Burning Baron
This position needs more entrenching.
- Location
- In here, not out there.
Iowa (not KC) is introducing her sisters to someone, not sure whom.
Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
Archduke
Don't Take Geology Puns For Granite
- Location
- Texas
As a lifegaurd, the thought of this terrifies me. People who go swimming but don't know how to swim (but pretend they do) and won't wear a lifejacket give me grey hairs.Pretty much, but with a swimming pool and a lot more shipgirls involved.
They'd actually be in the pool to learn how to swim. So yes, you'd have shipgirls with water wings, kickboards and the like.
Archduke
Don't Take Geology Puns For Granite
- Location
- Texas
The mental image of a battleship or carrier wearing water wings is equally hilarious and terrifying. Or the thought of a destroyer struggling to put on a lifejacket (people seem to have issues with buckling buckles)They'd actually be in the pool to learn how to swim. So yes, you'd have shipgirls with water wings, kickboards and the like.
Burning Baron
This position needs more entrenching.
- Location
- In here, not out there.
Actually, having used one before (for training) when I was on a cruise for my Senior Trip, they are surprisingly easy to put on. Some of the 'larger' destroyers, though...
Considering the size of some of the people I work offshore with, finding something that would fit even the 'greatest landowner' amongst shipgirls really isn't an issue. You could probably fit entire classes of destroyers in some of the max-size lifejackets and survival suits.
Let's just say we're fed very well, and 4-6-times-daily fresh pastries and unrestricted access to self-serve soft-serve ice cream machine is evil.
Last edited:
- Location
- Vancouver WA United States
What's a shipgirl thread without Titanic? I present you my new story!!
Legend: Prologue
Prologue~ A Thousand Knives
"The water stung like a thousand knives tearing into the body." ~ Charles Lightoller, Second Officer
..............................................................
"Help us! Someone help us!"
"Please, let someone come..."
"Just save one life!"
The voices, hundreds, perhaps a thousand, all cried out in unison. Their desperate pleas sounded across the clear night, echoing through the water in an eerie chorus. A chorus that struck the hearts of the ship gods and one ship in particular...
"I can't come back. I failed."
"Someone come help us!"
"I cannot!" A rumble shook her shattered hull, a sound that could be heard 2.5 miles above. She had done the best she could. She had carried them 3/4 of the way across the ocean when the icy beast had struck her, stripping her of her maiden virtues. She lasted nearly thrice as long as her designer had predicted. He had said one hour, she had floated for nearly 3! She had done everything she could!
Then, she remembered something Olympic had said to her, when they were born side by side in Belfast almost a year ago.
"A ship's first and only duty is to her people. Without them, there is no ship."
Her resistance began to falter and she felt her downward motion stall. Now that she had made her choice, reemergence was inevitable.
A redheaded girl broke the surface with a splash lost amongst the 1500 others struggling for survival in the water around her. The girl coughed, spitting up brine and blindly grabbed for the object nearest to her, a broken chair. Then her eyes opened, reveling them to be a deep green. She was in evening dress like her passengers, wearing a simple midnight blue gown, her bear feet treading the deep ocean around her as she trusted her existence to the strength of her arms.
Wiping her mouth with her wrist she noticed how silent it had become. A far cry from the panicked cries that had summoned her just minutes before. Death surrounded her on all sides. She could see it in the countless bodies drifting around her, held up by their white life vests. A pair of men both gripping flotsam like her, a woman with her dog, the animal frozen in the last struggle to free itself from its dead master, all pale, eyes slightless. One might almost mistake them for life size dolls. The culprit for their untimely and sudden demise was all around them. The girl could feel it. The 28 degree water felt like a thousand knives all poking into her body at once. For a human, it was unbearable. For a newborn kanmusu, just barely within the comfort zone.
Then a voice, rising above the silents like an eerie wail.
"Is anyone alive out there?! Can anyone hear me?!"
"H-here... I'm over here." The girl croaked, struggling to make use of her newfound voice. She gathered her strength. "I'M HERE! I'M ALIVE, I'M HERE!!"
A light shined into her face and she squinted her eyes against it. The relief was the first thing she felt as she was hauled into Boat 14. Then the crushing sadness. The agony of a kind that only a kanmusu could feel. The kind that comes from knowing your people are dead. She didn't attempt to stifle her tears.
A blanket was wrapped around her. "What's your name miss?"
Startled, she was momentarily lost for words and slowly looked up at the speaker. She recognized him as her fifth officer.
"Such a good man." She thought. Then she realized she hadn't answered him yet. Just as he was turning away she said "T-Ti-Tiffany." It was the best she could come up with on such short notice. No one could know her real name. She wasn't even sure she wanted to know her real name anymore.
