AN: Next time I feel like making a snide remark about stories and dying, I'm just going to shut my goddamn mouth. Hospital food is still bad, and physical therapy is pain. Hopefully the next chapter won't have such an enormous gap in between, but I've still got a long way to go.
In the meantime, I hope this makes up at least a little for the wait.
Solace: A Commander's Tale
Chapter Twenty-One: Observations
Graham could hardly believe his eyes. Living in a world populated by living warships taking the form of glamorous women born into existence via an unearthly cube of otherworldly power was one thing. This, however, was quite something else altogether.
"Well?" the smug inflection in that one little word was almost irksome, and for a solitary heartbeat, Graham knew full well why so many of the little shipgirl's own countrywomen disliked her so. Despite this, however, he could not deny that what he was seeing was…
Well, it changed a lot. How, exactly, he wasn't completely certain yet, but the feeling in his gut wouldn't recede, and superstition it might be, but trusting one's hunches had saved many a soldier in the firing line over the years.
Akashi, the little, green-haired repair ship, stood perfectly balanced upon the surface of the Pacific Ocean scarcely ten metres out from the beach like a figure from a biblical tale. A set of what appeared to be some sort of construction rigging extended from something that looked to Graham's eyes like a stubby, metal backpack, complete with a short extension packing a miniature naval turret and a mast that looked suspiciously akin to the one present on the physical manifestation of her hull. In one hand, she casually held an enormous steel tool—another miniaturised variant of one of her hull's own artifices, if Graham had to guess. How such a diminutive little girl was capable of even lifting such an object was beyond his knowledge, but he would wager whatever shore leave he was entitled to that such was down to the shipgirl's new invention that she had been so eager to show off.
"Certainly, an unusual sight, would you not agree?" he asked to his fellow onlookers.
Rodney merely huffed nearby. The battleship had worn a pout only a hair removed from a frown, and it had occurred early to Graham that she almost certainly had a completely different idea as to how the day should have gone. At least before Akashi blitzed into his office at the start of the day, hot on Rodney's heels and looking like she'd not slept so much as a wink last night, insisting that he come with her right that instant.
Brooklyn, another of the spectators, chuckled nervously. "Sorry, Sir," she said, sheepishly. "Bremerton told me she was quiet as a mouse practically all day yesterday. We all thought she'd just gone to sleep."
A boisterous laugh barked from the lips of a Sakura battleship, Ise, who—for reasons Graham could not begin to fathom—held a long polearm that rested languidly across her shoulders. "Akashi? Sleep? Ha! That little kitty-cat's always working on some project or another. If so many of them didn't end up exploding, she'd probably be a lot more popular back in the homeland."
"Exploding?" echoed Leipzig, regarding the still-waving Akashi with an uneasy expression. "Should we maybe stop her? Or get a little more distance?"
"Oh, she'll be fine," shrugged Ise. "She's got the luck of the Kami, that one," she added with a chuckle. "Or perhaps luck of the Oni would be more appropriate. Besides, what were you planning to do? Swim out there and somehow pull her out of that contraption of hers?"
Leipzig bit her lip, staring down at the beach in mute chagrin and conceding the point to the foreign battleship.
"I don't know," mused Graham. "She's been showing off for nearly ten whole minutes now and nothing seems to have gone wrong at all. In fact, I'd probably argue she could do this all day. What do you think, Sirius?"
"Wha-?!" Sirius jumped, startled from her nap—which, Graham noted with some amusement, she had once again taken whilst standing up. He wondered what Sheffield would have to say about that. It was probably a good thing, he reckoned, that the island was so secure. What foe, he mused, would ever dare attack them on their own territory?
The attack on Pearl Harbor then sprang to mind, and he quickly chastised himself for his bout of hubris. On the other hand, there were still multiple patrols out and about, and he felt confident that any Siren that got brave would be swiftly detected by the network of automated sonar and radar listening posts that had been set in place. As he mused on this, a thought suddenly struck him, and he turned to Rodney, who favoured him with a beatific smile.
"Yes, Lord Commander?"
"Just wondering: you all seem rather… nonplussed, considering Akashi seems to have rediscovered the biblical art of walking on water."
Rodney tittered politely. "Oh, Commander," she said, gently swatting at his arm. "We summon great naval warships from our very bodies with which to traverse the seas. What Akashi has done is… admittedly rather impressive, but I doubt her little discovery will amount to much in the grand scheme of things."
"I'm not sure," mused Ise, peering out at the cackling Akashi. "I don't think I've seen her this excited since she roped Kaga and Akagi into…" she paused. "Ah, forget it, I probably shouldn't say."
It wasn't the first time a Sakuran shipgirl had intimated that Akashi had been at the centre of some calamity back home involving Kaga and her pseudo-sibling, Akagi. Once again, he wondered what lay at the heart of the matter, but was pulled away as the conversation continued on.
"Besides," Rodney continued, glancing at Ise, "such an instrument as hers might perhaps prove useful for a repair ship like herself, but in combat? Such tiny armaments surely wouldn't pack anything like the punch of our hull artillery."
