursuit of knowledge. Her death would teach those who came after her how to survive this brave new world. She couldn't imagine a better death.
She was fulfilled. Content to sleep the calm, dreamless sleep of a life well-spent. She'd assumed she'd been forgotten like a warrior standing in the shadows of giants.
But someone still knew her.
Let. Me. Back.
Ṇ̮̻̦ͨ̆̀o̧̙̥̦͈̘̩̜͒.͚͚͉̖̺͍͝
Why!
T̹̹̮̘͚ͫ̊̚ͅh̽̿ͥͦê̷̺͑ẏ̢̲̙̬͋ͨ̄̊̔'͕̙̬͍͙̗̅͞r̲̖̋́̅ͯe̜ ̳ͯ̑̔͢n͗̔̈́̂ͪŏ̗̞̥͚̦t̖͇ͭ͂̅̃̽͜ ̲̓̀͗ͧ̂͂̚w̛͓͙͇̣ͮ͊o͎̥͉͍̞̣ͯr͈̲ͣt̯̱̞̯ẖ͎̍̇̂̽̏̂̋y̙̖͔̖͇͉̳ͧ͆̉ͤ̆ͣͫ.̡͓̠̠̺̥͕̫̐̆ͪ
They're worthy enough. They sunk a battlecruiser!
A̴̳͇ͣ̈́͆ͦt̥̙̫̺̪͍͌̋͠ ̟̫͙̱̖̹̘͊t̞̲̥̟̼̲̻͛̈́h̬̗̳̥̞̏̓̒ͯ̈̀̚ḛ ̵̭̻͇̊ͫc͕͉̟̮ͪͤ͟oͤs͖͗̈́̂̕t̘̯͈̬͇͖͉̀ ̷̬̳̝̇ͨ̅͂̀̉ȏ̘ͧͭ̔̇f̧̗̒ͨͧ̋̅̽͌ ̱̬̠̳͙a͚̞̦̺͂̇ ͪ̄̈́͏̖͔̱̬͓̣ba͍͔͎ͦͭ͂͋ͪ̊t̩̠̤̳̯̭̭͆̊̇ͥ́̿ͯt̙͓͎̒̔͂͐ļ͛̌͌͐̇̇ḛͧ͑͜s̸̯̜̯̩h̷ͨ̌i̮̫̰ͦ̅̑̚͡p̟̼̖̹̼̗ͬ.͉͚̠͙̾̾̽̎̍̄ͭ͡ͅ ͮͥͨAͧͨṉ̲͙̝̠̝͋̍͊̃̆̌̂ͅd̢̹̳͊ͮ́̄̑ͯͥ ̯̼̱͙̹̌̕ͅn͙͚̓͑e͖͕͐͛͊̑̈́ͨ͢ͅã͈̫͔̟͍͚r̸͇̳̻̥̲ͪ͒̂̓ͥ͛̚l͎̥̈́̓̏̑̅y̩̼̝̘̏̈̓ͯ̔́̚ ̸̬̠̝̺̇̔t̶̻̝h̶̦̬ͅͅr̭̹͕̟͗͛̈̋̐͗͘ẹ̞̼̠͇͇͛͊ͥe̢̟͚͙͖̱̙̽̄̓ ̡̺̣̗̦͈͉̲̐̾̃̇c̅̓̄ͧͣ̃͆҉̤͇r̼̯̬̠̖͈ͥͮ̆̄u̘̟̣̩̭ͯ̈́̈ͭ͗̄i̳̥̝͔͒̇͆͝ş̳͙͚̬͚͇̻͋̀e̻̯̎ͤ͒̂̕r̗̓s̩̭͞ ͉͍ͥ͋b̞̜̱̓ê̫ͤs̙͎͇ͤ̈́̀̾̄iͭ̌̍͂͐d͓͕̒͋̽ȇ̹͇͚͒ͣs̷̄ͫ.̶͉͈̼͋͐
That's enough. That has to be enough! let me back!
