Kant-O-Celle Quest [a Kantai Collection game, transcribed from 4chan]
- Thread starter Trace Coburn
- Start date
SV5195R
C-Weapon
- Location
- Russian Federation
Not to mention that waifu wars can be rather... toxic.
Also, @Always Late, that smiley is the "bashing head against the wall" one.
Also, @Always Late, that smiley is the "bashing head against the wall" one.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
The code for it is ':headdesk:', weirdly enough.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Or a mix of internal and external screaming.
SV5195R
C-Weapon
- Location
- Russian Federation
That was... short-lived, it seems.
Or just screaming while running in circles.
Thread is up!
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
A Friday thread? PF is sure making up for lost time.
GhostStalker
Jeopardy! contestant
- Location
- NYC
planefriend did say that he was gonna do a couple of Friday threads to make up for some lost time. And after the last one was just an April Fools thread, he was gonna do another one to make up for that one as well.
threads up
Thread is up.
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
Update cycle in progress. Status:
Memories of Higgins by LurK — Part 10 — COMPLETE!
You Gotta Go Fast, Willie! by Shimakaze Write-anon — Part 8 — COMPLETE!
'Bongships' by FrostyZippo — Part 4 — COMPLETE!
Kant-O-Celle Quest by demetrious et. al. — Session #69 pt.1 and pt.2 — COMPLETE!
Memories of Higgins by LurK — Part 10 — COMPLETE!
You Gotta Go Fast, Willie! by Shimakaze Write-anon — Part 8 — COMPLETE!
'Bongships' by FrostyZippo — Part 4 — COMPLETE!
Kant-O-Celle Quest by demetrious et. al. — Session #69 pt.1 and pt.2 — COMPLETE!
Last edited:
Session #69 pt.1
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
TWITTER: twitter.com/planefriend
ARCHIVES: Kant-O-Celle Quest [a Kantai Collection game, transcribed from 4chan]
[X] Let [Arizona] answer.
The questions keep rolling in like merciless tides of crude engrish crashing on the beach of your patience, blood flow slowly shutting down to your hand as Arizona crushes it tightly.
>talk please
>TALK
>use your word power girl
>are you sure she's american? so skinny
>tits too small
>yeah blonde hair is american
>she's irish
>FLAT IS JUSTICE FLAT IS JUSTICE FLAT IS JUSTICE
>Arizona: contacts or glasses?
>sing for us please
>she should wear glasses
>big tits best tits 'merica go home
>but can she bongo the kongo?
>can you sing with kongou?
>duet time!
>ROW ROW ROW YOUR BOAT: TOGETHER
>i'd row into her boathose if you know what I mean
>SING
>please talk
>she's shy!
>this isn't anime retards she's just pissed off
>SHY
>GLASSES, NOW
>so shy
>TALK TALK TALK TALK TALK
>sing kookaburra with shoukaku!
>that's a kingfisher not a crane you retard
The torrent of ribald commentary continues till Arizona steels herself - with a breath so slight you'd miss it were you not looking for it - and releases your hand. She grasps her throat gently and shakes her head, then returns to a stance suspiciously close to parade rest - cold, cool, formal.
>mute?
>broken voice?
>THE PERFECT WOMAN
>new waifu confirmed
>she's perfect wife if she also lies still OH WAIT
>I'd slam my bomb into her deck
>so moe
>MUTE MOE
>theme of next anime season confirmed
Kongou leans forward, squinting intently - trying to fish out a new question instead of crass follow-ups to the last one. "HEY ARIZONA ARE YOU-" she pauses, scanning - "STILLANGRYABOUTPEARLHARBooooh *dess it,*" Kongou trails off.
Arizona fixes the webcam with an icy glare... and then lets it melt into a sunny smile. She releases your hand to wave away any concerns. As you flex your hand behind your leg to work blood back into it, she throws an arm around Kongou companionably.
"SEE!?" Kongou says, throwing up the V sign. "I'm her sempai NNOW-" Arizona's slipped her arm up and caught the loud girl in a firm headlock. Winking at the camera, she applies a vigorous noogie to Kongou as the Japanese shipgirl flails about - "NO DESS BUENO!" - giving the internet some tantalizing glimpses up her shirt in the swirls of silk.
>oh my god she is best waifu
>RELEASE THE DESS OR THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES
>fags with shitty waifus btfo
>GAIJIN RELEASE KONGOU OR WE KILL
>die in a fire thank you
>ADMIRAL GOTO WORST PRODUCER ADMIRAL SETTLE BEST PRODUCER
>who is your favorite im@s admirals?
>what does that even mean
>kongou's still stronger
>ambush tactics nice
> "ambush tactics" THE FUCKING IRONY
>fuck you white boy
>btfo lmao gg
>TWO BOMBS WEREN'T ENOUGH
>admiral goto ever fought a battle?
>SETTLE HOW MANY ABYSSALS DID YOU SINK AT LA
>settle: did they cover up losses at LA how bad was it
> "TWO BOMBS" actually it only took one to the magazine LOL
Goto sighs ever so slightly - the window of opportunity has passed. Now shutting down the stream will just make it a bigger phenomena, Verboten By The Authorities, which carries about ten times the weight with ten times worse a class of people in Japan than it does anywhere else - the video will be promulgated by otaku exclusively, burned to DVD and immortalized in awful memes. Much like Hell or the Marines mess, the only way out is through. Giving the screen a lidded-eyed look, he searches for another discussion topic. "So, Settle - what's your favorite idolmaster?"
You stoneface the camera. "No comment."
"Okay. For me-" he squints. "No, I am not married." Another squint. "Dating lives?" He puts on a Very Formal expression and regards the camera squarely. "I will only observe that the US Navy went almost twenty years without a long-range anti-surface weapon for their primary surface combatant."
"My Higgins was a Flight II boat," you return levelly, "equipped with eight RGM-84 anti-ship cruise missiles in a pair of four-tube angled launchers amidships."
"Harpoons are for whales, Admiral Settle."
You nod sagely, closing your eyes. "Nobody knows more about whale hunting than the Japanese, it is true."
>vote: freeform. POST MORE QUESTIONS.
>in-universe things to consider: Settle has some fame from The Battle of LA, every otaku in creation currently sees Goto as a real-life Producer-san and the Flat Chest Leauge is already turning out to back Arizona as the dark-horse candidate against Kongou
>additional note: every bad argument/troll you have ever seen directed at US technology is probably present in force here
>P.S.S: 4chan has arrived in low numbers
Colonel rm928 sees boots in action said:
Stop nagging demetrious said:
Kongou finally breaks free of Arizona, making a big show of shaking her hair out and readjusting her outfit in a huff. "Hmph!"