In all, just six people were pulled from the water alive that night, Tiffany among them. Tiffany spent the time drifting before Carpathia arrived helping everyone within sight, going so far as to give up her own blanket to a child. Her actions that night were cause for people to take notice and for many years afterwards they shared stories of the kind woman with skin as pale as the dead and eyes as green as the Irish moors. Many wished to thank her for undoubtedly her actions had saved lives but they never could for shortly after arriving in New York, she disappeared. People tried to track her down but it was like the woman known simply as Tiffany had never existed. Eventually the stories were dismissed as hallucinations or post-disaster metaphors but they still remained, confined within the tight knit circle of family and relatives. Until one day, a war 100 years later would bring them back into the masses' eye.
Legend: Prologue
Prologue~ A Thousand Knives
"The water stung like a thousand knives tearing into the body." ~ Charles Lightoller, Second Officer
..............................................................
"Help us! Someone help us!"
"Please, let someone come..."
"Just save one life!"
The voices, hundreds, perhaps a thousand, all cried out in unison. Their desperate pleas sounded across the clear night, echoing through the water in an eerie chorus. A chorus that struck the hearts of the ship gods and one ship in particular...
"I can't come back. I failed."
"Someone come help us!"
"I cannot!" A rumble shook her shattered hull, a sound that could be heard 2.5 miles above. She had done the best she could. She had carried them 3/4 of the way across the ocean when the icy beast had struck her, stripping her of her maiden virtues. She lasted nearly thrice as long as her designer had predicted. He had said one hour, she had floated for nearly 3! She had done everything she could!
Then, she remembered something Olympic had said to her, when they were born side by side in Belfast almost a year ago.
"A ship's first and only duty is to her people. Without them, there is no ship."
Her resistance began to falter and she felt her downward motion stall. Now that she had made her choice, reemergence was inevitable.
A redheaded girl broke the surface with a splash lost amongst the 1500 others struggling for survival in the water around her. The girl coughed, spitting up brine and blindly grabbed for the object nearest to her, a broken chair. Then her eyes opened, reveling them to be a deep green. She was in evening dress like her passengers, wearing a simple midnight blue gown, her bear feet treading the deep ocean around her as she trusted her existence to the strength of her arms.
Wiping her mouth with her wrist she noticed how silent it had become. A far cry from the panicked cries that had summoned her just minutes before. Death surrounded her on all sides. She could see it in the countless bodies drifting around her, held up by their white life vests. A pair of men both gripping flotsam like her, a woman with her dog, the animal frozen in the last struggle to free itself from its dead master, all pale, eyes slightless. One might almost mistake them for life size dolls. The culprit for their untimely and sudden demise was all around them. The girl could feel it. The 28 degree water felt like a thousand knives all poking into her body at once. For a human, it was unbearable. For a newborn kanmusu, just barely within the comfort zone.
Then a voice, rising above the silents like an eerie wail.
"Is anyone alive out there?! Can anyone hear me?!"
"H-here... I'm over here." The girl croaked, struggling to make use of her newfound voice. She gathered her strength. "I'M HERE! I'M ALIVE, I'M HERE!!"
A light shined into her face and she squinted her eyes against it. The relief was the first thing she felt as she was hauled into Boat 14. Then the crushing sadness. The agony of a kind that only a kanmusu could feel. The kind that comes from knowing your people are dead. She didn't attempt to stifle her tears.
A blanket was wrapped around her. "What's your name miss?"
Startled, she was momentarily lost for words and slowly looked up at the speaker. She recognized him as her fifth officer.
"Such a good man." She thought. Then she realized she hadn't answered him yet. Just as he was turning away she said "T-Ti-Tiffany." It was the best she could come up with on such short notice. No one could know her real name. She wasn't even sure she wanted to know her real name anymore.
In all, just six people were pulled from the water alive that night, Tiffany among them. Tiffany spent the time drifting before Carpathia arrived helping everyone within sight, going so far as to give up her own blanket to a child. Her actions that night were cause for people to take notice and for many years afterwards they shared stories of the kind woman with skin as pale as the dead and eyes as green as the Irish moors. Many wished to thank her for undoubtedly her actions had saved lives but they never could for shortly after arriving in New York, she disappeared. People tried to track her down but it was like the woman known simply as Tiffany had never existed. Eventually the stories were dismissed as hallucinations or post-disaster metaphors but they still remained, confined within the tight knit circle of family and relatives. Until one day, a war 100 years later would bring them back into the masses' eye.
Admiral_Corgi
The Admiral of the PT Boats
- Location
- The Strange land of Florida
You know... I've been thinking about it for bit, would modern body armor offer any kind of protection against Abyssal ground infantry weapons?
On related note, is there any official (WOG) statement on Causalities sustained by the marines when they took the island? Heck general statements are fine too, though a ball park number would be appreciated... You know just to get a sense of what the fighting was like when it was happening.