N̼̥̟̼̰̖͊͌̐̓o̘͓̞̪̎ͅ.̻͚̳̪̞͋ ̡ͦ͐͐̄̑ͯ̒I̳̻̰͚ͯ͊́͗͡ ̵̺̱͇̤̼̋͐ͮͤ̏̚c̼̼̰̪͕ạ̙̰̗̗̒n͝'̙̭͈ͩ͌̾ͩt͎̖̼̪̺͛̈́ͯ̿.҉ ̫͖̪ͯ͒͌̃̒Ţ̺̳͉̿́͂ͦh̬̜̮̠̞͓̯̓̍͋͐ͨȅ̓͌̏ͫͣ̑͏̤̮ŷ̩̲̦͇̯͈̍ͤ͋͂ͬ'͈̘͎͓̃r̦̭̉̚ę̩̟̺̬̳̩̘̒̃͐ͨ̎ͭ͒.͖͈̦̰̪͚̺̓͐ͬ̇ͬ̅ͤ ̲̳̏̀̇ͯ̓̒̓Ǹ̡͖͈̮̱̪̜͈̃̃o̢̒t̟̺̖͎̬̞ͯͬͪ͢.͚̳ ̰͎̦̪ͨ͗͌̄̐̂W̝̩̤͖͙͎͓ͤo͚͈͚͆ͧ̾̎͐ͬ̒ṛ͎͗ͣ̀t̬̹̦̝͓͆͋ͨͨͣ̂̔h̝̮̺̪̗̦̖y̢̻͔͎̻̱ͪ.̱͓̙
But Texas—
S̤͖̠͗ͥͭͥ̚͜h͇̯͚̦͍̙͇ͯ͑͌̿ͨ̓͗͠ẻ̻͍͕̹̩̎́ ̛̟̗̺͚̥͙̈̄̈ͮͮͫs͔͍̤̟̐͑̇̓ͩ̊̈́t̪̜̮̣ͧ̓̐̌ͫo̢͔̘̫̟̠̬ͮ̾ͣ̓ͩo̹̹̘͉͌ͯͧͪ̓͢d̬̘̗̹̪̤̐̊̄̆́ͩ͒́ ̜͕̣̳̬ͦͩ̆̎̐ͤ̃͢w̯ͩ̓ͫ̒̔͊̾ȧ͎̮ṫ̠̫̐̽͐̂̉̽͝c̗̩̥̤̩ͣ̍̃̚ḩ̪̙͚̜͌ͯ̿̋ ͛͊̿̈̓̿͑̀f͓̩̱͚͙ǒ̺̝̊ͩͧ̋́r̫̰̣͎ͪ̃̅͛͡ͅ ̵̘̠͈̦̜̊̊͋ͅa̦̹̗̜̞̘̝͐̂͢ ͈͚͉̟̈ͅh͔͖̾̓ͪ̓ͤ̚̚u͍̼͚͉̜͟n̢͈͍͚̖͚͖̲͒̀̈́̿̇̈́d̫͓̮̰̜͎̪̏̔͑̿̚͟ṙ͙̬ͭ̒e̜̦̗ͦ͗̍̕d͕̠͑ͤ̓͜ ͈̩͉͓̀ͭͧ̈́̊y̢ẻ̦̺̮̂ͤår̃s̗̜̭͔͖,͛̆͒̀ ͓̝̲̤̳̤̹͆͠a̠̥̝̯̙̤͍ͣͯ͗́ͫ̒n̟͋̉ḑ͎͍̺͇ ͭ̅̉̀̓͒͐m͎͚̍͆ͥo̖͚̰͎̣͌̉̆̓̒r̾ͫ́̋̌ͧͣe̶̞ͣ̃̏͌ ͑҉̩̣͍̘̭ḃe̡͔̰͛̌s̥͔̣̳̮͇̜̈́ͧ͠i̷̻̭͚͂d͍͙̭̤̫͕͉ͬ̋̌̇̌͞e̸͕̺ͣŝ̹.̻̺̱̪̫̲̑̎͋͝ ̗̘H̥̪͙͍̉̓͝ē̴̙̜̱̄̊̐̚r̩̳͇ͯ̊ͭ ́s̎̏ͩ̓҉͎̞o͇̜̟̜͉͐̊̿̍u̞͔̫̲̻͑̂̃̈́l̙̰͈̜̗͇̽̆̈̏ͥͨ̔ ̴͕̜̗̣̘ͮ͑ͅͅî̶̦̭̤͉̳̭̹s̞ͤ͆̆ ̞̊̎͛͞h̹̭͕͔̟̤̀̈́̽ͧ̑ͣͪe̩̟̣̱r̓ͅ ̟̘͊͗̐̍̓̚͝o̺͔̱̳͙̥̠w̞̰̞̱ͭn̟.͍͚̦̼̼̤̾
The song faded away. Taking with it the tiny spark of light in the infinite abyss. Her time was over now, but… but maybe it would come again.
Don't think we're done.
I҉̩̥̟̝ ̥̜̫̫͎͕͊́͋̊̃͠ŵ̚͘o͚̼̰̬̮͋́ͥ͛ư̥̑̆̚l̖͕͖̣̤̊̓͒̋̉̄ͅdͪň̼̌ͣ͆ͣ̐̄͘'̺̫͉̥͙̝͇ͨ͐ͬ̚͞t̜̩̲̖͌̓̽ͤ̋͛ͤ ͚̲͓̟͎̼ͣͧͧ̎̃ͬͯd͇̬ͣr͘e͕̰͍̪̯͕͉͑a͕̥̮̬ͩ̊̎̈́̚m͉̆ͩ̚͜ ̶̺̭̳̓͗̽ͥ̐ͭo̼ͮ̓ͤf͉͚̣̩͉̯̣̊ ̼̟͇͔̞̦ͥ̆̅͒́ḯ̶̦̙ͧ̎̊t̹͌.̠͎̜͊̔̽̍͂͟
—|—|—
Alaska coughed. That song took more out of her than she was expecting. A lot more than she was expecting, actually. Her chest heaved and her dry throat burned as she struggled to keep her boilers lit. But she didn't care. She could tell her friends liked it, and that was enough to cancel out all the pain she'd inflicted on herself.
Just knowing Atago was smiling made Alaska feel like she'd validated her place in this world. She'd never known what she was supposed to be, after all. She was too big and strong to be a cruiser, but too little and weak to be a battleship. She didn't have a place in the fleet, not really. But she didn't always need a fleet.