"Okay, girls," you say, plucking a rare sane question out of the torrent of retardation, "what do you think of carriers?"
Kongou laughs merrily. "Considering how many bombs and torpedoes miss a *fast* battleship can dodge-" she spreads her hand across her chest modestly, "they're no replacement for a proper battle-line. But they're great for blasting big unprotected ships that bu-" - she claps her hands to her mouth in supposed embarrassment.
"... Arizona?" you prompt.
Arizona nods sagely, patting Kongou on the shoulder to indicate her agreement. She holds up three fingers on one hand and four on the other, then makes a quick motion in air with her hands, as if tying a knot and tugging it tight.
"Thirty-five knots?"
She nods. Then she picks up an invisible box and tucks it under her arm.
"Carrying - carriers."
Another nod. Then - the sly wench - she slips her arm into yours and leans on you a little too much.
"E-escort," you conclude. "Thirty-five knots for escorting carriers?"
She nods, then taps your shoulder, looking up into your eyes - a hard press, then three quick taps. Your brain churns up the proper equivalent from your schooling days. "B?" Nod, two fingers, then six, then one- "Iowa class made thirty-five knots." Over Arizona's shoulder you can see Kongou squinting at her sharply, already leaning heavily on Goto's arm herself. Arizona releases you and nods, then makes a shrugging motion with uplifted palms - why? "Ah. The Iowa's were built to make thirty-five knots, so they could escort carriers - in other words, carriers *need* escort." Arizona nods, and gives the webcam a brilliant smile.
"And that is why the ships of yesteryear were retired, in favor of SPEED!" Kongou declares, stomping the floor hard enough to rattle the shelves as she pumps her fist in air. "They looked at me on my shakedown cruise and said-"
"She's fast," you and Goto say together, your flat tones damping the enthusiasm of Kongou's recitation. She puffs out her cheeks, wraps her arm around Goto's shoulder, hauls him down and starts to noogie HIM. "SPEED IS ARMOR, BUCKO! DESS WITH THE BEST, CRY LIKE THE REST!"
"OKAY NEXT QUESTION WHO WOULD WIN IN A FIGHT IOWA OR YAMATO-" Goto says hastily.
"Probably the ship with TWICE THE TONNAGE AND THE BIGGEST GUNS!" Kongou declares loudly, still noogieing for all she's worth. "I read this book Yuubari gave me where they build a big spaceship in total secret then it flies into space by NUKING ITSELF to mess up evil alien invaders! It was a rip-off of SPACE BATTLESHIP YAMATO which they made because Yamato really WAS a huge superweapon except we didn't invent a mass-murder bomb that we're so proud of we use it on EVERYTHING!"
She keeps noogieing as Goto shifts around, desperately trying to find leverage. "IT TOOK SO MANY TORPEDOS AND BOMBS AND STUFF TO STOP YAMATO THAT AMERICA PUT NUKE BOMBS ON EVERYTHING JUST IN CASE SOMEONE ELSE BUILT ANOTHER ONE! NUCLEAR BOMB TORPEDOES! NUCLEAR BOMB MISSILES! NUCLEAR BOMB BOMBS! NUCLEAR BOMB DEPTH CHARGES! EVEN NUCLEAR SIXTEEN-INCH SHELLS!" She releases Goto, who pops upright and smooths out his hair while giving Kongou a death glare. She throws her head back and laughs merrily, hands on her hips. "YAMATO, EVERY DAY!"
Arizona just smiles sweetly. First she taps her wrist, then makes a little running motion with her arms, then does the knot-tying thing again. "... speed?" you guess. She nods, then hosts an imaginary shield, cringing, arm jerking as it stops invisible projectiles. "... armor?" Another nod. "Speed is armor?" Third nod. "So the fastest ship-" Arizona flashes the webcam a brilliant smile and cocks her hand by her face in a V sign, an almost dead-on imitation of Naka's idol pose.
Kongou rounds on her, outfit flying. She opens her mouth to object - and sputters as she realizes she's been cornered. In a huff she spins back to the camera, arms crossed *under* her chest, hoisting her already impressive bosom up as far as possible. Her anti-torpedo bulges straining the thin, gossamer fabric of her outfit, she slashes through the comments quickly, looking for a decent one. "What's worse - Hirohito's admission of not being god or Charles Prince of Wales abdication for his girlfriend?" She laughs. "Hirohito, of course! Prince of Wales did it for -" she leans in Goto's direction as she sliiides the next word out of her mouth - "looooooooooooove. And besides, his replacement was SO MUCH AWESOMER!"
You and Goto both stare at Kongou, uncomprehending. Realization hits just as she sucks in a big breath for her next speech-
- Goto gets there as you're still trying to move past a confused Arizona, clapping his hand over her mouth as she cuts loose with her full and very impressive blower capacity. He clamps down with all his might, stifling the words even as Kongou redoubles her efforts, chest visibly deflating as she pours her whole lungful of breath behind it. At last, Goto's hand slips from her lips -
- "AND TITS!" she finishes triumphantly.
Goto shares a terrified look with you - this is going downhill very, very fast and there's no end in sight. You look out the door to Hate - but Hate is literally weeping with silent laughter, his smartphone discarded by his side. Yeah. Big help. Great bro moment, there. You file that one away for later - he's gonna get his comeuppins any day now. Soon as you get around to it.
Which will happen, at the current pace, around the time hell freezes over.
"OH!" Kongou asks. "Hey Arizona, what do you think about the LCS?"
You spring forward, holding your hands up in a pleading gesture. "Well I'm glad everyone enjoyed this incredibly impromptu stream but it's almost time for our training thing so-"
- your voice is drowned out by something you feel more than you hear; like a ship's main hailer at ten yards.
"-EEEEEEEEEL. WHAT THE *ESSEX.* IS. LAUNCHIN."
You jerk 'round to look at the doorway - then look down - then down some more - and find the USS Essex herself, in the flesh. Hands on her hips, chin turned up to the ceiling in a pose of inherent superiority, the girl sketches a surprisingly convincing Napoleon.
If Napoleon was stacked, that is.
[ ] KILL THE POWER. SHUT IT DOWN. THIS GOES NO FURTHER.
[ ] JUST THE DISTRACTION WE NEEDED - EVAC EVAC EVAC
[X] JUST THE DISTRACTION WE NEEDED - EVAC EVAC EVAC
"Essex," you say as calmly as you can manage. "This is not a good-"
"YOU THREW A PARTY AND DIDN'T INVITE ME!" she bellows. "I. Me. Thouuuu...eeee?" she trails off uncertainly. "But, you know, ME! *ESSEX*! Name ship, of the WAR-WINNING CARRIER CLASS!" She storms into the room all aflounce, brimming with self-satisfaction.
