Depth 10
Higure
Witch of Faith
- Location
- The Golden Land
[X] Your interior is a mess and it looks like something you're incredibly unfamiliar with. Maybe you should get Mary to help you and the Subnodes (tiny Surcoufs) to help you clean up.
[X] You have full access of the facility now. With the full manifest from the armory, you should...
-[X] Install the weaponry into your hull and load up on ammunition as well.
A faint flame lights in your heart as you think of the arsenal at your fingertips. You are a politician, spy, and manipulator...but you are also a warship. Though you don't have the same bloodthirst as some of your fellow Fog, you can't deny that these few peaceful days have been tainted by a growing fear: You are all but defenseless, unguarded, and generally not able to serve your natural purpose. More than that, though, an insidious unease has taken root, and thoughts of battle are licking at the back of your mind like the waves upon the stony shores of your small island.
You contemplate reinforcing the pen itself, installing static defenses to repel attackers...but you can't bring yourself do it. After so long without the thrill of battle, without the chance to test yourself against another...before you realize it, you have already begun unloading weaponry, putting Mary to work as your assistant as you go about installing the entirety of the armory's contents in your hull.
Mary is all too happy to go along with it, smiling brilliantly as you carefully recover what you can of your photon turret's internals and regretfully store away the slagged components as scrap, then begin the process of replacing it all with a pair of high-powered railguns, sized almost perfectly to fit inside the external shell of your turret...a human likely wouldn't notice the difference until they saw the weapons in action.
Satisfied with that, you find yourself whistling lightly as you set to work installing several military-grade lasers and a dozen advanced rotary cannons across your hull, for use as point defense weaponry...it wouldn't do to get hit with any missiles or be brought down by aircraft you couldn't hit with your railguns, after all. More so than usual, even, considering your lack of Wave-Force Armor.
You caress one of the rotary as you finish its installation, imagining the sound of spinning barrels and shells firing...a shiver runs up your Mental Model's spine at the thought. An odd feature of your software, now that you think about it, but strangely thrilling.
Satisfied that all of the actual weaponry is installed, you set about loading all of your weaponry. The railguns, the rotary guns, and...most importantly...your torpedo tubes. normal torpedoes, Vibration Warheads, Nukes...you fill your hold to the brim with every piece of ordinance you can find, feelings of unease and fear fading with each and every piece of mechanized destruction put in place, until, with a broad smile, you fall back against one of your walls, laughing lightly. Mary skips over, smiling softly, "That was fun, huh?"
You nod, "Yes, Darling. That was very fun. Ah, it feels good to be armed again...still, we have a bit more to do, I think. My interior's gotten a tad run down over the years...I think the place could use a nice clean up, don't you?"
She pouts at that, "...I thought I did a pretty good job."
You at her head, chuckling, "Of course you did, my dear, but I think we can top "pretty good," between the two of us. Now, how about we start with some basic cleaning, hmm? Here...I think these girls can help some."
With that, you pull together some nanomaterials, open some partitions, and...there, five subnodes. Your miniature doppelgangers wave to Mary, who just looks at you, "Ah, Surcouf, do we really need those..." She trails off, clearly unable to comprehend the cuteness of your tiny replicas, so you pick up where she's left off, "...adorable balls of glorious french cuteness? Of course, you know how wonderfully helpful my subnodes can be!"
Mary doesn't respond for a few seconds, staring blankly (as she tries to process how wonderful your copies are, you're sure), before looking at you with an...odd...expression, "...they're dressed up like french maids."
It takes you a moment to understand her point, but eventually it all becomes clear, and you smack your fist into your hand, "Aha! You're right! One moment!"
A short second later, both Mary's outfit and your own dissolve slightly, reshaping themselves into a pair of stunning outfits. She looks aghast, for some strange reason, and struggles to support herself in her 6-inch heels. You pause, raising an eyebrow, "Why'd you ask for it, if you can't walk in heels? Never really saw the issue, myself."
Mary sadly isn't in any position to respond as she struggles to stay upright, squeaking in indignation. Her awkwardness is far from unamusing, but you soon take pity on her. She really doesn't have the curves for the traditional garb of France's housemaids, anyway.