Not when she had friends like Atago, Hamakaze, and yes, even Nachi.
Alaska closed her eyes and let the warm water slip around her like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. She hurt in places she didn't even know she had, but she didn't care. Her friends were happy, and that made her more content than all the drydock time in the world.
Large Cruiser Alaska had done her duty.
Now Large Cruiser Alaska was going to take a nap.
"You know," a kind warm voice that sounded as smooth and welcoming as honey on cornbread wafted though the air like a warm cloud. It was Texas, Alaska would know the kindly old battleship's molasses-smooth accent anywhere. "I met Sister Sara once."
"Hmm?" Alaska glanced over in the rough direction of the voice. She could barely make out anything beyond the old battleship's short, plump form. But even with her optics shot out, Alaska could feel the grandmotherly warmth radiating off the old lady's hull.
"Back in thirty-three," Texas settled down by the side of the pool and tucked her long skirt around her legs. "You know, she was a supremely beautiful lady. She might not be the best carrier in the world, but I'll be dammed if she wasn't the best looking."
Alaska smiled and let a little chuckle slip past her lips.
"And I'm sure," Texas ran her hand though Alaska's snowy hair, gently smoothing the singed strands over the cruiser's delicate features, "She'd be delighted by that rendition of yours."
"Thank you," said Alaska with a blush.
"Nothing to it," Texas smiled and fished though her knapsack. "Now… you girls worked hard. All of ya'll did. You deserve a little something for your efforts."
Alaska's mouth started to water as the sent of fresh cornbread and smoky barbecue filled the air. Her stomach let out a rumble that sent waves splashing against Atago's bulging superstructure, and a little puddle of drool started to form by her mouth. "T-texas, you did't—"
"Nonesense," Texas waved a hand in the air with a huff. "You girls fought hard, now it's time to eat. Get some meat on those bones." The old battleship set her jaw and cradled a pan of cornbread in her gloved hands. "That goes for the three of you."
Alaska blinked, then glanced over at Atago's curvy silhouette in confusion. "what?"
"Honey," Texas chuckled. "I'm old enough to be all ya'll's grandmother. And I'm from the south. I can, and will, be as hospitable as I want."
Alaska stifled a giggle, and even Nachi didn't escape the kindly southern-fried battleship's barrage without a shadow of a smile.
"Besides," Texas carved out a mammoth helping of cornbread and lavished it with butter. "I'm a battleship of these great United States in general, and the Republic of Texas in particular. And you are within thirty-six thousand, three-hundred yards of me." She all but foisted the delicious morsel off to Alaska, "I can do whatever I want."
Alaska nodded, and took a hearty bite of the cornbread. If there was anything that never failed to cheer her up, it was good Southern cooking made with love.
—|—|—
Under normal circumstances, maintaining noise discipline was among a submarine's highest priorities. But right now, submarine Albacore—Albie to her friends, and Applecore-chan to Tatsuta—didn't care that someone could probably hear her giggling all the way from Pearl with a good enough hydrophone. She couldn't wait to show off the results of her frantic scrounging.
It'd been hard work. They simply didn't make girls in Shinano's size, especially in Japan. But Albie was nothing if not resourceful. She'd scrounged up enough of the heavy triple-reinforced Canvas Shinano liked and found a kimono-maker who could work with the stuff.
She'd also found enough fabric—of both the heavy canvas and gentle silk varieties—to make Shinano a few extra chest-wraps. Albacore was well aware of how miserable it was to wear the same set of underwear for weeks on end. The stench of ball sweat had never totally washed out of her compartments.
Finding street clothes had been harder. It's been said before, but it really should be said again. Shinano was huge. There wasn't a store in the city that carried things in her size before rationing throttled the Japanese economy to barely above subsistence. But Albie was a submarine of the United States Navy. She would not allow something as trivial as physical impossibility keep her from completing her assigned duties.
If she could prowl the seas with mark fourteens, she could find a cute skirt for Shinano! It took her a long while, and some less-than-above-board antics that she'd rather not think about lest it bring down the Wrath of the Brass, but she managed to find a few casual outfits for the giant carrier.
Albie stifled her giggles and hiked her pack over her narrow shoulder. The lithe submarine slipped though the door to the light carrier docks with steps as silent as a cat's confession.
She effortlessly stashed her back in Shinano's locker. The giant carrier hadn't even bothered to lock it up, which served Albie just fine. She'd been practicing her lockpicking, but she still wasn't as fast at it as she'd like.
Content that her gifts were nicely stowed, Albacore hiked up the folded-over hem of her pants and moved towards the baths themselves. She didn't walk as much as she glided. Each step silent as the grave against the slick tile. Even her giggles were mostly stifled as she slipped closer and closer to the sleeping carriers at their piers.
"Oh, Shinano?" Albie sang out a giggling greeting.
An instant later, Albie was caught in a soaking wet, crushingly strong hug. Her vision was blanked out by something massive, soft, and wet, and she felt arms rippling with muscle squeeze her with all their titanic strength. If she was human, she might find the crushing hug terribly painful.
But she wasn't human, she was a submarine. She was built to endure the crushing pressures of the abyssal deep. The tight hug felt more like the comforting blackness of the ocean floor than anything, and Albie let out a comfortable sigh.