I MIGHT be planning on writing a thing for the infantry since those guys need a lil bit of light... and metric tons of Naval support fire... the wait for updates is doing strange things to this Corgi,
On related note, is there any official (WOG) statement on Causalities sustained by the marines when they took the island? Heck general statements are fine too, though a ball park number would be appreciated... You know just to get a sense of what the fighting was like when it was happening.
I MIGHT be planning on writing a thing for the infantry since those guys need a lil bit of light... and metric tons of Naval support fire... the wait for updates is doing strange things to this Corgi,
Sisterhood
- Location
- 'Murica
Battleship Arizona chuckled to herself at the vast logistical operation sprawling over most of the beach. And she wasn't talking about the MEU unloading supplies and weapons to shore up defenses. That was mere child's play next to the intricte enterprise that was Shinano playing in the sand.
Making sandcastles on the beach is not usually considered a logistically intensive operation. However, when the main agent in the construction of said sand castles is a timid, painfully self-conscious little carrier in the body of a six-three knockout with a bustline that puts even Mutsu to shame, things become far more complicated.
She'd tried to excuse herself from the sand she so plainly wanted to play with by claiming she'd forgotten her swimsuit. Jersey, however, had packed a spare one-piece for the littlest Yamato herself. The battleship even roped in all three Akizuki sisters to guard the tent while Shinano changed. Of course, getting Shinano into her swimsuit turned out to be the easy part. Even once she was dressed for bathing, she still had to be coaxed out of the tent.
Arizona had been too hungry to stay and watch the whole thing unfold. But Jersey was there when she left to collect her meal. And the big Iowa was still there when Arizona returned, still cooing gentle, almost motherly coaxing to the shy carrier. Arizona was astonished Jersey could be so gentle and soft, especially when she had to be fighting back a raging belly ache.
Eventually, Shinano was coaxed out of the tent and herded towards the beach. Jersey was by her side every step of the way, although Arizona couldn't help noticing the battleship clawing at her belly every few paces. It was only once Shinano had actually picked a spot and started digging that Jersey excused herself to get her much-delayed dinner.
Of course, the logistical miracle didn't end simply because Shinano was playing in the sand. No, Arizona was certain that would be too easy. All six destroyer girls formed a protective cordon around the carrier while Naka vetted Marines in twos and threes, careful to make sure Shinano never felt overwhelmed.
The Marines didn't seem to mind the wait, but they certainly enjoyed playing with the big carrier. Some offered polished brass casings as "knights in shining armor" to help defend the slowly-growing castle—eliciting a squeal of glee and a hug every time. Others proposed improvements to the castle's defenses. Still others were trying—so far fruitlessly—to teach crabs to charge. So far, they'd mostly succeeded in teaching them how to wield lances against their would-be masters.
Arizona smiled, and hopped off the concrete barricade she'd been sitting on. Watching Shinano play… it reminded her of Jane. The battleship let her coat flap behind her in the warm tropical breeze as she strolled down the beach. She would like to be a mother some day. She closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her scarred skin as her bare feet squished into the soft sand.
It was a strange sensation, feeling the grains of sand squish between her toes and compact under her heels. Arizona hadn't felt anything like it before. She'd imagined walking on sand would feel something like the rough jolt of running aground, but it didn't. It felt… pleasant.
But before the standard could ruminate any further, she felt a large clod of sand crash squarely into her face.
Arizona blinked and wiped the sand from her eyes. What she was somehow more confusing than the utter lack of knowledge she had before she opened her eyes.
Prinz Eugen was stripped to her underwear—her uniform lay in a neatly folded pile atop her shoes—and her American-flag bandanna tied sweat-slicked hair back out of her eyes. The heavy cruiser stood in the middle of a perfectly cubical hole in the sand. Arizona was quite certain the edges were so sharp and crisp she could split a diamond without much effort.
"Prinz Eugen?" Arizona couldn't even find it within herself to get flustered over the cruiser's state of undress. Prinz Eugen's slender body was so drenched with sweat forcing her into any more clothing than she currently wore would be cruelty.
"Mustdigmustdigmustdig," Prinz Eugen didn't seem to notice the standard as she furiously expanded her hole, still somehow keeping the edges perfectly straight and true.
"Prinz Eugen?" Arizona spoke a little louder now. "May I ask what you're doing?"
The cruiser glanced over, and wiped a hand across her sweat-laden brow. "A-according to Reichstandards," her normally crisp German accent was breathless and exhausted as she spoke. "Beachdigging is only a satisfying experience if two cubic meters or more of sand is displaced."
Arizona blinked.
"I have documentation." Prinz Eugen pointed a finger at a foot-high stack of paper covered in very small writing and official-looking stamps.
Arizona blinked again.
"Every activity," Prinz Eugen stopped to draw a shaky breath. "Needs careful documentation. Otherwise it doesn't count."