"I suppose you may have a point there," conceded Ise, after a moment's thought, reaching up to tap idly at the blade of her Sakuran polearm. Rodney nodded in quiet satisfaction and returned her attention to Akashi, who was now speeding back to shore, a big wide grin on her face.
"Did you see, Shikikan?" she chirped, bubbling with excitement as she landed on the sand, the additional machinery seeming to vanish akin to the steel hull of a shipgirl once dismissed, albeit without nearly so much of a light show. "Did you see?! Oh, I knew I could see it through! It was all in the power consumption, you see. The first time, I overestimated how much raw energy would be required, but the second time—"
"That's nice, Akashi," Graham held up a hand to forestall any further gushing from the little repair ship, "and I suppose you've certainly proven that your… sorry, what exactly did you call it, again?"
"Portable Rigging!" Akashi pouted up at him, huffing indignantly before pausing to consider, "Although, maybe that might be a bit of a mouthful to say in an emergency, so perhaps just 'Rigging' would be better—more concise. What do you think, Shikikan?"
"I think that this is a very interesting display you put on, Akashi, and I'll admit that I'm far more impressed than I felt I might be by your Rigging, but I'm not really sure what you want to drive at with this device of yours."
Akashi blinked up at him, puzzled in the extreme. "Akashi told you," She said. "With this Porta—with my Rigging, a Kansen could sail out and provide all the fire support of her hull without presenting as large a target. I'm sure they could even survive having their hull sunk!"
"That's a rather bold claim," Rodney hummed, arching an eyebrow. "And you are certain of this?"
Akashi hesitated, wringing her hands together awkwardly. "Well, you see," she stammered, her excitement bleeding away under the imperious stare of the battleship. "The only way to really be certain would be to… well, sink someone's hull."
A thunder of objection and outcry met her hypothesis. For his own part, Graham felt naught but horror at such a suggestion. As was already common knowledge among those who dealt with shipgirls of any nation, to sink their hull was tantamount to killing them. Only in rare, exceptional cases when the wreck was swiftly and immediately tugged back to port before it went completely under, with repairs conducted quickly and precisely, had any ever been saved from such a fate.
Swallowing, and trying very hard to keep a level head, he fixed Akashi with a pointed look. Before he could say a word, however, Akashi beat him to the punch.
"Not that I am suggesting for even a moment that we punch a hole in anyone's hull to test and see if it actually works!" blurted the little repair ship. "Akashi isn't stupid!"
That appeared to mollify the attendant crowd, if only slightly.
"Good," sighed Graham. "But if that is the case, then how do you know it will work?"
Akashi's ears flattened against her head as she considered, a myriad play of frustration on display as she struggled to find a way to elucidate her claim. Eventually, however, she simply gave up, shoulders slumping, and shrugged.
"Akashi can't explain it," she sighed. "Akashi just… knows."
"I need something more than that, Akashi," Graham sighed again. "I'm also not completely sold on the smaller armaments. Tell me how a smaller shell could possibly make a dent on Siren armour?"
"Oh, that," Akashi blinked, distracted by this new query, a smug smile spreading across her little face as her rigging flashed into being once more. "Easy enough to prove. Observe, please, Shikikan." Without so much as looking, the miniature turret swivelled around and sighted on a distant rock formation out to sea. With an audible boom, the turret fired, and a shell no larger than a high-calibre bullet whistled out to strike the rock, where it then exploded with all the fire and fury of a full-bore artillery strike. Indeed, to Graham's practised eyes, there was no difference at all in terms of results between Akashi's tiny little rigging and a five-inch strike by a regular hull.
"All right," he nodded, once the noise had died down. "I'll admit it: You've piqued my interest."
"Done more than that, I'd guess," chuckle Ise, who was giving Rodney a sly look out the corner of her eye; a look the battleship was studiously avoiding. "Looks like great things can indeed come in small packages, eh?"
"Yes. Quite so, it would seem," muttered Rodney, failing to entirely conceal her chagrin over being proven so decisively wrong. Ise laughed again, and even Brooklyn offered a polite giggle. Leipzig, however, still seemed apprehensive.
"So, it's really not going to blow up on our backs?"
"What?" Akashi's ears twitched as she homed in on the foreign cruiser. "Why would it explode?"
"Oh, no reason! No reason at all!"
"Who told you this?! I want names! This is slander! Baseless slander!"
Ise laughed all the harder, and even Graham couldn't help a quiet chortle as Akashi hounded the Ironblood cruiser relentlessly.
"I suppose the demonstration is concluded then, hm?" came a voice at his side. An arm threaded itself through the gap in between elbow and torso, and in short order, he found Rodney at his flank. Graham forced himself not to gulp at the vision she presented: a silver, two-piece swimsuit put much of the battleship's shapely figure on display, and he found as a result that he didn't really know where he was supposed to look.
"Probably," he said, trying his level best to keep his attention above Rodney's neckline. "But I think she'd like to at least know whether or not she has permission to try and produce more of this Rigging of hers?"
"Commander," Rodney sighed. "She continued her experimentation despite orders to the contrary, as I recall. In light of this particular revelation, do you think it at all feasible that she would not pursue this line of development even if you told her not to?"
