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Crimson Aria (Arpeggio of Blue Steel)

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Bismarck is backing Musashi and Shouzou for their "get the AC" agenda. Hood is pissed off at Musashi because she's supposed to be guarding the AC, not cavorting around with humans (although that hasn't happened yet at this point).

It's worth noting that this story takes place at least eight months prior to chapter one.
 
so, author update - broke my left clavicle and im left handed. writing now somewhat...problematic. sorry.
 
Am so far caught up, and liking this story very much. Following it. Kudos!
 
okay - good news is I can write again. Bad News is that its now NaNoWriMo. expect some sort of update by the end of the week.
 
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    • Shorter then I'd like, but my other writing burned more of my brain then I expected

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    Their little fleet was quiet after Porter's information had sunk in. The brunette mental model was currently sitting on the Augusta's deck, back to part of the superstructure and her knees drawn up to her chest. Right now she looked less like a war machine and more like somebodies kid sister after getting bullied at school - which, if Richardson thought about it, might not have been too far from the truth. Maybe.


    Augusta was busy contemplating the horizon, it seemed, as she had been staring off in the direction of their former base for the last few hours. Wichita was busy checking in on the rest of the fleet - the various non-mental model equipped vessels - and he didn't think he was going to get much out of Porter at the moment. So, with few other options it seemed, he climbed to his feet and made his way over to the Heavy Cruiser.


    "Penny for your thoughts?" Augusta's head snapped around at Richardson's question, strands of dark hair catching in the wind that blew across the deck. "Actually," Richardson continued as he leaned against the railing next to the pale-skinned mental model, "Do you guys even have a concept of currency?"


    "Yes, we do." Augusta replied as she adjusted her shawl. "Is there something I can help you with, Mister Richardson?"


    "Hear anything from Dakota yet?" Richardson asked.


    "Not yet." Ice blue eyes bore into him. "What do you care?"


    "She risked her neck to save mine." Richardson replied. as he turned to stare out toward the horizion. "I can at least give her the courtesy of worrying about her. It's a human thing."


    "As is attributing characteristics to things which do not have them." Augusta added. "I am not a 'She' since that would imply a functional gender role."


    "All of those books downstairs and you have know concept of anthropomorphism?" Richardson asked. "Or, you know, Pinocchio?"


    Augusta stared at him for a moment before breaking out into a small smirk. "Perhaps. As the saying goes - if it looks like a woman, acts like a woman..."


    "Control's my life like a woman." Richardson finished.


    Augusta quirked an eyebrow. "Bad luck with the fairer sex, Petty Officer?"


    "Not as often as I would like." Richardson replied. "Is it sad that meeting you constitutes some of the best luck with a woman I've had in years?"


    Augusta looked at him with what could only be surprise before one hand rose to cover her mouth as her shoulders started shaking. It took him a moment to realize she was laughing. "Are you actually trying to *flirt* with me? I am familiar with stockholm syndrome but this seems particularly fast."


    "Haha." Richardson deadpanned. "Laugh it up, Augusta." his attention slowly drifted from Augusta back to Porter. "hey, is she going to be alright?"


    Augusta recovered from her giggling fit enough to answer the question. "Eventually - she is, by our standards, very young. Being cast out of the fleet proper like this is much like...well, imagine being kicked out of your home while still in primary school."


    "Ouch." Richardson summarized. across the deck, it seemed that Porter was slowly losing her little battle to not cry. "There's got to be something we can do."


    "The empathy of humans never ceases to amaze me." Augusta commented. "Our psychology is largely based on yours. So how would you handle this is she was human?"


    "If she was human?" Richardson echoed. "Buy her an ice cream."


    "I never have understood why that helps." Augusta said.


    "Its something positive." Richardson explained. "Even if its something minor, its something that doesn't suck - right now she thinks her whole little world has burned to the ground. A treat reminds her that things don't have to suck."


    "But Mental Model's do not eat ice cream." Augusta pointed out, before ammending. "Well, not usually - Wichita brought some back with her the last time she went gun shopping. I think Dakota ended up eating most of it."


    "So what does the warship-equivalent of a twelve year old like?" Richardson thought out loud. Silence hung in the air for a moment before a small smile appeared on Augusta's face.


    "Something pretty." Richardson looked up at the out-of-the-blue statement from Augusta, but had no time to ask her to elaborate as she made her way over to the softly crying brunette. She crouched down to Porter's eye level before speaking. "What's wrong Porter?"


    "The whole fleet is going to try and sink us now." Porter managed between sniffles. She hadn't even noticed that one of her hair decorations had fallen out, leaving her asymmetrical. "All of our friends are going to try and blow us up now!"


    "Not all of them." Augusta replied. "Richelieu can't order around everybody, and we have just as much proof as she does."


    "But I've seen the tactical network!" Porter replied, nearly bawling. "She control's these waters and she said we aren't allowed here anymore, so...so...so..."


    Porter only stopped when Augusta pressed a finger to her lips. "So things might be a little difficult." Augusta said as she pulled her hand away. "But isn't it always for us?" she pressed her hand against her deck, and it slowly sank in like it was ever so much sand. It re-knitted itself together as she pulled her hand out, leaving the deck unmarred and a handful of silvery material in her palm. "We'll just do what we always do - Take what we have..." She pressed her two palms together momentarily. "...and make something out of it."


    Porter let out a little gasp as she saw what was in Augusta's hand, and Richardson didn't blame her. coiled up in her palm was what could only be described as a small dragon, maybe a few inches long from nose to tail-tip and colored a soft blue. After a moment the small creature uncurled and stretched out, wings further across then it was long unfurling before curling back around it as it peered around before its eyes locked onto Porter. It gave a small croon before briefly taking wing and alighting onto Porter shoulder. It gave another croon, a small burst of sparks dancing from its mouth before it settled onto the young mental model's shoulder, nuzzling at her cheek.


    "Well," Richardson thought out loud. "I didn't see that coming."


    "Luckily you have a better habit when it comes to seeing what matters." Dakota replied.

    ((A/N - Yes, that ending is intentional))
     
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