Chapter 34: Convos With Crowning

Crowning hunched over the well-worn copy of Jane's Fighting Kanmusu, 2014-2015 Admiral Williams had lent him, his nose buried deep in the battleship section. The amount of information recorded in the unassuming black tome was simply staggering. Every detail an Admiral could ever want to know about his girls was listed, from their top speed and range to their haircolor, bustline, and favorite snack. As an added bonus, all the really important bits were came pre-highlighted thanks to the book's previous owner. There was even the odd note scrawled in the margins.

The professor smiled as he flipped over to Jersey's entry. The book had been published months before Jersey—or any of her smaller, cuter friends for that matter—had returned. And yet, somehow, the gremlins over at Jane's had made startlingly accurate predictions.

Her towering, borderline-amazonian height, her distinctive thick-thighed build, her long, strawberry blond hair, the way her face hovered between cutely adorable and stunningly gorgeous, even her rather modest bust—comparatively, of course. Crowning couldn't bring himself to admit anyone built like Jersey was flat-chested— they'd predicted nearly every single detail with absolute precision.

Except… except for her wardrobe. Printed across the page from a full set of plan drawings was a very well-done painting of USS New Jersey… in a calf-length silk evening gown. A gown cut so high up her side it was painfully obvious the battleship wasn't wearing any underwear beyond her garter-belted thigh-highs, and cut so low in the front it was incredibly obvious this Jersey didn't believe in the concept of bras. One might even say 'painfully obvious' if the painting wasn't so damn pleasing.

Crowning couldn't decide if he wanted to show his battleship friend this painting as soon as she got back, or if he wanted to make sure it never crossed her eyes. As fetching as she might look filling out that dress, he wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't break him for even suggesting it.

But… he had a job to do. As pleasing as picturing Jersey in a slinky, tight-fighting evening dress might be, he had to put work before pleasure. And figure out why the flow of ship girls had suddenly ceased to a trickle. Every Naval Base in the country had been throwing rock concerts like they were going out of style. But other than Arizona over at Sasebo, and Alaska and O'Bannon down in Texas, not one girl bigger than a destroyer escort had showed up, and even those were few and far between.

Crowning let out a long sigh. He'd spent the past two hours pouring over the reference book for any thread distinguishing the girls who had showed up. His legs were going numb, his back was starting to complain… he needed a stretch, if not a quick walk to clear his mind. The Professor yawned, stretching his arms to the ceiling as he worked a kink out of his back.

Only for his head to slam into something suspiciously soft and warm. While Crowning was not an expert on the subject, he knew full well what a girl's chest feels like. And given the apparent size and height of the chest currently cradling the back of his head—and the stealth with which the girl attached to said chest had entered the room—there was only one possible owner.

"Wash?" said the Professor.

"Yes?" said the battleship in her usual sweetly detached tone.

"How long have you been reading over my shoulder?"

"Um," the battleship paused, probably checking her watch or consulting her ship's chronometer. There wasn't even a hint of remorse in her voice, "About thirty minutes."

"Thirty Minutes." Crowning let out a sigh.

"I knocked," said Wash with a tiny hint of a concerned squeak. "You said I could come in."

Crowning shook his head. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten engrossed in reading and responded on sheer autopilot. Normally his guest would say something to snap him out of a literary stupor. But his normal guests wasn't an incarnation of the spirit of a WWII Battleship. That was also apparently an inadvertent ninja. But, he was getting nowhere with his shipgirl research… maybe a chat with her would clear his head.

"I guess I did, huh?" he said, scooting forwards just enough so he could talk to the battleship without burying his head in her substantial bosom.

Wash smiled that sweet half-smile she'd perfected and slid to the side to make room for a proper conversation. After a gesture from the professor, she sat down on the corner of his desk. Her dazzle patterned skirt—Measure 32, Crowning was quite proud of himself for recognizing the pattern—piled up over her tight black running shorts as she settled herself into position.

"How can I help you, Wash?"

"I'm… I'm lost," said the battleship, her lips actually quivering slightly as she tried to cobble together her next sentence.