"Thank youuuu!" squealed a voice Albie could only assume belong to Shinano.
The giant carrier slowly let Albie out of her sopping wet embrace. No sooner had her hands—or hand, actually. One of the carrier's arms just kinda ended at the elbow—left Albie's swimsuit then they planted to her own. "I like it soooo much!"
Albie had to admit, the swimsuit did a magnificent job on the girl's stunning figure. "Uh," she blinked, and fussed with the spike fringe of her salt-encrusted fauxhawk. "I'd love to take credit, but… that wasn't me."
Shinano blinked. For a second she froze, then she started wringing her hand in front of her belly with a confused expression. "S-sorry?"
Albie craned her neck to meet the towering Japanese girl's eyes. Damn, she was huge. "I… uh… 'got' you some clothes," said the submarine. "But that wasn't one of them."
"But…" A tiny faerie poked its disproportionate head out of Shinano's bulging bust line and handed her a little scrap of paper. "The note…"
Albie turned the paper over in her hands and let out a confused hum. "Uh… Shinano?"
The giant carrier fidgeted inquisitively.
"This… isn't my handwriting." Albie was slightly insulted Shinano would assume the crisp, clean strokes where her own. There weren't any hearts over the I's, and there wasn't even a hint of glitter!
"O-oh," Shinano deflated and sank to her knees. "S-sorry."
Albie shook her head and stared at the note. Something tickled her in the back of her mind, and then she realized where she'd seen that crisp handwriting before. "I think it's Archie's."
"Who?" asked Shinano.
"Archerfish," said Albacore. "Balao-class. Came out about a year after me."
Shinano blinked. "Who?"
In her short life as a ship of steel and fire, and her even shorter life as whatever she was now, Alaska hadn't actually fought much. She'd never had to stand against someone her own size, let alone fight a foe a full weight class above her before now. Now she knew what it was like. And she didn't like it.
"Owwwwwww," Alaska hissed as water washed over her chest and tickled at the char ringing her neck. Every breath felt like drinking ground glass, and just settling down into her berth was agony on her battered hull.
At least she could see again, however poorly. Her crew had setup a few makeshift observation posts on the burnt, twisted wreckage that'd once been her superstructure. It wasn't enough to fight with. It was barely even enough to navigate with, but it was something.
In a strange way, Alaska was happy she couldn't see very well. Atago, her best friend in the whole wide world lay just across the pier. As badly as she was hurt, she knew Atago was worse. Her Japanese friend didn't have her damage control, nor her armor. Alaska couldn't bear the sight of her best friend laying battered and bleeding beside her, but she knew it was true.
Alaska hadn't heard even one of her bubbly best friend's cheerful "panpakapans". All that sounded from that side of the pier was the raspy, rattly sound of labored breathing and a few groans of tortured metal being stressed beyond its breaking point.
Atago would pull though, she and Nachi both. They were good ships, good soldiers. They were used to fighting in conditions that'd make even the sternest American pale with horror. They'd come back from this, and stronger too.
But they were also her friends, and they were in pain. And that hurt Alaska more than the worst the Princess could inflict.
"T-" Alaska pursed her split lips. "Tago?" she asked in a voice so hoarse and raw it startled even herself.
A barely-audible murmur wafted over the pier. Alaska saw the vague shape of Atago, her shimmering blond hair burned short and almost black, loll over in the gentle waves towards her.
The American didn't know what to do. She wasn't a repairship, and even if she was, she didn't know the first thing about Japanese shipbuilding, and even if she did, her crew was far to busy just keeping her afloat.
But even if she couldn't do anything to help, Alaska could at least try to take their mind off the pain. Her throat might be scorched raw, but she could still speak. She could still sing, and she knew a few songs.
Two, actually. She knew two. And one of them was the Spongebob Squarepants theme, which she didn't really consider appropriate. But she knew one other song. And while she still had breath in her breast, she'd do all she could to make her friends feel better.
"She's the ship," Alaska screwed up her eyes and tried to block out the rattle banging up her vocal chords. She could sing. For her friends, she would sing. "Of happy landings."
On the piers beside her, Alaska felt her Japanese friends relax by fractions. Atago's breathing was still labored and rough, but her chest seemed to heave with a gentler rythm now.
"Largest man-o-" Alaska coughed, and clenched her hands into fists. "Man-o-war afloat. She's the mother ship to or'e a hundred planes."
The large cruiser smiled in spite of herself. A mother ship… She'd thought she'd become one not too long ago. Maybe she'd be one yet.
"She's the queen of our great navy-"
—|—|—
She's the queen of all the seas
What?
That song…
She'd heard that song before.
She knew that song.
That was her song.
But…
How.
How did anyone still know her song.
People still… knew her?
Loved her, even?
She thought her country was done with her. She'd served them with pride. She'd soldiered on when her sister failed. She'd nailed her tattered colors to the mast and held the proudly aloft until newer, fresher, better warriors arrived to hold it high.
She'd given her life in pursuit of knowledge. Her death would teach those who came after her how to survive this brave new world. She couldn't imagine a better death.