Arizona could do nothing but blink. She couldn't even form a coherent sentence, because the moment she recovered long enough to even contemplate constructing a message she noticed Prinz Eugen's division mates.
Frisco was laying on her back, sunning herself in nothing more than cut-off denim shorts and a bikini that was scandalously small even by the standards of the time covering her nonexistent chest. But at least the Asian-American cruiser was wearing something on her lithe figure. Lou lay on her back with nothing beyond her own flaming hair to cover her olive skin.
This… this…
THIS WOULD NOT STAND!
Arizona felt steel groan as she balled her hands into fists. Her chest swelled with rage and her cheeks glowed a brilliant crimson. This was no way to act, especially in front of foreign ships! What kind of an example were the cruisers setting for Prinz Eugen? For the destroyers? Arizona might… tolerate Mutsu's lewd costuming, but to see her own countrywomen parade themselves like buffets of flesh and steel!
The standard was so enraged she couldn't speak. Her jaw was welded shut by the shear force of her burning fury. She tasted molten steel and burnt teak, and she was certain her boilers were going to overheat.
"Ay, Ari!" Jersey's rough contralto rolled over the beach like the report of a dozen mortars. Yes, Jersey. The battleship would know what to do. She might be born of a different era, but the amazonian Iowa had shown herself a reasonably competent officer. Surely she'd back up the standard's indignation.
Arizona pivoted on her heel and felt her spirits crash. Jersey was wearing a flag-print bikini and those scandalously short shorts. But not only that, she was groping herself with both hands with an intense look on her stern features. And she looked… less than completely in possession of her faculties. The big Iowa always swung her hips when she walked, but now her gait looked less like an elegant sashay and more like a drunken shamble.
"Do my tits look bigger than usual?" Jersey puncutated the question with a full-bodied squeeze on said feminine protrusions as a breath stinking of pizza grease and sale beer wafted from her mouth.
Arizona fumed at the battleship, to apologetic with rage to even try and put together a sentence.
"'cause I fucking swear my top wasn't this snug before." Jersey pried her hands off her chest and preened, either oblivious or uncaring to the standard's moral outrage. Arizona couldn't even tell if Jersey was slurring her words. For all the Iowa's amazonian tone, she barely find the effort to speak at the best of times. Her lazy, rumbling drawl always sounded like a tall glass of aged whiskey. "Ever fucking since we left Washington my tops've been getting snug around the middle. Think it's my kai?"
Arizona sputtered something beyond incoherent.
"'Could've just washed my shit wrong," Jersey sighed and planted her hands on her broad hips. "With my luck, that's what it fucking is. But a girl can hope, right? Get a rack to balance out this glorious American ass?"
"Commander." Arizona bristled.
"Heh," Jersey chuckled to herself. "Maybe even pass the fucking shirphobia motel." She shrugged those massive shoulders of hers and met the much shorter Standard's fuming gaze. "'sup, Ari?"
"Commander!" Arizona waved at the sunbathing cruisers. "You… you tolerate such impropriety among your girls!"
Jersey bent at the waist to look around the fuming standard at Lou and Frisco. "I do when they've got asses like that."
Arizona's face turned a brilliant shade of red, and her eyes almost glowed like coals fueled by the rage of a thousand furious schoolmarms.
"Ari…" Jersey planted a hand on Arizona's shoulder. Or tried too, it took her a few attempts to land the touch just right. "I'm like… twelve fucking beers down already, so imma be real fucking blunt here. She picked it up in Brazil and she likes it." The big battleship let herself fall to the sand in a heap of long legs and toned muscle.
"Yes, but—"
"Ari." Jersey slipped her shades down to lock her icy blue eyes on the plump standard. "For the first fucking time since this goddamn war started, we've actually fucking won something." She pounded her fist against the sand. "Not fucking held shit. Not fucking traded lives for fucking minutes while everyone run for the goddamn hills. Fucking won. Let people enjoy shit."
Arizona puffed out her cheeks and frowned. She couldn't quite fault the drunken Iowa's logic, but still! So much flesh on display! It just wasn't proper!
"And Ar~i~" Jersey's picked up a drunken lilt that sounded terrifyingly like Mutsu's scheming giggle. "Dun' forget I'm your CO. You keep acting like a sourpuss I'm putting you in a sling bikini."
"Jersey!" Arizona flushed at the mere thought of parading around in such little fabric. "You can't—"
"Can," said Jersey. "I'mma Commander. I can set the uniform of the day."
Arizona's jaw clamped shut. She'd expected a childish insult or off-color joke from the Iowa. But manipulating the letter of the law to get her way? Arizona was equal parts impressed and terrified by the fast-battleship's professionalism! Now if only she could harness that energy into fighting lewdness instead of enabling it.
"Oh. Ari?"