Crowning was suddenly giving her his full attention. He'd never seen a battleship so distressed. Much less the calm, regal Wash.

"I need… girl advice," continued Wash, "And since you're dating my cousin, I think you're the most qualified to give it to me."

Crowning blinked. Cousin? That didn't make a lick of sense. Wash was a battleship, she didn't have- The professor gulped. Wash was a battleship! Which meant her 'cousin' would be-

"Jersey?" half-spoke half-coughed Crowning. "No… no no, she's…" he waved down Wash's accusations, "she's just a friend. We're not dating, I assure you."

"Really?" said Wash. Her voice was solidly in the camp of 'sweetly confused' without a hint of accusation. Which was fine by him, he got enough teasing from Gale.

"Really," stated Crowning. "But I think I might be able to help anyways."

Wash cocked one of her fashion-magazine perfect eyebrows.

"I'm an English Scholar," said Crowning, "You would not believe how many poems have been written about The Girl."

Wash thought for a second, then nodded in agreement. "It's about Yeoman Gale."

"What about her?," Crowning leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepling in in thought. He could practically taste the twenty he had riding on the two.

"She doesn't like me," said Wash, "I… think. I can tell she's not happy when she's around me."

Crowning scowled. So much for that bet being in the bag. At least he was all but certain of the cause. "Have you tried talking to her about it?"

Wash's opened her mouth, then closed it part way. Her lips forming a tiny "o" as she processed what he'd said. "I… haven't," she said with a depressed sigh. "Thanks, Doc."

Crowning was about to respond when the girl bolted to her feet.

"I know where to find her," she said with a beaming smile. Without another word, the battleship bolted for the door, her skirt flaring out around her swooshing hips as she somehow managed to sprint elegantly. "Thank you!" she said as she swung around the doorframe, her footsteps pounding against the floor as she ran off to who-knows-where.

Crowning blinked. To think, he'd almost considered Wash sane.

Just getting to the model shop was an experience in itself. Jersey'd never seen so many people crammed so tightly together. And she was a battleship. Her crews slept in bunks packed like… she wanted to say 'like sardines' but after that experience, she was starting to think 'like Japanese people' was a better metaphor.

It didn't help that an unreasonable number of said Japanese people were either dressed in some ridiculous outfit—Kirishima called it 'cosplay' as if that simple word explained all this fuck-oddness—or staring at her. Or some combination of both.

Frankly, Jersey didn't think her outfit was that out of the ordinary. It did do a rather good job of showing off her long, toned legs. Legs that even the battleship would happily admit were the very definition of 'amazing.' And no, she wasn't being vain. She was showing healthy admiration of- and thankfulness-for the engines at General Electric who'd designed her monstrous turbines.

They made her the most powerful battleship ever assembled by human hands, she was just… showing off what they'd been so kind as to give her.

Not that it explained all the stares she was getting. People were crowding around her on all sides, blocking all view of those marvelous legs. The only part of her sticking up above the crowd was her head and shoulders, and there wasn't anything of note there. Even her strawberry blond hair wasn't out of place next to 'cosplayer' with neon-pink wigs!

But any lingering frustration vanished as soon as Kirishima lead the younger, taller battleship into humble-looking store with a simple sign in unreadable moon-moon gobbledygook.

Jersey'd never entered a hobby shop herself. A few of her sailors had, but their experiences were such a tiny sliver of her soul that it barely even rated as a half remembered dream. But as she stepped into the building, she felt a wash of familiar smash against her bow.

Every wall was covered in row after row after row of boxes, each proudly displaying a painted image of the kit inside. There were tanks here, trains there, figures over there… and Ships! A seemingly endless sea of model ships were piled six high on the shelves. Jersey smiled as she spotted a kit of none other than Enterprise herself on proud display.

Right next to it was kit of Kongou—with new boxart to reflect the bouncy battleship's new female persona—and… And a kit of Mighty Mo with hand-written sign declaring her to be "Of the New Jersey Type."

