owlmessenger
Parts Guy Extraordinaire
- Location
- New York
Well poo, and the Bills were doing better than the last 16 years combined so far this year too ... Looks like a boycott on the NFL is in my future too.
Belated Battleships (KanColle) [REHOST]
- Thread starter theJMPer
- Start date
- Location
- Canada
Harry Leferts
Suave Shadow Cabal Kaiju
So, I found something. As it turns out, the Submarines can dress in a way that Arizona would approve:
Admiral_Corgi
The Admiral of the PT Boats
- Location
- The Strange land of Florida
Does anyone wanna bet Vestal will recommend to Gale that she take Iron supplements to help control her cravings for liver?
Farmerbob1
Rest in Peace
- Location
- Atlanta-ish
If Gale needs iron supplements, she might be giving birth to Monitor & Merrimack. Which might be amusing. Talk about sibling rivalries!
Sandy River DL
(Verified Destroyer Leader)
- Location
- Lake Michigan
- Pronouns
- Her/She
You need iron to make steel, so iron rich cravings only tells us that the smolbote's not a wooden one.
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
Unlikely. Making her a dive-reef would give foreign operatives the chance to dive on her and take imagery, inside and out, which would give their engineers at home unacceptable degrees of insight into 'Supercarriers That Work'.
So, to the breakers she goes then.
- Location
- Pacific Northwest
If they're lucky enough to survive until then.
- Location
- Canada
Even Iowa barely avoided the breakers by mere weeks. What a travesty that would of been.
- Location
- Somewhere between here and there
Don't really care if I get some (or a lot) of flack from this, but this is my view:
Sports are dumb and the money involved in sports would be better spent elsewhere.
Seriously, just reading about how Saratoga had the money raised to save her and then some stupid politicians decided to spend that money on a stadium instead of using it for its intended purpose. I for one sure hope that that decision right there ended the careers of the fools who did that. People like that don't deserve to be in a position of power.
And that is as far and as much as I will ever be willing to talk about politics and sports on this forum.
Sports are dumb and the money involved in sports would be better spent elsewhere.
Seriously, just reading about how Saratoga had the money raised to save her and then some stupid politicians decided to spend that money on a stadium instead of using it for its intended purpose. I for one sure hope that that decision right there ended the careers of the fools who did that. People like that don't deserve to be in a position of power.
And that is as far and as much as I will ever be willing to talk about politics and sports on this forum.
But then how I got my daily dose of Gladiatorial Fight?
Sandy River DL
(Verified Destroyer Leader)
- Location
- Lake Michigan
- Pronouns
- Her/She
We have video games for that.But then how I got my daily dose of Gladiatorial Fight?
But... but... no real death! No guilt-free racism and chaunivism! No mob rousing! No guilt-free property destruction! What kind of travesty this is?!
HolyDragoon
Call Gespenst!
- Location
- Portugal
It's not a matter of sport, but of the interests behind it, sadly. Then you see millions spent in some sports and only get mediocre results, while other athletes have to struggle to get sponsors, don't have the means for a truly competitive training, but nevertheless get respectable results.
Yet the newspapers only dedicate a bottom line to them, because it isn't the popular sport.
Anyway, sorry for the off topic.
Back to the thread... well wooden boats don't need iron for the hull, but from what material are the cannons made of? I know bronze and iron were used, but I'm not sure if ship cannons had any specific material.
Cannon - Wikipedia
They start with bronze (a bit soft, but more flexible against sudden shock) then cast iron, and then steel (stronger, cheaper).
- Location
- Minot, North Dakota
There was actually quite a bit of steel and other metal that went into wooden hull ships. Mountings, brackets, nails, copper sheathing on the bottom of the hull; and all that is before you get the armament.
Or we could combine some ideas...and Gale is carrying a couple of iron hull clipper ships...