In scant seconds, she stands before you in flats and a generic, ankle-length black dress with a white apron, only faintly alluding to ths traditional maid's garb. It should be easy for her to stay vertical and keep herself safe from dirt and grime, in this outfit. Suitable training wheels until she is ready for-
Mary stares up at you with a trembling lower lip, and you return her outfit to its normal state with a sigh. She just isn't ready, it seems.
Mary doesn't talk to you for a while, but your team of seven becomes a figurative whirlwind of cleanliness and repair. By the time you're done, there's not a speck of dust left in the place, and every last scratch is gone. Perfection.
"Alright, that should do it."
Mary, hearing your words, promptly drops to the floor and falls asleep in the middle of your hall. You momentarily consider moving her, but a mischievous smile alights upon your face as a counterpart thought flits through your mind.
Nodding, you make your way towards your reactor.
---
You are Mary, a sixteen-year-old Design Child (not that you're fully aware of either of these things), and you're tired. As much as you adore Surcouf, her endless supply of energy is rapidly growing irritating. Oh, the afternoon started out nice enough: Surcouf was practically dancing as she reestablished herself as a weapon of war. It was pretty creepy, but you'd always been told Fog ships were dangerous monsters, so you figured creepy wasn't worth worrying over.
Then she decided to clean. Despite the fact you'd scrubbed the entire place only a day or two before she appeared! You didn't want to do it all over again.
Then she made those...things. Surcouf herself has always been gorgeous, of course, but those...parodies...are disturbing at best. They just aren't...right, somehow.
As if that weren't bad enough, they were all acting like Surcouf was this morning...when she started going on about that fake bread of hers.
Oh, and they were all wearing those ridiculous outfits they call "French Maid" uniforms. You'd hoped that was a joke, at first...Surcouf having a good laugh at a horrible stereotype. Even you know that real maids didn't wear those...right?
Nope. The French Submarine apparently has little knowledge of France beyond outdated stereotypes. The only thing worse was her sticking you in one of them...
You have now been laying on the floor, half-awake after your exhaustion-induced nap, for all of seventeen seconds.
You open your eyes, and find yourself outdoors. The stars stare down at you from overhead, whispering softly their promise of freedom...the promise of hope and joy and all the things that you want to have. You feel tears of bittersweet joy forming as you reach out for them...your promised salvation, seemingly so close...
...actually, you note, they actually ARE rather close tonight. Something seems...you turn your eyes from the starry expanse, and they widen in sudden understanding.
You're still inside Surcouf's hull, and your painted sky is...gone. Normally, that might upset you, but instead...the true night's sky, projected overhead for you. All of Surcouf's ceilings now show the most beautiful thing you can imagine.
Your tears are finally shed a trembling smile takes form. Salt water dropping down at your feet, you try to find your best friend. You can smell her, faintly...the almost imperceptible scent of (fake) baked bread leads you deeper into your home. The scent of strawberries soon joins it, as you approach the reactor. There, you find Surcouf waiting for you with a broad smile between two newly created planters, which support the soil and (still rooted) strawberries that you had left to grow upon the reactor-room floor for so long.
"So...what do you..." Her smile falters as she steps toward you, her brow furrowed, "...oh. Oh no. I'm so sorry, darling, I didn't think you'd mind me removing the paint...don't worry, I can-!"
You cut the submarine avatar off at that, breaking into a momentary spring before throwing yourself in the air towards her. The impact accompanying your flying hug is softer than you expected...nanomaterials are really quite amazing...and you take advantage of that to enjoy the warmth of another (almost) human being, "...thank you, Surcouf. It's...perfect."
You feel her hand on your head as she ruffles your hair softly, "...oh. I'm glad, Mary. I'm really glad."
You aren't sure when you finally doze off in her arms, but your last thought is of how glad you are to have met this half-crazy, overly intimate, and incredibly wonderful Weapon of War.
---
Several hours later...
You're Surcouf, and your radar just pinged something...something close. You disentangle yourself from a sleeping Mary, waking her in the process, and quickly head to the surface for a visual. It's too far away for a human to make out, but...
Mary arrives on the surface shortly after you do, yawning deeply while you stare into the distance, "What's wrong?"
You hesitate for a moment, "I think I can see a cruise liner."
Without warning, you feel Mary's hand close around your arm like a vice, drawing your gaze to her own wide eyes, "Then we need to hurry! No one's ever come this close before! We need to go right now!"
-[ ] What?
