Well, Warspite isn't the fastest ship around, but her tactical diameter is almost destroyer-like.
Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
Mutsu's been watching too many WOWs torpedobeat clips, hasn't she?
Old Iron
Admiral Unfun
- Location
- The Southwestern Deadlands of America
Mutsu: It's a perfectly valid use of my free time.
Hiei: And while you dance around YouTube, others are danc-*mrph*
Jintsuu: *drags away Hiei*
In both directions? Dammit, WG, do you have super sekrit documents you can't show us that say the Brits did properly fix the Jutland damage, or something?
Steelhooves
Star Paladin
- Location
- Maripony-Damn it.
Even if we did, it might not be as bad as Warthunder and the Soviet tree Grrr rassle frassle.In both directions? Dammit, WG, do you have super sekrit documents you can't show us that say the Brits did properly fix the Jutland damage, or something?
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
Old Iron
Admiral Unfun
- Location
- The Southwestern Deadlands of America
Unfortunately, Maryland is currently absent from BB, KC, and WoWS...
Mutsu: I'll have to do my best for you too then~
*omake author suffering increasing*
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
The pounding inside my head from Mary wanting to be written has mostly subsided these days.
Mostly.
Priesdesses
- Location
- 'Murica
The moment Jersey set foot in the "Fleet Activities Tea Parlor", the battleship was assaulted by an overwhelming sense of weirdness. And she'd walked past a dozen pretty girls in Naka clothing—what the locals called "cosplay"—and a dozen other weird-in-a-Japan-kind-of-way to get to it.
It wasn't quite the parlor itself, although the establishment looked like the illegitimate lovechild of a salt-encrusted sailor's pub and a proper English tea-house born prematurely and delivered by a mildly-incompetent midwife with an inexplicable taste for French maids. Jersey was quite proud of herself for coming up with such a creative metaphor, and she made sure to scribble it down in her log before continuing.
Not was the source of the pervasive weirdness quite the waitress employed by said parlor, although they were definitely eroding Jersey's sanity faster than a cavitating screw. For one thing, they were all Kongous. A full dozen pretty Japanese girls shuffled around in flowing red-on-white uniforms, frilly abbreviated Miko skirts, and polished brass headgear.
There was even a thirteenth dressed in what Jersey instantly recognized as a Royal Navy uniform who introduced herself as "Indestructible" and spoke in an impeccable English accent. Which was funny because she looked far more Japanese than Kongou did on her most-Asianest day.
Nor, even, did the weirdness stem the girls' greetings to each new arrival. Every time a man or woman entered, they were greeted with a bubbly "Hello, Teitoku!" from every present not-Kongou. And everyone who left was sent off with an affectionate, "See you soon, Teitoku!"
Thankfully Jersey and Shinano had been spared that little greeting. Apparently the Japanese had recognized her as a shipgirl, although Jersey couldn't for the life of her figure out how. Maybe it was just her proximity to Shinano?
"This is so fucking weird," Jersey grumbled as she ducked though the doorway and unfolded her towering bulk into the parlor proper.
"Is- is it?" Shinano pressed her hands against her chest and shuffled as close to Jersey as she could get without physically getting inside the big American.
"It really, really is," said Jersey. The two battleships were guided to a waiting table by a girl who—save for being a hair too short and looking actually Japanese—was a spitting image of the eldest of the Kongou siblings. She even had the flush-mounted AA platform atop her armored bridge that was unique to Kongou's pagoda.
Wait.
Jersey blinked, and whipped off her mirrored shades to frantically polish the lenses with her scarf. Gone was the faint after-image of pagodas and stacks, in its place was only a smiling brunette in nontraditiona-Miko garb waiting for her to take a seat.
"Did you see that?" whispered Jersey to Shinano.
The carrier looked like a particularly large deer caught in the headlights, and shook her head as much as her trembling muscles would allow.
Jersey blinked again. "Okay." She sighed, and carefully settled herself into the spindly wicker-backed chair. They were—as far as Jersey could tell—the exact same model that Kongou herself produced for her tea parties. Only these chairs couldn't have been imbued with the improbable dess-magic those girls seemed to exude, so there wasn't a chance in hell that it'd support her titanic weight.
Not that Jersey really cared. Crashing though the chair and landing squarely on her stern would be funny as hell. Might even put a smile on Shinano's face, which the poor girl desperately needed.
But, to Jersey's immense surprise, the chair held. Barely, it let out a series of creaks and groans worse than a Russian cabbie trying to parallel-park a train, but it held.
"The fuck?" Jersey shuffled her butt, almost trying to get the chair to break. But while it groaned with every movement, the Amazonian American somehow remained firmly above the floor.
Shinano giggled, and quickly stifled it with a gauntlet to her lips.
Jersey narrowed her eyes. "Fuck you, Flatyam."
"F-flatyam?"
"You're a Yamato," said Jersey. "But you're…" Jersey waved her hand in what she hoped described the carrier's flat-chested carrier nature. "Flat… or fucking something."
Shinano let out a squeal of bliss and hastily stuffed her heavy leather gauntlet in her mouth to muffle the noise.
"Right," said Jersey.
"Ahem," the not-Kongou coughed with a flicker of signal lamps. "Could I take your orders?"
"Right, yes." Jersey flipped open her menu and scowled angrily at it. "I can't read shit."
The not-Kongou stifled a smirk and quietly turned the menu around in Jersey's hands.
"Ah," Jersey nodded. "I still can't read shit. Just get me one of every meat."
"One of…" The girl's face screwed up in confusion, "Of… every meat?"
"Yes," Jersey snapped her shades back on with a flick of her wrist. "America."
"I don't think that makes sense," said Shinano.
"It does," Jersey snapped around to stare down the carrier. "In America."
The not-Kongou chuckled at Jersey, "I can get you started with a Shepherd's pie."
Jersey froze, then slowly pivoted in her seat to face the waitress. Her body moved with the oiled mechanical precision of her main battery as she slowly brought her gaze to lock squarely on the smiling Japanese girl's face. "Now listen to me very carefully," she said in a voice that wavered between her usual dusky contralto and her growlier Arnold impression. "Give me all the Shepherd's pie you have."
Shinano coughed, and timidly raised her gloved hand in the air. "Um… w-what is Shepherd's pie?"
Jersey blinked. "Okay, actually, bring us every Shepherd's pie you have."
"Of course, Dess!" the not-Kongou girl beamed and offered a quick curtsy. "And to drink?"
"C-can I have apple juice?" asked Shinano.
"Of course!" said the not-Kongou in a voice every bit as cheery and bright as Shinano's was halting and timid, "Dess!"
"I'll have boiled Gatorade," said Jersey.
The girl froze, and slowly brought her finger to her lips in a look of utter bewilderment. "W-what?"
"Boiled," said Jersey. "Gatorade."
The girl blinked again, then shivered in horror.
"I know what I'm about, son," said Jersey.
