Rule 141. Any more crazy stunts with odd or "extreme" foods will be met with punishment.
"Alright, show your cards," Yorktown drawled, leaning back in her chair.
Essex, San Francisco, Hornet, and Washington all dropped their hands to the table.
"Pair of jacks, pair of nines, pair of sevens and fours, and a straight. Hornet wins."
The shipgirls around the packing crate groaned as Hornet raked in the poker chips, grinning.
"Seriously, how does she keep doing that," San Francisco groaned.
"Luck, and skill," Hornet replied, wagging her finger. "Too bad Enterprise isn't here, that would've been a nice challenge. Where is she, anyway?"
"Picking up a package," Yorktown replied, collecting the cards and beginning the shuffling. "She should be back soon, so you'll get your challenge."
Hornet nodded, and dealing proceeded apace. They were on the first round of betting when Enterprise walked in, a bag in hand.
"Hey, everybody!" Enterprise chirped. "I just got my package and I want to share it with you all!"
Aside from Yorktown, the girls appropriately oohed and aahed, the other carrier merely paling in realization.
"So, what is it?" Washington said. "Don't keep us in suspense here."
Reaching into the bag, Enterprise pulled out... something. "Ta-da!" she announced, holding up some orange... spiky... fruit thing, encased in plastic. "Durian! With all the damage the Abyssals have done to Southeast Asia, it wasn't heasy to get one, but it's here!"
"Enterprise," Yorktown started as her sister began to tear off the plastic wrap. "Don't you dare. Don't you fucking-!"
Too late. The plastic wrap was removed, and every shipgirl in the room recoiled as the smell assaulted their nostrils.
"Oh my god that is just rank!" Essex groaned.
"Can't... breathe..." Hornet gasped, straining for something.
"Enterprise... sister... get that thing out of our sight before I toss it out and you with it," Yorktown growled.
~o~
"I think I'll try these "Rocky Mountain Oysters", please," Fuso said, handing the menu back to the waitress.
Amsterdam, the Fuso sisters' chaperone/tour guide, looked at her dubiously. "You do know what those are, right?"
"They're oysters, right? I love fried oysters!"
Amsterdam stared at the battleship for one more second before sighing. "Oh well, your funeral."
Fifteen minutes later, a feminine shriek of "THEY'RE WHAT?!" echoed out onto the San Francisco street.
~o~
Manchester dubiously eyed the innocuous, albeit very round, tin sitting in front of her. "So, this is surstromming, huh? And it's..."
"Fermented herring," Gotland confirmed.
"Isn't that, like, rotten or something?"
The aviation cruiser rolled here eyes. "Trust me, this is not the worst thing we Nordics eat. You should see some of the concoctions Iceland has produced."
"Alright then," Manchester sighed, gripping the pull-out tab. "In for a penny..."
The light cruiser yanked off the tin cover, and immediately regretted it as her sinuses were invaded by a tremendous smell of rotten. Pinching her nose, Manchester gingerly scooped out some of the fish with her spoon, put it in her mouth, and chewed, her expression morphing from shock to surprise and then to disgust.
"Ugh," she spat as she swallowed heavily. "Give me that bottle of gin already, I need to wash this shit down."
AN: In case you were wondering, Rocky Mountain Oysters are fried bull testicles.