"…no," he admitted. "Knowing what we do now, she'd probably still do it regardless."
"My point precisely," she smiled. "Now, with that in mind. Why don't you follow me to somewhere a little more sedate, and we can have that nice, relaxing day off I promised you."
Knowing the battleship wouldn't take no for an answer, he sighed one last time, and nodded. "As you wish," he said. "Lead on, then."
"I shall indeed," tittered Rodney, before beckoning to Sirius, who had been snapped violently awake at the distant explosion. "Come, Sirius, let's leave the others to their business, hm?"
"Coming, Lady Rodney!" chirped the maid, bouncing along behind them.
At the mercy of two of his own command, Graham thought bleakly. What on earth would his instructors have to say if they could see him now?
The sword slid across the steel surface of its counterpart with the sharp screech of steel on steel. In the microcosm of an instant, the two swordswomen paused to assess their adversary before darting in, blades clashing with an echoing clang. The taller of the two combatants pressed her advantage, making use of her larger, thicker weapon to pressure her opponent, forcing her back with a cry of effort. Her opponent merely grunted, ceding the ground in order to try for another angle. In short order, she had found it, lashing out with her slimmer blade at her foe's midsection, only to find the strike blocked. Despite the unwieldy appearance, the Sakuran shipgirl who hefted the enormous sword wielded it with considerable deftness and commendable skill.
Undeterred, the raven-haired shipgirl pressed her attack, lashing out in a long, flowing set of strikes that put her opponent on the back foot. She feinted low and thrusted high, almost slipping through her opponent's guard, who bared her notably sharper teeth in quiet frustration at the shorter shipgirl's near success. Suddenly, she backed away a step, taking her weapon in both hands and raising it skyward as if to unleash a devastating hammerblow. Sensing opportunity, her purple-haired foe darted forward, bringing her own weapon across in a sweeping slash that would surely bisect her, if allowed to connect.
Takao, however, did not falter. Indeed, she did not move even an inch, even as the edge of her opponent's blade drew closer and closer to her waist. Then, at the last possible instant, she seemed to glide backwards, ghosting just out of reach…
…before slashing down with all the force of an artillery shell, her blade stopping scarcely an instant before it would have carved through the shoulder of her countrywoman.
Cursing, Izumo took a step back and exhaled in frustration before offering Takao a respectful bow, a gesture the cruiser returned in kind.
"A good bout, Senpai," Izumo said. "I still clearly have much to learn."
"You are a fine swordswoman, Izumo," Takao replied with a polite smile. "And you have only improved since we began sparring together. One day, I am sure, you will score a point off me."
Izumo nodded, apparently mollified by the praise, before eyeing the older shipgirl curiously. "That movement you performed at the end; it is the first time I have seen you employ it. Where did you learn it, if you do not mind my asking?"
"Oh, that," Takao blushed a light shade of red as she sheathed her katana. "It was self-taught, actually; a flight of fancy I employed during a distant spar with Atago." Takao blushed, "She… called it the 'Fade Step'. My sister always did have such flair for drama."
Izumo hummed, nodding appreciatively, "It must take much self-discipline to get the timing correct."
"It does indeed," nodded Takao. "But as you experienced yourself: against an unwary opponent, it can certainly change up the game, as our cousins from Eagle Union might put it."
Hood watched the exchange from her sitting position at the edge of the dojo, in silent awe of the skill displayed by the two foreign shipgirls scant moments earlier. She had heard tell that the sword arts of the Sakura Empire were something to behold, but seeing it in person was quite something else altogether.
Fusou, sat beside her in a kneeling position—something she had called seiza, if Hood recalled correctly—tittered at her fellow battleship's fascination. "Did I not tell you, Hood-san?" she said, her pride in her countrywoman's skill all too apparent. "Our Takao-san is perhaps the pride of our Navy in terms of swordplay. I daresay she could perhaps even put some grand masters to shame."
"It was certainly a spectacle," agreed Hood, gently fanning her face with a hand. "I could scarcely imagine anyone could move in such a way. Why, I know several of our ladies who practice the art of fencing, but I'm not sure how it might compare to your own."
"Quite well, as it turns out," said Takao, who had wandered over to join the pair with Izumo in tow. "I have sparred on occasion with your King George V. My… unfamiliarity with your Western schools adds an additional layer of challenge, and from what I can observe, she is a superlative swordswoman indeed."
"Oh," blinked Hood, having had not the faintest idea her friend had taken to such exercises with the foreign cruiser. Guilt prickled at her heart at the distance she had exerted from her countrywomen—it had been many a day since she had last spoken to any of them long enough to exchange more than a courteous greeting. "Well, I suppose she is Captain of the Royal Knights for a reason, and not simply because she is the name ship of her class."
Takao nodded. "Her skill speaks well of her character. Currently, I have four wins to her five in our current set of bouts. But I will even the score in our next clash." The raven-haired shipgirl considered a moment. "If you are interested, Hood-san, I would not mind you sitting in to observe. You have been polite and respectful of our customs, and very much undisruptive."