"I…" the girl stiffened, and pulled her uniform smooth. A look of serenity passed over her crisp Asian features, and she braced herself like a woman facing a firing squad with dignity. Which sounds hyperbolic if you don't know how seriously English girls in general and Kongous in particular take their tea. "Of course, miss Jer—"
Jersey almost fell out of her chair howling with laughter. "HA!" She clutched at her side, willing her TDS to stay together as shrieking peals of laughter stressed her structure to its breaking point. "The look on your face!"
"M-miss?" the not-Kongou stared at the laughing American.
"I'm fucking with you," said Jersey though gasping breaths. "Just… just bring me whatever's your favorite."
"Oh," the girl beamed. "No problem, Dess!" She clapped her hands to her side and bowed from her apron-clad waist.
Jersey laughed. But then—for just the barest fraction of a second, mind you—she saw those distinctive deeply-spaced turrets instead of the girl's retreating stern. It wasn't anything like the constant second-sight of living with actual shipgirls, but… But Jersey'd run into costumes before. And never had she seen though them like that. Not even for an instant. "Fucking Jap Dess Magic," she grunted.
—|—|—
"I shouldn't have brought you," Sarah Gale bit her lip and glanced across the groaning truck's cab at the North-Carolina she'd grown to love. To an untrained eye, the battleship looked as stoically serene as ever, but Gale knew her enough to spot the tiny cracks in her mask.
Wash's hands clenched at the hem of her miniskirt, pulling the splintered fabric taunt over her undershorts. She held her head high, but her gaze never wandered from a spec on the far horizon, and the swell of her chest only quivered with quiet half breaths. The battleship stood at full alert, her mouth hung just open enough to glimpse her shining teeth, and her scarf didn't quite hide the coiled tension in her neck. "Hmm?"
"I…" Gale scowled and rubbed her temples. She'd ditched her leather riding jacket an hour ago in an attempt to stem the tide of nervous sweat wetting her shirt. She liked to think it'd helped, but she wasn't sure. "I shouldn't have brought you today."
Wash blinked, and those big hazel eyes of theirs drifted from the horizon to meet Gale's. "If you'd like," said the big battleship, "I could return to the base."
"No, Wash—"
"Kirishima and Tenryuu are cooking dinner." The battleship placed a gloved hand on the sailor's shoulder. "If you're worried that I'd go hungry."
"No," Gale shook her head. "It's not that. And I'm not worried about you going hungry here." She brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear and scuffed her boot on the floor. "My mom's from Alabama, you know. I don't think even Jersey could out-eat her hospitality."
"Mmm," Wash smiled, and her tummy let off a sympathetic groan at the thought of warm skillet-cooked cornbread dripping in butter and honey, pecan pie, and peach cobbler.
"But…" Gale blushed and bit her lip. "You see, when I came out—"
Wash raised her hand like a kindergartner asking a question. "Came out?"
Gale nodded. After a few seconds under Wash's trademark stare of utter comprehension, she quietly added, "As a lesbian."
Wash blinked again, her stare only slightly less uncomprehending this time around. The battleship fidgeted in her seat, thick legs crossing with a wispier of camouflaged thigh-highs as she settled in for an explanation.
"A woman who loves other women?" Gale sighed. It worried her how unsurprised she was at having to explain this to the quiet battleship. Wash might be a goddess on the waves—a or at least a demi-goddess if Crowning's hypothesis was at all accurate—but she had the social awareness of a rough-cut two-by-four. At least she was quiet enough to keep her ignorance hidden, unlike Jersey who boasted of it for all to hear.
Wash shot Gale another confused look, and slowly raised her hand again.
"You're a woman Wash," sighed Gale.
Wash blinked, then stared down at her exceedingly generous bustline. Then, after about a minute's contemplation, she slowly lowered her hand. "Oh."
"Look," Gale couldn't help but chuckle at the porcelain-faced battleship's confusion. There was something about the old NorCar that made everything she did elegant. She was bewildered, but the quiet confusion on her renaissance-sculpture features couldn't help but put a smile on the sailor's face. "Ever since I came out… whenever I'd bring a girlfriend over they'd—"
Her next words were downed out in the hiss of straining brakes and groaning metal as the truck staggered to a halt. Transporting something—or someone—as enormously heavy as a battleship was never an easy ordeal, and the steep, narrow streets of Seattle only made the situation worse.
"We're here, ma'am," came the gruff voice of the Marine driver.
"Oh god…" Gale's face paled. "Look, Wash… whatever happens just stay cool, okay?"
Wash nodded. "I will."
"Good," Gale hastily unbuckled her seatbelt and ducked out the back of the truck. Wash followed a bit slower, careful to keep her immense weight from buckling or snapping anything as she clambered down the truck's reinforced ladder. But as much as Gale might have enjoyed the battleship's miniskirt-clad stern swooshing with each halting step, she had other things to look at.
"Oh no…." Gale shook her head in horror as the last drops of color drained from her face. "No no no no," the mantra continued as she gazed upon the works of a determined southern housewife.
The house was adorned with the usual collection of Christmas-themed lawn decorations and festooned with lights. But that's not where the decorations ended. Hanging over the door was a hand-lettered banner—signed by at least a dozen members of Gale's family—saying "WELCOME HOME, SAILOR!" And flying proudly just below Old Glory was an equally large rainbow flag.
"MA!" Gale blushed a brilliant red at the display. Before she could say anything more, the door all but exploded open, and a short woman who reminded Wash of nothing more than a smaller, curvier WeeVee, came tottering out in a Christmasy apron and beaming smile.
"Sarah!" Gale's mother moved with astonishing quickness given her tiny size and portly build. It wasn't quite as crushing and unexpected as a destroyer-hug, but it was close.
"Ma," Gale laughed and hugged her mother—who positively reeked of cookie dough and fresh stuffing—back as tightly as she could. "Ma, it's good to see you."
"We're so happy that you could join us," Gale's mother smiled and finally let go, only to shuffle over and give Wash an equally tight hug. "This must be the lucky lady!"
Wash coughed, and somehow managed a proper curtsy in her miniskirt. "I… believe I am, Misses Gale."
"You can call me Mother," said Gale's mother with a smile.
"MA!" Gale's blush intensified.
"Of course, mother," Wash beamed and gave the chubby woman a hug.
"WASH!" Gale's blush intensified yet again.
"Oh, sush, dear." Gale's mother waved a hand at the sailor and smiled. "I'm just being friendly. Wouldn't want your lovey girlfriend to feel unwelcome."
Wash just beamed in happiness while Gale sputtered. "M-ma… you can't just—"
"So," said Gale's mother. It would be a lie to say she was oblivious to Gale's increasing blush. She was very much aware, and she was reveling in it. "I hope you like the flags."
Gale stopped mid-word and slowly closed her mouth. "I… It's… it's a bit much… but yes, I do, actually. Thank you."