[X] You have full access of the facility now. With the full manifest from the armory, you should...
-[X] Install the weaponry into your hull and load up on ammunition as well.
A faint flame lights in your heart as you think of the arsenal at your fingertips. You are a politician, spy, and manipulator...but you are also a warship. Though you don't have the same bloodthirst as some of your fellow Fog, you can't deny that these few peaceful days have been tainted by a growing fear: You are all but defenseless, unguarded, and generally not able to serve your natural purpose. More than that, though, an insidious unease has taken root, and thoughts of battle are licking at the back of your mind like the waves upon the stony shores of your small island.
You contemplate reinforcing the pen itself, installing static defenses to repel attackers...but you can't bring yourself do it. After so long without the thrill of battle, without the chance to test yourself against another...before you realize it, you have already begun unloading weaponry, putting Mary to work as your assistant as you go about installing the entirety of the armory's contents in your hull.
Mary is all too happy to go along with it, smiling brilliantly as you carefully recover what you can of your photon turret's internals and regretfully store away the slagged components as scrap, then begin the process of replacing it all with a pair of high-powered railguns, sized almost perfectly to fit inside the external shell of your turret...a human likely wouldn't notice the difference until they saw the weapons in action.
Satisfied with that, you find yourself whistling lightly as you set to work installing several military-grade lasers and a dozen advanced rotary cannons across your hull, for use as point defense weaponry...it wouldn't do to get hit with any missiles or be brought down by aircraft you couldn't hit with your railguns, after all. More so than usual, even, considering your lack of Wave-Force Armor.
You caress one of the rotary as you finish its installation, imagining the sound of spinning barrels and shells firing...a shiver runs up your Mental Model's spine at the thought. An odd feature of your software, now that you think about it, but strangely thrilling.
Satisfied that all of the actual weaponry is installed, you set about loading all of your weaponry. The railguns, the rotary guns, and...most importantly...your torpedo tubes. normal torpedoes, Vibration Warheads, Nukes...you fill your hold to the brim with every piece of ordinance you can find, feelings of unease and fear fading with each and every piece of mechanized destruction put in place, until, with a broad smile, you fall back against one of your walls, laughing lightly. Mary skips over, smiling softly, "That was fun, huh?"
You nod, "Yes, Darling. That was very fun. Ah, it feels good to be armed again...still, we have a bit more to do, I think. My interior's gotten a tad run down over the years...I think the place could use a nice clean up, don't you?"
She pouts at that, "...I thought I did a pretty good job."
You at her head, chuckling, "Of course you did, my dear, but I think we can top "pretty good," between the two of us. Now, how about we start with some basic cleaning, hmm? Here...I think these girls can help some."
With that, you pull together some nanomaterials, open some partitions, and...there, five subnodes. Your miniature doppelgangers wave to Mary, who just looks at you, "Ah, Surcouf, do we really need those..." She trails off, clearly unable to comprehend the cuteness of your tiny replicas, so you pick up where she's left off, "...adorable balls of glorious french cuteness? Of course, you know how wonderfully helpful my subnodes can be!"
Mary doesn't respond for a few seconds, staring blankly (as she tries to process how wonderful your copies are, you're sure), before looking at you with an...odd...expression, "...they're dressed up like french maids."
It takes you a moment to understand her point, but eventually it all becomes clear, and you smack your fist into your hand, "Aha! You're right! One moment!"
A short second later, both Mary's outfit and your own dissolve slightly, reshaping themselves into a pair of stunning outfits. She looks aghast, for some strange reason, and struggles to support herself in her 6-inch heels. You pause, raising an eyebrow, "Why'd you ask for it, if you can't walk in heels? Never really saw the issue, myself."
Mary sadly isn't in any position to respond as she struggles to stay upright, squeaking in indignation. Her awkwardness is far from unamusing, but you soon take pity on her. She really doesn't have the curves for the traditional garb of France's housemaids, anyway.
In scant seconds, she stands before you in flats and a generic, ankle-length black dress with a white apron, only faintly alluding to ths traditional maid's garb. It should be easy for her to stay vertical and keep herself safe from dirt and grime, in this outfit. Suitable training wheels until she is ready for-
Mary stares up at you with a trembling lower lip, and you return her outfit to its normal state with a sigh. She just isn't ready, it seems.