"My thanks, Takao-san," Hood smiled, reminding herself to make use of the Sakuran suffixes as was only polite. "Perhaps I shall take you up on that."
"I can only apologise for not showing you a more splendid side of me," sighed Izumo. "Despite being flagship of the Third Fleet, it is to my shame that I have yet to defeat Takao-san even once."
"Please, do not apologise," said Hood. "I thought you were quite dazzling, if I may say. Certainly, your craft is beyond anything that I might hope to achieve, and in so short a span of time. And I really don't think there is any shame to be had in finding defeat against one who has been studying far longer than yourself; especially when the margin was as narrow as it was."
Izumo nodded, evidently pleased by the praise from one who was, ostensibly, her subordinate, and Takao and Fusou exchanged a smile at the sight, a gesture Hood caught out the corner of her eye. Being a prototype design, and having gotten to know some of the Sakura Empire shipgirls—or kansen, as they called themselves—quite well over the month, Hood knew that Izumo possessed something of an inferiority complex over her far shorter service record when compared to some of her peers. She yearned to prove herself the equal of any of her countrywomen, and though no less stout-hearted than any of her fellow kansen, such behaviour could and indeed had led to many private hours spent doubting herself. It was partially for this reason that Hood had refused the position of Flagship for Third Fleet, instead suggesting Izumo should be offered a chance to take the reins and prove, not only to the rest of Azur Lane, but to herself, that she was just as good as any other.
Hood—and indeed, many of her peers in the delegation from the Sakura Empire—had little doubt that, given time and the proper encouragement, Izumo would become a sterling leader and valued component of Project Azur Lane.
She did wish that the foreign battleship might smile a little more, though. All that frowning seemed to make some of the younger destroyers rather skittish around her, and even some cruisers.
"Diplomatic as ever, Hood-san," tittered Fusou, as Izumo and Takao wandered away to discuss the finer points of swordplay. "I confess, when you hear of your foreign counterparts, you wonder how much truth there really is to the things said about them. I am pleased to discover that what I heard of you was not mere exaggeration."
"You flatter me," Hood smiled, blushing under the shrine maiden's glowing praise.
"I am a servant of the kami," Fusou hummed. "I would be struck down by my patrons for ever daring to utter untruth."
Hood giggled politely, but Fusou, as it turned out, was not yet finished.
"So," she continued, "Now that we are alone, will you tell me what troubles you so?"
Hood blinked. "Troubles? Me?"
Fusou nodded, and Hood chuckled. "Do forgive me, Fusou-san, but I think you might be confused."
"Hood," Fusou said, her countenance as serene as ever, but there was a note of steel in her voice, not unlike that of a schoolteacher disciplining an unruly student. The comparison startled and unnerved Hood. "I would very much like to believe that we have become friends over the course of our acquaintanceship, and to see a friend in distress pains me dearly. If you have any love for me in kind, please do not tarnish this new bond we have forged by lying."
Hood hesitated, taken completely off guard by Fusou's tone of voice, so unlike the gentle shrine maiden she had come to know.
Fusou observed her a moment longer before frowning, "Please do not think that I or some of my fellow kansen have not noticed. You are the very picture of elegance, but there is a… a disquiet in your bearing, hiding scarcely beneath the surface. Please, tell me what it is."
Hood thought for a long time, on the roiling feelings that had been bubbling within her soon after their arrival.
No. She shook her head. No, that wasn't accurate. Those feelings had always been there, she knew, on some level. Long before her beloved Commander had ever ascended to his new rank and taken leadership of this multinational effort, she had cared deeply for him. King George V knew this, of course, being one of her very best friends within the Royal Navy. Rodney had picked it up, and reflecting on that now, she was forced to wonder how obvious it was to anyone else. A deep sense of embarrassment welled up within her and she suppressed the urge to groan. How long had she been making a fool of herself, she wondered?
Now, though, faced with Fusou's open question as to what ailed her, she felt a strange desire to speak. As Fusou had remarked earlier, so too did Hood hope that she could consider the shrine maiden a friend after their many afternoons spent in polite, easy conversation with one another. The beautiful foreign battleship was a superb listener, and completely bereft of the judgement that occasionally permeated even the gossip circles of the Royal Navy.
She thought on her decision, made some days ago now; of her promise to herself, and eventually settled upon a decision.
Maybe an outside perspective was what she needed.
So, carefully, and avoiding outright use of the dreaded 'L' word, she outlined the problem she faced: her burgeoning feelings which conflicted with her status as one of the leading ladies of the Royal Navy; her friend's declaration scarcely a week earlier and all the thoughts that had stirred up. Through it all, Fusou listened, as she always had, keeping her silence, save to inquire as to the odd turn of phrase or terminology she was unfamiliar with.
When Hood finally finished, Fusou considered carefully her response.
"Forgive me, but I must ask: kansen of the Royal Navy are forbidden from engaging in interpersonal relationships?"
"No," Hood answered, before grimacing. "Or, well, not on paper, anyway. Fraternisation, however, is something of a sensitive topic."
"So, no kansen in the Royal Navy have taken lovers or partners at all, then?" Fusou pressed.