"Yes?" Arizona clasped her hands behind the small of her back and threw out her chest. New Jersey might be a slouching, scantily-clad battleship of the modern age, but Arizona took pride in bringing a level of old-fashioned class and decency to the table.
"'saw Pennsy brooding by the end of the runway," said Jersey. "You should go talk to her."
Arizona blinked back the first inkling of a tear and forced herself to stare at the twin steel titans that were Jersey and Shinano's massive hulls sitting at anchor next to the much smaller guided-missile destroyers. "Jersey, I— she…"
"Ari," Jersey pulled herself up into a sloppy cross-legged sit. "I would give everything I have… everything I'd ever have for thirty seconds with Wiskey. Go talk to your sister."
Arizona couldn't find the words to express how she felt. She satisfied herself with a small cough, and pivoted on her heel to march inland with steps as hesitant as they were purposeful. Jersey watched her go from her spot on the sand, trying and failing to ignore the way her curvy hips and chubby bust swayed and bounced with each step.
"Love," a chipper Australian accent belonging to a manifestation of pure malevolence that steadfastly refused to give Jersey a moment's peace sounded next to the tipsy battlewagon. "You need ta' get fucking laid, mate."
"Fuck you, Victory." Jersey scowled at the grinning little man-o-war. She'd dressed for the occasion in a frustratingly tiny Union-jack print bikini, although her massive-ass Admiral's hat was as cocky as ever over he jaunty eyepatch.
"Mate," Victory plopped down onto her slender legs next to the massively huger American. "If I thought it'd help, I'd offer. But I'm a figment of your imagination, 'meber?"
"Go fuck yourself," Jersey scowled and fell back onto the sand with a howl of impotent rage.
"No," Victory chuckled and prodded Jersey's breast. "Fuck yourself. I'm just in your head, mate."
"Why are you fucking here?" Jersey threw a punch at the tall ship's skinny middle, only for her hand to pass clean through like Victory was made of smoke. "There's always a goddamn reason you're bothering me."
"Mate," Victory adjusted her hat. "I like the sun and the sand. That a crime?"
"It is when you have an ass I could fucking play pool on."
Victory made a show of examining her lithe bottom. "'s not that flat, mate."
"Have you seen my fucking ass?"
"Love," Victory chuckled. "I'm pretty sure the whole hemisphere's seen your… hemispheres."
For a moment, the two warships stared each other down. Both were the queen of the seas in their time, the most powerful surface warships their nation field. Decorated and proud, and both with the same utterly awful sense of humor.
"Aaaaaaay," Jersey finger-gunned at Victory, who did the same with her one remaining hand. "That was fucking clever."
"British wit," said Victory. "You know, I like drunk Jersey better."
"I am not fucking drunk you tea-drinking cunt."
Victory rolled her eyes and let Jersey's playful haymaker coast through her face. "Ooh, right on the nose."
The battleship just chuckled and let her massive arm flop back onto the sand. "So, why are you really here?"
"'cause I hear there's a battleship in desperate need of a good dicking."
"Victory, not this again…"
Victory scowled. "Not you, you selfish Yankee."
Jersey picked her head off the sand just long enough to shoot an angry look at the tall ship. "Then fucking—" and then it dawned on her. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"Fuck, that's tonight, isn't it?"
"Yeah, Mate."
"Fuck me, Richardson's as dense as a fucking log."
"Ya-huh." Victory nodded.
"Shit… shitfucking… fuck," Jersey scrambled to her feet. "I gotta… send a message."
Victory made a show of sending the big Iowa off. "Truly, the sisterhood of horny battleships knows no borders."
"Hardy-fuck you." Jersey barked out of the corner of her mouth while she fished her phone from her shorts pocket. She hated typing on the damn thing, but Mutsu's virginity—or taking thereof—was at stake. She fumbled in her lock code, and frantically opened up her text-messaging app.
Making sandcastles on the beach is not usually considered a logistically intensive operation. However, when the main agent in the construction of said sand castles is a timid, painfully self-conscious little carrier in the body of a six-three knockout with a bustline that puts even Mutsu to shame, things become far more complicated.
She'd tried to excuse herself from the sand she so plainly wanted to play with by claiming she'd forgotten her swimsuit. Jersey, however, had packed a spare one-piece for the littlest Yamato herself. The battleship even roped in all three Akizuki sisters to guard the tent while Shinano changed. Of course, getting Shinano into her swimsuit turned out to be the easy part. Even once she was dressed for bathing, she still had to be coaxed out of the tent.
Arizona had been too hungry to stay and watch the whole thing unfold. But Jersey was there when she left to collect her meal. And the big Iowa was still there when Arizona returned, still cooing gentle, almost motherly coaxing to the shy carrier. Arizona was astonished Jersey could be so gentle and soft, especially when she had to be fighting back a raging belly ache.