Mary doesn't talk to you for a while, but your team of seven becomes a figurative whirlwind of cleanliness and repair. By the time you're done, there's not a speck of dust left in the place, and every last scratch is gone. Perfection.
"Alright, that should do it."
Mary, hearing your words, promptly drops to the floor and falls asleep in the middle of your hall. You momentarily consider moving her, but a mischievous smile alights upon your face as a counterpart thought flits through your mind.
Nodding, you make your way towards your reactor.
---
You are Mary, a sixteen-year-old Design Child (not that you're fully aware of either of these things), and you're tired. As much as you adore Surcouf, her endless supply of energy is rapidly growing irritating. Oh, the afternoon started out nice enough: Surcouf was practically dancing as she reestablished herself as a weapon of war. It was pretty creepy, but you'd always been told Fog ships were dangerous monsters, so you figured creepy wasn't worth worrying over.
Then she decided to clean. Despite the fact you'd scrubbed the entire place only a day or two before she appeared! You didn't want to do it all over again.
Then she made those...things. Surcouf herself has always been gorgeous, of course, but those...parodies...are disturbing at best. They just aren't...right, somehow.
As if that weren't bad enough, they were all acting like Surcouf was this morning...when she started going on about that fake bread of hers.
Oh, and they were all wearing those ridiculous outfits they call "French Maid" uniforms. You'd hoped that was a joke, at first...Surcouf having a good laugh at a horrible stereotype. Even you know that real maids didn't wear those...right?
Nope. The French Submarine apparently has little knowledge of France beyond outdated stereotypes. The only thing worse was her sticking you in one of them...
You have now been laying on the floor, half-awake after your exhaustion-induced nap, for all of seventeen seconds.
You open your eyes, and find yourself outdoors. The stars stare down at you from overhead, whispering softly their promise of freedom...the promise of hope and joy and all the things that you want to have. You feel tears of bittersweet joy forming as you reach out for them...your promised salvation, seemingly so close...
...actually, you note, they actually ARE rather close tonight. Something seems...you turn your eyes from the starry expanse, and they widen in sudden understanding.
You're still inside Surcouf's hull, and your painted sky is...gone. Normally, that might upset you, but instead...the true night's sky, projected overhead for you. All of Surcouf's ceilings now show the most beautiful thing you can imagine.
Your tears are finally shed a trembling smile takes form. Salt water dropping down at your feet, you try to find your best friend. You can smell her, faintly...the almost imperceptible scent of (fake) baked bread leads you deeper into your home. The scent of strawberries soon joins it, as you approach the reactor. There, you find Surcouf waiting for you with a broad smile between two newly created planters, which support the soil and (still rooted) strawberries that you had left to grow upon the reactor-room floor for so long.
"So...what do you..." Her smile falters as she steps toward you, her brow furrowed, "...oh. Oh no. I'm so sorry, darling, I didn't think you'd mind me removing the paint...don't worry, I can-!"
You cut the submarine avatar off at that, breaking into a momentary spring before throwing yourself in the air towards her. The impact accompanying your flying hug is softer than you expected...nanomaterials are really quite amazing...and you take advantage of that to enjoy the warmth of another (almost) human being, "...thank you, Surcouf. It's...perfect."
You feel her hand on your head as she ruffles your hair softly, "...oh. I'm glad, Mary. I'm really glad."
You aren't sure when you finally doze off in her arms, but your last thought is of how glad you are to have met this half-crazy, overly intimate, and incredibly wonderful Weapon of War.
---
Several hours later...
You're Surcouf, and your radar just pinged something...something close. You disentangle yourself from a sleeping Mary, waking her in the process, and quickly head to the surface for a visual. It's too far away for a human to make out, but...
Mary arrives on the surface shortly after you do, yawning deeply while you stare into the distance, "What's wrong?"
You hesitate for a moment, "I think I can see a cruise liner."
Without warning, you feel Mary's hand close around your arm like a vice, drawing your gaze to her own wide eyes, "Then we need to hurry! No one's ever come this close before! We need to go right now!"
[Major Actions-1]
[X] You detected a ship passing by...it appears to be a civilian vessel. Mary insists you investigate: She's never seen anyone ever come this close before.[Minor Actions]
[ ] Bring some things with you...-[ ] What?
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Super spy Surcouf
