Thanks to all who have read, favorited, followed, and reviewed this story. You're pretty cool, and that's the truth. Moving on from that, let's get going.

Disclaimer: I don't own Azur Lane or any other properties I make references to.

"We're not deceived by their pretenses to piety. We have seen their kind before. They are the heirs of all the murderous ideologies of the twentieth century. By sacrificing human life to serve their radical visions, by abandoning every value except the will to power, they follow in the path of Fascism, Nazism, and Totalitarianism, and they will follow that path all the way to where it ends, in history's unmarked grave of discarded lies."

-Former U.S. President George W. Bush's speech to announce the commencement of the War on Terror, delivered September 20, 2001

Chapter 25: The Resolution

What is the most valuable commodity? Some people will answer with Gold or with Power. But the human known only as "The Deep Seer" was of a different breed. They believed that information was the most valuable thing upon this earth and certainly in any reality. In the saving-humanity-against-it's-will business, information is key. In fact, experience has shown information to be even more important than secrecy.

In this very moment, in a place known to a select few, the Deep Seer was troubled because there was something that they didn't know. "Who knows what?" they asked themselves in their native tongue. And this was the natural thing to ask. Over the past twenty-four hours, things have changed. Twenty-hour hours ago, The Deep Seer was assured of the measures taken to keep The Heralds of the Deep safe. Now, whether they liked it or not, the Heralds had now tipped their hand to show the world what a portion of the capabilities are.

There had been slip-ups before, but the measures taken by each branch to make their activities seem as isolated as possible should anyone snoop around has borne fruit. Such was the case with Miami. The Deep Seer was well aware of the Eagle Union's FBI investigation to look into the Heralds of the Deep. They knew that the investigation has stagnated, like intended, and that a suspiciously nameless Naval Intelligence Officer checked up on the investigation not long before the Blue Hole Guardian was killed. Immediately after that the Sirens inform him of one simply called, "The Magician," who was involved in the tragedy and then suddenly appears in London less than two weeks later. And then less than two days after giving the order to kill the Magician this whole fiasco happens with him as the only culprit. Coincidence? The Deep Seer thought not. The Magician is an enigma that must be cracked. Then not two days later, Grayson Roscoe himself gives a speech to try and quell fears over a "terrorist" attack—but to little avail. A witch hunt has begun, and this spelt nothing but trouble. But the thing that troubles the Deep Seer the most is the realization that the most dangerous thing to a driven cause is a driven enemy. The Magician is driven and because of that, he is dangerous—in more ways than he realizes. And for that, he cannot live.

However, following that last thought, the mind of The Deep Seer stops to replay the question, "Who knows what?" Killing the Magician without finding out what exactly he knows or who else he may have shared this information with would be short-sighted at best. The Deep Seer had a feeling that Grayson Roscoe would likely know—after all, the old man does a good job at keeping himself well informed—but they were hesitant to do anything like assassinate such a high-profile figure. That would also be short-sighted. What the Deep Seer needed was the world right where it was, and so far, both the Azur Lane Alliance and the Crimson Axis had been playing right into their plans. Altering the dynamic significantly between the two factions this early in the game was undesirable. So, Roscoe was safe for now. That logic also defended Hara. But The Deep Seer still took sick pleasure in that they could order the leaders killed at any moment.

"But now onto specifics," mused The Deep Seer. "What can the Magician have possibly learned from the London Branch?" Silently, they began to go through the list in their thoughts. The ring of spies imbedded in both faction's governments operated isolated from any of the branches, same with the cult's research and development. Recruitment in the U.K. will have to stall for the foreseeable future—because it's a certainty that those documents have crossed Roscoe's desk. It's unfortunate that those recruits will have to be initiated with death, but they are now officially loose ends. Document's detailing doctrinal points and rituals have no doubt come into Roscoe's hands as well, but these were unimportant, nothing too damaging will now be lost, or at least, not more than what Roscoe can figure out with his own context clues, such as there being wisdom cubes involved. Liberated prophets can only share so much. No problem, and they can be tracked down and silenced easily enough. But the most damaging would have to be anything contained within the branch's computer—information about the Knight Guardian, past communications of the branch, and the methods of communications.

There were a few things that made The Deep Seer especially fearful of the possibility of the branch computer falling into Azur Lane hands, but at the same time there were a few things that assuaged their fears. Contained on the computer is information that will undoubtedly allow the Magician to kill the Knight Guardian. If destroying the London Branch is a good way to delay the ascension, then killing the god is a good way to royally mess up the overarching plan. Another branch would have to pick up the slack of the London Branch, and that isn't nearly as simple as just getting more cultists—those are a cheap compared to what would need to be done to compensate for another dead Guardian. But what was more serious though, was that getting past communications and the methods of communication—even if both are encoded with the best cypher money can buy—are potentially cause ending.

But then the Deep Seer calmed themself. Killing the Knight Guardian is no simple task, and it would be easy to warn the Sirens of the threat anyway. They decided to do so, because even though the Deep Seer didn't want to warn them about anything, they still needed the guardian right where it is. Then they considered the kind of man that Grayson Roscoe is. This was made easier since The Deep Seer knows the Supreme Commander personally. He is likely assuming that this threat is best dealt with covertly and is acting accordingly, for the old man is no fool; he understands that nobody gains anything in a witch hunt. Then assuming that the protocol to destroy the branch computer has failed and Roscoe has it, the Deep Seer knew that Roscoe was too careful of a man to just trust the computer to anybody. Roscoe was too cautious to seek out a codebreaker skilled enough to crack the cypher used to scramble the Heralds' communications. The British and Iris codebreakers are watched too closely for Roscoe to risk them. The Eagle Union's codebreakers are too inconveniently stationed, not to mention most are blindly nationalistic to the Union and not Roscoe. Roscoe doesn't trust the Northern Parliament nor the Dragon Empery, nor would he ever include any Crimson Axis intelligence in this.

As the Deep Seer thought on this more and more, there was less and less to fear. While the Knight Guardian might be exposed, there is no way that Roscoe can hope to learn anything else from the Heralds' computer, unless some miracle happens. Like, The Magician is also a skilled codebreaker. But that was a remarkably small probability. The Deep Seer figured that someone much more like the late Hans Kerper would be Argonautica's successor.

With victory yet withing reach, The Deep Seer got to work. There were Sirens to warn, and then they considered the fate of the Magician. Should he die or should he live for a little longer? Because the truth is that The Magician, also known as Calico Jack, from the rumors starting to spread in the Royal Navy is a wild cad in this. As much as The Deep Seer wants to wait for the right chance to make the Magician spill his guts before actually spilling his guts, he remains the greatest threat to The Heralds of the Deep. A few seconds were spared on this thought before The Deep Seer decided that the Magician still needed to die, sooner rather than later. But extra caution will be needed until this is accomplished, and steps need to be taken to keep any more information from falling into his hands.

From behind their desk in their study, the Deep Seer swelled with confidence. There had been a set-back, but nothing could stop the plan. Humanity would be saved whether it wanted to be or not. All was well, all was going according to plan, and nobody was the wiser of what was coming. The Deep Seer chuckled darkly in anticipation of what was to come, but then they told nobody in particular, "This is only the beginning, Magician."

XXXXXXXX

Like a fog giving way to the morning, Las Vegas began to regain consciousness. Some people talk about waking up in stages, but that wasn't the case for him. Rather it was like waking up without an alarm clock. One moment, all was black. Then it wasn't.

As was natural, the space directly in front of him was what filled his vision as things came into focus. A clean room. He was laying down and based on the equipment in sight, he was inside a hospital. It made sense considering what had happened to him the last he remembered. Then he picked up some movement to one side of his bed, and he had a feeling that he knew who had moved. He looked to confirm the identity of his visitor.

Eyes like rubies and ash blonde hair confirmed it to be Nashville. Tears came to her eyes and a big smile spread itself across her face. Instinctively, his own smile began to form. He spoke first, "Hey Nash."

She laughed briefly to relieve the stress that comes from having her commander in a hospital. Then she wiped her eye and responded, "Hey yourself."

He glanced around quickly to confirm that he wasn't connected to any hospital equipment like an IV or something like that. Lucky him. So, he scooted upwards in the hospital bed to be in a position that was more like sitting.

Nashville knew exactly what this action meant, and she stood from her seat next to the bed to be standing right over it. She leaned forward and extended her arms, an action he mirrored so that the duo shared an embrace.