Eventually, Shinano was coaxed out of the tent and herded towards the beach. Jersey was by her side every step of the way, although Arizona couldn't help noticing the battleship clawing at her belly every few paces. It was only once Shinano had actually picked a spot and started digging that Jersey excused herself to get her much-delayed dinner.
Of course, the logistical miracle didn't end simply because Shinano was playing in the sand. No, Arizona was certain that would be too easy. All six destroyer girls formed a protective cordon around the carrier while Naka vetted Marines in twos and threes, careful to make sure Shinano never felt overwhelmed.
The Marines didn't seem to mind the wait, but they certainly enjoyed playing with the big carrier. Some offered polished brass casings as "knights in shining armor" to help defend the slowly-growing castle—eliciting a squeal of glee and a hug every time. Others proposed improvements to the castle's defenses. Still others were trying—so far fruitlessly—to teach crabs to charge. So far, they'd mostly succeeded in teaching them how to wield lances against their would-be masters.
Arizona smiled, and hopped off the concrete barricade she'd been sitting on. Watching Shinano play… it reminded her of Jane. The battleship let her coat flap behind her in the warm tropical breeze as she strolled down the beach. She would like to be a mother some day. She closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her scarred skin as her bare feet squished into the soft sand.
It was a strange sensation, feeling the grains of sand squish between her toes and compact under her heels. Arizona hadn't felt anything like it before. She'd imagined walking on sand would feel something like the rough jolt of running aground, but it didn't. It felt… pleasant.
But before the standard could ruminate any further, she felt a large clod of sand crash squarely into her face.
Arizona blinked and wiped the sand from her eyes. What she was somehow more confusing than the utter lack of knowledge she had before she opened her eyes.
Prinz Eugen was stripped to her underwear—her uniform lay in a neatly folded pile atop her shoes—and her American-flag bandanna tied sweat-slicked hair back out of her eyes. The heavy cruiser stood in the middle of a perfectly cubical hole in the sand. Arizona was quite certain the edges were so sharp and crisp she could split a diamond without much effort.
"Prinz Eugen?" Arizona couldn't even find it within herself to get flustered over the cruiser's state of undress. Prinz Eugen's slender body was so drenched with sweat forcing her into any more clothing than she currently wore would be cruelty.
"Mustdigmustdigmustdig," Prinz Eugen didn't seem to notice the standard as she furiously expanded her hole, still somehow keeping the edges perfectly straight and true.
"Prinz Eugen?" Arizona spoke a little louder now. "May I ask what you're doing?"
The cruiser glanced over, and wiped a hand across her sweat-laden brow. "A-according to Reichstandards," her normally crisp German accent was breathless and exhausted as she spoke. "Beachdigging is only a satisfying experience if two cubic meters or more of sand is displaced."
Arizona blinked.
"I have documentation." Prinz Eugen pointed a finger at a foot-high stack of paper covered in very small writing and official-looking stamps.
Arizona blinked again.
"Every activity," Prinz Eugen stopped to draw a shaky breath. "Needs careful documentation. Otherwise it doesn't count."
Arizona could do nothing but blink. She couldn't even form a coherent sentence, because the moment she recovered long enough to even contemplate constructing a message she noticed Prinz Eugen's division mates.
Frisco was laying on her back, sunning herself in nothing more than cut-off denim shorts and a bikini that was scandalously small even by the standards of the time covering her nonexistent chest. But at least the Asian-American cruiser was wearing something on her lithe figure. Lou lay on her back with nothing beyond her own flaming hair to cover her olive skin.
This… this…
THIS WOULD NOT STAND!
Arizona felt steel groan as she balled her hands into fists. Her chest swelled with rage and her cheeks glowed a brilliant crimson. This was no way to act, especially in front of foreign ships! What kind of an example were the cruisers setting for Prinz Eugen? For the destroyers? Arizona might… tolerate Mutsu's lewd costuming, but to see her own countrywomen parade themselves like buffets of flesh and steel!
The standard was so enraged she couldn't speak. Her jaw was welded shut by the shear force of her burning fury. She tasted molten steel and burnt teak, and she was certain her boilers were going to overheat.
"Ay, Ari!" Jersey's rough contralto rolled over the beach like the report of a dozen mortars. Yes, Jersey. The battleship would know what to do. She might be born of a different era, but the amazonian Iowa had shown herself a reasonably competent officer. Surely she'd back up the standard's indignation.
Arizona pivoted on her heel and felt her spirits crash. Jersey was wearing a flag-print bikini and those scandalously short shorts. But not only that, she was groping herself with both hands with an intense look on her stern features. And she looked… less than completely in possession of her faculties. The big Iowa always swung her hips when she walked, but now her gait looked less like an elegant sashay and more like a drunken shamble.
"Do my tits look bigger than usual?" Jersey puncutated the question with a full-bodied squeeze on said feminine protrusions as a breath stinking of pizza grease and sale beer wafted from her mouth.