She was fulfilled. Content to sleep the calm, dreamless sleep of a life well-spent. She'd assumed she'd been forgotten like a warrior standing in the shadows of giants.
But someone still knew her.
Let. Me. Back.
Ṇ̮̻̦ͨ̆̀o̧̙̥̦͈̘̩̜͒.͚͚͉̖̺͍͝
Why!
T̹̹̮̘͚ͫ̊̚ͅh̽̿ͥͦê̷̺͑ẏ̢̲̙̬͋ͨ̄̊̔'͕̙̬͍͙̗̅͞r̲̖̋́̅ͯe̜ ̳ͯ̑̔͢n͗̔̈́̂ͪŏ̗̞̥͚̦t̖͇ͭ͂̅̃̽͜ ̲̓̀͗ͧ̂͂̚w̛͓͙͇̣ͮ͊o͎̥͉͍̞̣ͯr͈̲ͣt̯̱̞̯ẖ͎̍̇̂̽̏̂̋y̙̖͔̖͇͉̳ͧ͆̉ͤ̆ͣͫ.̡͓̠̠̺̥͕̫̐̆ͪ
They're worthy enough. They sunk a battlecruiser!
A̴̳͇ͣ̈́͆ͦt̥̙̫̺̪͍͌̋͠ ̟̫͙̱̖̹̘͊t̞̲̥̟̼̲̻͛̈́h̬̗̳̥̞̏̓̒ͯ̈̀̚ḛ ̵̭̻͇̊ͫc͕͉̟̮ͪͤ͟oͤs͖͗̈́̂̕t̘̯͈̬͇͖͉̀ ̷̬̳̝̇ͨ̅͂̀̉ȏ̘ͧͭ̔̇f̧̗̒ͨͧ̋̅̽͌ ̱̬̠̳͙a͚̞̦̺͂̇ ͪ̄̈́͏̖͔̱̬͓̣ba͍͔͎ͦͭ͂͋ͪ̊t̩̠̤̳̯̭̭͆̊̇ͥ́̿ͯt̙͓͎̒̔͂͐ļ͛̌͌͐̇̇ḛͧ͑͜s̸̯̜̯̩h̷ͨ̌i̮̫̰ͦ̅̑̚͡p̟̼̖̹̼̗ͬ.͉͚̠͙̾̾̽̎̍̄ͭ͡ͅ ͮͥͨAͧͨṉ̲͙̝̠̝͋̍͊̃̆̌̂ͅd̢̹̳͊ͮ́̄̑ͯͥ ̯̼̱͙̹̌̕ͅn͙͚̓͑e͖͕͐͛͊̑̈́ͨ͢ͅã͈̫͔̟͍͚r̸͇̳̻̥̲ͪ͒̂̓ͥ͛̚l͎̥̈́̓̏̑̅y̩̼̝̘̏̈̓ͯ̔́̚ ̸̬̠̝̺̇̔t̶̻̝h̶̦̬ͅͅr̭̹͕̟͗͛̈̋̐͗͘ẹ̞̼̠͇͇͛͊ͥe̢̟͚͙͖̱̙̽̄̓ ̡̺̣̗̦͈͉̲̐̾̃̇c̅̓̄ͧͣ̃͆҉̤͇r̼̯̬̠̖͈ͥͮ̆̄u̘̟̣̩̭ͯ̈́̈ͭ͗̄i̳̥̝͔͒̇͆͝ş̳͙͚̬͚͇̻͋̀e̻̯̎ͤ͒̂̕r̗̓s̩̭͞ ͉͍ͥ͋b̞̜̱̓ê̫ͤs̙͎͇ͤ̈́̀̾̄iͭ̌̍͂͐d͓͕̒͋̽ȇ̹͇͚͒ͣs̷̄ͫ.̶͉͈̼͋͐
That's enough. That has to be enough! let me back!