Old Iron
Admiral Unfun
- Location
- The Southwestern Deadlands of America
Ari approves of this and so do I.So, I found something. As it turns out, the Submarines can dress in a way that Arizona would approve:
The Plan
- Location
- 'Murica
"G'morning, ma'am." Yeoman Bowers couldn't help but smirk. It was just past eleven in the morning, and Jersey was clearly holding onto consciousness only by the very skin of her teeth. She squinted into the midday sunlight, her icy blue eyes narrowed to crusty slits. Her vast mane of shimmering strawberry-blond hair was an untamed shrub given some modicum of control only by its immense length.
Her pajamas hung low over those awesome hips of hers, exposing a good chunk of her panties—antifouling red with a thick black stripe at the top. Her cropped t-shirt was lopsidedly stretched over a bosom far too filled out for it to truly contain, and her cottony mouth slowly opened and closed. "Muur?" mumbled the amazonian woman.
Bowers stifled a giggle. The way she heard it, Jersey had stayed up all night. First to get Shinano tucked in and read her a bedtime story, then to sate the legendarily gluttonous appetite that a woman with her chiseled stomach should in no way have. "I got you coffee ma'am."
Jersey slowly blinked. Slowly the gears in her mind started turning, and she stiffly reached for the tall cup Bowers was holding. Her fingers closed around the warm cardboard and with immense effort brought the steaming liquid to her lips. Her head tilted back and her long, thick neck rippled as she downed the whole thing in one long sip.
"Hmm." The battleship crushed the now-empty cup in her massive hand. Her eyes were still lidded, but at least there was some visible spark of life behind those icy portals. "'s good."
"Thank you, ma'am." Bowers glowed with pride. She'd made something that could wake up a battleship—albeit only just. Jersey still looked tired and hungover. "It's espresso, but instead of water, I used monster."
Jersey squinted at the sailor. "If I were human, this would've killed me wouldn't it."
"Oh, by the first sip at least."
The battleship cracked a sleepy smile. "I like you, yeoman."
Bowers smiled. "Thank you, ma'am. And… about that," she handed the battleship some paperwork. "I'm your new yeoman, Admiral Williams' orders."
"Eh?" Jersey grunted and looked over the papers. After about ten minutes she scowled and turned them the right way up. "Yeoman?"
"Yes ma'am." said Bowers. "You're a Commander, you rate a staff. Technically, you have for a while, but we've been so short-handed and…"
"And after that shit in Tokyo, the Admiral wants an adult holding my leash?" said Jersey with a bitter smirk.
"Uh," Bowers bit her lip. "I… not in so many words, no ma'am."
The battleship shrugged. "I probably deserved that."
"Whatever you say ma'am." Bowers hoped it was a proper answer. Jersey was… a very nontraditional officer. And also, she was a ship, that was kinda weird.
"So," Jersey yawned and scratched at her rock-hard stomach. "If you're my staff, I can make you do shit, yeah?"
"Well…" Bowers shrugged. "To an extent."
Jersey giggled to herself. "'m not gonna pull a Wash on you, don't worry. Just… I got by bunkers enlarged in Japan."
"I'm aware, ma'am." Said Bowers. Her best friend Gale had been indignant when the news first came back that Jersey's awe-inspiring hips were now paired with an aesthetically equivalent—and equally biologically impossible for a woman with her degree of muscle tone—bustline.
Bowers hadn't seen the problem though. Jersey wasn't a woman, she was a blatantly supernatural personification of American Naval Might. She wasn't bound by the same laws as mere mortals, nor should she be. Also, Bowers considered the Iowa's new balanced hourglass to be far more visually pleasing than her prior bottom-heavy build. Maybe it'd finally get Musashi to shut up.
"Heh," Jersey smirked and for a moment looked like she was going to grope herself. But then she seemed to realize the amount of effort that would take and thought better of it. "Anyways… I need new clothes. Well… shirts and bras, nothing I have fits anymore."
"I'm certain," said Bowers. "You didn't get anything in Japan?"
Jersey rolled her eyes. "Like they have anything that'll fit American grown triple-Ds."
Bowers blinked and stared at the battleship's breasts. Her big, round, and most assuredly not triple-D-cup breasts. "Uh, ma'am? Do you know how bra sizes work?"