No words were said because they weren't needed, at least not immediately. Instead, the two shared in this moment of togetherness. Both were alive, and they were together again.

To any given onlooker who didn't know who they were, this was a tender reunion that had been in the making for a while, but to those who did know who they were, this was particularly special.

When he had burst into the cultists' hideout, he had seen the slaughter that a small group of ship girls are capable of, even against a driven and well-armed enemy. He was fully aware of the fact that Nashville could snap him like a twig, but he wasn't afraid of her. What he was afraid of was the thought of losing her. He valued her far too much for the comfort and the courage that she gave him, while seemingly asking for nothing in return.

At the same time, Nashville recalled the vulnerability that had overcome her with the appearance of the cultist in red, and then being certain of her death. Everything else was aggravatingly blank. But when she finally came to her senses and saw her commander standing there, quivering in pain, and obviously weakened by an ordeal she was helpless to witness, much less assist in, she saw proof that she cannot refute as he smiled at her in that bleak place. He would go any distance for her in defiance of his mortality and relative fragility while asking for nothing in return. She was now certain that he would never leave her. And she loved him for that.

Finally, through soft choking sobs, Nashville whispered, "I thought you died. But you're here. Thank God, you're right here."

He whispered back, "You died in my arms. I was sure of it. But seeing you get back up once it was over, made me happier than I think I've ever been." He paused to sniffle a little bit before he continued, "I'm so glad that you're okay. I don't know what I'd do without you."

They maintained the hug for a few seconds more before it finally broke off and she stood up straight while he laid back into the bed. But as his arms fell to his sides, he finally noticed something different about them. He raised them to be in front of him and he inspected their fronts and backs along with both sides of his hands. The cut he got in the pub restroom was still wrapped, but it didn't hurt anymore. However, this wasn't the most obvious thing that met Las Vegas's sight. It seemed that holding the wisdom cube with his bare hands did more damage than simply being the most painful experience of his life by far.

From the tips of his fingers all the way to his elbows, both of his arms were covered in scars. But these scars were obviously abnormal. They followed a narrow and jagged lightning-bolt pattern of strangely perfect ninety-degree angles and while none of the scars ever intersected across another, their corners touched. It looked like a pattern of small squares with their corners touching. After a few seconds of observation, a comparison came to the codebreaker's mind. The scars created a pattern that looks like a wisdom cube breaking apart into smaller cubes to form a ship girl's rigging or her hull. He honestly didn't know how to react to his new disfigurement. A part of him had a feeling that something like this would happen, but another part was revolted at this hideous sight. A part thought that this had to be a dream. But he remarked, "I guess that I didn't come out as unscathed as I had hoped."

"Does it hurt at all?" Nashville asked, now concerned that the hug had hurt her commander.

"No. But I don't know if I have healing or drugs to thank for that." He paused then said, "I just…I don't know what to think of it. It was for a good cause, but it's pretty gnarly looking."

Nashville was inclined to agree, but she kept this opinion to herself. Instead, she gently reached out and took a hold of both his hands, and then she moved them to rest his hands on his lap and then she let go. She was only able to do this because over the past two weeks of him being unconscious, she had been practicing holding his hand. It was hard at first, but now she had to congratulate herself for being able to do this with him awake. She looked him in his emerald green eyes and as assuringly as she could, she stated, "I don't think that those are what's important. What's important is that you're here now, and that you're alive."

"Yeah, I guess so," he concurred. But then he asked, "How long have I been out?"

"Just over two weeks," she answered.

"Wow. It's feels like nothing because the last thing I remember is blacking out. But I'm not too surprised because I don't feel my burns anymore so that means they healed." He thought for a second but then something else important came to mind. "Did everyone make it out alive?"

Nashville nodded and reported with a slight smile, "We all made it out alive. Everyone healed up before a week except Sheffield. By the time we finally got to a hospital, she was knocking on Death's door, but she pulled through. She only got out of the hospital a few days ago. Let me tell you, from having seen the Royal Maid Corps in action, they're really hardcore."

"I believe you," he said. But then he completely changed the conversation with his second concern, "Did we get any intel from the hideout?"

"Yeah," she recalled, "Once you passed out, we separated to get the injured to the hospital while I had Belfast and Javelin stay behind to guard the place and sort for anything that would be useful. I called Roscoe on your computer-phone-thing, and he sent a crew to clean the place and get as much useful stuff out of it as possible. Belfast told me she personally accompanied the goods until it was turned over to Roscoe's possession. So, he has all the stuff including the wisdom cube."

Las Vegas was well satisfied with how the completion of the mission was handled. Everyone survived and they even got intel. Hopefully it was useful intel. He asked, "Do you know what kind of intel we got?"

She brought a finger to her chin and thought for a few seconds. While she was trying to remember, she began to list things off, "Well, uh, we got random documents spouting nonsense, rituals and religious stuff like that. There were more documents about prospective recruits, but I've been told that most of them have been murdered before they can be arrested and questioned. These people are covering their tracks. Belfast mentioned that we got a vial of weird gel blood stuff. I have no clue what Roscoe's done with it. We actually managed to free a prisoner or two from where they were being held on the middle floor; they ended up not knowing much beyond what the documents tell. We got few daggers that looked like they were used in a ritual, you know, random relics like that. I think that most valuable thing we got was a computer and some radio equipment, but the computer was damaged with a gunshot. I asked Roscoe about it later, and he said that you're the only person he trusts enough to look at it. We don't know if it works or not. But yeah, that's about it."

Her commander took a few moments to absorb all this information and he nodded to show his approval before he said, "Good job handling everything. If there's anyone in the UK that can handle the intel, choosing Belfast and immediately involving the Supreme Commander was a good call."

Nashville swelled with happiness at her commander's approval. She began to smile again, and she practically sang out, "Thanks, Commander!"

But before she could say anything else he asked, "But about Javelin. Please tell me you didn't tear the girl a new one for what she did in letting me follow you."

Nashville crossed her arms, her good mood stricken from her face, and retorted, "Hmph! If anything had gone any differently, I would have!" Nashville got herself to relax a little and she continued, "I don't remember hardly anything between the guy in red showing up and catching you, so I don't know what happened, but I vaguely remember being sure that I was dying. Nobody else remembers anything for that part either, but based on what we saw after getting up, it looks like you saved all of us." She laughed at the corniness of her admission for a moment and added on, "Now don't go getting too big for your britches from your heroics."

Las Vegas smiled his joking smile and replied, "My passing out was pathetic enough of an ending to keep those britches well fitting, so you don't have to worry yourself there."

Nashville was glad that was the way he responded to her admission that he was justified in showing up, even if she was still upset that he did go against what she had wanted. She giggled and it was absolutely adorable—not that Las Vegas would ever admit that he thought so. She stopped and then continued, "Good. But, with how things turned out, I let Javelin off the hook. She was really glad to hear that."

"I bet," agreed the man as he imagined Javelin's face when Nashville let her off. But then his countenance soured, he needed to talk to Nashville about her leaving him behind. Namely, he needed to tell her how uncool that was of her. He decided to get it over with and so he began with, "I also wanted to talk to you about that stunt of leaving me behind. I won't lie, it really ticked me off."

Nashville's expression again turned sour. She had been dreading to talk about this because she herself was now torn about her own opinions of the matter. She still wanted to leave him behind when stuff like this happens in the future because that is the surest way to protect him. But at the same time, he did end up saving her life, and she did empathize that at the same time while he is important to her, she is important to him. Nashville sighed and in her commander's eyes, she looked vulnerable, but then she requested, "I know that you just woke up and want to get this talk over with, and that I've had two weeks to think about this…but…can we please talk about this later?"

Now it was his turn to sigh. He thought for a few moments while looking at a corner of the room, then he turned back so that his emerald eyes could meet her ruby ones. He sincerely asked, "How much later are we talking here?" But then he began to justify himself, "Because as much as I hate to say it, I bet that something like what happened two weeks ago will probably happen again. I'm okay with postponing the conversation to some other time, but we can't postpone it indefinitely like I know you want to. We have to be prepared for the next time and when that next time comes, it'll be not just a bad time, but the worst time to have this talk. And we don't know when the next time will be. So, sooner rather than later please."

She saw the truth in his words, but that didn't make her any more excited to talk about this. But still, she smiled thinly and remarked, "You know me too well. You know when I want to talk and when I don't want to, and you're right. I would love for 'later' to mean, 'never,' but you have a point." Her smiled died and was replaced with a look of resignation, "This will probably happen again. So, can we talk about this either tonight or tomorrow?"