"War winning?" Kongou pouts. "Where the dess have YOU been? We've been fighting-"
"FOR A YEAR, HUH!?" she retorts, punching Kongou in the shoulder affectionately. "Always fashionably late, to *every* war~"
"Essex, we're kind of in the middle of-"
"Having a party WITHOUT me!" she finishes, crossing her arms over her sizeable bust and pouting in your direction. "I come riding to the rescue in the nick of time and *this* is the appreciation I get!?"
Arizona looks at Essex calmly. Then she looks at Goto. Together, they start stepping backwards out of the room.
"Essex, right now we're-"
"You don't even know how to do a party right!" Essex scoffs. "Where's the food? Where's the cake? Where's the ice cream?" She punches *you* in the shoulder, making you rock sideways onto the support of the cane. "Oh right, they said you were a destroyer man!" She tries to throw an arm around your shoulder - by standing on tiptoe she juuust manages to get her hand to the other side of your thick neck. "Heeey," she whispers in what counts as a conspiratorial tone for her. "Torpedo juice for ice cream - pint for gallon basis. Sound good?"
Kongou cocks her head, leaning over with her hands on her knees to study Essex closely. "Where does *that* come out, dess?"
Essex's face goes completely blank, mouth hanging open slightly.
You ponit at the little webcam, desperate to get a word in sideways while you still can. "Essex, we are on TV!"
"We are?" she says. "You... you mean right now?"
"Yes."
Essex's hair whips about as she looks quickly back-and-forth between you and Kongou, visibly sizing up your comparative heights. Then she flounces 'cross the room to stick her face right in the webcam, neatly blotting out any height references. "HELLOOOOO?" She taps the monitor. "CAN YOU HEAR ME IN THEEEERE?"
Kongou laughs. "Isn't she funny, tei... to..." As she scans the room and finds it one Goto short, a dark look comes over her face. "Why, that-" Within a moment she's bounded over the threshhold, over a prone and half-suffocated Hate and vanished down the hall. You slip out yourself and close the door behind you gently, surrendering to fate - there was really no stopping that, but when SecNav calls you to inform you of your execution date, you'll at least be able to say You Tried.
You espy Arizona - or rather, her back - sauntering down the hall to the left, opposite of Kongou's escape vector.
[ ] Go after her. You've been avoiding this talk long enough.
[ ] Go after Goto. You'd actually like to know what happened after you went bonkers in the Strait, more than "we won, they lost, good game." Besides, he's had enough Bongou for today. EVERYONE has.
Session #69 pt.2
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
[X] Go after [Arizona]. You've been avoiding this talk long enough.
You trudge after Arizona slowly, hoping to give yourself time to think of a good way to broach the topic of your blatant hypocrisy. Well, that's putting it lightly. The way a full Court Martial would put it is "royally fucked up," and in almost as many words had you committed a blunder this massive in the course of your normal duties...
... which you *have,* all things told. You're supposed to enable her to do her job, and all you've done is hurt and upset her. You slow down a little more, mind spinning. You've spent your whole life inside of one formal, rigid context - superior and subordinate, duty and execution thereof. You've always known what was expected of you in any situation, and striven to achieve it.
But now things have gotten *twisted,* and you don't know how to set them right again. Hate was right - there ARE fraternization regs for a reason. You thump the heel of your hand against your forehead with a sigh and look up to find an empty hallway - no big surprise, because you're standing still.
You do know which room his hers, though - it's on this floor. You count down room numbers till you find it, then pause outside, studying the cheap brass numbers nailed to the outside. You raise your fist to knock, an excuse forming in your head...
... and then dissipating again. Your hand drops to your side again. This... this, you can't do. You haven't even heard how the battle ended yet, aside from the bare-bones bottom line (we won, they lost, no damaged ships sunk, etc.) You have work to do - the least of which is call base IT to take a goddamned axe to a hard-line somewhere - and no time to stand around bearding the battleship in her ha- bad analogy.
Leaning on your cane heavily, you struggle to summon the werewithal to just knock... and finally surrender with a sigh, pivoting on your cane to leave. You swing your foot into the first step -
- and discover that it seems loath to land, just hovering in air. Investigation reveals this to be linked to your shirtcollar, which seems to have arrested your forward progress by your throat. A second later it twirls you about on your heel, putting you face-to-face with -
"Arizona," you say brightly. "Hello."
She leans against the doorframe with crossed arms, lidded eyes slicing through you.
"I." Yeah. You. Good start. "I came here." You most certainly did. Empirical facts, can't go wrong with those. "To-" apologize talk discuss ask - "I just wanted to - uh."
Arizona backs into her room slowly, beckoning you forward like one might tempt a stray dog. You enter timidly, feeling like the biggest goddamned fool in the world. Once, you commanded a United States Navy warship, and now *they* command *you.*
Maybe you're simply going insane. Maybe you *are* insane, a chunk of Higgins still stuck in your skull as you lie gibbering in a rubber room somewhere.
Arizona leads you into a small apartment that looks somewhat similar to your own, just a bit smaller. Leading you into the miniscule kitchenette, she points at a chair before retrieving two plain white mugs and filling them from a cheap coffee maker off to one side. She holds up a box of sugar cubes and rattles it as an interrogative.
"Black, thanks."
Setting the mug down in front of you (complete with saucer, you note,) she plonks her own down before pulling a seat out for herself.
Then she proceeds to stare you down across the table, expression even more blank than usual.
[ ] Apologize. You made a horrible mistake, no two ways about it - but you intend to erase that mistake.
[ ] Tell her what you've never told anyone else before; the real reason behind your mistake. The man who's name you cannot even recall. Your XO.
[ ] May as well take Opposite Day all the way - you're here for your ass-chewing, so you'll take it like a man. It's *her* turn to talk a bit, isn't it?
You dodge her gaze, choosing to study the faint wisps of steam rising from your mug.
There's really only one way to go about this.
"I..."
No.
"There's something I've never told anyone before-"
Better -
"And..." and if you say it now, you effectively abdicate your lifelong duty by admitting you're *broken.*
... well, there it is, isn't it?
You *are.*
What the hell happened to Ryan Settle, Commander, USN? LA happened. Higgins happened. Your XO happened.
Death happened.
Now what are you, but a raving god-damned lunatic? Lunatics are tolerated in war; as long as they get results. And you've lucked out a few times. But now you're already failing; getting duct-taped to a damned table after you crack under the strain of contact with alien minds malicious. Now here you are, about to fling yourself on the subordinate who's supposed to look to you as a pillar of support. This is no mere abdication of duty - it's downright treasonous.