"Of course!" Gale's mother laughed and elbowed her daughter in the stomach. "Oooh!" she winced in mock agony and rubbed her elbow. "You're getting fit down there, sailor!"
Gale bushed, while Wash just nodded appreciatively and used the sailor's overwhelmed confusion to sneak a glance at her tight leather-pants clad rear. Gale's mother gave Wash a quick questioning look, which Wash naturally responded to with a quiet thumbs-up.
"Ha!" Gale's mother howled in laughter and hurried the two women into the warm bustle of her house. "So, tell me?"
"Oh no," Gale winced.
"When's the wedding?"
"MA!"
—|—|—
Light Cruiser Naka was not a cat, but you'd be hard-pressed to tell. Curled up in a thick blanket in front of her six-monitor workstation with a steaming mug of coco pressed to her chest, the brilliant orange girl looked not unlike a singing tabby. And Naka was quite okay with that particular description. She'd seen enough of her sister's pudgy ragdoll to know that cats were perhaps the world's leading experts in relaxation.
And right now, Naka could use some relaxing. With Jintsuu deployed down in Sasebo, and Sendai off screaming Yasen all over the Pacific, the light cruiser was alone for the holidays. She'd see her sisters—or at least Jintsuu—soon enough, but right now she wanted nothing better than to curl up and enjoy the Christmas cheer.
Besides, she'd need plenty of energy when she met her sister and linked back into the light-cruiser-information-network. Word on the waves was that Richarson was building himself a harem to surpass even Kongou's Dess.
Personally, Naka's money was on Mutsu winning the Richarson bowl. But if Arizona really had offered to have the Admiral's children…
Naka smiled and sipped her steaming beverage. There was nothing like hot chocolate with a candycane dissolved in it. So what if it was the day after Christmas. Naka and her taskforce had spent the season at sea, they deserved some restful holiday cheer.
But, duty calls even tired cruisers. Naka braced herself, and slipped one gloved hand out of the warm embrace of her bundled up blanket. Even if she'd put off today's stream because of the season, she still needed to monitor the shipgirl's public relations, and for that she needed to operate her mouse.
The cruiser hummed to herself as she scrolled though twitter feeds on her screens. The JMSDF used to assign a detachment of human officers to this task. But after the entire corps had to be invalided out of service after near-fatal caffeine overdoses by the end of the first week, Naka volunteered to take over.
It was actually a pretty relaxing job. Yuudachi's twitter was ninety percent her giving cheerful poi-filled reactions to cute cat pictures people sent in, Kawakaze's twitter was just a running tally of every time Yuudachi poied, her own twitter was a masterpeice of PR and fan-management, as befitting the number one internet celebrity in all of Japan…
And then there was Musashi. Setting aside the ridiculous number of Yamato-class-related arguments the battleship had gotten into (including one that ended up getting the entiery of Yokosuka banned from /k/), the battleship was rather… liberal with her figure. Naka was actually sitting on a few requests from AV companies complaining that Musashi's constant selfies were putting them out of business. And… one request for the battleship to star in a production, which Naka had resolved never to let her see.
But for all her enthusiasm for borderline-lewd selfies, Musashi seemed to have a firm grasp on OPSEC. Not one of the hundreds of "tastefully nude" images of the chocolate battleship so much as revealed her current location. The background—assuming anyone even noticed—was carefully sanitized of anything bearing a name or brand. Musashi might be impossibly vain, but she wasn't stu—
"Oh, COME ON!" Naka growled in annoyance. She just had to jinx herself. The cruiser made a mental note never to think anything good about the battleship—or people in general—ever again until she finished checking everyone's twitter accounts.
The light cruiser hastily slapped together a report to forward to Admiral Goto, and fished her phone from her desk. With the time difference, there was a tiny possibility that Jersey's boyfriend hadn't seen it yet, but that possibility was getting slimmer by the instant.
She needed to get on this, now. Naka frantically hammered out a text message to the big American. Hopefully she'd get this in time, Naka really didn't want to see the sweetest non-Kongou-related shipgirl relationship go up in flames.
—|—|—
"Mother fucker," Jersey stared at her phone with a rage so palpable it raised the room's temperature by a few degrees. Wood and wicker groaned under her weight as she tried to hate her cracked cellphone out of existence. "Mother FUCKER!"
Shinano carefully set her teacup down and leaned over as far as she dared on the rickety wooden chair. "M-miss Jersey?"
The American glanced over, her fury dimming fractionally as the object of her ire slipped from her vision. The battleship clenched her phone in her fist, shaking it as her muscles tensed with anger and betrayal. Her lips pulled back over gritted teeth glistening with metal shards and her icy blue eyes burned even more intensely than normal. For a moment, she struggled even to bend words to her will, so great was her frustration. In the end, all she could say was a furious "MOTHER FUCKER!"
"O-oh," Shinano nodded and settled back to her seat with a timid nod. "I… I see."
"'s…" Jersey exploded to her feet, her triple nickel-plated revolvers in their canted leather holsters popping into being around her hips with a swoosh of displaced air. "'s not you, kiddo," she said as she started angrily pacing.
Shinano nodded, although her happiness at not being the cause eclipsed her distress over the American's anguish. She hadn't known the big battleship long, but Shinano liked to think she was at least friends with the big American. In fact, she'd like to claim Jersey as one of her momboats. If… if the American wold have her that is. It twisted her heart up in knots to see a ship she thought so highly of be so distressed.
"I gotta…" Jersey stopped her pacing and pivoted on her heel, sending bits of sawdust and twisted food flying as her sneakers gouged into the floor. "I gotta go, honey. But… fucking…"
"Don't worry," said the tiny swimsuit-clad form of Albacore. The little submarine adjusted the bulging shopping bag slung over her shoulder and smiled at the battleship, "We'll look after her."
Jersey blinked. "We?"
"Mmmhm," Albie nodded. "Archie?"
"Huh?" another swimsuit-clad girl—this time wearing tied-off coveralls instead of speckled-blue fatigues—appeared by Jersey's other flank. Along with her own selection of bulging shopping bags, Archerfish carried a little baggie full of water and one tiny and very confused goldfish. "Fishie," she explained while pointing helpfully to the baggie.
Jersey blinked again, then glanced at the girls' shopping bags. "Ya'll bought that stuff, right?"
Albie and Archie looked at each other like Jersey'd just spoke to them in double-Dutch. "Yeeess?" half-said Albie.
Jersey blinked. "What-the-motherfucking-ever," said the battleship. "I gotta get back to fucking base. Make sure Yamaflat over there doesn't die."
"Will do!" said Albie. This time there wasn't a shred of hesitation in her voice, just determined professionalism.
"And if fucking anyone," hissed Jersey, "So much as touches her wrong. Shove a torpedo up every hole you can find."
Albie and Archie giggled like murderous teenagers with no sense of right-and-wrong. Which is basically what submarines are, so Jersey found that reassuring.