Arizona fumed at the battleship, to apologetic with rage to even try and put together a sentence.
"'cause I fucking swear my top wasn't this snug before." Jersey pried her hands off her chest and preened, either oblivious or uncaring to the standard's moral outrage. Arizona couldn't even tell if Jersey was slurring her words. For all the Iowa's amazonian tone, she barely find the effort to speak at the best of times. Her lazy, rumbling drawl always sounded like a tall glass of aged whiskey. "Ever fucking since we left Washington my tops've been getting snug around the middle. Think it's my kai?"
Arizona sputtered something beyond incoherent.
"'Could've just washed my shit wrong," Jersey sighed and planted her hands on her broad hips. "With my luck, that's what it fucking is. But a girl can hope, right? Get a rack to balance out this glorious American ass?"
"Commander." Arizona bristled.
"Heh," Jersey chuckled to herself. "Maybe even pass the fucking shirphobia motel." She shrugged those massive shoulders of hers and met the much shorter Standard's fuming gaze. "'sup, Ari?"
"Commander!" Arizona waved at the sunbathing cruisers. "You… you tolerate such impropriety among your girls!"
Jersey bent at the waist to look around the fuming standard at Lou and Frisco. "I do when they've got asses like that."
Arizona's face turned a brilliant shade of red, and her eyes almost glowed like coals fueled by the rage of a thousand furious schoolmarms.
"Ari…" Jersey planted a hand on Arizona's shoulder. Or tried too, it took her a few attempts to land the touch just right. "I'm like… twelve fucking beers down already, so imma be real fucking blunt here. She picked it up in Brazil and she likes it." The big battleship let herself fall to the sand in a heap of long legs and toned muscle.
"Yes, but—"
"Ari." Jersey slipped her shades down to lock her icy blue eyes on the plump standard. "For the first fucking time since this goddamn war started, we've actually fucking won something." She pounded her fist against the sand. "Not fucking held shit. Not fucking traded lives for fucking minutes while everyone run for the goddamn hills. Fucking won. Let people enjoy shit."
Arizona puffed out her cheeks and frowned. She couldn't quite fault the drunken Iowa's logic, but still! So much flesh on display! It just wasn't proper!
"And Ar~i~" Jersey's picked up a drunken lilt that sounded terrifyingly like Mutsu's scheming giggle. "Dun' forget I'm your CO. You keep acting like a sourpuss I'm putting you in a sling bikini."
"Jersey!" Arizona flushed at the mere thought of parading around in such little fabric. "You can't—"
"Can," said Jersey. "I'mma Commander. I can set the uniform of the day."
Arizona's jaw clamped shut. She'd expected a childish insult or off-color joke from the Iowa. But manipulating the letter of the law to get her way? Arizona was equal parts impressed and terrified by the fast-battleship's professionalism! Now if only she could harness that energy into fighting lewdness instead of enabling it.
"Oh. Ari?"
"Yes?" Arizona clasped her hands behind the small of her back and threw out her chest. New Jersey might be a slouching, scantily-clad battleship of the modern age, but Arizona took pride in bringing a level of old-fashioned class and decency to the table.
"'saw Pennsy brooding by the end of the runway," said Jersey. "You should go talk to her."
Arizona blinked back the first inkling of a tear and forced herself to stare at the twin steel titans that were Jersey and Shinano's massive hulls sitting at anchor next to the much smaller guided-missile destroyers. "Jersey, I— she…"
"Ari," Jersey pulled herself up into a sloppy cross-legged sit. "I would give everything I have… everything I'd ever have for thirty seconds with Wiskey. Go talk to your sister."
Arizona couldn't find the words to express how she felt. She satisfied herself with a small cough, and pivoted on her heel to march inland with steps as hesitant as they were purposeful. Jersey watched her go from her spot on the sand, trying and failing to ignore the way her curvy hips and chubby bust swayed and bounced with each step.
"Love," a chipper Australian accent belonging to a manifestation of pure malevolence that steadfastly refused to give Jersey a moment's peace sounded next to the tipsy battlewagon. "You need ta' get fucking laid, mate."
"Fuck you, Victory." Jersey scowled at the grinning little man-o-war. She'd dressed for the occasion in a frustratingly tiny Union-jack print bikini, although her massive-ass Admiral's hat was as cocky as ever over he jaunty eyepatch.
"Mate," Victory plopped down onto her slender legs next to the massively huger American. "If I thought it'd help, I'd offer. But I'm a figment of your imagination, 'meber?"
"Go fuck yourself," Jersey scowled and fell back onto the sand with a howl of impotent rage.
"No," Victory chuckled and prodded Jersey's breast. "Fuck yourself. I'm just in your head, mate."
"Why are you fucking here?" Jersey threw a punch at the tall ship's skinny middle, only for her hand to pass clean through like Victory was made of smoke. "There's always a goddamn reason you're bothering me."