She waits patiently as you quietly deflate before her, staring into your mug.
She raps on the table sharply.
"Ah - just - I, I need time-" She cuts you off with a sharp shake of her head. First, she points at you; then makes a talking motion with her hand.
You blink. "Yes, I want to talk to you, I just-"
Slashing hand, for silence. Her hands come up to her head and grab invisible hair-buns, turning them this way and that like radio dials, before she does that V-shaped wink again -
"Naka." She nods. "What about her?" Points at you. Talking. Bumps her chest with her thumb - the talking motion again.
Realization is a cold trickle of icewater down your spine. "She did NOT-"
Headshake. Her forefingers trace a thin line down her jaw and over her upper lip while one hand pulls down to stroke an invisible goatee. Then she grimaces, and shakes her arm as if trying to remove Ko-
"Goto." A nod. The talking motion again. Next she smooths her hands down her chest, following the contours of a nonexistent bust massively superior to her own. She follows this with a huge smile and wide-eyed exuberance, bouncing up in her chair a bit while flipping an invisible ponytail over one shoulder. "And Yamato. Goto and Yamato." A nod. The talking hands, again. Pointing. "They talked about me?"
She waggles her hand - kinda-sorta. Then she hunches over the table, arms crossed, eyes as wide and wild as she can manage, scowling at everything in Creation from beneath beetled brows.
"Hate."
Now she gesticulates wildly, pointing at you and stomping her feet.
"Argument. You'll have to be a lot more specific than-"
She pokes the mug, taps the saucer, points at the fridge, makes a quick fork-to-mouth motion with her hands oh *shit* she "-heard about that."
A nod.
"Yeah, we... had a falling out."
She whooshes a hand over her head, then taps her chest again. Over *me.*
"... yes."
She leans forward on her elbows, those green-flecked grey eyes piercing and intense. First she pokes you in the chest... then makes that talking motion... then makes a very slow, very wide circling motion with her fingertip in air, followed by a spread palm, indicating everything, absolutely everything... and then she slowly taps her own chest again.
"... oh," you say quietly. "Oh, *shit.*"
Arizona plops her chin into one hand, the slightest of lopsided smirks peeking past her fingers. With the other, she presses an invisible cup to something, then takes it to her lips and drinks. Water cooler. Or in Ye Olden Navy Terms-
"Scuttlebutt."
A gentle flick 'o the fingers against her own head - no shit, Sherlock.
With great effort you arrest the urge to hide your face in your palms. You'll take it like a man, right down to the lovely red color you must be blushing right now.
What did you THINK was going to happen? More to the point, WHEN did you think? At *all?*
[ ] So you just let me STEW for a few days!? I've been running myself in *circles* over this!
[ ] ... okay, I'd be pissed off at me too. I guess I deserved it.
[ ] ... I wanted to say something but I... I can barely look you in the eye right *now.* You have no idea how bad it is.
[X] ... okay, I'd be pissed off at me too. I guess I deserved it.
Spinning your coffee mug around in your hands for something to do, you let your mind bend under the full brunt of that little revelation.
"... okay," you say quietly. "I'd be pissed at me, too. I deserved it. Every bit."
The liquid in your mug jumps with the sound of her palm slapping the table. You start, looking at her stern expression in surprise. She shakes her head vehemently, then... stares at her mug miserably, just like you were doing.
"You... weren't mad?"
Her head tilts left, then right, her mouth uncertain.
"It wasn't just that."
She crosses her arms over her chest - but she also sinks into her high-backed chair a bit, almost like she's cringing.
"... oh." She was as torn up as you.
It was still your fault. Telling her about your XO, your failure, your... your *everything* is far too much, especially right now. But you can tell her the gist of it. "I was out of line, with what I said," you say quietly.
Arizona cocks her head - in the soft light of the overhead kitchen fixture, her eyes seem to be pools of liquid turquoise, so light that they almost seem to shimmer. She makes the long-hair combing motion, followed by hinging her thumbs and sending her hands winging away. "You were right about Shoukaku, of course, I had no right-"
Damn STRAIGHT you didn't, her nod says-
"-but that's not the worst of it."
She tilts her head again, indicating interrogative.
"It's..." you sigh. "Higgins."
A blink.
"I'm hung up on her," you say simply. "She was mine - mine to lead, mine to guide, mine to keep, mine to protect. Her, and every soul aboard her. And I fucked up, Arizona." The words are clunky and raw, out in the open, in this sterile little apartment - only now are you noticing the bare walls, the tightly turned-down bed, the complete absence of any personal items save a magazine resting on the nightstand and an old-fashioned two-bell alarm clock by it; not even a bevy of unpacked moving boxes to fill the space. "You using me as a replacement Admiral-" you shake your head. "Christ, I used you as my replacement *ship.*" Your eyes burn, but you force yourself to meet her gaze - you owe her this much, at least. "Always there, always loyal - it was e-easy to pretend-" voice roughening now, too close to breaking. Stop. You said enough. Stop. She understands.
STOP.
A small, delicate hand slips into your big paw, and squeezes gently - insistently - until you look up at her again. She's leaning over the table as far as she can, staring into you with - did they - the light, the angle - that clear turquoise fading to cornflower blue again, like they always were, as far as you can remember.
Her other hand comes forward, and rubs thumb and forefinger together, then taps you on the nose, then herself. Then she flattens her palm out expectantly.
"... owe you?"
A wide sweep of her hand.
"... anything..." Yes. Yes, you did say that, didn't you?
She nods.
"... what do you have in mind?"
Smiling, she releases your hand, and in her usual way, she tells you.
Last edited:
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
... So there's inconsistency in kanmusu metaphysical biology. Wonder if it's a gender thing...
Rough translation: "Godfuckinfdamnit, he went and did it again... Ah hell, this'll take forbloodyever to fi- YOU! HEY, YOU! ASSHOLE! WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T YOU STOP THIS MASOCHISTIC CUNT? YOU LET HIM BREAK HIMSELF, YOU FUCKING FIX THIS! I AM FUCKING DONE, I QUIT!"
Hm. It's clearly more than just 'I have to do this, so I am' though. There's some enjoyment and, for lack of a better term, sense of purpose fulfilled in there as well.
Am I making sense?
A new dent in the shape of her face. Now Shimakaze always has that reminder of you Wille.~
... wat.
Ok, hit me. What's the story?