Jersey narrowed her eyes. "From your tone, I'm going to assume no…"
"You…" the sailor cupped her head in her hand. "You can't just list your cup size. There's a band size too."
Jersey stared on with utter comprehensions. Bowers couldn't exactly blame her, everything the battleship knew about the female body came from the memories of male sailors, none of whom were probably eager for a lecture on the finer points of bra fitting.
"It's… like your rifles," continued Bowers. "You've got bore diameter, but also caliber."
It was like a switch flipped, and the Iowa's face lit up in a smile. "Ooooooooh." A moment later though, her confusion returned. "Wait… Yeoman… how the fuck did you know that?"
Unlike the amazonian battlewagon, Yeoman Jennifer Bowers did not posses an hourglass figure of swooping feminine curves. She was a living twig, devoid of any curves—feminine or otherwise—save for her admittedly inexplicable hips. If it wasn't for uniform regulations, she might not even wear a bra on the daily. "Ma'am, you know I do cosplay."
Jersey nodded. "But…"
"Just…" Bowers fished a phone out of her digis and found the picture she was looking for. "This is my friend Kitty."
Jersey blinked at the picture, her eyes suddenly going as wide as her mighty rifles. Kitty might not have the battleship's colossal stature, but she more than made up for it in curves. Plus, Bowers was exceptionally proud of the seam work she'd done on that Power Girl suit. "W-what?"
"Yeah," said Bowers.
"Did you show Musashi?"
The sailor shook her head. "And make her even more anxious to rub her Kantai Kessens in everyone's face?"
"Point," said Jersey.
"You know…" Bowers cradled her chin in her hand. "With your figure, a new outfit might have to be made to measure…"
The battleship narrowed her eyes again. "Yeoman, you're almost drooling."
Bowers shrugged. She might not have much in the chest department—something she was eternally thankful for, considering she didn't have the superhuman spines of the shipgirls—but tailoring a complex outfit over such an enthusiastically feminine shape as Jersey's rack was the kind of technical challenge she lived for.
"Whatever," Jersey shrugged. "I'm gonna take a shower, just make me look hot."
"Shouldn't be hard, ma'am."
The battleship smirked. "Oh, and Bowers?"
"Ma'am?"
"You do admin stuff and shit for me, right?" asked the big Iowa.
Bowers nodded.
"I hear there's a plane museum in town."
"Yeah, Flying Heritage," said Bowers. "They got a lot of WWII stuff."
Jersey nodded, her hands reflexively going to her wide hips. "That's the one. Think you could arrange transport for Shina and I? And like… " she held her hands a few feet apart, "yea much destroyers?"
"No problem ma'am," said Bowers with a stifled giggle.
"And…" Jersey bit her lip. "See if you can arrange a tour at an odd hour. Either really early or really late or something. Shina's not gonna have fun if she's too busy hiding from a crowd."
"Awwww," Bowers cooed, earning her a sour look from the battlewagon. "I'll get right on it ma'am."
In her defense though, by any reasonable standard except the actual physical age her hull would have been if she hadn't been de-commissioned when she was three and scrapped when she was fifteen, Alaska was a very young ship. Also, footie pajama were super comfy and Alaska would unironically wear them on patrol if she could.
That was beside the point though. Alaska wasn't merely eating her breakfast, she was observing the former-carrier who she'd adopted as her mother. Sara had finally learned not to hunch over so much in front of the television, but for hours she'd accidentally hit a button with her breast and then be very confused about why her character did something she didn't expect. She'd eventually figured it out though, complete with an exasperated "oh my god~" delivered to nobody in particular.
A few faeries were resting on her shoulders—and one very smug gunner's mate was reclining in the battlecruiser's excessive supply of cleavage. Alaska was too far away to make it out clearly, but from Sara's irritated reactions they were trying to back-seat play.
"Morning, Alaska." Daniel Stewart, the man who was closer to being Alaska's adoptive dad than any man save the Admiral and Cameron's dad was, smiled at her with his meager breakfast all laid out on a tray.