"'Kay," Jersey huffed in a breath. "Gotta… fucking…" her voice trailed off as she bolted out into the bustling street and took off at a dead sprint. Luckily the packed Japanese crowd parted like the sea before her. Apparently they knew better than to get in the way of an angry, emotionally-fragile giantess.
After what felt like years, but was probably just a few minutes, Jersey stumbled crashing into an internet cafe. The battleship didn't really know what that was, but the handful of moon-runes she could actually make out mentioned something about computer access or some shit. And maybe… maybe she could actually call home without having to endure the two-hour train back to Yokosuka.
Because… she'd fucking put this off long enough. If she was gonna salvage this… No! No she was not fucking salvaging this shit! It was beyond fucking saving and she fucking well knew it. But… she just had to do something. Crowning'd been more than kind to her bitchy ass, he deserved the truth at least.
After a few moments of furiously stammering the only Japanese she knew and waving fistfuls of yen around, Jersey finally found herself led to a tiny booth she could barely fit her gigantic frame into. But she didn't give a rotten fuck, it was private. Nobody needed to see what was going to happen, she owed him that.
A skinny man in a faded Naka-Chan t-shirt who spoke at least some English offered to help her open her Skype. Jersey was worried he'd try to feel her up like that pervert at the train station, but to her surprise, he was nothing but respectful. She mumbled a few "Arigotoes" and sent him on his way with a fistful of cash.
Then, as the door closed behind him, it was only her and the computer.
Battleship New Jersey, the most decorated battleship in American history, the ship who charged headlong into a dreadnought with little more than fumes in her bunkers without a second thought, the battleship who made a superpower quake in the age of the guided missile, the fucking Black Dragon took almost ten minutes to work up the courage to click the "Video call" button.
And then… she waited for what felt like hours until the man she loved picked up.
"Jersey," Crowning's face flickered into being on the computer. He was the same as he'd always been, same tightly-cropped beard, same gray-streaked hair, same half-zipped sweater with a steaming mug half out of frame. Only… only he wasn't smiling, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy.
"Doc," Jersey bit her lip. "You, uh… you heard."
Crowning just nodded. "I did," he said. His voice was clipped and precise. Not angry, but devoid of all the warmth and gentle care Jersey'd grown so used to. "But," he stopped, lips almost meeting as he struggled to put his words in order. "I'm… prepared to hear your side."
Jersey bit her lip and felt a tear run down her cheek. "There's nothing to fucking say," she said. "I… fucking…" she trailed off, waiting for him to snap at her. To yell at her for how she'd abused him, to berate her for being a shitty, bitchy battleship and a shitty, bitchy girlfriend who did fucking nothing but take and fucking take.
But he didn't. He just stared at her, disappointment and hurt writ large on his face. And that made Jersey mad. She hadn't just cheated on him, she'd fucking hurt the man she loved. She'd done the fucking opposite of what she was goddamn supposed to fucking DO!
"GAH!" Jersey roared in anger and slammed her fist into the wall. "FUCK!"
"Jersey?" even now, Crowning couldn't quite leave all the tender care out of his voice.
"I'm a fucking screwup!" said the battleship. "I… My sister died. And do I fucking go to the one man who's always been fucking there to support me? Fucking no I didn't! I fucking though with my fucking dick which unless you hadn't noticed I don't fucking have!"
"You slept with Musashi because you were…" Crowning stopped and ran a hand down his chin. "Because you were in despair after you lost your sister?"
Jersey nodded meekly.
"Jersey…" Crowning shook his head. "I want to believe you, I really do. But—"
"But I've always had a fucking hard-on for Musashi and you fucking know it," said the battleship. "Fucking… cheating-ass bitch… you're better-fucking-off without me."
"Maybe," said Crowning. He laced his fingers and let a deep breath whisper though them. For a moment, the two sat in silence, him struggling to find the words while she struggled to melt into the floor. "Jersey…"
"Mmm?"
"What you did was wrong," said the professor.
"I fucking know that," muttered Jersey.
"But it doesn't define you," said Crowning. "Don't let it. I'm begging you don't let it."
"Doc…"
"What you did…" Crowning bit his lip. "Hurts. I won't lie to you, it hurts. But I can… understand it. You lost your sister. You were scared and alone. You went to the first place you could find comfort."
"Shouldn't 'vae," mumbled the Battleship as she curled herself into a ball.
"No," said Crowning. "You shouldn't have. And I wish to whatever god's listening that you hadn't. But… Sex for solace—"
"Wasn't Sex," mumbled Jersey.
"Hmm?"
"It…" Jersey scowled and straightened out. "We didn't have sex. I… fuck! Neither of us could figure out how it worked, so we fucking watched commando all night not that's not the FUCKING POINT!" Jersey's voice suddenly jumped from a rambling wispier to a furious roar. "The point is I FUCKING TRIED! I fucking knew it was wrong and I fucking did it anyway because… fucking… fuck."
"Jersey," Crowning didn't snap at her, but his clipped voice was far more commanding than usual. "You're a good person."
"Not a—"
"A good person," said the professor. "You're not perfect because no man ever was. But you've got a good heart."
Jersey let a bitter laugh slip past her lips.
"What you did hurts," said Crowning. "But you've got a war to win. And you're still my friend."
"F-friend?" stammered the battleship. It was more than she expected. Hell, she was certain it was more than she deserved.
"Friend," said Crowning. "You give more than you think."
Jersey tried to say something, but the moment she opened her mouth she broke down crying. Tears flowed from her icy eyes like water from her fire hoses, and the American amazon sank against the floor with her back propped against the wall. "T-thank you."
Crowning sighed and, after what felt like ages to the battleship, smiled at her.
- - - - - - -
(With apologies to @Skywalker_T-65)
It wasn't quite the parlor itself, although the establishment looked like the illegitimate lovechild of a salt-encrusted sailor's pub and a proper English tea-house born prematurely and delivered by a mildly-incompetent midwife with an inexplicable taste for French maids. Jersey was quite proud of herself for coming up with such a creative metaphor, and she made sure to scribble it down in her log before continuing.
Not was the source of the pervasive weirdness quite the waitress employed by said parlor, although they were definitely eroding Jersey's sanity faster than a cavitating screw. For one thing, they were all Kongous. A full dozen pretty Japanese girls shuffled around in flowing red-on-white uniforms, frilly abbreviated Miko skirts, and polished brass headgear.
There was even a thirteenth dressed in what Jersey instantly recognized as a Royal Navy uniform who introduced herself as "Indestructible" and spoke in an impeccable English accent. Which was funny because she looked far more Japanese than Kongou did on her most-Asianest day.
Nor, even, did the weirdness stem the girls' greetings to each new arrival. Every time a man or woman entered, they were greeted with a bubbly "Hello, Teitoku!" from every present not-Kongou. And everyone who left was sent off with an affectionate, "See you soon, Teitoku!"
Thankfully Jersey and Shinano had been spared that little greeting. Apparently the Japanese had recognized her as a shipgirl, although Jersey couldn't for the life of her figure out how. Maybe it was just her proximity to Shinano?