SHIMA*headdeesk*KAZE*headdeesk*YOU*headdeesk*FUCKING*headdeesk*MORON*headdeesk*WHY*headdeesk*ARE*headdeesk*YOU*headdeesk*SO*headdeesk*SMART*headdeesk*YET*headdeesk*STUPID!
if you really didn't want to go the surgical/full hull replacement route, why not disassemble the thing into bite-sized, quickly-assembled components, eat those, and let the crew inside of you put them together?
And did you not think of how the crew would be getting rid of the old engine?
1. Dess.
2. Not for lewds.
Yamato dun goof'd.
1. I have seen those images on the 'booru, and I want.
2. Obligatory Ork reference is obligatory.
Yup. Sisters.
Ah. A video to your future self. That's an interesting framing device.
Words to live by, right there. Very moving piece overall.
rofl: Stap. Stap plz, I need mah lungs to live. 1. I almost want to know what Kongou was going to say.
2. YOU'RE OFFICIALLY UNFORGIVEN, HATE!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
I usually don't enjoy sex jokes/insults, but goddamn it I couldn't breathe I was laughing so hard.
And like that, Settle left Essex alone. In front of a livestream. Populated by roughly the entire internet. Which shall be recorded for all of eternity. You all may now take out your cyanide capsules...
I'm just waiting for Iowa to find out just how badly Hate went local. The fireworks will be glorious.
Arvin_Larn
Caffeine Elemental
- Location
- The Land of Insomnia
To put it in D&D Terms: Shimakaze has a lot of points in INT but made WIS her dump stat. A lot of brilliance held back by a painful lack of common sense. (Which she also abandoned in her pursuit of SPEED)
CompassJimbo
Where’s Your North?
- Location
- The former Rubber Capital of the World
It gets better.
Nope, one does not simply evade CNO's gaze that easily.
GhostStalker
Jeopardy! contestant
- Location
- NYC
She was quoting the string of profanity that Colin Firth as King George VI let out as he was learning to get over his stutter as referenced in The King's Speech.
Last edited:
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
1. Someone should put the 'Wizards, no sense of right or wrong' on a Shimakaze image.
2. I did say she was a Wil. E. Coyote mad Genius... I guess I still put my expectations too high.
By Zim's standards, yes.
Ah. Right.
Session #70 pt.1
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
TWITTER: twitter.com/planefriend
ARCHIVES: Kant-O-Celle Quest [a Kantai Collection game, transcribed from 4chan]
*"Baking?"*
"Baking," you confirm.
Goto reclines in his chair, mouth rising into the widest, smuggest grin you've seen this side of Hate. "As they say in the vernacular, you dun got out-skilled, son."
"Really?" you return with dripping incredulity. "Coming from the guy who literally has to dodge full-body tackles from Miss Psychostalker? Mine wants to make cupcakes."
"Yep, she's got you-" Goto says, raising his hand to tick off fingers, "isolated, for at least an hour, in her apartment, right next to a gas oven."
"Aaah," you croon with enlightenment. "I thought that house on chicken feet in the parking lot was odd."
"Just to knock you out," Goto explains. "She asks you to check the pilot light - shoves you in, holds you there for five minutes, you wake up tied to the bed-"
"Your problems," you muse, "are so alien to me, it's amazing. Like a man telling a fish that his knees hurt. Besides, I'd scream. Oven can't muffle it that good."
"Harder lives one floor down," Goto reminds you. "If they release him today, he'll be blasting Smash Mouth till nine."
"He shuts it off at nine?"
"Just turns it down, according to Hamp. You rip into him for stowing away on the C-5 yet?"
You shake your head. "The nurses said he was pretty out of it, so I figured it could wait." You turn to your tablet, tapping at it listlessly to give the pause something to do. "Seen-"
"I did," Goto says quietly. He's tapping his own fingers on his tablet nervously, not even pretending to work. "If she'd been in deeper water, she never would've made it. A mile - hell, a thousand yards further from the shallows, even-" he shakes her head. "They were able to pluck her out with a crane barge - only thing with shallow enough draft in the area." He sighs. "It could've been worse."
"That's about the sum total of what I've heard so far," you reply. "I wake up, they cut me out of the duct tape and it's all 'we won, they lost.' What *happened?*"
"Nareusan and Steadfast had the unholy shit shot out of them," Goto begins, "but they're seaworthy and they should be in drydock soon. The USN has a floating dock in Singapore and they couldn't loan it fast enough. Still, I don't think we'll be seeing them again for months. The Kasturi was sunk, of course, and two Spica-M model gunboats - one in that attack run and another was too shot up; constructive loss." He starts spinning his tablet around on the table idly, reciting from memory. "And that's pretty much it. The abyssals withdrew soon after we did - dunno where they were going, but they didn't get there, so, that's that."
"Enemy casualties?"
"Notoriously hard to tell." He frowns. "That battleship... we thew every last bomb and missile we had at it after you lost it."
"... no wreck, though."
"There wouldn't be, would there? Not much, at least," Goto points out. "Never is."
"... there is that," you muse. "The rest?"
"They put down at least one heavy cruiser that we know of. Probably another, but we can't be sure. Visibility and sensors really went to hell towards the end, there - Steadfast and Nareusan were shadowed by that island and terrain, and Lekir's computers and gear aren't the newest around-"
"Lekir," you fill in. "Last I recall, she was boarded?"
"Oh," Goto says. "That." He halts the spinning tablet, taps the screen briskly, and spins it 'round to face you. "Got the link on my desktop."
You flip the tablet's sectioned cover back to prop it up for easy viewing - it seems to be a shoulder-camera style feed, similar to what the girls use. It shows you a cramped shipboard corridor, red emergency lights the only illumination. Men are creeping foreward in the dark, dark OD green uniforms barely visible in the gloom. A man near the front taps a magazine against his helmet for some reason before tucking it away again. They're creeping towards a dogged hatch at the end of the little corridor. The point man's just reaching for it when the heavy steel buckles with a horrid screech, a black point just visible through the rent. The bulge grows beneath a second blow, the better part of an obsidian-black axehead visible for a moment as the owner wrenches it loose.
"Let's rock," the camera's owner whispers, lurching as he hefts his weapon up - the distinctive foregrip and heatshield of an original M60.
"I like to keep this handy - for close encounters," someone ahead of him breathes, hefting a pump-action shotgun.
"You fucking nerds will be the death of me," a tired voice says from the back just as the hatch finally yields with a screech of sundered steel, revealing the upper torso of something chitinous and awful in the gap, eyes glowing with a faint blue light. The men in the lead hit the deck as one -
"HERRO!" the camera's owner bellows, and then the view is obliterated by the M-60s muzzle flash.
You set the tablet down gently and give Goto a disturbed look.