"I'll hold you to that. You hear?" he said.

"I hear you," she confirmed softly.

With that business postponed, Las Vegas changed the subject again, "Do you want me to fill you in on what happened with the man in red?"

A more selfish part of her wanted to know what happened right now, but anticipating this exact question, all who had been there agreed to wait for an explanation until all can be there to hear. With this agreement in mind, Nashville asked if it could wait for when the other six could be there too.

He shrugged and said, "Yeah sure, it makes no difference to me. But do you mind telling me what's been going on while I've been out of it?"

That question was the beginning of an extended conversation in which Nashville brought her commander up to speed. Over the past two weeks, other ship girls from the London Garrison or who had come with Queen Elizabeth's or Duke of York's fleet had streamed through to visit and check up on the unconscious man occasionally. The most frequent visitors had been Cheshire followed by Javelin and both had passed by earlier. He also learned that for twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week, Queen Elizabeth had ordered that either a knight or a maid stand guard at the door to the room. He was honestly flattered to be treated as such, but he was able to glean that Nashville had stayed by his bedside as much as she possibly could. As it turned out, only Grayson Roscoe when he visited could order Nashville to leave her commander's side so that she could, "tend to her own needs." Las Vegas also found out that Queen Elizabeth had requested to be informed of his awakening so that she could speak with him, and he had been ordered to report to Roscoe's office at his earliest convenience.

But what was happening inside the hospital was only half of the story. Outside in the rest of London, and by what the TV says, the world has now become a much different place. No groups have stepped forward to accept credit for the "London Incident" as it has come to be known. Death counts range from between a few thousand to about ten thousand, and many more are missing. A thick layer of fear is blanketing the people and it's influencing decisions in government. Armed police that look more like military are now patrolling the streets of London, a strict curfew is being enforced, and the world at large seems to be scrambling to find out if they're next. Laws were beginning to be passed to enhance surveillance and give law enforcement greater authority to act on suspicions instead of evidence. At least it sounded like vigilante witch hunts hadn't begun.

These sorts of changes were tragic in the eyes of the Eagle Union officer. He was of the belief that freedom and security will always be at odds with one another, and right now, most people feel it more prudent to choose security. It looks like the War on Terror just got restarted, and that didn't sound pleasant in the slightest.

From there, the conversation died down and eventually the two debated what to do next. The only thing keeping the man in the hospital was unconsciousness, so he could leave whenever he liked but they couldn't decide if they wanted to either speak with Queen Elizabeth first or gather around the other six ship girls that had been involved in the London Incident. Eventually, it was decided that it would step on less toes to not speak with Elizabeth first, so they would go with that.

But first, Las Vegas got himself dressed into normal clothing—that thankfully had long sleeves—that Nashville had brought him from his cabin. He skipped shaving his two-week old scruffy facial hair until he could properly bathe onboard Nashville's hull. He really needed a haircut anyway. But Giovanni had been forgotten inside the cultist hideout, and neither Nashville nor anyone else knew where the pistol was now. It looked like Las Vegas would have to only be armed with a knife for now. That was a big bummer to the man. He really liked that pistol. Then as they left, he sincerely thanked Swiftsure as she faithfully stood guard beside the hospital room and with her as escort, they checked out of the hospital and all three grabbed a bus bound for the pool of London. As they were on route and under Las Vegas's orders, Nashville sent a message inviting Queen Elizabeth aboard the light cruiser's hull in a few hours.

It was accepted, and the monarch voiced her pleasure that Calico Jack was back on his feet again. After a few more seconds, Las Vegas sent his own message to propose a duel of his coffee against Belfast's tea to Queen Elizabeth thus extending the invitation to the rest of her court and the maids present that day they had the tea party. With mirth apparent in her responding message, Queen Elizabeth accepted and would take it upon herself to inform Belfast.

XXXXXXXX

When the bus arrived as close to the Pool of London as it would get, the trio disembarked. Swiftsure remained just as shy as always, but she did respond cordially when the Union duo wished her a good day. As she was saying her own goodbye, she voiced her pleasure that Calico Jack was okay, and that she looked forward to serving alongside him as a fellow knight. And with that final goodbye, the duo crossed the bridge nearest to Nashville's hull on foot.

As they walked, they didn't talk very much. Las Vegas was too busy looking around at the city and the people, and Nashville was trying her best to ignore the view. It was peculiar to the man. From what he saw, there was a relatively small amount of damage to infrastructure, but there were still buildings here and there that had sustained damage and weren't repaired yet in the chaos from the night two weeks ago. What was more telling that something bad had happened was the people. Based on Las Vegas's observations of London before the Battle of the Thames, the people had been very much what you would expect from a living, breathing city. They would bustle to and fro, going about their daily business, wishing good day to their acquaintances, and taking cell phone calls as they came and went. But now that seemed like a fantastical memory. From what he could tell, people kept their distance from each other like they were avoiding anyone else. Everyone moved with purpose, like they weren't so much running to get somewhere, but running to get away from somewhere. It wasn't deathly quiet, but the voices of people were noticeably more hushed, and they eyed each other suspiciously. It all saddened the codebreaker, especially as he and Nashville were also looked upon with suspicion by not a few people.

Fortunately, that suspicion didn't amount to anything before the duo arrived at Nashville's hull. It felt like arriving at home after an eternity for Las Vegas. And it was true in a way, home is the safest place, and it seemed that with how things are shaping up with the land being a danger because of The Heralds of the Deep and the oceans being a danger thanks to the Sirens, Nashville's hull while she's in dock is last bastion of security for the man. He considered thanking Nashville for being her, but he couldn't conceive of a way to say it and not sound stupid so as they finally reached the deck, he let out the classic, "Home sweet home."

"I'll ignore you referring to me as your home 'cause I kinda agree with you. It's nice to be back aboard my hull after so long," retorted Nashville. It seemed that his attempt to not be weird didn't work out like he had hoped. But then she tacked on, "Especially 'cause it got all repaired while you were out."

Her saying that motivated him to start thinking and after a few seconds he asked, "I'm glad that the repairs got done. But, uh, does it feel weird when you spend time away from your hull? Like, do you ever get disoriented with your eyes and ears getting input from one place and your radar getting input from somewhere else?"

She hummed and then answered, "It was kinda confusing for the first few days after I met you and we were wandering around San Francisco. I remember getting dizzy a few times when I tried to see and hear while using my radar all at once with nothing lining up. I always just found something close-by to focus on and then I got used to it by the end of the week. But it was definitely not normal at first."

He hummed in response and gave his opinion, "I'm glad you got used to it, and for what it's worth, I never noticed that anything was wrong. But sometimes I forget that you and I have vastly different definitions for the word, 'normal.'"

"I feel like we're getting into a new normal since we've gotten into the swing of things," she said.

"I don't regret any of this," he began while gesturing around Nashville's hull as they walked, and to the woman herself, "because working alongside you is hands down the best part of this assignment. So, please don't take this the wrong way when I say that this isn't a normal that I want. I was alright with just fighting super weapons. I was even beginning to think of that as 'normal,' despite how not normal that is. But then suddenly we're dealing with a bunch of raving lunatics that make this mission that much more hazardous. Now that's a normal I don't want to touch with a ten-foot pole. I wish we could have dealt with the superweapon by now and then have gotten moving for our next destination. I wish London could catch a break; you know? I wish we could catch a break."

Sometimes the most complex problems are solved with the simplest solutions and a flash of inspiration came upon the light cruiser who suggested, "Well, how about we do something that normal people do later?"

The irony that a ship girl, who by their nature qualify as among the most abnormal women on the planet, was suggesting this wasn't lost on her commander. But what was lost on him was that this suggestion sure sounded like a date. That fact was lost on the woman as well, who was unfamiliar with the term and the concept. He chuckled and smiled, then said, "Simple solutions, huh? I think that's a great idea."

"Awesome! Let's do it then!" chirped Nashville.

"But we should probably wait until after Queen Elizabeth and Roscoe," added on Las Vegas, effectively raining on the parade.

With exaggerated melodrama on her tone, Nashville replied, "Aaaaawwwww! Do we have to? Can't we just tell them to take care of the problem themselves?"

He smiled back in response to the exaggeration and sarcasm, "If only we could. But we still are technically a military unit, so duty first."

"Ffffffffiiiiiiiiine," she concluded with no less melodrama in the ending as in the beginning. "Normal can wait a day or two," she dropped the tone and finished with, "hopefully."