"This is so fucking weird," Jersey grumbled as she ducked though the doorway and unfolded her towering bulk into the parlor proper.
"Is- is it?" Shinano pressed her hands against her chest and shuffled as close to Jersey as she could get without physically getting inside the big American.
"It really, really is," said Jersey. The two battleships were guided to a waiting table by a girl who—save for being a hair too short and looking actually Japanese—was a spitting image of the eldest of the Kongou siblings. She even had the flush-mounted AA platform atop her armored bridge that was unique to Kongou's pagoda.
Wait.
Jersey blinked, and whipped off her mirrored shades to frantically polish the lenses with her scarf. Gone was the faint after-image of pagodas and stacks, in its place was only a smiling brunette in nontraditiona-Miko garb waiting for her to take a seat.
"Did you see that?" whispered Jersey to Shinano.
The carrier looked like a particularly large deer caught in the headlights, and shook her head as much as her trembling muscles would allow.
Jersey blinked again. "Okay." She sighed, and carefully settled herself into the spindly wicker-backed chair. They were—as far as Jersey could tell—the exact same model that Kongou herself produced for her tea parties. Only these chairs couldn't have been imbued with the improbable dess-magic those girls seemed to exude, so there wasn't a chance in hell that it'd support her titanic weight.
Not that Jersey really cared. Crashing though the chair and landing squarely on her stern would be funny as hell. Might even put a smile on Shinano's face, which the poor girl desperately needed.
But, to Jersey's immense surprise, the chair held. Barely, it let out a series of creaks and groans worse than a Russian cabbie trying to parallel-park a train, but it held.
"The fuck?" Jersey shuffled her butt, almost trying to get the chair to break. But while it groaned with every movement, the Amazonian American somehow remained firmly above the floor.
Shinano giggled, and quickly stifled it with a gauntlet to her lips.
Jersey narrowed her eyes. "Fuck you, Flatyam."
"F-flatyam?"
"You're a Yamato," said Jersey. "But you're…" Jersey waved her hand in what she hoped described the carrier's flat-chested carrier nature. "Flat… or fucking something."
Shinano let out a squeal of bliss and hastily stuffed her heavy leather gauntlet in her mouth to muffle the noise.
"Right," said Jersey.
"Ahem," the not-Kongou coughed with a flicker of signal lamps. "Could I take your orders?"
"Right, yes." Jersey flipped open her menu and scowled angrily at it. "I can't read shit."
The not-Kongou stifled a smirk and quietly turned the menu around in Jersey's hands.
"Ah," Jersey nodded. "I still can't read shit. Just get me one of every meat."
"One of…" The girl's face screwed up in confusion, "Of… every meat?"
"Yes," Jersey snapped her shades back on with a flick of her wrist. "America."
"I don't think that makes sense," said Shinano.
"It does," Jersey snapped around to stare down the carrier. "In America."
The not-Kongou chuckled at Jersey, "I can get you started with a Shepherd's pie."
Jersey froze, then slowly pivoted in her seat to face the waitress. Her body moved with the oiled mechanical precision of her main battery as she slowly brought her gaze to lock squarely on the smiling Japanese girl's face. "Now listen to me very carefully," she said in a voice that wavered between her usual dusky contralto and her growlier Arnold impression. "Give me all the Shepherd's pie you have."
Shinano coughed, and timidly raised her gloved hand in the air. "Um… w-what is Shepherd's pie?"
Jersey blinked. "Okay, actually, bring us every Shepherd's pie you have."
"Of course, Dess!" the not-Kongou girl beamed and offered a quick curtsy. "And to drink?"
"C-can I have apple juice?" asked Shinano.
"Of course!" said the not-Kongou in a voice every bit as cheery and bright as Shinano's was halting and timid, "Dess!"
"I'll have boiled Gatorade," said Jersey.
The girl froze, and slowly brought her finger to her lips in a look of utter bewilderment. "W-what?"
"Boiled," said Jersey. "Gatorade."
The girl blinked again, then shivered in horror.
"I know what I'm about, son," said Jersey.
"I…" the girl stiffened, and pulled her uniform smooth. A look of serenity passed over her crisp Asian features, and she braced herself like a woman facing a firing squad with dignity. Which sounds hyperbolic if you don't know how seriously English girls in general and Kongous in particular take their tea. "Of course, miss Jer—"
Jersey almost fell out of her chair howling with laughter. "HA!" She clutched at her side, willing her TDS to stay together as shrieking peals of laughter stressed her structure to its breaking point. "The look on your face!"
"M-miss?" the not-Kongou stared at the laughing American.
"I'm fucking with you," said Jersey though gasping breaths. "Just… just bring me whatever's your favorite."
"Oh," the girl beamed. "No problem, Dess!" She clapped her hands to her side and bowed from her apron-clad waist.
Jersey laughed. But then—for just the barest fraction of a second, mind you—she saw those distinctive deeply-spaced turrets instead of the girl's retreating stern. It wasn't anything like the constant second-sight of living with actual shipgirls, but… But Jersey'd run into costumes before. And never had she seen though them like that. Not even for an instant. "Fucking Jap Dess Magic," she grunted.
—|—|—
"I shouldn't have brought you," Sarah Gale bit her lip and glanced across the groaning truck's cab at the North-Carolina she'd grown to love. To an untrained eye, the battleship looked as stoically serene as ever, but Gale knew her enough to spot the tiny cracks in her mask.
Wash's hands clenched at the hem of her miniskirt, pulling the splintered fabric taunt over her undershorts. She held her head high, but her gaze never wandered from a spec on the far horizon, and the swell of her chest only quivered with quiet half breaths. The battleship stood at full alert, her mouth hung just open enough to glimpse her shining teeth, and her scarf didn't quite hide the coiled tension in her neck. "Hmm?"
"I…" Gale scowled and rubbed her temples. She'd ditched her leather riding jacket an hour ago in an attempt to stem the tide of nervous sweat wetting her shirt. She liked to think it'd helped, but she wasn't sure. "I shouldn't have brought you today."
Wash blinked, and those big hazel eyes of theirs drifted from the horizon to meet Gale's. "If you'd like," said the big battleship, "I could return to the base."
"No, Wash—"
"Kirishima and Tenryuu are cooking dinner." The battleship placed a gloved hand on the sailor's shoulder. "If you're worried that I'd go hungry."
"No," Gale shook her head. "It's not that. And I'm not worried about you going hungry here." She brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear and scuffed her boot on the floor. "My mom's from Alabama, you know. I don't think even Jersey could out-eat her hospitality."
"Mmm," Wash smiled, and her tummy let off a sympathetic groan at the thought of warm skillet-cooked cornbread dripping in butter and honey, pecan pie, and peach cobbler.
"But…" Gale blushed and bit her lip. "You see, when I came out—"
Wash raised her hand like a kindergartner asking a question. "Came out?"
