Battleship Musashi smiled as the hazy veil of sleep slipped astern with all the substance of a passing fog bank. She wasn't exactly sure how long she'd been asleep for, her night with the American Amazon had worn her crew to the bone, and even now they staggered to their stations half-awake. But she did know that her night had been one to remember.
Her belly was full of salty chips, popcorn dripping in what Jersey so vehemently claimed was butter, and still-fizzy root beer bubbled against her bunkers. Her bare chest was soaking in hot, sweet American drool from the shapeliest battleship ever to grace the seven seas.
Well… at least the most proportionate, Musashi herself was—like her beloved big sister—a creature of such titanic size and prowess that she stood above mere mortal standards of beauty. Jersey might have the cutest little stern Musashi had ever seen, but the Japanese super-battleship sported the largest rifles ever fielded and the only impenetrable armor ever fitted to a battleship.
And, if she was quite honest, her first-hand experience with her own stern was limited to a few brief glances in steamed-over mirrors. She favored a proper Imperial skirt after all, not the typically American short-shorts. For all she knew, her armored-over hangers might yet rival the American's smoothly-curving gun tubs.
But all of that was a discussion for another time. Musashi, for all her usual bombast, didn't feel like arguing semantics today. She was content to let the world go uninformed of her obvious superiority in the realm of naval warfare, at least for a little while.
Mostly because there was a far more important thing the world needed to be informed of.
Musashi stretched her arms to the sky, her back arching until her keel snapped back into alignment with a mechanical clunk of oiled steel slamming home. She pushed her last fleeting remnants of her dream aside. A handful of scattered memories of oiled-up muscles, typically American delight in horrible puns, fresh-baked pie, and something about ice meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Musashi found her glasses on the floor next to her night-stand, and chuckled to herself as she slid them on. She half-expected them to be mangled beyond recognition after that night. The big battleship took a moment to tie her hair up into its usual snowy twin-peaked style, and snapped a few selfies for her Instagram.
No, she wasn't wearing a shirt. It's Instagram, why would she be wearing a shirt when clever camera angles would do the trick. Besides, she had a duty to her country, her beloved big sister, and the engineers who forged a dream into steel and oil.
She would not let the world go unaware of the engineering marvel that was the Yamato-class battleship, nor would she shroud that seagoing beauty again. The Iowas had served longer than any battleship in history, but she would not allow her sister to be forgotten.
Musashi snapped a handful of extra pictures, just to be on the safe side. Then, with her daily quota of tastefully-nude images uploaded to her adoring internet fans, the battleship set herself to ensuring said legions of adoring fans were properly informed.
Thankfully, Twitter was magic and should be worshiped.
Content that the world was now properly aware and informed of nightly activities, Musashi snapped a final selfie for twitter. She'd learned that there were some poor, deprived souls unable to follow her Instagram account (Also known as "the single best thing ever to happen to that website in the history of ever) and her sense of honor wouldn't allow her to deprive those poor people from the sight of her glorious drool-covered cleavage.
But, with her duties taken care off, the battleship was forced to set her course towards more utilitarian actions. Her night battle with the American had drained bunkers already depleted by a long, frigid crossing of the Pacific. Battleship Musashi was in desperate need of supply.
Thankfully, she could smell pancakes cooking from here. Musashi smirked, and pulled her shirt square over her hips. After such an entertaining night, there was nothing better than a hearty breakfast to refill her stamina.
"Battleship Musashi!" Musashi thrust her fingerless-gloved fist in the air, "Heading out!"
The towering battlewagon stormed though her door and powered down the hallway, only to be stopped by a surly Marine who's face went a brilliant crimson the moment he laid eyes on the greatest exemplar of Japanese Naval Might ever produced.
After a few minutes of heated conversation, Musashi shuffled back to her room with a scowl that was most certainly devoid of even a hint of poutyness. "I, Musashi," she said with petulant defiance, "Will put on sarashi before leaving."
. Now is the perfect time to break Crowing's heart and end the budding relationship. No matter what, Jersey will still be a hero to the world and the US. No one will care what she does off duty.