"I'm sure that normal can wait," assured the man, "But we should get going with preparing for Queen Elizabeth." Then he smiled in anticipation and proceeded with, "And I hope you're excited to have the greatest cup of coffee you've ever had, and you'll even get to see your commander defeat Belfast's tea."

Nashville's smile returned and she taunted, "I'll believe it when I see it."

Then they finally separated, having arrived at their respective cabins to get ready for their guests in a few hours.

XXXXXXXX

And so, time passed. Las Vegas enjoyed an extravagantly lengthy shower by military standards. But eventually, he did finish showering and then he took his time shaving his face. That latter act was an odd thing that he took comfort in. He supposed that there was nothing quite like razor sharp steel against his skin to remind him that he was still alive and that he was still the master of his fate.

With his personal grooming completed to his standards of professionalism, he exited his quarters to meet Nashville at the galley for a belated lunch. There was still an hour and a half before Queen Elizabeth and her entourage would arrive so without any rush the duo would be able to eat. But unfortunately, they had to spare some time to remember who had made the last meal between the two of them. With some difficulty, particularly on the part of a certain light cruiser remembering her embarrassment during that occasion, it was remembered that Las Vegas had cooked that last meal. It was Nashville's turn.

This presented an unforeseen hurdle for the woman. Over the course of the last two weeks, she has been able to come to terms with her newfound love for her commander, but that didn't change the fact that this would be the first meal she would cook for him since her big realization. She had thought that this occasion would be just as casual as it had always been, but as her growing apprehension was showing her, that wouldn't be the case. Thus, she found herself beginning to hype herself up in the same way she does when she goes into battle. This process of hyping herself up amounted to little more than her internally chanting the phrase, "I can do this," repeatedly.

Eventually, she found herself believing that she could indeed do this, and after shooing her commander out of the galley, she armed herself with the appropriate instruments for fixing up the greatest lunch in the history of history. She'd make that one chef she saw from the television in her commander's hospital room proud. What was his name again? Oh yeah, it was Gordon Ramsay.

Time seemed to fly as she poured her heart and soul into lunch. Did she really need to do this? No, she really didn't. Las Vegas wasn't known for being a picky eater, nor was he the type that would be blunt enough to hurt her feelings if what she cooked crashed and burned. Nevertheless, she finished with enough time to enjoy the lunch and still have some time left over before Queen Elizabeth showed up.

And with two plates of food, she came out of the galley to face her commander. She gingerly passed a plate of food to him, and she didn't even shy away from the brief moment their hands brushed. Looks like the two weeks of practice holding his hand wasn't wasted.

But on the other side of the experience, Las Vegas noticed that something was up. Nashville was acting in a way that was deviating from the norms of how she always was. What did this mean? Not to toot his own horn, but he knew that he was important to her. He dwelled on this thought for a few seconds, trying to decipher this conundrum and he finally settled on this being a sort of welcome-back-to-the-land-of-the-living celebration. Not that he knew how those typically went, because having people close to him almost dying are a rarity in the grand scheme of things. He was wrong in his conclusion, of course, but he was so used to being correct the first time that he didn't lend a second thought to why this particular occasion might be important to his friend.

Well, moment of truth. Both people gathered the optimal eating utensil and as much as Nashville wanted to wait to take her first bite after she could watch him take his, that would be noticed, and he'd call her out on it. So, in near unison both took that first bite. It was pretty good. It wasn't history worthy, but it would avoid profanity from Gordon Ramsay. But more importantly, it was better than Nashville's normal cooking. She noticed this, and internally congratulated herself. But she heard her commander hum satisfyingly and after swallowing he asked her, "This is really good. Have you been practicing or something like that while I've been out?"

Nashville nodded happily with a big smile on her face. Her internal congratulations grew at this adulation. She recounted, "After that frantic first day of you being in the hospital room, things calmed down a bit and Javelin was nice enough to show me how to work the television. She said that nothing good was on that first time and then after switching a few channels we finally found a show about competing chefs. I really liked the show."

Her commander was now giving her an amused smile and he remarked, "Well, that's one way to be introduced to television. But I'm glad it worked out, and it certainly shows that you picked up a few tricks. Good job."

She beamed with joy from this overwhelming success, and she rode on those good vibes for the remainder of the meal. She ended up proving far less exclusive when it came to cleaning up afterwards. Good thing too. It was almost time for Queen Elizabeth and her companions to arrive and they didn't want to be caught unprepared to receive the ship girl monarch.

XXXXXXXX

Las Vegas and Nashville stood at the bottom of the gangway that led onto the latter's hull to receive Queen Elizabeth and her entourage. When the group finally appeared on the dock that had been erected into the river, the codebreaker and the light cruiser could see their Royal Navy allies smile at seeing the now awake man. But to Las Vegas's eye, it seemed that Queen Elizabeth was the happiest. It wasn't that she smiled wider than the rest or made any calls to the man—such would be undignified—but he could see her subtly pick up her pace.

The monarch led the way and she finally stopped in what seemed like only inches in front of the man. She was humorously short to the rather tall man, and she only reached up to his armpits but that didn't stop her from planting her hands on her hips and fixing him with a glare as she looked upwards.

He initiated the exchange, "Kept you waiting, huh?"

She retorted, "Humph! That you did! Imagine what it was like to see you carried back to the pub after all that happened after you had left! Knighted and then dead in a day was not what I was hoping for!"

Las Vegas smiled while Queen Elizabeth pouted. He calmly replied, "It's nice to know that Your Majesty cares."

Queen Elizabeth crossed her arms and fired back, "You bloody yank! Of course, I care! I have generously accommodated you so that you would swear oath as a knight without a knight's fealty, but I am still your queen, and you are my knight!" She took a breath to calm herself down and her arms dropped from where they were to fall by her sides. Her expression softened and she admitted, "It's painful to take casualties. I know that there are somethings beyond my control, but I always find myself asking if I could have done something different." She paused again and concluded, "It's a relief to see that you aren't a casualty. And I am pleased to see that you are nearly back to full health, especially after seeing your newly acquired scars."

Without really thinking about it, Las Vegas concealed his hands behind his back. He had more thoroughly inspected his disfigurement while he showered earlier, and he found himself repulsed more and more as he traced the lines with his fingers. It was ugly, and to him it represented his inability to solve the problem at hand peacefully. But at least he was able to save Nashville and his other friends and allies.

Queen Elizabeth and everyone else noticed this action and she commented, "You're lucky to be alive. And I'd love to explain what I know, but we've spoken here on the dock long enough." She swallowed her pride and normal authority to order them all aboard, but in respect for the fact that Calico Jack is not under her command she asked, "May we come aboard?"

Calico Jack was intrigued when she said that he was lucky, but he was amused immediately following. The act behind the phrase, "swallowed his or her pride," is usually done in one's mind, but for Queen Elizabeth, it was almost a physical task as she had to actually swallow, lightly clear her throat, and speak in a more diplomatic tone to make the request. He smiled amicably and said, "Permission granted. I hope that the officer's mess with suffice like last time?"

Queen Elizabeth's tone turned into the most jovial that Calico Jack had ever heard from her when she said, "For what I expect to be the greatest cup of coffee I've ever had? It will suffice."

"Excellent," declared the man, "then I'll lead the way." And thus, Calico Jack again led Queen Elizabeth and her court plus a few of her maids across Nashville's deck to disappear down a hatch and through some passageways all the way to the officer's mess deck.

He opened the final hatch into the mess itself and he was grateful that each table seated ten. Queen Elizabeth led the way to the nearest table and again posted at it's head. He was warmly greeted by Hood, Illustrious, and Prince of Wales. Duke of York actually patted his back and voiced her own pleasure that he was alive and well. Sirius avoided any sort of physical contact, but she was just as vocal in her greeting to Calico Jack. Sheffield was just as curt as ever, but she spared a nod to acknowledge the man and he noticed that she had a briefcase with her. Belfast and Nashville brought up the rear. Belfast had her own case too, he suspected that tea brewing supplies were held within, but it was quite a bit larger than what he would expect of a teapot and maybe a kettle with the associated teacups.