Gale nodded. After a few seconds under Wash's trademark stare of utter comprehension, she quietly added, "As a lesbian."
Wash blinked again, her stare only slightly less uncomprehending this time around. The battleship fidgeted in her seat, thick legs crossing with a wispier of camouflaged thigh-highs as she settled in for an explanation.
"A woman who loves other women?" Gale sighed. It worried her how unsurprised she was at having to explain this to the quiet battleship. Wash might be a goddess on the waves—a or at least a demi-goddess if Crowning's hypothesis was at all accurate—but she had the social awareness of a rough-cut two-by-four. At least she was quiet enough to keep her ignorance hidden, unlike Jersey who boasted of it for all to hear.
Wash shot Gale another confused look, and slowly raised her hand again.
"You're a woman Wash," sighed Gale.
Wash blinked, then stared down at her exceedingly generous bustline. Then, after about a minute's contemplation, she slowly lowered her hand. "Oh."
"Look," Gale couldn't help but chuckle at the porcelain-faced battleship's confusion. There was something about the old NorCar that made everything she did elegant. She was bewildered, but the quiet confusion on her renaissance-sculpture features couldn't help but put a smile on the sailor's face. "Ever since I came out… whenever I'd bring a girlfriend over they'd—"
Her next words were downed out in the hiss of straining brakes and groaning metal as the truck staggered to a halt. Transporting something—or someone—as enormously heavy as a battleship was never an easy ordeal, and the steep, narrow streets of Seattle only made the situation worse.
"We're here, ma'am," came the gruff voice of the Marine driver.
"Oh god…" Gale's face paled. "Look, Wash… whatever happens just stay cool, okay?"
Wash nodded. "I will."
"Good," Gale hastily unbuckled her seatbelt and ducked out the back of the truck. Wash followed a bit slower, careful to keep her immense weight from buckling or snapping anything as she clambered down the truck's reinforced ladder. But as much as Gale might have enjoyed the battleship's miniskirt-clad stern swooshing with each halting step, she had other things to look at.
"Oh no…." Gale shook her head in horror as the last drops of color drained from her face. "No no no no," the mantra continued as she gazed upon the works of a determined southern housewife.
The house was adorned with the usual collection of Christmas-themed lawn decorations and festooned with lights. But that's not where the decorations ended. Hanging over the door was a hand-lettered banner—signed by at least a dozen members of Gale's family—saying "WELCOME HOME, SAILOR!" And flying proudly just below Old Glory was an equally large rainbow flag.
"MA!" Gale blushed a brilliant red at the display. Before she could say anything more, the door all but exploded open, and a short woman who reminded Wash of nothing more than a smaller, curvier WeeVee, came tottering out in a Christmasy apron and beaming smile.
"Sarah!" Gale's mother moved with astonishing quickness given her tiny size and portly build. It wasn't quite as crushing and unexpected as a destroyer-hug, but it was close.
"Ma," Gale laughed and hugged her mother—who positively reeked of cookie dough and fresh stuffing—back as tightly as she could. "Ma, it's good to see you."
"We're so happy that you could join us," Gale's mother smiled and finally let go, only to shuffle over and give Wash an equally tight hug. "This must be the lucky lady!"
Wash coughed, and somehow managed a proper curtsy in her miniskirt. "I… believe I am, Misses Gale."
"You can call me Mother," said Gale's mother with a smile.
"MA!" Gale's blush intensified.
"Of course, mother," Wash beamed and gave the chubby woman a hug.
"WASH!" Gale's blush intensified yet again.
"Oh, sush, dear." Gale's mother waved a hand at the sailor and smiled. "I'm just being friendly. Wouldn't want your lovey girlfriend to feel unwelcome."
Wash just beamed in happiness while Gale sputtered. "M-ma… you can't just—"
"So," said Gale's mother. It would be a lie to say she was oblivious to Gale's increasing blush. She was very much aware, and she was reveling in it. "I hope you like the flags."
Gale stopped mid-word and slowly closed her mouth. "I… It's… it's a bit much… but yes, I do, actually. Thank you."
"Of course!" Gale's mother laughed and elbowed her daughter in the stomach. "Oooh!" she winced in mock agony and rubbed her elbow. "You're getting fit down there, sailor!"
Gale bushed, while Wash just nodded appreciatively and used the sailor's overwhelmed confusion to sneak a glance at her tight leather-pants clad rear. Gale's mother gave Wash a quick questioning look, which Wash naturally responded to with a quiet thumbs-up.
"Ha!" Gale's mother howled in laughter and hurried the two women into the warm bustle of her house. "So, tell me?"
"Oh no," Gale winced.
"When's the wedding?"
"MA!"
—|—|—
Light Cruiser Naka was not a cat, but you'd be hard-pressed to tell. Curled up in a thick blanket in front of her six-monitor workstation with a steaming mug of coco pressed to her chest, the brilliant orange girl looked not unlike a singing tabby. And Naka was quite okay with that particular description. She'd seen enough of her sister's pudgy ragdoll to know that cats were perhaps the world's leading experts in relaxation.
And right now, Naka could use some relaxing. With Jintsuu deployed down in Sasebo, and Sendai off screaming Yasen all over the Pacific, the light cruiser was alone for the holidays. She'd see her sisters—or at least Jintsuu—soon enough, but right now she wanted nothing better than to curl up and enjoy the Christmas cheer.
Besides, she'd need plenty of energy when she met her sister and linked back into the light-cruiser-information-network. Word on the waves was that Richarson was building himself a harem to surpass even Kongou's Dess.
Personally, Naka's money was on Mutsu winning the Richarson bowl. But if Arizona really had offered to have the Admiral's children…
Naka smiled and sipped her steaming beverage. There was nothing like hot chocolate with a candycane dissolved in it. So what if it was the day after Christmas. Naka and her taskforce had spent the season at sea, they deserved some restful holiday cheer.
But, duty calls even tired cruisers. Naka braced herself, and slipped one gloved hand out of the warm embrace of her bundled up blanket. Even if she'd put off today's stream because of the season, she still needed to monitor the shipgirl's public relations, and for that she needed to operate her mouse.
The cruiser hummed to herself as she scrolled though twitter feeds on her screens. The JMSDF used to assign a detachment of human officers to this task. But after the entire corps had to be invalided out of service after near-fatal caffeine overdoses by the end of the first week, Naka volunteered to take over.
It was actually a pretty relaxing job. Yuudachi's twitter was ninety percent her giving cheerful poi-filled reactions to cute cat pictures people sent in, Kawakaze's twitter was just a running tally of every time Yuudachi poied, her own twitter was a masterpeice of PR and fan-management, as befitting the number one internet celebrity in all of Japan…
And then there was Musashi. Setting aside the ridiculous number of Yamato-class-related arguments the battleship had gotten into (including one that ended up getting the entiery of Yokosuka banned from /k/), the battleship was rather… liberal with her figure. Naka was actually sitting on a few requests from AV companies complaining that Musashi's constant selfies were putting them out of business. And… one request for the battleship to star in a production, which Naka had resolved never to let her see.