N̼̥̟̼̰̖͊͌̐̓o̘͓̞̪̎ͅ.̻͚̳̪̞͋ ̡ͦ͐͐̄̑ͯ̒I̳̻̰͚ͯ͊́͗͡ ̵̺̱͇̤̼̋͐ͮͤ̏̚c̼̼̰̪͕ạ̙̰̗̗̒n͝'̙̭͈ͩ͌̾ͩt͎̖̼̪̺͛̈́ͯ̿.҉ ̫͖̪ͯ͒͌̃̒Ţ̺̳͉̿́͂ͦh̬̜̮̠̞͓̯̓̍͋͐ͨȅ̓͌̏ͫͣ̑͏̤̮ŷ̩̲̦͇̯͈̍ͤ͋͂ͬ'͈̘͎͓̃r̦̭̉̚ę̩̟̺̬̳̩̘̒̃͐ͨ̎ͭ͒.͖͈̦̰̪͚̺̓͐ͬ̇ͬ̅ͤ ̲̳̏̀̇ͯ̓̒̓Ǹ̡͖͈̮̱̪̜͈̃̃o̢̒t̟̺̖͎̬̞ͯͬͪ͢.͚̳ ̰͎̦̪ͨ͗͌̄̐̂W̝̩̤͖͙͎͓ͤo͚͈͚͆ͧ̾̎͐ͬ̒ṛ͎͗ͣ̀t̬̹̦̝͓͆͋ͨͨͣ̂̔h̝̮̺̪̗̦̖y̢̻͔͎̻̱ͪ.̱͓̙
But Texas—
S̤͖̠͗ͥͭͥ̚͜h͇̯͚̦͍̙͇ͯ͑͌̿ͨ̓͗͠ẻ̻͍͕̹̩̎́ ̛̟̗̺͚̥͙̈̄̈ͮͮͫs͔͍̤̟̐͑̇̓ͩ̊̈́t̪̜̮̣ͧ̓̐̌ͫo̢͔̘̫̟̠̬ͮ̾ͣ̓ͩo̹̹̘͉͌ͯͧͪ̓͢d̬̘̗̹̪̤̐̊̄̆́ͩ͒́ ̜͕̣̳̬ͦͩ̆̎̐ͤ̃͢w̯ͩ̓ͫ̒̔͊̾ȧ͎̮ṫ̠̫̐̽͐̂̉̽͝c̗̩̥̤̩ͣ̍̃̚ḩ̪̙͚̜͌ͯ̿̋ ͛͊̿̈̓̿͑̀f͓̩̱͚͙ǒ̺̝̊ͩͧ̋́r̫̰̣͎ͪ̃̅͛͡ͅ ̵̘̠͈̦̜̊̊͋ͅa̦̹̗̜̞̘̝͐̂͢ ͈͚͉̟̈ͅh͔͖̾̓ͪ̓ͤ̚̚u͍̼͚͉̜͟n̢͈͍͚̖͚͖̲͒̀̈́̿̇̈́d̫͓̮̰̜͎̪̏̔͑̿̚͟ṙ͙̬ͭ̒e̜̦̗ͦ͗̍̕d͕̠͑ͤ̓͜ ͈̩͉͓̀ͭͧ̈́̊y̢ẻ̦̺̮̂ͤår̃s̗̜̭͔͖,͛̆͒̀ ͓̝̲̤̳̤̹͆͠a̠̥̝̯̙̤͍ͣͯ͗́ͫ̒n̟͋̉ḑ͎͍̺͇ ͭ̅̉̀̓͒͐m͎͚̍͆ͥo̖͚̰͎̣͌̉̆̓̒r̾ͫ́̋̌ͧͣe̶̞ͣ̃̏͌ ͑҉̩̣͍̘̭ḃe̡͔̰͛̌s̥͔̣̳̮͇̜̈́ͧ͠i̷̻̭͚͂d͍͙̭̤̫͕͉ͬ̋̌̇̌͞e̸͕̺ͣŝ̹.̻̺̱̪̫̲̑̎͋͝ ̗̘H̥̪͙͍̉̓͝ē̴̙̜̱̄̊̐̚r̩̳͇ͯ̊ͭ ́s̎̏ͩ̓҉͎̞o͇̜̟̜͉͐̊̿̍u̞͔̫̲̻͑̂̃̈́l̙̰͈̜̗͇̽̆̈̏ͥͨ̔ ̴͕̜̗̣̘ͮ͑ͅͅî̶̦̭̤͉̳̭̹s̞ͤ͆̆ ̞̊̎͛͞h̹̭͕͔̟̤̀̈́̽ͧ̑ͣͪe̩̟̣̱r̓ͅ ̟̘͊͗̐̍̓̚͝o̺͔̱̳͙̥̠w̞̰̞̱ͭn̟.͍͚̦̼̼̤̾
The song faded away. Taking with it the tiny spark of light in the infinite abyss. Her time was over now, but… but maybe it would come again.
Don't think we're done.
I҉̩̥̟̝ ̥̜̫̫͎͕͊́͋̊̃͠ŵ̚͘o͚̼̰̬̮͋́ͥ͛ư̥̑̆̚l̖͕͖̣̤̊̓͒̋̉̄ͅdͪň̼̌ͣ͆ͣ̐̄͘'̺̫͉̥͙̝͇ͨ͐ͬ̚͞t̜̩̲̖͌̓̽ͤ̋͛ͤ ͚̲͓̟͎̼ͣͧͧ̎̃ͬͯd͇̬ͣr͘e͕̰͍̪̯͕͉͑a͕̥̮̬ͩ̊̎̈́̚m͉̆ͩ̚͜ ̶̺̭̳̓͗̽ͥ̐ͭo̼ͮ̓ͤf͉͚̣̩͉̯̣̊ ̼̟͇͔̞̦ͥ̆̅͒́ḯ̶̦̙ͧ̎̊t̹͌.̠͎̜͊̔̽̍͂͟
—|—|—
Alaska coughed. That song took more out of her than she was expecting. A lot more than she was expecting, actually. Her chest heaved and her dry throat burned as she struggled to keep her boilers lit. But she didn't care. She could tell her friends liked it, and that was enough to cancel out all the pain she'd inflicted on herself.
Just knowing Atago was smiling made Alaska feel like she'd validated her place in this world. She'd never known what she was supposed to be, after all. She was too big and strong to be a cruiser, but too little and weak to be a battleship. She didn't have a place in the fleet, not really. But she didn't always need a fleet.
Not when she had friends like Atago, Hamakaze, and yes, even Nachi.