"Hello," Alaska drew out the last syllable a bit in the hopes of disguising her ploy. It was a very effective disguise. She was so practiced in not knowing what was going on or what she was doing that she could act like it at a moment's notice. After a second's wait, she put on a pout and subtly pushed her plushie forwards.
"And hello, Wash," Stewart, to his credit, didn't skip a beat. He smiled and gave the little doll a pat on her felt-covered head.
"Thank you," said Alaska with a giggle.
"You wanted to talk to me?" Stewart set his tray on the table and idly buttered a slice of toast.
"Hmm?" Alaska knit her snowy brows in confusion and let her mouth stay slightly ajar as the question mark slipped from her lips.
"I got a text from you this morning."
Alaska shook her head. "I don't think so…" She shrugged and fished her phone from her pocket. Her real phone, not the burner she'd had Texas help her rig up. After fumbling in her lock code and stumbling her way through the menus, she got to her message log. "Yeah, no message."
"Huh," Stewart shrugged.
"Sorry," said Alaska.
"'s nothing," Stewart took a bite of toast. "Don't mind being on the base anyhow."
"Cameron visits me all the time," said Alaska, subtly implying a ship's significant other was welcome on the premises.
"So I've heard."
Alaska purred at the thought of Cameron cuddling her. Cameron cuddling was like wearing footie pajamas on a cool evening, only it smelled better and brought with it a possibility of potato wedges. "Do you know video games?" she asked.
"Pardon?"
"Video games," said Alaska innocently. "Cameron's shown me a few, but…" she shrugged. "I'm not sure what Sara's playing. And she was too invested for me to wanna ask."
"Well…" Stewart set his toast down. "I'm not much of a gamer anymore, but…" he trailed off, and a smile forced its way unbidden onto his face. "Heh… look at that."
Alaska wasn't sure if he meant the situation in general, or Sara in particular. She hoped it was the latter. "Hmm?" she said innocently.
"Sorry," Stewart was blushing, but didn't seem to care. "That's, uh, Skies of Arcadia. I used to love that game."
"I think Sara loves it too," said Alaska with just the right level of innocence to spout out-of-the-mouths-of-babes wisdom. "She's been playing it since I came down."
"Really?" Stewart smiled a lopsided grin that didn't really fit on his face, but tried its best anyway.
"Yeah," said Alaska. "For hours. I haven't seen her eat much."
"Huh," said Stewart. Everyone knows how hungry capital ships could get.
"And they have cinnamon rolls today too," said Alaska. "Her favorite."
"Really…" Stewart glanced over at the serving line.
"I was gonna get her some, but 'tago wanted me to save a seat while she did her hair," subtly implying that she'd have company soon enough and Stewart didn't have to feel obligated to sit with her.
"That's nice of you," said Stewart, too enthralled in watching Sara's sunkissed body hunched over her controller with her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth to catch on.
Alaska sighed. Some people needed it spoonfed to them. "If you're going that way, could you grab me one?" she asked, hoping to stir him into action.
"Huh?" Stewart blinked. "Oh yeah, no problem."
"Thank you!" said Alaska. "And one for Wash please."
"You got it," Stewart ruffled Alaska's snowy hair and made for the cinnamon rolls. Atago came wandering in almost the moment he got up, and just like they'd rehearsed Alaska flagged her down. While Stewart was up, Atago took his place across from Alaska.
"Here you go," Stewart handed Alaska a small plate of frosted rolls—and picked the smallest one out for Wash.
"Oh," Atago let out a little gasp and put a hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry, did I take your seat?"
For a moment, the world slowed to a crawl. Alaska was on the edge of her seat waiting for Stewart to respond. Not literally of course, she was carefully maintaining her quiet, confused large cruiser image on Stewart's behalf.
Then Stewart glanced past the bubbly blond cruiser to the flagship of his heart. "Nah, I was gonna talk to Sara."
Atago smiled. "Have fun!"
Stewart was already on his way. And while his back was turned, for just the briefest fraction of an instant, Alaska and Atago shared a sly grin.