"SWAGs," Goto explains.
"... who?"
"Filipino Navy SEALs. They were waiting around for their plane ride home after a joint training op with the Indonesians when they started scrambling everything in the harbor. Offered their services and someone made room for them, it looks like."
"... SWAG?" you repeat. "Aren't they called NAVSOG?"
"A valiant and respectable effort," Goto says, doffing his invisible hat and holding it over his heart. "God bless that brave bureaucratic soul who tried to put that genie back in the bottle."
You nudge the tablet aside gently. Your own bureaucratic soul is atrophying by the day, because once upon a time you would have found that video astonishing rather than passingly remarkable. "So you're telling me, we didn't actually do heavy damage."
"We sure gave better than we got," Goto points out. "And blew the hell out of a bunch of troop transports - Kitakami and Ooi guessed at least fifteen to twenty, counting explosions." He smiles, thin and savage. "Kitakami and Ooi really came through, didn't they? They stacked up those abyssals wall-to-wall in there."
You don't dignify that with a groan. "We didn't actually hold the strait, though. If they'd pushed-"
"Yeah, just like Guadalcanal. But they *didn't,*" Goto points out. "How often have you seen, or heard of an Abyssal trying to save itself, or one of their forces disengaging because of casualties?"
You have to think about it.
"Point made," he concludes. "You were right, Settle. They're moving to larger ops, and they can't just cheat around logistics for those. They've got to transit, they've got to resupply, and there's a limit to the punishment they're willing to take."
That's about when the door to the conference room nearly buckles underneath a sharp blow, the noise making you both jolt in your seats. The heavy, padlocked chain securing them manages to hold, but just barely.
"TEIIIIIIIITOOOOKUUUUUUU'S TEATIIIIIME~" a familiar voice sing-songs through the door.
"H-HARUNA BROUGHT CAKES!" another chimes in.
"AND THE OTHER TWO, WHO REFUSE TO EXPRESS THEIR EXUBERANCE!" Kongou adds, followed by two feminine yelps, probably from well-applied elbows.
Goto sinks into his chair with a look of resigned dread, glancing at you for help.
You recline in your chair. "They're at the pressure door," you say seriously.
[ ] Out the back! We've got shit to do today! [suggest shit to do]
[ ] You've learned some things from the enlisted men. You know how to spoil a tea party.
[ ] Not so smug now, eh? Come, let's see how a *master* evades a horny shipgirl. Teach me, oh sensei.
Settle X Iku when? said:
[X] Out the back! We've got shit to do today! [suggest shit to do]
"... right," you say quietly. Rising from your seat, you grunt with pain as you lever your bum leg up onto the table, then awkwardly clamber atop it. Lifting your cane, you reach up and lift one of the white tiles of the drop-style ceiling.
You look down at Goto, who's staring at you with consternation. "Under the desk." He squints at you, but the sound of steel links cracking makes up his mind, sending him scuttling for cover. You turn and compose yourself just as the double doors of the conference room burst open to reveal the Kongou quartet, armed to the teeth with a tea cart, tablecloth and baskets of cookies.
"YOUR CHAINS CANNOT REPEL DESS OF THIS MAGNITUDE!" Kongou crows.
"... someone really needs to monitor your internet usage," you intone levelly.
Haruna and Hiei visibly deflate, but Kongou, unsurprisingly, is undaunted. "WHERE THE DESS IS MY TEITOKU, YANKEETOKU?"
Ever so slowly, you raise your finger to point at the displaced ceiling tile.
Kongou stares, blinking, as Kirishima pushes her glasses up her nose and glares at you. "That's just flimsy cardboard-like stuff," she points out. "He can't be up there!"
"You're right," you say, nodding. "He's not strong enough to cling to the pipes and such, upside down, like a ninja."
"Of course he's n-" Kirishima's voice cuts off as Kongou's head whips around like a cobra - you can't see her expression, but judging from the reflection in her sister's visages, it was effective. She turns back slowly, her face once more cheerful and angelic when you see it next. "How did he get up there, Yankeetoku?"
"Asked me to give him a boost, and then whoop~" you intone. "Up he goes!"
Behind Kongou and Kirishima, Haruna and Hiei are leaning over, peering under the table. They nod surreptitiously, then straighten up. "Kongou," Hiei begins. "He's probably in the ductwork!"
"Don't you meme me!" Kongou retorts, huffing and crossing her arms. "I read that whole website! Ducts are for SNAKES. Are you calling my Goto-san a SNAKE!?"
Kirishima pushes her glasses up again. "Kongou, why do you insist on using Japanese honorifics when you're speaking Japanese-"
"Why are we speaking English at all!?" Kongou retorts.
Kirishima blinks. "Uh, because... uh."
"Uh... they're like tunnels! Just in the ceiling," Haruna offers. "Our soldiers hid in-"
Kongou's nose rises so high that for a second her hereditary Brit shines through like a beacon. "ARMY," she says, voice dripping with disdain.
"Vasquez?" you offer.
"... who the dess?" Kongou says, nonplussed.
"Bruce Willis!" you try. "Die Hard. He climbed up a big tower-"
"Make a King Kongou joke," Kongou huffs. "I dare you!"
[ ] Ask her what's got her so riled.
[ ] Ask her why she's suddenly reverted to the hard sell technique.
[ ] Joke? No. She's got it all wrong. It's a stirring tale, a magnum opus, a veiled allegorical story of the majesty of the last of a dying breed, the battleship. It's very Deep.
You're trying to shake Kongou and co. as fast as possible, of course, so nothing you choose will result in an extended stay. The CNO and SecNav are all dressed up for an ass-chewing party, after all~
"I wouldn't dream of it," you say gently. "But... first that thing with the webcam, then this... what about the gentle approach we talked about?"
"H-he's not cracking!" Kongou objects. "He acted like a cat in a thunderstorm the first day or two, and- and I can't wait!"
"What's the rush?"
Kongou seems to actually deflate before your eyes. She lets her bangs hide her eyes, shoulders slumping. For the first time since you've met her, her slender frame actually seems small.
"Kongou is old, Settle."
Her sisters and you all stare, stunned.
"SO I'VE GOT TO TRY EXTRA-HARD!" she exclaims, snapping to sparkling life like a live wire. "HARUNA! HIEI! HIROSHIMA!"
"What the HELL did you-"
"KIRISHIMA!"
"THAT'S STILL WRONG!"
"NOBODY CARES! OUT! HE'S IN THE BUILDING, I CAN SMELL HIM!" Kongou reaches into her basket and produces a baguette, which she flourishes like a saber. "MUSH!" Her posse follows, Haruna and Hiei almost dragging Kongou out, with Kirishima following along behind rather sullenly. She shoots you one last suspicious glance before quitting the room.