But more than the kits, it was the people that made Jersey feel at home. There had to be at least thirty of them crammed into what little space model kits weren't occupying. She guessed around half were sailors, and all of them were happily arguing the merits of this glue over that, this cruiser over that, this destroyer over that…

"Wow," breathed Jersey, carefully ducking under a flight of Zeros hanging from the ceiling. She felt like a kid on Christmas morning! Box after box called to her, singing their plastic siren songs to the impressionable battleship.

"buyyyy ussss," they crooned, "buyyy ussssss, we're on saleeeeee"

"I need this," said Jersey, grabbing a 1/48th scale Tomcat model and balancing it atop her breast. "And this," she grabbed a handful of utterly-adorable egg-shaped baby Tomcats. "Oh, and-" Jersey stopped as she came across a model tank.

It looked like exactly the kind of tank the Taffies would design after a night gorging themselves on candy. She counted at least eleven barrels, most of which were bigger than the crew. "Kirishima?"

"Hmm?"

Jersey spun around, balancing the tank preciously atop her already large stack. "Is this…?"

"Oh, that's a Baneblade," said the Japanese girl with a smile, "No, it's not a real tank."

Jersey scowled. "Damnit, I thought for a second the Ruskies really went off the deep end."

"Ah, Kirishima-san," a middle-aged Japanese man walked over to the two women, his round face glowing with a luminescent smile. Judging by the unreadable moon-moon on his black polo, he was apparently some kind of employee. "It's good to see you again. Ashigara-san's already set up in the back if you'd like to join."

Kirishima smiled, bowing from the waist before the spoke. "Thank you, Miwaza-san, but I'm just here to browse today." She motioned to where Jersey was happily each 1/700th ship kit she came across. "This is my friend, Jersey-san."

"Hey, uh…" Jersey stopped, furiously shuffling the kits piled up on her chest to free up at least one hand. "Nice to meet you," she said, offering a hand to the Japanese man.

"It's a very great honor to meet you," he said, effortlessly shifting into near-perfect English as he gave Jersey a firm handshake. "I can't tell you how thankfull we are for that convoy of yours."

Jersey's blush shifted into infrared as Kirishima took over. "Miwaza-san is a very dear friend of mine," she said, "he owns this establishment."

"Have for twenty years," said Miwaza, grinning from ear to ear at the two battleships. "Which is why I can offer you half off anything in the store."

Jersey almost dropped her haul. "Wait, really?"

Miwaza nodded. "After what you pulled? It's the least I can do."

"I- I really can't-"

"Take it," said Miwaza, "Those are Games Workshop models."

Kirishima stifled a giggle.

"Well… hell, okay," said Jersey, "there is one thing though…"

"Oh?" Miwaza chewed on the corner of his lip, visible rifling though the racks of inventory cards in his head as he prepared to answer any question the battleship might have.

"Do you know where I can find a model of…" Jersey shrugged as best she could with an arm full of kids, "well, of me?"

"If you want of one this" Miwaza waved his hands over Jersey's towering figure, "I'm afraid you're out of luck. But…" his voice trailed off as he wandered off, disappearing behind a stack of boxes.

Jersey blinked.

"He does that," said Kirishima. "Just wait."

Sure enough, Miwaza returned a few minutes later with his own stack of boxes. "Alrighty…" he set the smaller ones down on the glass counter, standing the biggest two up on their sides. "I got a few in three-fiftieth, but they're your '83 refit. I figure you don't want that."

Jersey shook her head.

"Figures," said Miwaza, waving to the pile of smaller kits, "I've got the WWII refit in one-seven-hundredth. "Or…" he waved to a baggy of tan resin parts, "If you're dead-set on the big version, you can swap these for your bridge and secondaries."

Jersey's face was glowing as she looked over the pile of models before her. "Can I do both?"

"Of course you can," said Miwaza with a hearty laugh. "But only if you'll take a picture with me." He waved to a board tacked up on one wall. Photos of a smiling Miwaza next to at least a dozen kanmusu were held up by thumb-tacks and tape

"Oh… no problem!" said Jersey, happily dumping her haul of models off to be rung up. "I love this place!"