"No. I know of two, personally, that a human partner, and there are always the usual rumours that persist—"
"So, how do your own circumstances permit you from pursuing such a relationship?"
Hood sighed. "I am the Pride of the Royal Navy. 'The Mighty Hood'."
"Why and how does this matter?"
"We are meant to be above such things. We—"
"Above what?" Fusou blinked. "Thoughts and feelings? Does your admiralty expect you to behave as automatons?"
"What? No, that's not—"
"And who do you mean by 'we'?"
"Ladies—shipgi—kansen of the Royal Navy," Hood corrected herself.
Fusou frowned. "This is all very confusing to me, Hood-san. Are you quite sure you are not simply making excuses for yourself?"
"Excuses?" Hood balked.
"Many have come to Yamashiro and I in search of answers," Fusou explained. "And often are the times where we discover that the problems that ail them are those of the self-inflicted variety. For instance: your insistence that to take a partner would be met with disapproval, yet by your own admission, several within the Royal Navy have already flaunted such convention, yes? Are these same individuals you know of known troublemakers or renegades?"
"No, not at all," Hood gasped, struggling to wrap her head around the concept of Illustrious as a rebel of any sort.
"Then if these same maidens have decided to share their lives with another, what is prohibiting you from making such a decision as well?" Fusou gave her a measured look. "Are you perhaps afraid it might turn out poorly?"
"No, I'm sure—I just can't—"
"Can't what, Hood-san?"
"I'm not supposed to have these thoughts," she said, repeating herself.
"We have been over this: Others clearly do. What makes you different?"
"They—I…"
"There is something else. Something you have not told anyone. Please, my friend: let me in."
"One day, he's going to be gone!" Like a bursting dam, weakened and cracked by Fusou's probing, the words came tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. Hood sat stock-still, rooted in place, before she sagged like a deflating balloon, realising there was no taking back what she had said. Fusou cocked her head curiously at her, one of her feline ears twitching.
"What do you mean by 'gone'?"
It was a concern she had shared with no one, but now it was out in the open, she found she was strangely uninterested in bottling it back up again. Besides, if the past few minutes were any indication, Fusou would only poke and prod until she finally yielded the secret.
"One day," Hood sighed, "the man I know as Graham Graves will serve out his time in the Royal Navy, whether that's in another eight years from now, or a little later on, there will come a time where his duty to our country is done. And when that time comes… I will not be able to follow him."
Fusou said nothing, listening as patiently as ever as Hood continued.
"We still occupy an… uncertain place in this world. We aren't, technically, human. We weren't born, as such. We didn't grow or mature. We simply came about. A product of tampering with otherworldly energies. I mean, for God's sake, we don't even seem to age! Even if he didn't choose to settle down with a normal, human woman, one day, he would pass on. And I would be left by myself once again."
The two battleships sat in contemplative silence, Fusou's lips pursing as she considered the fears of her friend carefully. Eventually, she exhaled, breathing out a quiet sigh.
"Ours is… a curious existence, Hood-san, I will concede this much. But I am afraid I must also admit to some disappointment in you. Please, allow me to explain," she said, noting Hood's hurt expression. "You have already admitted that there are human-kansen relationships ongoing within the Royal Navy, regardless of whether such engagements are considered taboo or not, yes?"
Hood nodded, uncertain as to where Fusou might be headed with this. "Do you believe these same individuals have not considered such a possibility as the ones you have? Do you believe the various others of our kind across the world have not also mused on the idea that they may very well outlive their prospective partners?"
Sensing her reluctance to respond, Fusou pressed on. "You are afraid, Hood-san. Of getting hurt when the time comes for you to part. This is not a difficult conclusion to draw, based on your arguments. You would rather spare yourself the pain of a potentially fruitful relationship, so you instead elect to distance yourself." The Sakuran battleship shook her head. "Please forgive me, Hood-san, but this is the very height of foolishness. I have known you for but a fraction of the time I know your countrywomen, and yet even to myself, it is plain as day to see you are in pain regardless."
Hood couldn't find the energy to argue, and so the foreign battleship continued. "I cannot say it is very often, but Yamashiro-chan and I have been subject the fears of some of our sisters of the Empire that they might be rebuffed on account of their status as kansen; or, as in your case, more existential concerns. Did not a famous poet of yours once write that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?"
Hood blinked, surprised. "I did not expect to hear Tennyson from you, Fusou. No offense meant, of course."
Fusou giggled. "None taken, Hood-san. My sister, Yamashiro-chan, has a romantic and playful spirit, though she might pretend otherwise in front of some of our countrywomen. She has become most fascinated of late with some of your Western literature; poetry in particular. But," she smiled, shooting Hood a sly wink, "we are talking about you."
Hood blushed, acknowledging her effort to change the topic as transparent at best.
"You have two options, as I see it, Hood-san," Fusou outlined. "The same two options as every other kansen in your position, whether it is in the recent past, or the distant future. You may continue as you are: and consign yourself to a life of solitude. Perhaps you may find peace in your heart over the years, but I would comfortably wager it would be a long time in coming, and you may reflect, upon such occasion, that the effort of attaining said peace was not worth the trouble."