Leaning over, you peek under the desk at Goto. "You okay?"
"No," he grumps. "I know that girl. When she gets like this, she just keeps escalating. She'll be looking for chemical supplements, next. Especially after that quip about speed that Arizona made." He clambers to his feet and dusts off his knees with annoyance.
"... but she *is* fast," you point out.
"Doesn't matter - anything to be better, to catch my eye. Last time she got like this, she went to Shimakaze and ended up gargling some water-methonol mix."
"... well that doesn't sound so-"
"Until some *asshole* told her about fire-breathing," Goto mutters. "Anyway, I'm going to start sending copyright takedown requests to every video site on the god damned internet in between bowing to my boss a whole damn lot. You've probably got your own fish to fry."
You stifle a whimper. "This is true."
By some small miracle you manage to evade any further adventures till you reach your office. You sit down at your desk, easing into the chair with a sigh before placing a call to your staff. You keep it short and sweet - OPSEC has potentially been violated by two shipgirls - is possibly being violated right now, in fact - and it must've been done by someone with greater than 1940s era command of technology. Certain outgoing ports are blocked even on the residential dormitory connections, and you very much freaking doubt that Kongou, launched in 1911, knows what a VPN is. You don't *say* that you want some gullible fuck from base IT trussed and bound on a silver platter, but you don't really need to. You hope he's a big fat dweeb - he might slow that bus down just long enough to soften the blow when it runs your ass over. You hang up, knowing Your Staff is now calling everyone who Needs To Know (which is a sizeable list) and starting the Official Procedure to send said communiques Up The Chain, which takes Time.
You wrap these fantasies around you, snug and tight as you begin your after action report (trying three times to avoid starting with "it was a dark and stormy night" in officialese before just noting the poor visibility conditions and moving on.)
These comfortable deceptions last right up till the moment your desk phone rings. You push your keyboard away and pick it up lazily, prepared to blow off the Latest Crisis on the grounds that You Have Work To Do, and everything else can go through your Secretary (who is currently very unavailable, which fits nicely.) "Yes?" It's always polite to answer the phone, well, politely, but you *do* have a Star now - and you're thinking you'd better enjoy it while you still can.
"Admiral Settle, I presume?"
The world Stops. Capital S. The clocks stop ticking. Your heart stops beating. Your very lifeblood lies listless, frozen in your veins. You are as cold and inanimate as a chunk of marble, a chunk of marble looking up at a sculptor with hammer and chisel raised and trying to scream but the *sculptor hasn't carved the mouth yet.*
Funny, you thought your life was supposed to flash before your eyes at times like this, but all you can think of is scrambled, inane bullshit.
"Are you there?" repeats the very distinctive voice of the Chief of Naval Operations.
"Yes," you croak quietly. "I am here."
"Do you know why I called, Admiral Settle?" he asks, in the same general tone of voice cops use when they ask if you know why they pulled you over.
"You wanted an update on our new shipgirls," you reply. "Houston hasn't been debriefed yet, Essex - well I assume someone gave her the bottom-line, but I don't think it stuck. And the Australians are going to be dancing a jig 'round the embassy within hours to get their hands on Perth-"
"But you won't have to worry about any of that," the CNO points out, "because your career is over, isn't it?"
[ ] Play innocent. Play DUMB. It's coming either way - no need to squirm for him. Don't let them hear your voice crack. This is Just Another Normal Day at Yokosuka. They must internalize your suffering to have sympathy with it.
[ ] ... you saw that video, right? You saw what I have to deal with. No man can chain the Kongou. Trust me. We TRIED.
[ ] Any hope of salvaging this situation went to hell the moment Essex walked in, so you're just gonna go ahead and point out that you've won three battles and told an eldritch abomination to go vanish up its own asshole. That has to count for something.
Last edited:
Session #70 pt.2
Trace Coburn
BattleTech Starfighter Analyst
- Location
- NDBBM, New Zealand
[X] ... you saw that video, right? You saw what I have to deal with. No man can chain the Kongou. Trust me. We TRIED.
You feel your strength leeching from your bones, letting you sink deeper and deeper into your comfy office chair. "You... saw the stream."
"I'm seeing it as we speak," he replies sternly. "An army of MPs aren't breaking down her door right now, because... why, exactly?"
"You want us to SWAT our own shipgirl? And pulling the breaker occurred to me, but at this point it'd just make a bigger stir her stream died without explanation."
"You seem awfully sanguine about this, Admiral."
A miserable, defeated sigh nearly escapes you. "Sir... today is the day you answered a text message and got a link to two admirals and their shipgirls livestreaming to an audience of untold gazillions without authorization. You know what today is for me, sir?"
"Do tell," he says, with that lilting tone of a dare masquerading as an invitation.
"I want to say Tuesday," you reply, "but Christ knows I'm not even sure what day it *is.* Because I spent last night duct-taped to a conference table."
"... beg your pardon?"
"Duct taped," you say, warming to the chat, "to a table. While hallucinating about a dead man on fire and another one pointing a gun at my head."
"Have you been to see your doctor, recently?" A shuffling of papers in the background. "I know you've been under a lot of stress, and it's easy to forget things but I've got a complaint h-"
"I don't have time," you retort, "unless he's got something to make the dogfish go away."
*That* makes him quiet for a moment. "... come again, Settle?"
"The Dog Fish," you enunciate clearly. "See, my supposed assistant bought me a lovely new cane covered with rhinestones and glitter and capped it with a fish globe containing a dogfish. Which is some variety of freshwater-tolerant shark, or something? But now I'm dreaming about it."
Silence.
"It talks Russian, by the way."
More silence.
Then - "Admiral, are you pleading the insanity defense?"
This voice you do not recognize. "Am I on speakerphone, sir?"
"Just a conference call."
You bristle. "To whom do I owe the pleasure-"
"That," the CNO intones, "would be the Secretary of the Navy."
If the CNO is God, then SecNav is the HR manager who *hired* God. You feel the room go all swimmy as you forget to breathe for a minute. "Oh. Hello sir. How are you today?"
"Oh," SecNav says easily. "I'm fine." His voice is brimming - nay, almost bursting - with some strange tension; as if he's restraining himself from bellowing. Yelling really isn't a go-to for anyone above low commissioned rank - it looks bad in front of The Troops, after all - unless they've got someone on a private line of communication behind closed doors and they are pissed off. Like you are, right now. You suspect that lingering politician inclinations are keeping you alive and unskinned - but for mere moments more, for your luck cannot last.
