[x]Say nothing. Excuse yourself.
You... You don't respond to her. Let her think what she will of that. You've had enough of this office. It's time to go.
"Admiral, thank you for welcoming me," you say somewhat stiffly, "I would like to see my accommodations and fellow Ship Girls, please."
"Oh. Oh, of course," she looks rather disappointed. She's probably sad that she couldn't get you, "I've kept you for too long. My apologies. The dormitories are adjacent to Administration, across the skybridge. Please visit the Armory before you go there, we need to issue you some gear."
Thanking her, you stand and leave that nightmarish room as quick as you can.
Once outside with the doors safely behind you, you sigh in relief. To think that you would have such an Admiral! It's improper! It's indecent!
Stomping away indignantly, you try to look forward to other things. Best not to dwell on your pervert of an Admiral, no matter how nice she appears to be.
You head to the Armory, which is adjacent to the Administration and connected by a covered path, and are greeted with an impressive sight.
The Armory is part of a three-building complex, which includes the Factory and Docks. The Armory itself is situated in a massive warehouse, with a launching platform where you can sail straight out into the harbor.
You see about 12 sets of Rigging ensconced in open lockers near the launch platform. Just before that is a large workspace, chock full of the tools and equipment required for maintaining Ship Girl equipment... and making anything else that might be needed for the war effort. There's also a closed cabinet which probably has weapons and such inside.
As you step around lathes and other sizable pieces of machinery, you notice an odd project. It looks like a large, under-construction ship... but small. Small enough for Fairies, and surely enough, Fairies are building it.
It looks like a bastardization of an Iowa and an Essex... an Aviation Battleship? Seriously, what the fuck.
"Oh, hello!" a young man apparently in his 20s pops up from behind a bank of computer screens, "You must be the William D. Porter, right? I was told you were coming."
"Just Porter is fine.... uh," you pause, at a loss for his name or rank.
"Oh, just call me Will," he waves off your uncertainty nonchalantly, "I don't have a rank or anything. Civilian contractor."
"Ah," you nod in understanding.
"So, let's get you your gear," he stands up, heading over to the cabinet and throwing it open.
That... is an impressive amount of weapons. Small arms, not-so-small arms... and are those swords?
"Okay, so you've got your uniform," he pulls a bundle of clothes out of nowhere, and hands it to you.
"...What's wrong with what I'm currently wearing?" you feel slightly offended. Your clothing is your uniform!
"Not an officer's uniform, though," he points out, digging around in the cabinet.
"...Officer?" you blink in confusion. You're not an officer, you're a warship.
"Did she forget to mention?" Will sighs in exasperation, "Sorry, you're now a Commander in the United States Navy. We commission our Ship Girls. Congratulations."
You look down at your clothing with slight remorse. You kind of liked your outfit. It was reminiscent of of a sailor's uniform, although with a modest skirt. You even have a cute little cap...
Well, orders are orders. Professionalism must be observed.
"Why are you issuing uniforms, anyway?" you ask curiously, "Isn't this the Armory?"
"...We're short-staffed," he explains sheepishly, "So I'm doing multiple jobs. Anyways, you've got your Rigging already, so what I'm about to give you is intended to be used only as a sidearm. A last-ditch weapon in the case of emergencies."
Will pulls a pistol and sword from the rack, and set them down in front of you.
"This is the Colt M1911A1," he states, holding it up to show you, "Same basic design as what your own crew may have had, back in the day. An 'oldie, but a goodie'. I personally like this one. We have other pistols, but we found that era-appropriate weapons are actually more effective in the hands of Ship Girls. Weird, but it works. I'd give you an authentic World War 2 M1911A1, but they're antiques at this point. This is one from the current production line."
He puts the gun down, and indeed, you do remember them. A good, reliable design. Looks like some things just never go out of style.
"Now this," he unsheathes the sword, "is a cutlass. It's styled after the 1917 pattern that the USN used to use back in the day."
You note the USN stamp on the hilt, but frown when you look at the hilt cup. It's not how you remember those sort of things (even though cutlasses weren't really in prominent use when you were in service).
Will notices your look, and shrugs, "Sorry, we ordered these from a third party. Really, this is a replica. It's really much better than the original ones, but if getting true World War 2 M1911A1s was too much trouble, trying to procure real 1917 Navy cutlasses was a goddamn nightmare. We just couldn't."
"No problem," you take the sword, and test the edge yourself. Ouch. That cuts. You suck your finger, wincing. Bleeding. That's a new experience.
"Yeah, careful, they're sharp," he gives you an apologetic look, "Now, I know both of these are really good weapons, but... you can only have one."
"Huh?" you can only have one?
"Only one. The pistol or the sword," Will sighs in frustration, "Budget cuts and all. 'Conventional warfare is sufficient to address the Abyssal threat' my ass."
That's... disheartening. But you can't do anything about it, so... the decision at hand.
What do you prefer, the gun or the sword?
You're familiar with the
M1911A1. Even if it's a more modern production of the gun that once was aboard your hull, you've seen its predecessor in operation often enough to know how to use it; aside from a few aesthetic changes, the gun is the same. But, then again, you can summon your own 5-inch if you really need a gun.
However, your turret takes time to aim and fire, and it could be considered overkill in some situations. A smaller, less conspicuous weapon might be useful...
The
sword, on the other hand, is sharp. Your smarting finger can attest to that. It cut through your hull... your skin, like it was nothing. that surprised you, frankly. It could certainly come in handy, but the age of the sword has long passed. Hell, it had passed when you still sailed in the Pacific! But you don't have a cutting weapon... and it could come in handy.
Maybe to chop fruit, if nothing else.
{Options}
[] Take the Cutlass.
[] Take the Colt M1911A1.