Alaska closed her eyes and let the warm water slip around her like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. She hurt in places she didn't even know she had, but she didn't care. Her friends were happy, and that made her more content than all the drydock time in the world.
Large Cruiser Alaska had done her duty.
Now Large Cruiser Alaska was going to take a nap.
"You know," a kind warm voice that sounded as smooth and welcoming as honey on cornbread wafted though the air like a warm cloud. It was Texas, Alaska would know the kindly old battleship's molasses-smooth accent anywhere. "I met Sister Sara once."
"Hmm?" Alaska glanced over in the rough direction of the voice. She could barely make out anything beyond the old battleship's short, plump form. But even with her optics shot out, Alaska could feel the grandmotherly warmth radiating off the old lady's hull.
"Back in thirty-three," Texas settled down by the side of the pool and tucked her long skirt around her legs. "You know, she was a supremely beautiful lady. She might not be the best carrier in the world, but I'll be dammed if she wasn't the best looking."
Alaska smiled and let a little chuckle slip past her lips.
"And I'm sure," Texas ran her hand though Alaska's snowy hair, gently smoothing the singed strands over the cruiser's delicate features, "She'd be delighted by that rendition of yours."
"Thank you," said Alaska with a blush.
"Nothing to it," Texas smiled and fished though her knapsack. "Now… you girls worked hard. All of ya'll did. You deserve a little something for your efforts."
Alaska's mouth started to water as the sent of fresh cornbread and smoky barbecue filled the air. Her stomach let out a rumble that sent waves splashing against Atago's bulging superstructure, and a little puddle of drool started to form by her mouth. "T-texas, you did't—"
"Nonesense," Texas waved a hand in the air with a huff. "You girls fought hard, now it's time to eat. Get some meat on those bones." The old battleship set her jaw and cradled a pan of cornbread in her gloved hands. "That goes for the three of you."
Alaska blinked, then glanced over at Atago's curvy silhouette in confusion. "what?"
"Honey," Texas chuckled. "I'm old enough to be all ya'll's grandmother. And I'm from the south. I can, and will, be as hospitable as I want."
Alaska stifled a giggle, and even Nachi didn't escape the kindly southern-fried battleship's barrage without a shadow of a smile.
"Besides," Texas carved out a mammoth helping of cornbread and lavished it with butter. "I'm a battleship of these great United States in general, and the Republic of Texas in particular. And you are within thirty-six thousand, three-hundred yards of me." She all but foisted the delicious morsel off to Alaska, "I can do whatever I want."
Alaska nodded, and took a hearty bite of the cornbread. If there was anything that never failed to cheer her up, it was good Southern cooking made with love.
—|—|—
Under normal circumstances, maintaining noise discipline was among a submarine's highest priorities. But right now, submarine Albacore—Albie to her friends, and Applecore-chan to Tatsuta—didn't care that someone could probably hear her giggling all the way from Pearl with a good enough hydrophone. She couldn't wait to show off the results of her frantic scrounging.
It'd been hard work. They simply didn't make girls in Shinano's size, especially in Japan. But Albie was nothing if not resourceful. She'd scrounged up enough of the heavy triple-reinforced Canvas Shinano liked and found a kimono-maker who could work with the stuff.
She'd also found enough fabric—of both the heavy canvas and gentle silk varieties—to make Shinano a few extra chest-wraps. Albacore was well aware of how miserable it was to wear the same set of underwear for weeks on end. The stench of ball sweat had never totally washed out of her compartments.
Finding street clothes had been harder. It's been said before, but it really should be said again. Shinano was huge. There wasn't a store in the city that carried things in her size before rationing throttled the Japanese economy to barely above subsistence. But Albie was a submarine of the United States Navy. She would not allow something as trivial as physical impossibility keep her from completing her assigned duties.
If she could prowl the seas with mark fourteens, she could find a cute skirt for Shinano! It took her a long while, and some less-than-above-board antics that she'd rather not think about lest it bring down the Wrath of the Brass, but she managed to find a few casual outfits for the giant carrier.
Albie stifled her giggles and hiked her pack over her narrow shoulder. The lithe submarine slipped though the door to the light carrier docks with steps as silent as a cat's confession.
She effortlessly stashed her back in Shinano's locker. The giant carrier hadn't even bothered to lock it up, which served Albie just fine. She'd been practicing her lockpicking, but she still wasn't as fast at it as she'd like.
Content that her gifts were nicely stowed, Albacore hiked up the folded-over hem of her pants and moved towards the baths themselves. She didn't walk as much as she glided. Each step silent as the grave against the slick tile. Even her giggles were mostly stifled as she slipped closer and closer to the sleeping carriers at their piers.
"Oh, Shinano?" Albie sang out a giggling greeting.
An instant later, Albie was caught in a soaking wet, crushingly strong hug. Her vision was blanked out by something massive, soft, and wet, and she felt arms rippling with muscle squeeze her with all their titanic strength. If she was human, she might find the crushing hug terribly painful.
But she wasn't human, she was a submarine. She was built to endure the crushing pressures of the abyssal deep. The tight hug felt more like the comforting blackness of the ocean floor than anything, and Albie let out a comfortable sigh.
"Thank youuuu!" squealed a voice Albie could only assume belong to Shinano.