Belfast remained standing beside Calico Jack and Nashville as they approached the table. While Nashville took a seat alongside the rest of the Royals at Queen Elizabeth's signal, the head maid and the codebreaker could both read the mood that now was the time to throw it down. Figuratively speaking. Belfast would leave him as a bloody stain if they were to actually go at it, especially without Giovanni at his side. That thought about his lost sidearm made him depressed somewhat. But he was broken from it when Queen Elizabeth announced the beginning of the duel of beverages. "Now is the time to see if coffee can indeed trump tea," stated the monarch. But then she lightly taunted, "I expect the best, but please, don't feel pressured Calico Jack."

He shrugged his shoulders and replied, "I do happen to feel pretty lucky today. So, I think it'll turn out good."

"I do hope so, Calico Jack," inserted Belfast. She didn't need to boast nor taunt, her tea was second to none and she favored her chances among a bar of judges composed primarily of tea-drinkers. She had nothing to fear.

Then he asked, "Shall we?" as he gestured back to the hatch leading to the passageway. The galley was fortunately close-by.

"Yes. Let's," bade Belfast.

With that, the two exited the officer's mess. Nashville felt that twinge of jealousy again, and she hated it. She had expected there to be some sort of semantic opening with everyone gathered around the table first, so she had sat down instead of immediately going along to act as a "referee" in the galley over the two competitors like she had planned. But her plan to make sure that Belfast didn't make any moves on her commander was botched by the fact that she can't simply abandon the guests aboard after having sat down with them. Well, it looks like she'll just have to feel though her hull to make sure that nothing bad happens, but she got to work ensuring that the guests were entertained.

Meanwhile, Las Vegas opened the hatch into the galley and Belfast thanked him as she entered. He had a feeling that Belfast would want to talk about that night two weeks ago, so he closed the hatch behind him as he entered after her for the sake of discretion. He watched her place her case down on a counter and then she did something that took him by surprise.

She turned around, crossed the few steps and she fixed him in a hug. Such intimacy was completely unexpected and in Las Vegas's opinion, it was kind of out of Belfast's character to do something like this. Even though he didn't recoil, and he carefully put his own arms around the maid, he still asked jokingly, "Who are you and what have you done with Belfast?"

"Oh hush," she playfully ordered, "I get to be happy seeing you alive and awake too." However, once he had finished moving his own arms, Belfast began to explain her thoughts on the matter more fully. "I think you're a strange man. You followed us when we went to raid the cultist stronghold, just as I had expected. But then from what Duke of York tells me, you fight with the fortitude of a ship girl and then from the tiny bit I recall, you save us for a price that could easily have been your life. This is unexpected. You have surprised me—twice, including from the Battle of the Thames. That's quite the rare occurrence."

He couldn't think of any logical way to explain his actions, so he ditched logic and spoke the illogical truth. "I was just trying to do what felt right."

"Now I'm certain that you're a strange man. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find people of your character?"

He took that question seriously and couldn't come up with an answer, so he responded, "I don't know."

"People whose character compels them to such action are those remembered for greatness. Truly one in a million. It seems to me that you are that one."

This qualified as the best compliment that he had ever received. But in a moment where words failed to properly convey his feelings on the matter, he opted for a simple and sincere, "Thank you."

Belfast relaxed her embrace as the queue to break off the contact and with a light smile, she wiped a small tear and said, "I know that I've already said it, but I must repeat myself. I'm so glad to see that you are alive and well, despite all that happened. I don't take well to losing friends in combat."

"I can't even imagine how that feels," he admitted, and then he went further with, "I feel like I'm extremely lucky because so far, nobody has died under my command. I'm extra lucky because it feels like I only ever command people who I consider friends, so I haven't had to deal with losing a friend. I don't know if I'd ever be able to handle it."

Belfast sagely advised, "I recommend that you prepare yourself for this possibility. But at this point with how much you've surprised me, I think that you might just be able to succeed in never taking casualties."

"Maybe…Maybe…I hope…" he drawled out. But then he found himself chuckling.

"Do tell, what's so funny?" requested Belfast.

"My pistol is a casualty. Missing in action," he jested with a hint of actually being serious.

"I apologize about that. I should have gathered it up for safe keeping before everything got picked up and taken away by the men Supreme Commander Roscoe sent," the maid offered.

"It's no problem," he dismissed, "If losing a pistol and getting some scars are the cost of getting everyone out alive, then I'll gladly do it again."

Belfast now had a thin smile on again and she turned to walk for the oddly large case she had brought with her. As she began to dig through the contents, taking out a tea pot and other tea making essentials, she spoke, "It makes me quite pleased to hear you say that. And if your pistol is still able to be returned to you, I suspect it got picked up by Roscoe's men. But it's quite a coincidence that you speak about this topic in particular."

Since Belfast was standing perfectly between Calico Jack and whatever was inside her case, he couldn't see it's contents until she had placed them on the counter beside her. He saw her reach all the way to the bottom of the case, and she pulled something out. She turned around and he saw that she had a distinctively British revolver in her hands. She approached the man again and she extended the weapon for him to take it. She explained, "Those of us who are aware of your predicament agree that an officer should never be caught without his sidearm. So, I procured this using my connections to the fleet. Even if you get your pistol back from the Supreme Commander, please take this. I hope it's to your liking."

Without any words he reached out to take the revolver from Belfast's hand. He handled the pistol, depressing a lever on the left-rear of the frame to open the top-break revolver. It's automatic ejection mechanism that would eject all six spent bullet casings simultaneously activated, and it showed that it was unloaded to begin with. It had what he estimated to be a six-inch-long barrel, and the blackened grip was just long enough to accommodate all his fingers. It wasn't very easily concealed, but he would make it work. While inspecting it from different angles he found a marking that said what exactly he was looking at. "It's a Webley Mark VI. I've only ever seen pictures of them, and it looks like this one is in great shape."

"Indeed it is, on both counts," confirmed Belfast. "But do take care of it. It is even older than I am, after all." That last part was a bit of a joke to see if she could arouse any sort of reaction from the man.

"No comment," he replied after he remembered the fact that Belfast is actually much older than she looks. He had another one of those moments when he becomes aware of the ridiculousness of associating with women who are also ships.

Belfast giggled at the response but couldn't recover in time for him to conclude by saying, "But thank you for this. I'll take good care of it."

"I'm certain you will. And if I may, you strike me as the type of man who names everything he owns. Am I correct?" He nodded slowly in response and that made Belfast giggle again. Then she asked, "Well. What shall you call this?"

He thought for a few seconds. Then he found the name and answered, "I'll call it, 'Watson.'"

The head maid smiled. "Somehow, I expected something like that," she affirmed. But then she noted that too much time had passed without any tea or coffee being made so she said, "But I fear that Her Majesty will grow impatient soon, so we mustn't dally." This time she extended her hand for a handshake, and she offered, "May the better brew win."

"May the better brew win," he echoed after passing Watson to his left hand so that he could meet Belfast's gesture.

Both got to brewing their specialty. Earl Grey would clash with a Cup of Joe.

And in not too long, they were finished with their creations. Two distinct aromas filled the galley as both put together the finished products. Ten porcelain teacups were ostensibly nicer than ten mugs from one of the galley's cupboards. But that wasn't overly important as both competitors arranged their drinks on respective trays to carry to the officer's mess.

As they went, Las Vegas committed a possibly disastrous tactical error. In the middle of her tray, Belfast had placed a small pile of sugar cubes, so that the tasters can make their cup of tea more suitable to their personal preferences. Las Vegas liked his coffee black, and because he had always liked his coffee black, he often forgot that not everyone likes black coffee. So, with naught to add to alter the taste of the tasters' Cup of Joe, he was at a distinct disadvantage. Belfast noticed this of course, but she was perfectly content to let her competition sabotage himself.

Fortunately, the hatch from the Officer's Mess had been left wide open, so with Belfast leading the way, they entered to meet a not-so-rousing welcome from Queen Elizabeth, who lightly taunted, "I was beginning to think that some sort of accident had occurred. But fortunately, the only casualty of this battle will be someone's pride."

Belfast apologized for the delay as was expected for her position as a maid. Las Vegas was a lot less privy to humor the monarch, "No accidents. Only art. And art cannot be rushed."

Queen Elizabeth smiled gratifyingly at that explanation, but Illustrious spoke for everyone when she said, "Oh my. Then please let us judge the art."

Las Vegas tacked on as charismatic an expression and tone as he could when he proclaimed, "It would be our pleasure." And with that, Belfast began at Queen Elizabeth, giving her a teacup, and then going to Nashville and Las Vegas's seat, then to the court and ending with her fellow maids. The man among them had no such decorum for social ranking, but still he served Queen Elizabeth because she was closest to him, and he followed the table in a circuit among the guests that ended with Nashville's seat and then his own on Elizabeth's immediate right.

