For most people, large cruiser Alaska was a riddle wrapped in an enigma and disguised with an improbably floofy wig of snow-white hair. Her demeanor, while generally pleasant, was so obscured behind layers of subtle nuance and drowned out by her pervasive kind-heartedness as to make her wholly inscrutable. And that's assuming an observer didn't just write her off as generically sweet with no deeper characteristics.
But Cameron Young was not 'most people.' Not only was he aware that there was so much more to his seagoing girlfriend than her surface-level kindness, he'd learned—through long observation and careful study—to decode the occasional tiny hint she
did let slip.
And right now, he could tell she was upset. She hadn't gotten up for seconds yet, even though her hand never quite left her stomach and her shoulders were slumped more than usual. She'd called him "my boyfriend" nine times in the last fifteen minutes. And she was sitting so close he could feel the cool skin of her thigh against his.
None of the west coast cruisers seemed to notice. Which was odd, as Cameron understood cruisers tended to be extremely aware of their surroundings. Something to do with their pre-aviation role as fleet scouts. Of course, situationally aware or not, none of
them had had the time to do a detailed analysis of 'Laska's minute character tics. Or they were just being polite and not bringing it up.
Either way, it wasn't something Cameron wanted left unsaid. If his girlfriend was upset, he needed to fix that. "Well," he piled his silverware onto his mostly-empty plate and stood. "I think it's time for desert."
"Me too," said Alaska. She was standing right by his side, tray in hand. Cameron was quite sure she'd never actually stood, and judging by the puzzled look on her face Prinz Eugen was thinking the same thing. Neither Friso nor Lou seemed the least bit bothered though, which… was something Cameron didn't really want to ponder.
Cameron smiled and put his hand around Alaska's slim waist. He could tell Alaska was feeling… off, even if he didn't know why, and he'd learned that a friendly touch worked all kinds of good with her.
"Anyone want anything?" he asked, hoping it would dissuade any of the other cruisers from getting up too. He wanted to be alone with Alaska for a moment.
"I am quite full," said Prinz Eugen with a thoughtful nod.
"Same here," Frisco idly popped a grape in her mouth, seemingly more out of want of something to do than any nutritional need.
"I could go for some ice cream," said Lou.
Frisco glared at her.
"What?" said Lou with an impish smirk.
"We…" Alaska blushed. Well, not really. Not in a way anyone else would notice. But Cameron could tell. "We have ice cream makers aboard."
"You have
ice cream makers aboard?" said Prinz Eugen with an accent thick enough to crush the Maginot line beneath its weight.
All three Americans nodded.
"Mein gott," mumbled Prinz Eugen, "how you fit through the canal I will never know."
Frisco narrowed her eyes, Lou bit back a snort, and Alaska's face changed by degrees to a slightly less impassive smile.
"'s not the same," said Lou by way of explanation.
"Yeah, I got you," said Cameron, eager to move this conversation along. "I'll be right back." Then, with Alaska following so close she might as well have been getting a piggyback ride, he made his way to the dishline to deposit his tray.
"'Laska," he put one hand on her hip and cradled her chin with the other. "You're bothered."
The large cruiser bit her lip and said nothing.
"'Laska, I know you," Cameron gave her a long look. He couldn't imagine what'd bother her so much, but whatever it was it was bothering him too now. "I know you're upset."
"It's silly," mumbled the large cruiser.
"'laska…" that was the other thing Cameron had noticed about his girlfriend. She was so happy and sweet all the time because she
liked being happy and sweet. Getting her to voice something unpleasant was like pulling teeth half the time.
"I didn't want to leave you alone with them," said Alaska.
Cameron wrinkled his nose. "'laska… what?"
Alaska hugged her arm and hung her head. "I have three battle stars. That's it. Lou has eleven. Friso has seventeen
and a Presidential Unit citation."
Cameron hung his head and, despite himself, chuckled.
"What?" Alaska dipped her head, resting her brow against her boyfriend with a puzzled look on her face.