"Mate," Victory adjusted her hat. "I like the sun and the sand. That a crime?"
"It is when you have an ass I could fucking play pool on."
Victory made a show of examining her lithe bottom. "'s not that flat, mate."
"Have you seen my fucking ass?"
"Love," Victory chuckled. "I'm pretty sure the whole hemisphere's seen your… hemispheres."
For a moment, the two warships stared each other down. Both were the queen of the seas in their time, the most powerful surface warships their nation field. Decorated and proud, and both with the same utterly awful sense of humor.
"Aaaaaaay," Jersey finger-gunned at Victory, who did the same with her one remaining hand. "That was fucking clever."
"British wit," said Victory. "You know, I like drunk Jersey better."
"I am not fucking drunk you tea-drinking cunt."
Victory rolled her eyes and let Jersey's playful haymaker coast through her face. "Ooh, right on the nose."
The battleship just chuckled and let her massive arm flop back onto the sand. "So, why are you really here?"
"'cause I hear there's a battleship in desperate need of a good dicking."
"Victory, not this again…"
Victory scowled. "Not you, you selfish Yankee."
Jersey picked her head off the sand just long enough to shoot an angry look at the tall ship. "Then fucking—" and then it dawned on her. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"Fuck, that's tonight, isn't it?"
"Yeah, Mate."
"Fuck me, Richardson's as dense as a fucking log."
"Ya-huh." Victory nodded.
"Shit… shitfucking… fuck," Jersey scrambled to her feet. "I gotta… send a message."
Victory made a show of sending the big Iowa off. "Truly, the sisterhood of horny battleships knows no borders."
"Hardy-fuck you." Jersey barked out of the corner of her mouth while she fished her phone from her shorts pocket. She hated typing on the damn thing, but Mutsu's virginity—or taking thereof—was at stake. She fumbled in her lock code, and frantically opened up her text-messaging app.
Jersey glanced at her string of messages with a smile. She'd done her part. She could only help the most deserving battleship on the planet had the least restful night a person could have.
Burning Baron
This position needs more entrenching.
- Location
- In here, not out there.
What they wanted:
What they got:
Jersey no stahp. Not helping. No halping.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Daaaaaw.
See, the issue is they're not bored.
If the were bored, the crabs would have mastered medieval warfare, gone back to the sea, formed their own Crab Kingdoms from their own taught knights, and then go to war against the Abyssals, humanity, and each other.
... just take the originality Late, just take the originality.
I don't know whether to call her a logistics officer's wet dream or nightmare.
*thinks back to that rejected chapter* So the only difference between that and now is how drunk Jersey is.
Whelp.
Jer, she picked up nude sunbathing from that one destroyer and you know it.
I have to agree that'd be a pretty powerful motivator...
... But if you tried that, you'd be denied any further promotion for the rest of your immortal life.
OK, that was hilarious.
Well, if your crew weren't sabotaging you, maybe you'd be able to do something about it.
Admiral Richardson looked at the latest string of messages with a frown. Maybe if people didn't stop crowding him, he would do something! Upon seeing two new messages from Shimakaze and Iku, he made up his mind. He took the battery out of the phone, carefully took out the sim card, put the latter in a marked envelope, threw the battery and the phone out the window, then went back to his wife.
If people wanted to see him, they can damn well wait one night.
Glitchrr36
Slick's Short Company, CEO
- Location
- The Wastes
- Pronouns
- He/Him
It's the beach episode. Finally.
- Location
- Plato's Cave
Perfect.
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
Jersey: What the fuck is there to be embarrassed over?
Fuck.
This is going to be the goddamn fucking newts all fucking over again, except with Abyssals. Fucking hell.
Spectre
eternal servant to the Fire/EMS gods
- Location
- NY
at least until their knives rust away in a few months.
- Location
- 'Murica
Implying the crabs wouldn't learn to blacksmith.
Um... Do. Not. Want.
Jersey: Fucking do it.
- Location
- State of Denial
Is the Ari-Pennsy chat going to be in another chapter? I feel this is a big character development moment coming up.
- Location
- 'Murica
I left it open so @Old Iron can do it in the next Lady. They're his characters and I don't wanna step on his toes.
- Location
- Malaysia
Where did their hulls came from?....i must have missed something.....dammned internet connection is spotty in the jungle.
No, they learn something worse.
They learn how to build bio-blade. Chitin-silicon bio-blade. Things usually reserved for Zergs and their ilk. Naturally sharpened and strengthened over time.
Dirtnap
Kanmusu Affecionado
- Location
- 'Murica
I don't understand the question.
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
... Fucking newts. Goddamn fucking newts, except the newts are fucking crabs and have Abyssals in the mix. Fuck.
Because you want to fucking dick something, but don't got a dick, right?