For a few moments, everyone present inspected the drinks in front of them. A few put sugar cubes into their tea. But, since no direction was given, everyone reached for the drink that was familiar with them. The Royals went for the tea while the Unionists went for the coffee.

Belfast always strove for perfection in all that she does, so she always makes her tea to the upmost best of her ability. And just like that day a few weeks ago in Plymouth, Belfast's tea was exquisite, and those who tasted it made the expected pleasant hum of satisfaction.

But on the other hand, Nashville was vocal about her opinions of Las Vegas's coffee. She amazed, "Oh wow, Commander! You've been holding back on me all this time! This is the greatest you've made yet by far!"

He put down his own mug, satisfied that it was just about the best tasting coffee he had ever made, and he asked, "Remember that first morning after we met? I asked you if you preferred strong coffee or good tasting coffee."

Nashville facepalmed and admitted to all hearing, "And I said strong coffee." But then her hand came off her face and she asked, "And how can you even intentionally brew a strong coffee or a good tasting one?"

He smirked as his picked up the teacup. He informed, "It's classified." And then he took a sip of Belfast's tea. Just like last time, he was taken aback by how good it was. In his opinion, while his coffee was good, Belfast's tea was marginally better.

Nashville rolled her eyes at his comment, but her words had done the effect of making one particular knight overcome her misgivings over what she normally considered a crudely bitter drink. While the rest of the Royals yet hesitated, Duke of York forged ahead, taking the steaming mug into her hand. She carefully brought the liquid to her lips, and she took a sip.

In the codebreaker's experiences, the main obstacle for people liking a cup of coffee is that they say it's too bitter. While the quality of the water and coffee beans is absolutely important, finesse is what makes good coffee great.

What Duke of York tasted was an experience best described as a leisurely ride. To her the flavor was three dimensional and like premium dark chocolate, the bitterness was balanced perfectly. Instead of the normal gut-punchiness that she associated with coffee, it was like the drink in her hand was offering her a friendly greeting.

She recalled her words from that tea party the day she met Calico Jack when this challenge had been issued. Now was the time for Duke of York to rectify her past taunt. She smiled and said to Calico Jack further up the table, "Thy A-game is not lacking."

Las Vegas only fist pumped a little and he watched as more and more of the Royals tasted his coffee, and he saw Nashville as she clearly enjoyed Belfast's tea.

After all present had tasted of both, Queen Elizabeth spoke, "As always, Belfast you impress me." Belfast thanked her queen. Said queen then turned to Calico Jack to say, "Know that you have surpassed my own expectations but it is time for all to vote, for it is the fairest way to decide superiority." Calico Jack nodded appreciatively. "But I require that neither you nor Belfast vote. I shall do likewise to avoid a tie." Both brewers affirmed that they understood. Then Queen Elizabeth asked, "Are you ladies prepared with an answer?" After a delay for affirmation, she ordered, "All in favor of Belfast's tea say, 'Aye.'"

"Aye," chorused Hood, Illustrious, Prince of Wales, and Sirius.

"And for Calico Jack?" inquired the teenage-looking monarch.

"Aye," replied Duke of York, Sheffield, and Nashville.

By virtue of having the vote conducted openly, Queen Elizabeth didn't have to announce anything, but she did offer to the loser, "It was a valiant effort, Calico Jack. But what do you have to say for yourself?"

The man among them shrugged. He wasn't even mad, because he had fully expected this outcome, but he did say, "I'm just glad that it wasn't as one-sided as I thought it was going to be."

Nods and murmurs of agreement passed over the table where the ten people sat. But after that died down, nobody spoke. Las Vegas didn't know how everyone else felt about the silence, but he was personally enjoying the simple joy of being in the company of friends. He found himself leaning backwards in his seat a bit and he even crossed his arms over his chest after taking another sip of Belfast's tea.

While his gaze was naturally rising to the ceiling as he leaned backwards, those with a proper view of it were inspecting the man's bare hands that poked out from long sleeves. Rather, they were looking at the scars on them. Abruptly breaking the silence, Queen Elizabeth's sympathy shone through as she inquired, "What happened Calico Jack?"

Still looking at the ceiling he voiced, "Well, based on what I've heard, everyone already knows that there was a mirror sea that our enemies opened. We defeated them even though it didn't go nearly as smoothly as I had hoped."

For a few seconds that hung in the air and even though it was apparent that he had misunderstood Queen Elizabeth's question, nobody jumped up and down to correct him. But after a short while, Hood, who sat across from him took the duty upon herself. "Your wounds show that you touched a wisdom cube. What Her Majesty wants to know is how that happened."

Only then did he lean forward, and he caught the gazes of those looking at his hands. He saw that Nashville was avoiding looking at them. He raised his own hands a few inches and stretched his palms open so that he could inspect the scars as well. He was still revolted by this new attribute about him. He considered how Queen Elizabeth could spin her question into finding out more than she needed to know. Eventually, he came to realize that based on the circumstantial evidence, she knows pretty much all he does about what happened that night. She just didn't know about The Heralds of the Deep specifically, like how they're worshipping super weapons and sacrificing people. All she knew was that Siren Collaborators opened a mirror sea in the capital city of her home country and that he and her subordinates stopped it. Piecing this together in his mind, he finally figured out her intentions in wanting to find this out; she was genuinely concerned.

He was suddenly ashamed of his hesitancy to answer. So, he didn't make her wait any longer and he remembered aloud, "The final enemy had a wisdom cube in his possession when he showed himself after the fighting was over. I took it upon myself to relieve him of it. Thinking about it now, I remember that he was using his sleeves to protect his hands, but I was never made aware that wisdom cubes do this when handled without protection."

"How long were you touching it?" wondered Prince of Wales.

"I don't remember. I was too busy trying to get it out of the man's hands. Well. That and I was in a lot of pain. Like, a lot of pain. I hope you lot will forgive me if this sounds over-dramatic, but it felt like it was trying to eat me." He paused and then said, "I guess I know when the scars happened."

That part broke Nashville's heart. He didn't tell her in the hospital that this action was that painful to him. Tears began to well in her eyes and she found herself filled with consuming guilt that she wasn't there for her commander when he needed her most. Before she went too far down this hole, she was able to stop herself. If Las Vegas knew what she was feeling at this moment, he would assure her that there wasn't anything that she could have done, and he would have done his very best to make her feel better about it. And knowing the effect that he has on her; she wagered that he would have pulled it off. For some reason, just knowing that fact was enough to help her calm down.

In that few seconds that it took for Nashville to process this new information, the conversation had proceeded further. She caught up to it as her commander said, "I don't doubt that I'm lucky, but I also get the impression that Your Majesty has an idea as to how lucky."

"I do. And I stumbled upon the information nearly by accident. It is not often that I travel without an attendant, yet during the most recent instance of this, I happened upon Grayson Roscoe as I was coming to your bedside. After asking his opinion, he told me just how lucky you are. With your survival, the mortality rate for a human handling a wisdom cube without any sort of protection has fallen from precisely seventy-five percent to sixty percent."

It took a few seconds for this all to sink in for the codebreaker. But when he spoke, he didn't speak about how lucky he is like the monarch expected, he instead inquired rhetorically, "I wonder what that one other survivor and I have in common. Or rather, I wonder why this other survivor and I live, while the other three did not. Did Roscoe mention who that other survivor was?"

"He didn't," she informed back. But then something else came to her mind, "Have you spoken with the supreme commander yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Well then. I might not have authority to give you orders, but I shall attempt nonetheless. My first order as your queen is that you take better care of yourself."

"I intend to do what needs to be done, but if I can avoid recklessness, I'll do it."

Queen Elizabeth was taken up in a sudden spike of nostalgia. He had said almost exactly what Warspite told her when the elder super dreadnought had placed the younger in command of the Royal Navy Ship Girl Contingent in Rosyth should the Iron Blood try anything. But this didn't show on Queen Elizabeth's face or in her words as she continued, "And my second order is that you apologize to Grayson Roscoe. He tried not to show it, but he was nearly as distraught as Nashville was to see your condition."