The giant carrier slowly let Albie out of her sopping wet embrace. No sooner had her hands—or hand, actually. One of the carrier's arms just kinda ended at the elbow—left Albie's swimsuit then they planted to her own. "I like it soooo much!"
Albie had to admit, the swimsuit did a magnificent job on the girl's stunning figure. "Uh," she blinked, and fussed with the spike fringe of her salt-encrusted fauxhawk. "I'd love to take credit, but… that wasn't me."
Shinano blinked. For a second she froze, then she started wringing her hand in front of her belly with a confused expression. "S-sorry?"
Albie craned her neck to meet the towering Japanese girl's eyes. Damn, she was huge. "I… uh… 'got' you some clothes," said the submarine. "But that wasn't one of them."
"But…" A tiny faerie poked its disproportionate head out of Shinano's bulging bust line and handed her a little scrap of paper. "The note…"
Albie turned the paper over in her hands and let out a confused hum. "Uh… Shinano?"
The giant carrier fidgeted inquisitively.
"This… isn't my handwriting." Albie was slightly insulted Shinano would assume the crisp, clean strokes where her own. There weren't any hearts over the I's, and there wasn't even a hint of glitter!
"O-oh," Shinano deflated and sank to her knees. "S-sorry."
Albie shook her head and stared at the note. Something tickled her in the back of her mind, and then she realized where she'd seen that crisp handwriting before. "I think it's Archie's."
"Who?" asked Shinano.
"Archerfish," said Albacore. "Balao-class. Came out about a year after me."
Shinano blinked. "Who?"
- Location
- Malaysia
Huh pretty neat, nice job as usual @theJMPer .
That's some weird shit, and it's enough to get my brain in charge of theory crafting spinning. So there is an "Entity" that guards the "Shipgirl Underworld" and decides whether or not a shipgirl is allowed to be..resurrected based on how worthy the Living are in dealing with the Abyssals, the Entity also may or may not allow the resurrection of shipgirls based on these two(possibly more criteria's.
1) The Living must be "worthy" in dealing with the Abyssal threat.
2) The term "Worthy" may also reflect in the unresurrected shipgirl, it's like earning EXP in role-playing games, if Sara here was worth 30 Worthy points for an example, the Living only earned a paltry 10 WPs, much too few to resurrect Sara, to sum up, not only must the Living be "Worthy" in dealing with the Abyssal threat, how "Worthy" they are determines the shipgirls they are allowed to summon back.
3) The Entity in question, current hypothesis indicates that it is something of "Death God"...unknown..no proof to substantiate claims..however well within reason.
4) Also, the Entity in question appears to have no control over ships that are "past a certain age" and have developed full sentience by themselves e.g Texas.
All in all...INTERESTING..
P.s I just had to write this theory down after i read this bit...apologies to anyone who might take offence to it.
EDITED!
That's some weird shit, and it's enough to get my brain in charge of theory crafting spinning. So there is an "Entity" that guards the "Shipgirl Underworld" and decides whether or not a shipgirl is allowed to be..resurrected based on how worthy the Living are in dealing with the Abyssals, the Entity also may or may not allow the resurrection of shipgirls based on these two(possibly more criteria's.
1) The Living must be "worthy" in dealing with the Abyssal threat.
2) The term "Worthy" may also reflect in the unresurrected shipgirl, it's like earning EXP in role-playing games, if Sara here was worth 30 Worthy points for an example, the Living only earned a paltry 10 WPs, much too few to resurrect Sara, to sum up, not only must the Living be "Worthy" in dealing with the Abyssal threat, how "Worthy" they are determines the shipgirls they are allowed to summon back.
3) The Entity in question, current hypothesis indicates that it is something of "Death God"...unknown..no proof to substantiate claims..however well within reason.
4) Also, the Entity in question appears to have no control over ships that are "past a certain age" and have developed full sentience by themselves e.g Texas.
All in all...INTERESTING..
P.s I just had to write this theory down after i read this bit...apologies to anyone who might take offence to it.
EDITED!
Last edited:
QuietlyObserving
The Railgun That Walks Like a Bear
- Location
- Here.
Oh, dear. That's...going to cause some issues.
For those who don't know, Archerfish sunk Shinano.
still_guns
For the Empire!
- Location
- Bridge of ISS Conundrum
Well, that's going to be an awkward meeting
I prefer to think of it as Saratoga being in conflict with herself. Her forgotten battlecruiser half, and her well known carrier half.
Though your theory does have merit.
- Location
- Malaysia
That too is a possibility, but one i discarded because CC's Sara was....well..she was Atom obsessed lunatic....and this Entity was having a relatively pleasant/neutral talk with Sara...still your theory too..has merits.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
We may have an inversion of Kirishima's crush on Washington going here.
Submathiefs are a thing, and lewdmarines are a thing. Stalkmarines can't be far from behind... uhoh.
Submathiefs are a thing, and lewdmarines are a thing. Stalkmarines can't be far from behind... uhoh.
- Location
- Canada
Question, does anybody have a link the song that Alaska was singing and yes I do know that it's a song about Sky waifu.
Breakaway25
All hail the Mighty Tomcat
- Location
- Stuck on the Quarterdeck
It's the same song Sky put at the end of his last omake.