"Or I could concede that what I feel is real," Hood deduced, "and act on it?"
Fusou smiled. "Amagi-sama remarked long ago that bottling one's thoughts can transform the individual into something of a ticking time bomb. Rather than the unpleasant possibility of perhaps exploding on some poor, innocent soul, would it not be better for all parties if you simply excised your feelings?"
"I suppose there is wisdom in such consideration," Hood conceded, feeling exhausted by the rather one-sided debate. Fusou smiled brilliantly at her.
"Truly, Hood-san, I believe you have fallen into a quagmire of your own making. I can only now hope that I have helped alleviate your turbulent mind on the matter."
"I will confess, it has been… somewhat enlightening."
"I have had much practice in these talks," hummed the cat-eared battleship. "While I would, of course, fully endorse your decision to leave here now and profess your feelings to our Shikikan, I accept that you almost certainly have much to consider. Please, however, do promise me one small thing?"
"What is it?" Hood asked, one eyebrow quirking in curiosity, all the while she hoped that her demand would not prove too outrageous.
"Do be sure to drop by again for tea," Fusou smiled. "I have rather enjoyed this opportunity to flummox a Royal Lady, and find myself keen to repeat the act in the near future." She punctuated her request with a mischievous wink, and the two women shared a polite titter.
"But of course, Fusou-san," Hood responded with a courteous incline of her head. "Despite my verbal dismantling, I consider you a friend of mine as well. I will try to bring some of the other ladies around, if you would not mind?"
"But of course, Hood-san," beamed Fusou. "The more the merrier, as far as I am concerned."
Hood smiled and nodded again before making to stand up. As she did, Fusou cleared her throat. Turning her quizzical gaze back to her foreign friend, she found the raven-haired battleship offering her a serene smile.
"And please," Fusou added, "don't try to avoid the poor man. I'm sure he's doing his best in his own way."
Hood considered, and eventually nodded her head.
"I will… try."
Fusou nodded, "And that is all anyone will ever ask of you, my friend. Now, come," she said, offering a seraphic smile. "I have more tea, and you, my friend, look as though you could use it."
Graham was forced to concede that, in spite of himself, he was starting to feel somewhat relaxed. All the innumerable considerations his position demanded: current supply and consumption rates of those aforementioned supplies, force deployment and training rotations, disciplinary actions, reports from the rest of the world and more besides were gradually fading from his thoughts—at least for the time being. For now, there was only the gentle rush of the nearby waves; the distant cries of tropical birds, and the occasional girlish giggle or bleat of laughter from some of the other shipgirls as he languished upon the sand and let the warm rays of the sun beat down upon him.
Rodney hummed in contentment beside him, laid down on her front as she rested upon a regal blue beach towel, gently sunbathing.
"Is this not serene?" she murmured. Graham replied with a hum of his own, forced to agree. He had taken idle note of it many a time during his time here, but had never really taken the time to truly appreciate it in the way he was now currently able to.
This really was a paradise.
"Why are you still wearing that stuffy shirt?" asked Rodney, reaching over with a hand to tug at his sleeve. Graham glanced over at her, and immediately stiffened as he registered the loose straps of Rodney's bathing suit bunched up on the ground. He forced himself to meet her eyes, finding them twinkling with teasing delight as the blood and the heat rushed to his face. Clearing his throat, he attempted to compose whatever dignity was left to him in the moment.
"It's not that hot out," he said, trying to put the tantalising hint of flesh from his mind.
"And I would believe you, were you not sweating so profusely," she said with a sly look.
And you know exactly why that is, don't you, Graham thought blithely to himself, mentally adding Rodney's name to the expanding list of shipgirls he needed to keep on guard around.
"Oh, don't look so stiff," tittered the silver-haired battleship. "Come. You will do no good to anyone if you collapse from heatstroke, hm?"
Reluctantly conceding the point, the young Commander removed the white short-sleeved shirt, trying to ignore the appreciative hum from Rodney as she observed almost cat-like from her prone position.
"I'd say military life has been good to you, Lord Commander," smiled Rodney.
"It has," he agreed, trying not to blush as he felt the battleship cast her critical eye over his bare torso, coming to rest on a particular point on his flank, where she suddenly frowned.
"What is this mark?" she asked, reaching out to poke at his side. Graham flinched as he felt the tip of her nail dig into skin, and Rodney retreated, her teasing expression immediately replaced by one of contrition. "I'm sorry, Commander. That was out of line."
"It's fine," he said, waving dismissively, and pretending her touch hadn't affected him as much as it did. "I was just surprised. That's all."
"What on earth gave you that?" she asked, inquisitively. "It cuts almost right across your upper hip."
"I was a… difficult birth," he admitted, after a moment's hesitation. "The procedure my mother had to undergo, it…" he exhaled, absently running a hand across the thin, white scar. "The surgeon's hand slipped, I'm told, and it opened a gash in my waist. As you can observe, it's never really faded."
"How terrible," Rodney said in a sympathetic tone.
"I imagine my parents were rather alarmed at the time. Of course, I remember none of it, so young as I was at the time. Probably a mercy, considering."