"'Laska, I don't love you because of what you
did," Cameron put his hands on her waist and let the big snowball melt into his embrace. "I love you because of who you are."
Alaska slowly smiled. It was clear that she didn't want to, at least at first. But someone had seized control of her bridge and dragged the large cruiser kicking and screaming into happiness. A quick kiss on the cheek sealed the deal. "I… okay."
Cameron could tell her heart wasn't quite in it. "'laska, I told you I love you."
Alaska just nodded faintly.
"You can trust me on that one," said Cameron.
"I— I— I—" Alaska's face fell. "I know, but I don't— I— um…"
Cameron rolled his eyes. "Oh, for crying out loud…" He cradled Alaska's face with both hands and pulled her in for a long, wet kiss right on the lips. She was surprised at first, surprised in that innocent but happy way fell into so easily. Surprised like a man who'd found a twenty in the pocket of his jacket that he'd forgotten about.
Moments later, he felt her hands cradle his back. Her hips pressed against his and her soft bosom—unmolested as usual by anything beyond the thin fabric of her sundress—kissed his chest. He could feel heat coming off her cheeks, raw sweet heat like laying in a sunbeam on a breezy afternoon.
When the two finally pulled away, Alaska's face was a dopey mask of contented bliss. Her cheeks were flush and her eyes were half-lidded. "Thank you," she mumbled.
Cameron gave her a hug. But then his attention was drawn past her to the table they'd just left. Frisco was looking very intently out the window, Lou was slouching in her chair with a giddy grin, and Prinz Eugen was sitting bolt upright in her chair, clapping furiously like she'd just seen a particularly good opera.
"I miss 'tago," sighed Cameron.
—|—|—
"Sara," Jersey idly thumbed gleaming brass cartridges into the nickle-plated cylinder of her massive revolver. The base's shooting range wasn't half as nice as an open patch of ocean where she could really let her rifles rip, but it was the best they could do on short notice. "You know I respect you, right?"
The tall, svelte battle cruiser nodded, cradling her pistol in her left hand like it weight nothing and lining up a fresh set of shells. She always seemed to do that, Jersey noticed. She'd never take cartridges straight from the box and drop them into her gun, she'd always line them up on the shooting bench first. Maybe it was a carrier thing. "Of course, Jersey."
"And you know," Jersey smacked the cylinder closed and let her gun drop into its formed leather home. "Or, at least I hope you know, that I'm thankful for all the faithful service you've given this country."
"Jersey," Sara covered her mouth with the blade of her hand and smiled. "You're making an old battlecruiser blush."
Jersey rolled her eyes under her shades. "Look, just… I want you to know that what I'm gonna say I'm saying with the utmost respect."
Sara dipped her head. "What is it?"
Jersey pressed her hands together and brought them to her mouth with a deep breath. "You have eight sixteen-inch/fifty mark twos, yeah?"
Sara nodded. "As my primary battery, yes."
"Then why the fuck," grumbled the Iowa, "are your goddamn tits so massive?"
Sara opened her mouth, closed it, and then glanced at the immense swell of her bosom. "They're not
so big, are they?"
"Sara, they—" Jersey scowled and leaned back far enough to clear Sara from her line of sight. "Sushi!"
"What!" Musashi snapped back from the other end of the firing line, not even bothering to look over.
"Enough with the gangster bullshit. Put the glock down and get your overtitted ass over here!"
"Why?" bellowed the Japanese super-battleship at a level of volume that compared favorably with the report of a short-barreled .50 caliber.
"Because I fucking said so!" snapped Jersey, causing Sara to giggle for some god forsaken reason.
"Fine!" Musashi set her gun down and spun on her heel, her makeshift shirt-cape whipping around with cinematic fervor. "What can I, Musashi, do to assist you."
"Just…" Jersey bit her lip and motioned to Sara's figure. "What do you think of this?"
"Oh my god," Sara hung her head with a sigh. Jersey might've been born after her, but she had a tolerance for juvenile antics that even Alaska might not tolerate.