But for all her enthusiasm for borderline-lewd selfies, Musashi seemed to have a firm grasp on OPSEC. Not one of the hundreds of "tastefully nude" images of the chocolate battleship so much as revealed her current location. The background—assuming anyone even noticed—was carefully sanitized of anything bearing a name or brand. Musashi might be impossibly vain, but she wasn't stu—
"Oh, COME ON!" Naka growled in annoyance. She just had to jinx herself. The cruiser made a mental note never to think anything good about the battleship—or people in general—ever again until she finished checking everyone's twitter accounts.
The light cruiser hastily slapped together a report to forward to Admiral Goto, and fished her phone from her desk. With the time difference, there was a tiny possibility that Jersey's boyfriend hadn't seen it yet, but that possibility was getting slimmer by the instant.
She needed to get on this, now. Naka frantically hammered out a text message to the big American. Hopefully she'd get this in time, Naka really didn't want to see the sweetest non-Kongou-related shipgirl relationship go up in flames.
—|—|—
"Mother fucker," Jersey stared at her phone with a rage so palpable it raised the room's temperature by a few degrees. Wood and wicker groaned under her weight as she tried to hate her cracked cellphone out of existence. "Mother FUCKER!"
Shinano carefully set her teacup down and leaned over as far as she dared on the rickety wooden chair. "M-miss Jersey?"
The American glanced over, her fury dimming fractionally as the object of her ire slipped from her vision. The battleship clenched her phone in her fist, shaking it as her muscles tensed with anger and betrayal. Her lips pulled back over gritted teeth glistening with metal shards and her icy blue eyes burned even more intensely than normal. For a moment, she struggled even to bend words to her will, so great was her frustration. In the end, all she could say was a furious "MOTHER FUCKER!"
"O-oh," Shinano nodded and settled back to her seat with a timid nod. "I… I see."
"'s…" Jersey exploded to her feet, her triple nickel-plated revolvers in their canted leather holsters popping into being around her hips with a swoosh of displaced air. "'s not you, kiddo," she said as she started angrily pacing.
Shinano nodded, although her happiness at not being the cause eclipsed her distress over the American's anguish. She hadn't known the big battleship long, but Shinano liked to think she was at least friends with the big American. In fact, she'd like to claim Jersey as one of her momboats. If… if the American wold have her that is. It twisted her heart up in knots to see a ship she thought so highly of be so distressed.
"I gotta…" Jersey stopped her pacing and pivoted on her heel, sending bits of sawdust and twisted food flying as her sneakers gouged into the floor. "I gotta go, honey. But… fucking…"
"Don't worry," said the tiny swimsuit-clad form of Albacore. The little submarine adjusted the bulging shopping bag slung over her shoulder and smiled at the battleship, "We'll look after her."
Jersey blinked. "We?"
"Mmmhm," Albie nodded. "Archie?"
"Huh?" another swimsuit-clad girl—this time wearing tied-off coveralls instead of speckled-blue fatigues—appeared by Jersey's other flank. Along with her own selection of bulging shopping bags, Archerfish carried a little baggie full of water and one tiny and very confused goldfish. "Fishie," she explained while pointing helpfully to the baggie.
Jersey blinked again, then glanced at the girls' shopping bags. "Ya'll bought that stuff, right?"
Albie and Archie looked at each other like Jersey'd just spoke to them in double-Dutch. "Yeeess?" half-said Albie.
Jersey blinked. "What-the-motherfucking-ever," said the battleship. "I gotta get back to fucking base. Make sure Yamaflat over there doesn't die."
"Will do!" said Albie. This time there wasn't a shred of hesitation in her voice, just determined professionalism.
"And if fucking anyone," hissed Jersey, "So much as touches her wrong. Shove a torpedo up every hole you can find."
Albie and Archie giggled like murderous teenagers with no sense of right-and-wrong. Which is basically what submarines are, so Jersey found that reassuring.
"'Kay," Jersey huffed in a breath. "Gotta… fucking…" her voice trailed off as she bolted out into the bustling street and took off at a dead sprint. Luckily the packed Japanese crowd parted like the sea before her. Apparently they knew better than to get in the way of an angry, emotionally-fragile giantess.
After what felt like years, but was probably just a few minutes, Jersey stumbled crashing into an internet cafe. The battleship didn't really know what that was, but the handful of moon-runes she could actually make out mentioned something about computer access or some shit. And maybe… maybe she could actually call home without having to endure the two-hour train back to Yokosuka.
Because… she'd fucking put this off long enough. If she was gonna salvage this… No! No she was not fucking salvaging this shit! It was beyond fucking saving and she fucking well knew it. But… she just had to do something. Crowning'd been more than kind to her bitchy ass, he deserved the truth at least.
After a few moments of furiously stammering the only Japanese she knew and waving fistfuls of yen around, Jersey finally found herself led to a tiny booth she could barely fit her gigantic frame into. But she didn't give a rotten fuck, it was private. Nobody needed to see what was going to happen, she owed him that.
A skinny man in a faded Naka-Chan t-shirt who spoke at least some English offered to help her open her Skype. Jersey was worried he'd try to feel her up like that pervert at the train station, but to her surprise, he was nothing but respectful. She mumbled a few "Arigotoes" and sent him on his way with a fistful of cash.
Then, as the door closed behind him, it was only her and the computer.
Battleship New Jersey, the most decorated battleship in American history, the ship who charged headlong into a dreadnought with little more than fumes in her bunkers without a second thought, the battleship who made a superpower quake in the age of the guided missile, the fucking Black Dragon took almost ten minutes to work up the courage to click the "Video call" button.
And then… she waited for what felt like hours until the man she loved picked up.
"Jersey," Crowning's face flickered into being on the computer. He was the same as he'd always been, same tightly-cropped beard, same gray-streaked hair, same half-zipped sweater with a steaming mug half out of frame. Only… only he wasn't smiling, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy.
"Doc," Jersey bit her lip. "You, uh… you heard."
Crowning just nodded. "I did," he said. His voice was clipped and precise. Not angry, but devoid of all the warmth and gentle care Jersey'd grown so used to. "But," he stopped, lips almost meeting as he struggled to put his words in order. "I'm… prepared to hear your side."
Jersey bit her lip and felt a tear run down her cheek. "There's nothing to fucking say," she said. "I… fucking…" she trailed off, waiting for him to snap at her. To yell at her for how she'd abused him, to berate her for being a shitty, bitchy battleship and a shitty, bitchy girlfriend who did fucking nothing but take and fucking take.
But he didn't. He just stared at her, disappointment and hurt writ large on his face. And that made Jersey mad. She hadn't just cheated on him, she'd fucking hurt the man she loved. She'd done the fucking opposite of what she was goddamn supposed to fucking DO!