Her pajamas hung low over those awesome hips of hers, exposing a good chunk of her panties—antifouling red with a thick black stripe at the top. Her cropped t-shirt was lopsidedly stretched over a bosom far too filled out for it to truly contain, and her cottony mouth slowly opened and closed. "Muur?" mumbled the amazonian woman.
Bowers stifled a giggle. The way she heard it, Jersey had stayed up all night. First to get Shinano tucked in and read her a bedtime story, then to sate the legendarily gluttonous appetite that a woman with her chiseled stomach should in no way have. "I got you coffee ma'am."
Jersey slowly blinked. Slowly the gears in her mind started turning, and she stiffly reached for the tall cup Bowers was holding. Her fingers closed around the warm cardboard and with immense effort brought the steaming liquid to her lips. Her head tilted back and her long, thick neck rippled as she downed the whole thing in one long sip.
"Hmm." The battleship crushed the now-empty cup in her massive hand. Her eyes were still lidded, but at least there was some visible spark of life behind those icy portals. "'s good."
"Thank you, ma'am." Bowers glowed with pride. She'd made something that could wake up a battleship—albeit only just. Jersey still looked tired and hungover. "It's espresso, but instead of water, I used monster."
Jersey squinted at the sailor. "If I were human, this would've killed me wouldn't it."
"Oh, by the first sip at least."
The battleship cracked a sleepy smile. "I like you, yeoman."
Bowers smiled. "Thank you, ma'am. And… about that," she handed the battleship some paperwork. "I'm your new yeoman, Admiral Williams' orders."
"Eh?" Jersey grunted and looked over the papers. After about ten minutes she scowled and turned them the right way up. "Yeoman?"
"Yes ma'am." said Bowers. "You're a Commander, you rate a staff. Technically, you have for a while, but we've been so short-handed and…"
"And after that shit in Tokyo, the Admiral wants an adult holding my leash?" said Jersey with a bitter smirk.
"Uh," Bowers bit her lip. "I… not in so many words, no ma'am."
The battleship shrugged. "I probably deserved that."
"Whatever you say ma'am." Bowers hoped it was a proper answer. Jersey was… a very nontraditional officer. And also, she was a ship, that was kinda weird.
"So," Jersey yawned and scratched at her rock-hard stomach. "If you're my staff, I can make you do shit, yeah?"
"Well…" Bowers shrugged. "To an extent."
Jersey giggled to herself. "'m not gonna pull a Wash on you, don't worry. Just… I got by bunkers enlarged in Japan."
"I'm aware, ma'am." Said Bowers. Her best friend Gale had been indignant when the news first came back that Jersey's awe-inspiring hips were now paired with an aesthetically equivalent—and equally biologically impossible for a woman with her degree of muscle tone—bustline.
Bowers hadn't seen the problem though. Jersey wasn't a woman, she was a blatantly supernatural personification of American Naval Might. She wasn't bound by the same laws as mere mortals, nor should she be. Also, Bowers considered the Iowa's new balanced hourglass to be far more visually pleasing than her prior bottom-heavy build. Maybe it'd finally get Musashi to shut up.
"Heh," Jersey smirked and for a moment looked like she was going to grope herself. But then she seemed to realize the amount of effort that would take and thought better of it. "Anyways… I need new clothes. Well… shirts and bras, nothing I have fits anymore."
"I'm certain," said Bowers. "You didn't get anything in Japan?"
Jersey rolled her eyes. "Like they have anything that'll fit American grown triple-Ds."
Bowers blinked and stared at the battleship's breasts. Her big, round, and most assuredly not triple-D-cup breasts. "Uh, ma'am? Do you know how bra sizes work?"
Jersey narrowed her eyes. "From your tone, I'm going to assume no…"
"You…" the sailor cupped her head in her hand. "You can't just list your cup size. There's a band size too."
Jersey stared on with utter comprehensions. Bowers couldn't exactly blame her, everything the battleship knew about the female body came from the memories of male sailors, none of whom were probably eager for a lecture on the finer points of bra fitting.