Musashi adjusted her glasses and squinted like she was reading some ancient text of great scholastic merit, and not leering at a former-carrier's expansive bust line. After a moment, several faries assembled on her shoulders—two with comically oversized clipboards and one that was trying to rappel down the Yamato's upperworks with a measuring tape but ended up getting ensnared in her bindings.
"Well?" Jersey put her hands on her hips.
Musashi held up a gloved finger. "In my…" she smirked and gently cupped her own bosom, "
expert opinion…" she paused again, straightened, and pushed her glasses up her nose. "The bow was rounded."
For reasons Sara couldn't hope to understand, both battleships found that unbearably funny. They certainly were a strange bunch out on the West coast. Then again, she lived with Alaska and Atago, so she wasn't sure if she could talk.
—|—|—
Heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen stopped her semi-aimless stroll through the base when she noticed a poster hanging on the wall. More specifically, when she noticed its polished glass frame, and her reflection therein. She couldn't have cared less about the actual picture, something about helicopters and small boats and marine mammals. She was sure it meant something to the right people, but her attention was far more captured by her own reflection.
The American-flag bandanna she had tied around her arm had slipped a little. Which normally wouldn't have bothered her at all. Friso and Lou had made it very clear that—German-born or not—she was welcome in the US navy, and that her heritage and culture was not something she need be ashamed of. In fact, that'd made it clear that she was welcome to celebrate the culture of her birth whenever she wanted. Although Prinz Eugen was starting to suspect the latter had more to do with beer than anything else.
But despite how welcoming her new friends had been, Prinz Eugen wanted to make sure her new allegiance was was as obviously displayed as possible. Considering… who they were fighting, the heavy cruiser wanted to make it abundantly clear that—beyond some superficial similarities in hull-form and gun layout—she had
nothing in common with the monsters occupying Pearl Harbor.
The treaty-defying cruiser took a moment to inspect her work. Sadly, there were no forms she could get notified to
prove she'd done things properly, so the German-born ship would need to trust her instincts. And that was when she noticed something that'd never really stood out to her before, the way her uniform blouse bulged over her substantial upper works.
She'd always assumed her substantial non-treaty compliant bustline was a result of her designers' refusal to restrict themselves to treaty obligations, and that her division mates slim, svelt frames were born from
theirdesigners' strict adherence to the treaty. It was a reasonable theory, and it seemed to fit all the observed data.
Until she'd met the American giant from the Gulf Coast. Alaska towered over even Prinz Eugen, and she was almost fatter than the German-born cruiser's entire division put together. Her very existence was vastly and fragrantly more treaty-defying than anything Prinz Eugen could hope to do. And she was
flat. Almost as flat as Frisco.
Prinz Eugen didn't know what to do with that, but she had the worrying feeling that one or more of her chief designers may have been a moron. But before the heavy cruiser could get too snared in her thoughts, she noticed she wasn't alone in the hallway anymore.
"Oh," Prinz Eugen stiffened to proper Prussian attention, the armored rudders of her heels snapping together at reflexive attention. "Saratoga, hello."
The former carrier smiled that gentle little smile that Prinz Eugen could distantly remember seeing several lifetimes ago. She was tall, towering, like New Jersey. But at the same time, she was
not like New Jersey. She was lithe, elegant. Her legs were impossibly long and sculpted to perfection, but still they moved with an easy, casual grace. She was more ballet dancer than living juggernaut.
"Pringles," Saratoga smiled a little wider and ran a hand through her long off-brown hair. By the jiggles rippling through her massive trunked stack, she was comfortingly treaty-busting in exactly the way Prinz Eugen was used to seeing. "You're looking… healthier."
Prinz Eugen nodded, and scuffed her rudder heel against the deck. Her last cruise as a steel hull was all a daze. A half-forgotten dream or a film projected on a screen of mist. It wasn't something she could remember easily. It wasn't something she
wanted to remember. "Yes, my crew has been trained." She coughed, feeling awfully warm under the collar. "And you, you look… um…"
"I've lost my deck," Sara sighed, sadly weighing her extremely well-developed upperworks with her left hand. "But Alaska and Texas have been very kind and patient in instructing me in gunnery."