"GAH!" Jersey roared in anger and slammed her fist into the wall. "FUCK!"
"Jersey?" even now, Crowning couldn't quite leave all the tender care out of his voice.
"I'm a fucking screwup!" said the battleship. "I… My sister died. And do I fucking go to the one man who's always been fucking there to support me? Fucking no I didn't! I fucking though with my fucking dick which unless you hadn't noticed I don't fucking have!"
"You slept with Musashi because you were…" Crowning stopped and ran a hand down his chin. "Because you were in despair after you lost your sister?"
Jersey nodded meekly.
"Jersey…" Crowning shook his head. "I want to believe you, I really do. But—"
"But I've always had a fucking hard-on for Musashi and you fucking know it," said the battleship. "Fucking… cheating-ass bitch… you're better-fucking-off without me."
"Maybe," said Crowning. He laced his fingers and let a deep breath whisper though them. For a moment, the two sat in silence, him struggling to find the words while she struggled to melt into the floor. "Jersey…"
"Mmm?"
"What you did was wrong," said the professor.
"I fucking know that," muttered Jersey.
"But it doesn't define you," said Crowning. "Don't let it. I'm begging you don't let it."
"Doc…"
"What you did…" Crowning bit his lip. "Hurts. I won't lie to you, it hurts. But I can… understand it. You lost your sister. You were scared and alone. You went to the first place you could find comfort."
"Shouldn't 'vae," mumbled the Battleship as she curled herself into a ball.
"No," said Crowning. "You shouldn't have. And I wish to whatever god's listening that you hadn't. But… Sex for solace—"
"Wasn't Sex," mumbled Jersey.
"Hmm?"
"It…" Jersey scowled and straightened out. "We didn't have sex. I… fuck! Neither of us could figure out how it worked, so we fucking watched commando all night not that's not the FUCKING POINT!" Jersey's voice suddenly jumped from a rambling wispier to a furious roar. "The point is I FUCKING TRIED! I fucking knew it was wrong and I fucking did it anyway because… fucking… fuck."
"Jersey," Crowning didn't snap at her, but his clipped voice was far more commanding than usual. "You're a good person."
"Not a—"
"A good person," said the professor. "You're not perfect because no man ever was. But you've got a good heart."
Jersey let a bitter laugh slip past her lips.
"What you did hurts," said Crowning. "But you've got a war to win. And you're still my friend."
"F-friend?" stammered the battleship. It was more than she expected. Hell, she was certain it was more than she deserved.
"Friend," said Crowning. "You give more than you think."
Jersey tried to say something, but the moment she opened her mouth she broke down crying. Tears flowed from her icy eyes like water from her fire hoses, and the American amazon sank against the floor with her back propped against the wall. "T-thank you."
Crowning sighed and, after what felt like ages to the battleship, smiled at her.
- - - - - - -
(With apologies to @Skywalker_T-65)
- Location
- Over the hill and far away
Slam that hugs button like it owes you monnnaaayyyyyy
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Uh huh.
... Jersey, either you're going insane, or or Shipgirl magic officially runs on belief.
Tell the girl upset about her large breasts she's flat... and she squees.
I'm not touching that with a ten-foot pole.
OK, I'm lost. What's the joke?
So Jersey was trying to get the waitress to break character.
It wasn't kicking her out or thinly veiled hostility, so...
*headdesk*
They have entire cultural signs hammered out about what signifies being pregnant, but some of them still don't know they're women.
So the family went for whole-hearted embracing, to the point Gale feels its too much.
Daaaw.
Also, marriage questions.
rofl: So Naka's the one doing PR.
rofl:OFC Mushashi shitposts. Next thing you'll tell me the final straw was with the Plane-lover himself.
Aaaaand here we go.
Hoo boy.
Yes it is Archie. Yes it is.
The thing that makes or breaks the plotline.
The facts were established.
1. ... so Mushashi bragged she fucked Jersey... when she doesn't have any clue how lesbian sex works? There's being malicious. There's being stupid. And then there's malicious stupidity. Guess which one this is?
2. So Crowning has taken Jersey off her pedestal. Question is, does he want a friend or a 'friend'?
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
I see Jeresy has taken the path of Don't ask, don't get the migraines when it comes to dealing with the subtheives. Also that poor goldfish.:lol
7734
Trust and verify.
- Location
- Philmont
...
So you're telling me that all that hapened was fumbling virgin noises?!?!?! I can get it, seeing as neither of them ever fired their big guns at another battleship, but COME ON.
...
Dear god, this means Wash and the majority of the Kongou sisters are some of the best in bed. Plus, Arizona now has a reason for the Prude Rage. Worse, it means Yams knows more about the horizontal tango than Musashi (because remember who sunk Sammy? Hint, probably not Kongou...) even! Hoo boy!
So you're telling me that all that hapened was fumbling virgin noises?!?!?! I can get it, seeing as neither of them ever fired their big guns at another battleship, but COME ON.
...
Dear god, this means Wash and the majority of the Kongou sisters are some of the best in bed. Plus, Arizona now has a reason for the Prude Rage. Worse, it means Yams knows more about the horizontal tango than Musashi (because remember who sunk Sammy? Hint, probably not Kongou...) even! Hoo boy!
still_guns
For the Empire!
- Location
- Bridge of ISS Conundrum
What? Mushi and JJ didn't... didn't make glorious love?
...
...
...
Also, hi there Indess-tructible!
...
...
...
Also, hi there Indess-tructible!
Considering Navy ships carry a large amount of 
Training videos Jersey not knowing is a bit of a stretch due to her last tour of service.
Training videos Jersey not knowing is a bit of a stretch due to her last tour of service.
Spectre
eternal servant to the Fire/EMS gods
- Location
- NY
I think its less "how to do it" than "how to do it when there's equipment missing".Considering Navy ships carry a large amount of
If you don't think there isn't Training videos of that topic aboard Navy ships I've got a bridge to sell you.
Training videos of that topic aboard Navy ships I've got a bridge to sell you.
Spectre
eternal servant to the Fire/EMS gods
- Location
- NY
Now yes...in the middle of the "don't ask don't tell" era that Jersey lived in...If you don't think there isn't
- Location
- Pacific NW
Although she was decommissioned before the lifting of Don't Ask Don't Tell. She might not have the relevant materials.
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
Considering Navy ships carry a large amount of
It got mentioned either here or on SB that their crews are the ones keeping them from knowing things like that.If you don't think there isn't
Double standards are a bitch Guy on Guy forbidden Guy on Girl or Girl on Girl or Guy on Girl on Girl threesomeOK.
Hell it's just the way it stacked up on those training videos.
Got the post on that, I must have missed it.
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
It's somewhere in the first thread, but from what I remember it got mentioned that very few shipgirls actually know about sex, and mainly because their former crews don't want them to.
- Location
- Mi
Well, now all that remains of the imediate aftermath is to see Jerseys reaction to Musashi. I'm still betting on it causing at least a minor international incedent.