"Oh," you reply. "That's good. Can I help you, sir?" Your voice sounds almost as brittle as you feel.
"This stream," SecNav states. "Has... over... six hundred thousand viewers right now. Well, all told. It's already being mirrored on a few other sites."
Six. Hundred. Thousand. "S-sir, did you-"
"In Japan," he clarifies. "We haven't even checked foreign IPs yet."
"Oh. Oh, that's..."
"Go ahead," SecNav prompts. "What is it?"
What it is, is racist and extremely un-PR comments from living, talking, walking weapons of war from an era where long-simmering tensions had broken out into full-bodied violence - now broadcast to an audience of millions. What it is is gasoline poured directly onto a magnesium torch lying a deck above the main shell magazine. It's every public fear, fanned by all the wrong sorts and every opportunistic isolationist bastard you can imagine given renewed strength and vigor. It's a three-word denunciation of your pissweak excuse that it'd make a bigger scene to abort the stream - SecNav might know of the Streisand Effect, as a politician, but after the Chinese ambassador is done pissing directly through his phone he probably won't give a fuck.
"It's... bad."
"How bad?"
How bad? How bad? It shot past Zimmerman shooting with Kongou and plunged into Zimmerman TELEGRAM when Essex arrived. This is the kind of thing that ends with an Admiral's balls in a sack and a lot of apologizing and Reassurances from On High. This is dynamite. This is a disaster, an unmitigated fucking disaster, and your vaunted self-control as an Officer of the United States Navy is swiftly coming unglued. You want to pick up the phone and shout into it that they know NOTHING of what goes on, you just saw a slender girl that can't weight one-ten soaking wet SNAP through fucking face-hardened chain. You ran her off even, you saved Goto from desstruction and what thanks do you get? What thanks do you GET? You get fired, by personal phone call with SecNav, for fucking up royally and fracturing the fragile alliance that unites humanity against the howling darkness well when you put it like that it sounds bad, maybe *don't put it like that.*
"Uh," you state. "I haven't gotten an impact analysis yet."
"Impact, analysis," SecNav marvels, tasting each word as if it's some fascinating morsel. "Impact... analysis. Would you like to see the... impact, of the currently ongoing shitfest?"
You really, really don't. "Yes, sir."
"Google Essex stream. It'll be the first link."
"Yes sir," you almost weep as your hands move unbidden, dangling from the damnable puppet strings of authority as they direct your browser to gaze upon your doom. The page loads slowly, dragging talons over your nerves-
"Settle?"
"Still loading," you almost mewl - the server is indeed under heavy load. Finally, the video buffers, and you're greeted with Essex's reddened face-
"I'M NOT SHORT!" she thunders, poking her finger at the camera like she can poke out its glass eye. "I'M TALLER THAN A JAP!"
Replies are instantaneous, thick and terribly effective:
>in the land of the midgets the short girl is king
>SHORT SHIP SHORT SHIP ALL RETARDS ABOARD THE SHOOORT SHIIIIIP
>Template:Average height around the world - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia 5'7'' where are your gaijin gods now round-eye
>you're literally shorter than every other shipgirl on base, there's even a chart
>what size is she on the boob chart tho
>dunno she won't show us
>won't even do the sharpie test yeah
It's probably because she only speaks English that the video's chat hasn't been utterly swamped already - only the literate can really pose questions she'll answer, since the engrish is mostly unintelligible anyway. She pounces on a seeming lifeline: "Yeah. YEAH!" She throws her hair back over her shoulder, copying the same move Kongou used earlier. "I'm kawaii! I'M KAWAII AS *HELL!*" She thumps her chest dramatically. "I, Essex, NAME SHIP of my class, ABANDONED BY THE COUNTRY SHE LOVES, left alone in a strange land, have inevitably bested the locals at their own game within HOURS of my arrival!" She strikes a pose, eyes closed as she basks in the radiance of her own glory.
Then she blinks. "Wait. What's kawaii?"
The links start pouring in - a good number of them are "chibi" art of one sort or another, with a good helping of saccharine cat art to round things out. You watch Essex's face redden with impotent fury. "W-WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?"
>it's cute, essex-chan!
>don't you like being cute sexxex-chan
>"Kawaii" means "cute"
"NO!" Essex roars, her voice squeaking a bit as it hits the top of her range. "I'm not tiny! I'm a goddamned AIRCRAFT CARRIER! Don't you morons know what a CARRIER is!? We're HUGE!"
>huge she says
>lots of "reserve buoyancy" ifykim
>boobie floats nom nom
>FOR YOU
>oh look: Keine Bote image on Danbooru
>cow?
>she said big
>big milk bags, it fits
Essex's face is melting down into a ruddy red masterpiece of flusterment, mouth opening and closing in a good fish impression as she searches for something, anything to retort with. "I-I'LL F-F-FIND YOU AND P-P-PUNCH YOUR HEAD OFF!"
>we'll just call Arizona
>yeah Arizona
>she grabbed Kongou she can grab you!
>wish she'd grabbed you, you've got bigger tatty
>CAN'T EVADE THE ARIZONA
>Arizona a best
"NO SHE'S NOT SHE'S- SHE'S-" Essex visibly searches for a moment - "SHE'S FLAT AND BORING AND DOESN'T EVEN TALK AND SHE'S A BULLY!"
>slender girl that never talks is literally every Japanese man's fantasy
>total waifu tier
>strongest battleship == waifu
>14 inch guns > 5 inch guns
>some guys just want heavy guns at night unf yeah
Essex watches the incoming comments for a few seconds more - then suddenly recoils a step, wrapping her arms over her chest. "H-hey, no! NO! YOU CAN'T WRITE ANYTHING ON ME *ANYWHERE!*" She blinks. "What's that?" Recoiling. "NO! NO!" She leans forward, a pouty frown on her face. "I'll turn this thing off!" All that manages to do is give the world a better look at her cleavage. A minute later she comes up triumphant. "HA!' she bellows, hoisting the dangling end of the desk lamp's power plug in her hand. "I, ESSEX, HAVE SLAIN THE LEWD PICTURE WINDOW TH-" She catches sight of the glowing monitor. "Aw, buckets. I - BALLS!" she hastily amends. "*SACKS* OF BALLS!" she adds for good measure. "AWFUL!" She pantomimes spitting at the ground without actually doing it - which might've worked with 1940s era scan resolution. "All you-" she blinks. "Ya hoo? What? What is everybody-"
You mute the audio just as the first screenshot goes up.
"... what the *actual* fuck," you breathe.
And that's about when God's HR manager, The Actual Secretary of the Actual Navy starts to laugh like a goddamned lunatic.