"It's… like your rifles," continued Bowers. "You've got bore diameter, but also caliber."
It was like a switch flipped, and the Iowa's face lit up in a smile. "Ooooooooh." A moment later though, her confusion returned. "Wait… Yeoman… how the fuck did you know that?"
Unlike the amazonian battlewagon, Yeoman Jennifer Bowers did not posses an hourglass figure of swooping feminine curves. She was a living twig, devoid of any curves—feminine or otherwise—save for her admittedly inexplicable hips. If it wasn't for uniform regulations, she might not even wear a bra on the daily. "Ma'am, you know I do cosplay."
Jersey nodded. "But…"
"Just…" Bowers fished a phone out of her digis and found the picture she was looking for. "This is my friend Kitty."
Jersey blinked at the picture, her eyes suddenly going as wide as her mighty rifles. Kitty might not have the battleship's colossal stature, but she more than made up for it in curves. Plus, Bowers was exceptionally proud of the seam work she'd done on that Power Girl suit. "W-what?"
"Yeah," said Bowers.
"Did you show Musashi?"
The sailor shook her head. "And make her even more anxious to rub her Kantai Kessens in everyone's face?"
"Point," said Jersey.
"You know…" Bowers cradled her chin in her hand. "With your figure, a new outfit might have to be made to measure…"
The battleship narrowed her eyes again. "Yeoman, you're almost drooling."
Bowers shrugged. She might not have much in the chest department—something she was eternally thankful for, considering she didn't have the superhuman spines of the shipgirls—but tailoring a complex outfit over such an enthusiastically feminine shape as Jersey's rack was the kind of technical challenge she lived for.
"Whatever," Jersey shrugged. "I'm gonna take a shower, just make me look hot."
"Shouldn't be hard, ma'am."
The battleship smirked. "Oh, and Bowers?"
"Ma'am?"
"You do admin stuff and shit for me, right?" asked the big Iowa.
Bowers nodded.
"I hear there's a plane museum in town."
"Yeah, Flying Heritage," said Bowers. "They got a lot of WWII stuff."
Jersey nodded, her hands reflexively going to her wide hips. "That's the one. Think you could arrange transport for Shina and I? And like… " she held her hands a few feet apart, "yea much destroyers?"
"No problem ma'am," said Bowers with a stifled giggle.
"And…" Jersey bit her lip. "See if you can arrange a tour at an odd hour. Either really early or really late or something. Shina's not gonna have fun if she's too busy hiding from a crowd."
"Awwww," Bowers cooed, earning her a sour look from the battlewagon. "I'll get right on it ma'am."
—|—|—
Meanwhile on the Gulf Coast, large cruiser Alaska was enjoying her breakfast of pebbles and boxed apple juice. Some might call her childish, but considering she was wearing her hot wheels footie pajamas—a gift from Cameron for no particular reason—while her Wash plushie was propped up next another, somewhat smaller bowl of fruity pebbles…they were probably right.In her defense though, by any reasonable standard except the actual physical age her hull would have been if she hadn't been de-commissioned when she was three and scrapped when she was fifteen, Alaska was a very young ship. Also, footie pajama were super comfy and Alaska would unironically wear them on patrol if she could.
That was beside the point though. Alaska wasn't merely eating her breakfast, she was observing the former-carrier who she'd adopted as her mother. Sara had finally learned not to hunch over so much in front of the television, but for hours she'd accidentally hit a button with her breast and then be very confused about why her character did something she didn't expect. She'd eventually figured it out though, complete with an exasperated "oh my god~" delivered to nobody in particular.
A few faeries were resting on her shoulders—and one very smug gunner's mate was reclining in the battlecruiser's excessive supply of cleavage. Alaska was too far away to make it out clearly, but from Sara's irritated reactions they were trying to back-seat play.
"Morning, Alaska." Daniel Stewart, the man who was closer to being Alaska's adoptive dad than any man save the Admiral and Cameron's dad was, smiled at her with his meager breakfast all laid out on a tray.