"Yes, I imagine so," said the battleship, and Graham paused a moment to reflect on why exactly he'd told her the story. It was hardly a traumatic memory, and yet for whatever reason, he'd always felt strangely sensitive about the scar. Hood didn't even know about it, and he'd told her about almost every facet of his life thus far.
Not for the first time, he wondered what his former flagship was up to, and why she never seemed to have the time for him now that she used to. He wasn't even sure what had changed. Her behaviour had been the same as it always had upon their arrival, and try as he might, he couldn't even begin to wrap his head around any problem that might have occurred between them.
A soft jab at his side brought him back to the present, where he once more beheld Rodney's frowning visage.
"It's rather rude to ignore a lady, Lord Commander."
"Sorry," he said, embarrassed. "I was rather lost in thought."
"What were you thinking about?" she asked. "Perhaps I could offer assistance, or perspective?"
He considered for a moment, before shaking his head. Whatever the issue was that existed between himself and Hood was his to figure out. It wouldn't be fair of him to drag others into things. With that in mind, he offered her a grateful smile, but shook his head.
"It's nothing, really. A silly little thing. What was your question?"
Rodney pursed her lips, clearly dissatisfied at being brushed off, but elected not to pursue the matter, which he felt grateful for.
"I asked you if that spot is tender, or sensitive at all," she clarified.
"Ah. Well, no. Not really. Or at least, no more so than any other part of me, I should imagine."
A squeal brought their attention to the rest of the beach, where a sudden wave had caused one of the destroyers paddling in the water to tip over. Javelin laughed as her friend, Z23, hurried to the aid of the submerged Eagle Union girl, while Unicorn looked on in quiet surprise from the edge of the beach, where sand gave way to sea.
"Do be careful, girls!" called Victorious' haughty voice, the carrier having caught Rodney and Graham on their way out and promptly decided to inject not only herself, but also several others into what Rodney had intended to be a private venture. She was clad in an absurdly flashy, gold two-piece bathing suit that, in Graham's opinion, was only a thin strip of fabric away from being considered indecent exposure in polite society. It was typically Victorious, and despite the constant war he had to fight to keep his wandering gaze from roaming anywhere inappropriate, he had to admit that it seemed to suit her perfectly.
Unicorn turned to smile back at the older carrier, and then caught Graham and Rodney's eye, offering them a sweet little smile and a shy wave, which the two of them returned. Checking to make sure that the poor Eagle Union girl—Maury, as it turned out—hadn't done herself any harm, he swiftly concluded that, aside from having swallowed a little seawater and getting herself wet, she seemed to be just fine.
"I do envy the little ones their youth," Rodney sighed.
"What makes you say that?" he asked her, curious.
"I have often wondered what it must be like to experience childhood," mused the battleship. "To grow, both physically and mentally, under the guardianship of a parent." She glanced up at him. "What was your childhood like, I wonder?"
"Frankly speaking, it was rather boring," he told her. "I grew up in the outskirts of London for my early childhood, and then moved to a tiny little hamlet in the middle of nowhere in my adolescence. Still," he mused, "I suppose, compared to most, I had it quite good. We never went hungry, and so far as I knew, there wasn't a lot we wanted for. I'd say, then, that my parents did very well by me, even if I wouldn't have minded being closer to my school friends."
"That must have been lonely," Rodney remarked.
"In a sense," he agreed. "But that's ancient history now. I've been with the Royal Navy since I left university, and aside from the odd visit when I was on leave, I can't honestly say I've thought much about home at all."
Rodney giggled. "I always took you for an educated man. What, pray tell, did you study, if I may so inquire?"
He breathed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head, "It's not like it's some great secret. No need to feel contrite. I studied history. Ancient history, to be more precise. Something about the ancient Greco-Sardegnan empires of antiquity has always fascinated me."
"Be sure not to let Littorio hear that," Rodney tittered. "I've no doubt she'd whisk you away and talk your ear off for the whole day."
"In between waxing lyrical about herself and the other ladies of the port," Graham concurred, before a thought struck him. "You know, I've always wondered, is she really—?"
"A few of my kind have indulged in the other side of things, that I know of," Rodney answered mildly.
The young Commander felt himself flush at the idea and tried swiftly to banish the increasingly lurid images conjured up before Rodney could take notice. Once sufficiently calmed, he shot her a quizzical look, but she merely offered him a polite but firm smile in response.
"I won't name and shame, if it's all the same to you, Lord Commander."
"Of course," he coughed, flushing again, though this time out of a sense of contrition.
"For most of them, though, I expect it is mere experimentation. Few are the opportunities afforded for many of us to acquire a human partner, after all."
"Right," Graham nodded, feeling increasingly uncomfortable and wholly out of his depth at this line of discussion. He was far from a blushing prude, but his last relationship had ended on something of a sour note, and he had made no real effort to try and meet anyone else since, and he became suddenly aware of just how long it had been for him. He swallowed, and tried to put to one side the reminder that a signification fraction of his entire command consisted of supernaturally gorgeous women.