Calico Jack hadn't been expecting to hear that about a seasoned military officer. But then he took a moment to empathize with the old man. If Roscoe was so beaten up about the near-death state of one officer, then it must have been hell having to give orders that contributed to the deaths of millions from the war with the Crimson Axis that ended a few years ago. Then he even found time to visit a subordinate in a coma while dealing with whatever has been going on in the aftermath of the London Incident. The codebreaker found new respect for Roscoe. Based on evidence, Roscoe was a rare breed of officer that truly cared for those under his command. It must be really hard for Roscoe to do what he does in his old age. He finally answered back, "I'll make sure to apologize to the supreme commander." Then he hummed and an idea came to his mind, so he asked, "Does Your Majesty happen to know Roscoe's favorite brand of tobacco?"

Queen Elizabeth saw where this was going and smirked before acknowledging, "Having worked with him for years, getting him tobacco will make him a happy man. But it has been a while since I've gotten him any. Belfast do you recall the brand?"

"Peterson, Your Majesty," recalled the maid in a speed that could almost be considered uncanny.

"Thank you, Belfast," responded Queen Elizabeth, having gotten completely accustomed to Belfast's impressive ability. She then turned to Calico Jack to say, "There you have it. But I do commend you for this idea. I predict that he will be a happy man with this gift. But now I feel it the best time for the true nature of our visit."

It had slipped Calico Jack's mind that Queen Elizabeth had wanted to see him before he ever asked to go against Belfast's tea. But now he was curious, so he invited her to continue. She signaled for Sheffield to stand and approach with her briefcase. The maid placed it on the table in front of Queen Elizabeth, put in a five-digit code that unlatched it, but she didn't open it. Sheffield returned to her seat, again nodding to Calico Jack, which was subtly returned.

Queen Elizabeth cleared her throat and stood from her seat as a signal that she was about to begin a monologue. Calico Jack figuratively buckled himself in. While she spoke to him, it was loud enough for everyone to hear, "I do not expect you to understand Calico Jack, but we of the Royal Navy are a people that embrace tradition. And with good reason, for in our most glorious days, a tradition of seamanship centuries in the making built and then preserved an empire upon which the sun never set. But while we were yet made of steel and crewed by hundreds or perhaps thousands, we were ignorant of an even older and more sacred tradition. With flesh and blood and the blessing of Her Majesty, The Queen of England, we have become the inheritors of knighthood. Thus, with my knights under me, and the other ship girls of the Royal Navy under them, we have fought and sometimes died for the defense of this our wonderful home despite it's flaws. And to those among us who have fought with distinction, and who have willing hearts, we have crowned them with distinction as knights. Our eyes have been opened yet again, however, and we have been reminded that even foreigners can distinguish themselves in the same way as one of our own, all while fighting and sacrificing for a land and for a people that are not their own. I cannot describe how comforting it is to see that there are yet allies in this world. My court, my knights, and I are grateful forevermore that you have been our ally and hane accepted the honor of a knight. But there are a few things that you lack. All of the Knights of the Round Table are adorned with the color red to remind themselves that honor is won by courage and sacrifice, even unto the spilling of blood if need be. Thus, we present these unto you."

She opened the case and from where he was sitting, Calico Jack first noticed a white bundled object that looked to be about a foot (30.5 cm) long. But Queen Elizabeth didn't reach for this. She reached for the second stack of items. First, she revealed two red gloves. Calico Jack smiled, knowing exactly why he would get gloves instead of any other article of clothing. With both hands, he accepted the offered gloves from Queen Elizabeth. She didn't immediately say anything, clearly expecting him to put them on. So, he did.

They fit perfectly and as he was putting them on, he became aware of two things. They didn't have any seams in them, so they were quite comfortable, but they were noticeably sturdy by normal standards. The fabric was soft, but it only stretched just enough for him to get them on. The gloves had full fingers and the ends of the gloves went a short distance beyond his wrists, or more importantly, they were long enough to enter any long-sleeved shirt he could wear. They were perfect for concealing his scars. But as he flexed his hands a few times, he found himself believing that their tight fit wouldn't do anything to obstruct finer motions of his hands. These finer motions mainly being gun handling and typing on a keyboard. He smiled and said, "They're perfect."

"There's more," said the queen to regain her newest knight's attention. "Since you seem to prize secrecy above almost all other attributes, I also present you with this."

Now she handed him a folded-up piece of fabric, also deep red and without any designs on it. He unfolded it and it became apparent what it was that she had given him. It was a bandanna. Knowing what she was expecting, he folded it diagonally into a triangle and he fitted it over the bridge of his nose to tie the loose ends into a square knot. It was a mask that would obscure his identity should secrecy be needed in public, and it even would keep blood out of his nose and mouth. But since he felt that he looked like a dork with a bandanna mask in the present company with the present circumstances, he pulled the top edge down until the whole bandanna wrapped around his neck. He figured that what it lacked in style, it made up for in practicality, so he'll go along with wearing it. He chuckled and remarked, "Just in case it wasn't obvious enough that I'm from the Eagle Union."

Everyone smiled at that joke. But while Nashville was about to say something, Queen Elizabeth interrupted her train of thought with, "There is one last thing that any of my knights need." She grabbed the white bundle and passed it to Calico Jack. The moment his hand touched the hidden object, he knew what it was, and to reveal it to all the witnesses, he unwrapped it.

It was a knife in it's sheath. Based on it's shape alone, he could tell exactly what kind of knife this was. It was based on the Fairbairn-Sykes Fighting Knife—a dagger made famous by the British Commandos in the Second World War. Upon inspection, he found that the circular pommel was made of what looked like brass and even though it was in a non-reflective matte finish, there were small carvings in it. On one side of the pommel, there was an eagle, and he rotated the knife in his hand to see that it's talon was grasping the outstretched paw of a lion. The lion's other paw transitioned again into the eagle's talon when he rotated the knife further. The handle itself was thin and it swelled closer to the ovular crossguard. It looked like the handle was made of a dark hardwood and it had spiral grooves carved into it for better grip. He pulled the knife from it's black leather sheath. He was met with a dagger blade that he believed was around seven inches (17.8 cm) long. In contrast to the rest of the dagger, which was made to not reflect light, the blade was polished to a mirror silver finish, and it came to a wickedly sharp point. He was taken aback by the incredibly fine workmanship. What he had in his hand was a piece of art, and he didn't know what to say.

Queen Elizabeth was taking great pleasure in seeing Calico Jack's jaw hang upon, but after having her fill of this enjoyment, she explained it. "It's almost a plot convenience that you were unconscious just long enough for this knife's construction to be completed. And as much as I would have loved to get you a saber, I was advised that something like this would be more useful to you. But while it is very well made and quite a beautiful thing, it is still a weapon. In fact, it's made of the same metal that all ship girl blades are made of, so if you had the strength of a ship girl, going through steel and rigging would be a possibility. But since that isn't the case with you, I suspect that going through something like hardened body armor is a lot more feasible." She then paused for dramatic effect. She saw Calico Jack open his mouth to speak, but she impulsively interrupted him to say, "Now there's no need to thank me, just use it well."

Finally, the monarch sat back down to show that she was finished with her business. That gave the signal to the rest present to begin applause for the newest knight. But over the applause, Duke of York called out, "For it to be thine of a surety, it needeth a name. What is it's name?"

"And say it in rhyme!" added on Prince of Wales. What was happening was the closest thing to hazing that the Knights of the Round Table engaged in. But to them, it was just initiation.

The other royals were well aware of this bizarrely amusing tradition, so they quieted down. He asked Prince of Wales, "You're not joking? I really have to rhyme?"

She smiled and nodded. So did everyone else except Calico Jack. He was a mathematician not a rap-artist. But that all faded away when the perfect name for the blade came to mind. He began to recite the only poem that he knew by heart:

"'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe."

He had recited his favorite poem, "Jabberwocky," by Lewis Carroll. It certainly took on a new power for the man after having actually participated in the fight against the Jabberwocky.

But he wasn't finished just yet, so he continued, "The name of this blade will be 'Vorpal.' But since nobody really knows what 'vorpal' is, and Lewis Carroll never shed any light on it's meaning, I choose it to mean 'resolute,' because that is what I hope to be."

Everyone agreed that this was appropriate for the man with no name.