"Hello," Alaska drew out the last syllable a bit in the hopes of disguising her ploy. It was a very effective disguise. She was so practiced in not knowing what was going on or what she was doing that she could act like it at a moment's notice. After a second's wait, she put on a pout and subtly pushed her plushie forwards.
"And hello, Wash," Stewart, to his credit, didn't skip a beat. He smiled and gave the little doll a pat on her felt-covered head.
"Thank you," said Alaska with a giggle.
"You wanted to talk to me?" Stewart set his tray on the table and idly buttered a slice of toast.
"Hmm?" Alaska knit her snowy brows in confusion and let her mouth stay slightly ajar as the question mark slipped from her lips.
"I got a text from you this morning."
Alaska shook her head. "I don't think so…" She shrugged and fished her phone from her pocket. Her real phone, not the burner she'd had Texas help her rig up. After fumbling in her lock code and stumbling her way through the menus, she got to her message log. "Yeah, no message."
"Huh," Stewart shrugged.
"Sorry," said Alaska.
"'s nothing," Stewart took a bite of toast. "Don't mind being on the base anyhow."
"Cameron visits me all the time," said Alaska, subtly implying a ship's significant other was welcome on the premises.
"So I've heard."
Alaska purred at the thought of Cameron cuddling her. Cameron cuddling was like wearing footie pajamas on a cool evening, only it smelled better and brought with it a possibility of potato wedges. "Do you know video games?" she asked.
"Pardon?"
"Video games," said Alaska innocently. "Cameron's shown me a few, but…" she shrugged. "I'm not sure what Sara's playing. And she was too invested for me to wanna ask."
"Well…" Stewart set his toast down. "I'm not much of a gamer anymore, but…" he trailed off, and a smile forced its way unbidden onto his face. "Heh… look at that."
Alaska wasn't sure if he meant the situation in general, or Sara in particular. She hoped it was the latter. "Hmm?" she said innocently.
"Sorry," Stewart was blushing, but didn't seem to care. "That's, uh, Skies of Arcadia. I used to love that game."
"I think Sara loves it too," said Alaska with just the right level of innocence to spout out-of-the-mouths-of-babes wisdom. "She's been playing it since I came down."
"Really?" Stewart smiled a lopsided grin that didn't really fit on his face, but tried its best anyway.
"Yeah," said Alaska. "For hours. I haven't seen her eat much."
"Huh," said Stewart. Everyone knows how hungry capital ships could get.
"And they have cinnamon rolls today too," said Alaska. "Her favorite."
"Really…" Stewart glanced over at the serving line.
"I was gonna get her some, but 'tago wanted me to save a seat while she did her hair," subtly implying that she'd have company soon enough and Stewart didn't have to feel obligated to sit with her.
"That's nice of you," said Stewart, too enthralled in watching Sara's sunkissed body hunched over her controller with her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth to catch on.
Alaska sighed. Some people needed it spoonfed to them. "If you're going that way, could you grab me one?" she asked, hoping to stir him into action.
"Huh?" Stewart blinked. "Oh yeah, no problem."
"Thank you!" said Alaska. "And one for Wash please."
"You got it," Stewart ruffled Alaska's snowy hair and made for the cinnamon rolls. Atago came wandering in almost the moment he got up, and just like they'd rehearsed Alaska flagged her down. While Stewart was up, Atago took his place across from Alaska.
"Here you go," Stewart handed Alaska a small plate of frosted rolls—and picked the smallest one out for Wash.
"Oh," Atago let out a little gasp and put a hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry, did I take your seat?"
For a moment, the world slowed to a crawl. Alaska was on the edge of her seat waiting for Stewart to respond. Not literally of course, she was carefully maintaining her quiet, confused large cruiser image on Stewart's behalf.
Then Stewart glanced past the bubbly blond cruiser to the flagship of his heart. "Nah, I was gonna talk to Sara."
Atago smiled. "Have fun!"
Stewart was already on his way. And while his back was turned, for just the briefest fraction of an instant, Alaska and Atago shared a sly grin.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
You're terrible. But then again, you are Carlos.