"Alaska as well?" said Prinz Eugen with a quizzical look. Her experience with the American super-cruiser was limited, but the only impression she'd left was one of general but non-specific kindness. She certainly couldn't picture Alaska being anyone's teacher.
"Oh, yes," Sara nodded with a twinkle in her eye. "Trust me, there's far more to her than meets the eye."
Prinz Eugen nodded softly, idly mulling over that information in the back of her head. "Perhaps I'll find her again."
"I would recommend it," said Sara. "I don't claim to understand how that girl's mind works, but I suspect she'd be happy to see you."
Prinz Eugen opened her mouth, then closed it again. She'd explain the events at the mess hall, but something told her that was something Alaska would rather keep private. "Mmm."
"Um, Prinz Eugen," Sara said with a tiny hint of sheepishness. "Might I ask your opinion on something?"
"Oh," Prinz Eugen nodded. "Of course."
"Am I…" Sara blushed and glanced past her expansive upperworks, "Overbuilt?"
Prinz Eugen smiled despite herself. "Any other day, Sara, I might've had an answer for you."
—|—|—
Support carrier Shinano was on her bed doing nothing more important than cuddling a plushie—a ragged bear with a few patches on her fur that had apparently belonged to warrant officer Gale when she was very little—when the door abruptly unlatched and swung open.
This startled the support carrier, partly because this was her room and she wasn't expecting any visitors for the foreseeable future, but mostly because she was just easily-startled by nature. She let out a small yelp and cradled her plushie close against her armored chest for protection. "H-hello?"
A girl stood in the doorway. A very tall girl with wide-set hips who could—if only for her lack of any meaningful chest—have passed herself off as Jersey's slightly smaller cousin without any trouble. A girl dress in a short, airy sundress with white hair that seemed to glow in the late-afternoon sun streaming through half-open blinds. Her small mouth opened and then closed again a moment later. "This isn't my room, is it?"
"N-no," stammered Shinano.
"I told you," said another voice. One deeper and more masculine. A voice coming from the rather short, stocky boy trailing in the girl's wake.
"Sorry," the girl pivoted on her heel to face the support cruiser. "I got mixed up. I'm Alaska by the way."
"S-Shi-Shinano," stammered the littlest Yamato.
"Cameron," added the boy.
"He's my boyfriend," said Alaska with… what Shinano was almost certain was pride. "What're you doing here?"
"Um," Shinano gulped and squeezed her bear tighter. "N-napping."
"Why?" Alaska tilted her head to the side. "There's a perfectly good sunbeam over there," she pointed out the window to a patch of sunbathed grass.
Before Shinano could stammer out an explanation, Alaska spoke again. "I was gonna nap in the sun with Cameron, you should come with."
"I…" Shinano blushed. They were boyfriend and girlfriend. Lovers. She… she wouldn't… she couldn't bear to interrupt their love with her oafish presence.
"C'mon," Alaska grabbed the giant carrier by the wrist. "It'll be fun."
Shinano shot Cameron a pleading look. He just held up his hands and shrugged. "I'm her boyfriend not her CO."
Shinano was still trying to blubber excuses when she stepped onto the grass. She was still scared out of her mind, and would much rather have a room of her own—or at least a corner—to curl up in. But… well…
The sun
did feel nice against her skin…
And the grass was pretty soft…
Maybe just a few minutes?
Alaska lay down on the grass with a smile, her eyes closed almost before her head touched the ground. Cameron was across from her, their heads touching even as their bodies extended in opposite directions. "C'mon." Alaska patted her middle, "My tummy's nice and soft, don't worry."
Shinano worried the heavy canvas of her skirt. She just wanted to go home. But… as long as she was here… she
did like being cuddled by White… and Alaska's hair was as white as white could be. "O-okay," she stammered.
As soon as her head touched Alaska's tummy, all the support carrier's reservations melted away. This… this was okay.