Greetings friends! It's good to have you here again, and it's especially great to be able to see you in a time that's shorter than a month. So, my university semester finally started today. I'm sure hoping that it won't impart my writing too much. But that has yet to be seen. Of course, I'll still write as often as I can to get these chapters out so that we can get moving on in the tale of Las Vegas and Nashville. But anyway, the Deep Seer has finally appeared. And I look forward to doing more with their character as time goes by. I also look forward to going into even more depth with The Heralds of the Deep in the future because you likely caught the hint that they are so much bigger than just a bunch of crazies sacrificing people. Other than that, it was great to finally have a calmer chapter with talking and feeling good. What do you think of Las Vegas's new gear? I'll admit that Metal Gear references crossed my mind after I found myself adding in the red gloves after I had already decided on the red bandanna a chapter back. And as cool as Watson the Webley is, I find myself most looking forward to showing Vorpal in action in the future. Oh, and just wandering, I know that I set up the showdown of Las Vegas's coffee and Belfast's tea a long time ago, but who here thought that Las Vegas was going to win? But moving on, I see that there are some comments that need responses.

What's up, SomeRand0m? I know that definitely was a long chapter. I think that I mentioned it in those author's notes, but I wasn't willing to turn a two part chapter into a three part one. I simply didn't have the patience for that and I wanted to move on in the story. I hope that your college has been going well. What I was going for with Belfast deploying her smoke screen is that she snaps her fingers, and it just appears mystically. She doesn't breathe it out nor does it come out of her gauntlets. I think that adding abilities out of the water will add an extra dimension to land combat when I'm writing that. You do make a good point about Formidable's ability though. And if I do end up writing her in and giving her a combat sequence, you can be certain that I'll be squeezing a JoJo reference out of that. Consider yourself bonked. But anyway, yes Las Vegas's will to find Nashville made that coyote appear. You are catching on that he can manipulate the mirror sea, but I can assure you that he is just a man. I intend to be expanding on the reason why he can do this in future arcs. No problem for the conversion. In general, my favorite unit for writing is the yard, because at short distances, it's close enough to the meter to not make that much of a difference. But as a rule of thumb, I use 2.5 cm for 1 inch, and I just mentioned the yard and the meter. I also try to use nautical miles for longer distances because it's a proportion of the earth's diameter as opposed to an arbitrary value like in the kilometer or the mile. I think the harpoon actually would have missed Belfast, because of her higher evasion. But for some reason while I was writing, Cheshire's name appeared and I couldn't think of any reason to change it. The Eagle Union—and by extension, the United States—does indeed love explody over-the-top things. I'm glad that you liked the coyote actually helping in the end. Dang, I do try to find all the grammatical and spelling errors, but well, 25k word documents are hard to fix entirely. I was going for the word "betwixt" which is the same as "between." Thanks for saying that the chapter was so good though, and it's great to know that the tension and drama was felt. I was struggling with it because I often get in the right mindset for writing and it's hard to stretch that out. So, with a chapter taking a month, it was hard to keep that tension going as I was writing it. But I'm glad you liked it. I hope that the reunion between Las Vegas and Nashville was satisfying for you, but I'm still waiting for the right moment for Las Vegas to realize his feelings. We'll just have to wait. Speaking of a date, I can't wait to write that in the next chapter or so. I don't know if I'll be writing another story after this one. I expect that I'll have a full-time job by then and have graduated university. But I'm dedicated to at least getting this one done. It's funny that you should mention that about the other fanfics though. I personally don't care for smutfics. And fluff-fics are too quick to read for me. I like a lengthier story here and there. I didn't really have a time in mind when the groups left the pub. I was just thinking that it was night already. From there, the hard part was balancing the actions of the two groups. I only see the first question that you have, but I'll answer it. I intend to try my hardest to have the old upload schedule back, but you know, a senior in college doesn't have infinite time. But at least I'm not nearly as physically tired as I was during the summer from my job. I personally found the 20k word chapter to be too large for my tastes. I'll likely keep things between 10k and 15k, or there about. If you have any more questions, shoot them my way. I'm always eager to talk. But anyway, I hope that you liked this chapter. Take care.

Hi RPG Proficient. I'm glad that you liked the chapter, and that you thought it was worth the wait. I too am really looking forward to getting to the superweapon, and then beyond. Thanks for the kind words.

Hey there, Legionnaire-1-Actual. You just summed up all my fears for the last chapter into a single sentence. While it definitely isn't my most popular chapter, I didn't get any backlash so that's a good sign. We'll see if I go that mystical again. Thanks for saying that about making it make sense though. I was about to enter the Tulgey Wood as I was writing, and I had to laugh at myself with how off the walls it was for ship girls to enter into the realm of Lewis Carroll. But I'm glad that you think it went well. This isn't the arc finale. Not yet. We need to fight a superweapon. It was hard at first to write a longer story. But with more chapters it gets easier. It's always rough at the beginning, in fact, I can't bring myself to read my first chapter anymore because of how rough it is. My first chapter was around 6k words. I guess that the best advice is to just do it, and then get better at it. But I do look forward to hearing what happens with your story.

Greetings, Zander22122. Huzzah! A man with good taste I see! CS Lewis and Tolkien are always good choices for the best authors. But you do bring up a good point that I missed entirely. At least one of the British girls should have recognized something from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. I was intending to reference the Mad Hatter's tea party, but you're right, an important date would have been better. Oops. I just watched the full auto in the building video for the first time and it gave me a good laugh. It's pretty accurate to what happened. Cosmic cube? Then to my shame I admit to never having seen ATLA. We'll see if I get around to it, but I'm one of those weirdos who writes fanfic instead of watching TV so don't hold your breath about it.

Hi Touhoufanatic. Unexpected was what I was going for. All of the Alice in Wonderland stuff was created independent of the Sirens. So, while the Heralds had control over the reality inside the mirror sea, they could control what Las Vegas was fighting. But I'd like to call your attention to something the priest said, "Let the Magicain fight something of his own creation." Saying this meant that Las Vegas would fight something from his own imagination. Think the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man from the original Ghostbusters. But yes, I absolutely intend for some rest before we go after Mordred.

It's good to see you, Ghost14lebi. I'm glad that I was able to be unexpected and get something different out there. I'm also glad that you liked it and I hope you liked this chapter too.

Hello, DearUncleHermit. I've always like Alice in Woderland, so I guess it was bound to play a part eventually. But I'm glad that you found the topic interesting. I'm glad it was only one typo though. Too many is a good way to get distracted while reading, and I want to avoid that if I can. It's also great to hear that the fights are clear and engaging as you say. The Deep Seer is human. Thanks for reading the chapter, and I hope that this one was good too.

It's good to see you again, PinPoint Annihilator. I'm really happy that you liked it, and that you enjoyed the fight scenes. Up next is the superweapon, and I've been really looking forward to the Mordred battle ever since the beginning of this arch.

Thanks for the review, Isshion. Thanks for reading the story, and I'm glad that you like it. I have to say though, you remind me of me. Browsing fanfiction is the main way that I get into new fandoms and if I'm being completely honest, AL fanfics are what got me to finally play the game after taking a look at first and deciding that I still liked Kancolle more. Well here I am now, writing and AL fanfic. But I digress. All the things that you listed off as liking are exactly the things that I have stressed about getting right. So, thank you for the affirmation. I really look forward to getting on to the Crimson axis in the near future, but you are right about until after the superweapon is destroyed. Las Vegas already promised Sirius and Duke of York. From there I'll likely recruit from the group that took on the Heralds, plus one more that we haven't met yet.

What's up, HeronLsL? It's great to hear that you liked the chapter that much. Thanks for the kind words. I wasn't intending to have a specific number like it seems to me that you are implying. I just found that four characters is a convenient amount as I was writing, thus the eight people in two groups. Sheffield getting shot was my opportunity to show that while powerful, ship girls aren't invincible. I enjoyed being able to show that the stakes were growing as time was passing. I will admit though, a part of me considered killing off Sheffield. Something tells me that I'm glad I didn't, but we'll see about that. I was trying to make the Tulgey Wood frightening, but I can't top anything more than something that takes advantage of your own experiences. I'm surprised that you liked the fights with the Jubjub Bird and the Bandersnatch so much, as I always just treated them as the warm-up to the Jabberwocky. But still, I'm happy that you liked them so much, same with the skills of Javelin and Las Vegas. The head pat was a spur of the moment thing if I remember correctly, but it made me smile the first time I saw it on my screen. I'm super happy that you were that entranced with the Jabberwocky fight. I put a lot of thought into that and I'm glad that it was worth it. But I'm also glad that you found the ending satisfying. I hope that you liked this chapter too. Thanks for reading. I'm glad to have you around, and I hope to keep you around.

It's starting to get late where I am, and I have classes tomorrow morning. So, I should get some sleep. Take care friends. If you are having a bad day I hope it gets better, and if you are having a good day I hope it gets even better.