"For Littorio, however," Rodney continued, mercifully offering Graham a way out of the mental hole he was digging for himself, "I get rather the sense that she is… mm, shall we say, omnivorous? Though the way she speaks of Lady Illustrious…"
She trailed off, quite lost in thought, and for long enough that Graham thought to prompt her to speak. Before he could do so, however, Rodney shook her head.
"Well, I suppose it matters little. She's quite happy as she is, and I doubt the two will have much cause to meet for some considerable time."
Graham didn't completely understand what that meant, and wasn't sure of an answer even if he pried. Instead he simply hummed and affected a sage nod. Another cry from the beach drew his eye, and this time, he sighed before picking himself up and onto his feet.
"Leaving so soon?" Rodney pouted up at him.
"And risk provoking your ire?" he chuckled, only half-joking. "Perish the thought. I just want to make sure there isn't any rough housing going on."
Rodney made a show of thinking over his response, before allowing him a small, graceful nod. "As you wish, Lord Commander. Do hurry back to me, though. I've plans beyond simply soaking in this gorgeous weather," she added with a wink. Graham swallowed and nodded in reply, before striding over to the gaggle of girls splashing about in the water nearby, catching a playful giggle from Rodney as he went.
He hoped to himself that Rodney would not make a habit of dragging him to the beach. Despite his initial thoughts, he was already starting to doubt that he could forever endure the visual feast she and many of her fellow shipgirls provided in a relaxed environment such as the beach. He caught a wave from Victorious out the corner of his eye, and politely waved back, managing not to gawk at her remarkably bold choice of attire.
Some, he mused darkly to himself, were guiltier than others in this regard.
The entity watched from a distance as the young man wandered over to the mixed gaggle of destroyers plus escort carrier currently amusing themselves in the cool waters of the Pacific Ocean. Some of its sibling entities would no doubt have frowned at the indulgent behaviour on display, it knew. And yet, the entity was also keenly aware that such 'fun' was part and partial of the more successful simulations.
After all, they had learned long ago that too much conflict merely drove their adversaries to exhaustion. Few of Azur Lane or the seemingly non-existent Crimson Axis ever broke easily, but all broke in the end—ground beneath the merciless gears of persistent and unceasing warfare.
Equally, however, there could not be allowed too much respite from battle, else their edge would dull, and they would crumble against even paltry opposition. The balancing act required frustratingly precise calculations, and that was not even considering the dozens upon dozens of other factors to take into account. For the task before the entity and its cohort was monumental: greater, in fact, than anything else the ignorant beings she was observing could ever begin to fathom.
So limited in their thinking, it mused to itself, and yet in those very same beings lay the answer to the problem the entity had been tasked with solving.
It watched as the young human male crouched down next to a Royal carrier—the entity known as Unicorn, if memory served. The lavender-haired Royal blushed under his attention, her shyness seemingly interminable, despite the many circumstances her distant observer had witnessed, and even orchestrated on occasion, over the countless trials before. Despite itself, the entity found itself faintly entertained by Unicorn's evident big brother worship, and idly wondered if this would manifest in time as romantic interest in time, as it had done so many times before.
Truly, it thought, the many different divergences across the timelines amused it to no end. One particularly notable, ongoing experiment was led by a firebrand from the Eagle Union. Another had long seen the war recede, and the ranking Commander had taken two among his command as wives, even as he frequently indulged in the many others under his command as lovers. What exactly the plan there was, the entity could not begin to guess, but if the consensus was that it should continue, then continue it would.
Idly, it began to wonder if such a scenario might manifest itself here, but quickly dismissed the possibility. Though he seemed not to be wholly aware of it at present, the entity knew from its incalculable years that the young Commander was not a little smitten with the Battleship entity, Hood. Circumstances depending, the entity could imagine some of his command muscling in on the as-yet unconsummated relationship and rendering it a distinctly more open affair, but it doubted the man and his command would ever descend into the same debauchery that it had witnessed in some of the other timelines.
Though, it reasoned, it had been wrong before. Such as its expectation that the battleship Rodney might relay to her Commander her last-minute sighting of Purifier some days previous. Not for the first time, the entity wished to chide its sibling for the reckless behaviour exhibited. The unveiling would come soon, but not a moment before, and though it seemed as though Rodney appeared to doubt that she had, in fact, seen anything, it was almost a certainty that the suspicion remained. Perhaps adjustments to the plan would be required, it mused, and decided it would bring the topic up to its other siblings in the near future when it returned to them.
Glancing one last time at the entirely unaware gaggle, the entity pondered briefly on the idea of simply wiping the slate clean and dropping an extermination force on their proverbial doorstep. It felt its lips tug into a wry grin as it pondered the reaction that would provoke; from its siblings as well as the doomed forces of Azur Lane.
The satisfaction would have been fleeting, though, and wholly counter-productive. So, it refrained, instead dismissing its observation platform and slipping gracefully back onto the surface of the water. With one final glance in the direction of the distant island, it wondered if maybe the stars might yet align, and this world would yet yield up the missing element required in their ongoing calculation.
It doubted, but its siblings regularly insisted that a little hope was no terrible thing.
And, as had already been noted; it had been wrong before…
