E/N: The omake at the end is not exactly author-approved, but I liked myself so much that I exercised editors perogative. Regard it as non-canon until stated otherwise.

Chapter 112: Shenanigans Ensue

Cameron Young knew he didn't have a thing in common with the snowy beauty that was large cruiser Alaska. He was a nineteen year old working part-time in a toy shop to pay for school, she was a seventy-two year old warship working full-time and then some to keep people like him safe from sea monsters. He was, at best, boyishly handsome, while her smile could light up a room like nothing else.

To tell the truth, he wasn't even that good at ice skating. The first time he'd ever even been on ice was a few days ago, when he stopped by the rink to get some practice in. He used to be into rollerblading, but that was years ago and his skills were more rust than actual skill. But he persevered on until he could at least make a complete lap without falling on his butt. He was determined not to embarrass himself in front of Alaska.

As it turned out, he didn't have to worry.

Because as bad as he was, it didn't matter. Alaska was worse.

He'd assumed that her effortless grace on the water would let her skate across the ice—which was, after all, just frozen water—without a second thought. Maybe she'd take a few minutes to get her bearings, but he was sure she'd pick it up soon enough.

She had not.

Alaska was her usual, uncoordinated land-going self. Only this time she had knives strapped to her feet.

"CAAAAAAAMMMEEERRROOOONNNNN!" Alaska screwed up her face and blindly flailed her arms in front of her as she—somehow—slid sideways into the wall. "CAN'T STOOOOPPPPPP!" The wall groaned as it bore the brunt of her impact. But it was designed to resist a sixty mile-per-hour body check between two heavily-padded hockey players. It could endure a gentle love-tap from an adorable large cruiser.

Just barely, but it could.

"'Laska," Cameron tried not to laugh as Alaska's long legs flailed against the ice, kicking up a cloud of mist that reached almost to her knees. "'Laska, calm down."

"Okay," she clung to the barrier like her life depended on it and slowly brought her legs to a stop.

"We can go," Cameron pulled up alongside her and offered her his arm. Instantly she was all but hanging off him, her body feeling very warm and soft pressed against his arm. "If you want."

For the tenth time since she'd gotten on the ice, Alaska shook her head vigorously. "Don't wanna, this is fun!"

Cameron shot her a look. He could feel her vibrating in terror against him. "You sure?"

Alaska nodded. "'s scary. But fun!"

"Want to try another lap?" Cameron gently pushed off against the ice with an angled skate.

"Mmm," Alaska nodded, and slowly slip from his grasp until she was standing alone on the ice. Her arms were spread wide, and her knees shook as she struggled to keep her center of mass squarely over her feet.

"Just…" Cameron glanced over at her and tried not to smile. She might be an uncoordinated derp on land, but the smile on her face was brighter than the sun. "Relax. Bend your knees."

Alaska did as she was told, and promptly splayed her long legs into a surprisingly good front-split. Cameron… did not know she was that flexible, and some part of his brain filed that information away for further notice. "Uh…" Alaska glanced down, utterly bewildered at why her legs were suddenly facing opposite directions. "Is this normal?"

"No," blurted out Cameron. "Most girls aren't that flexible."

Alaska blinked. Then her cheeks blushed a brilliant red and she nervously worried the hem of her dress.

"S-sorry," Cameron bit his lip and skated over to help. He wasn't sure how much help he could be, Alaska was far, far heavier than her lanky build would suggest. But it felt wrong to watch the girl he hoped would be his girlfriend struggle to her feet without at least trying to help her up. "Here."

Alaska took his hand in hers—wow, her hand was soft. And just the right level of cool too, like a refreshing shower after a long day—and flailed her legs around. After about a minute, she managed to get all her appendages in order and stood back up.

"Uh," Cameron waved to the cruiser's shapely stern. "You have some ice on, uh…"

"Huh?" Alaska felt up her butt, the blushed as she felt the bits of chipped ice stuck to her skirt. "Oh… thanks."

"No prooo…" Cameron trailed off as he watched Alaska clean herself off. She didn't try to brush it away, she just shook her hips and let it fall off the deep blue fabric. He was trying really hard to ignore the way her stern shifted to and fro, but… but it was really hard. Hopefully miss Atago wouldn't shell him for looking, he couldn't tear his eyes away if he tried.

—|—|—

"Yesss!" Atago broke the silence with a squeal of delight.

"What?" Hamakaze glanced over the top of her half-finished PEOPLE magazine.

"She did the hip thing I taught her!"

Hamakaze tossed her magazine away, "Did it work?"

"I think so!"

—|—|—

"Cameron?" Alaska smiled innocently at her date. Her snowy hair was a total mess, but somehow that made her serenely confused features even more stunning.

Now it was Cameron's chance to blush. "S-sorry, 'laska."

The large cruiser just nodded, and pivoted around with a frantic stamping and shuffling of feet that she didn't seem entirely in control of. She stared at the ice with determination, then took one gliding step forwards. "CAMERON!" she clapped her hands with glee, "CAMERON! CAMERON! I'M DOING IT!"

Cameron laughed and set of with her. "You really are, 'laska! Good for you!"

Alaska giggled and took another gliding step. She wasn't touching the wall, she wasn't even hanging off Cameron's waist like a damp cat with her legs flailing every which way. She was skating. And then—although Cameron wasn't even sure if her brain was aware of it—her hand reached out and took his in its soft grasp.

"'Laska?"

"Shhh," said the cruiser. "I wanna enjoy this."

—|—|—

Jersey closed her eyes and drank in the chill winter air. This close to the coast, she could taste hints of home cooking dancing around the salty spray, and it was enough to set her belly rumbling. Then again, almost anything was enough to get the battleship's tummy agitated, but that was a point for another time. It was too nice a day to worry about feeding herself, at not just yet.

Food would come later. From what she'd heard Jane Richardson made a killer chocolate cake.

"Mmm…" Jersey gave her washboard belly an absentminded pat. Just thinking about cake made her mouth water, and a tiny gurgle slipped though the layers of fabric covering her tummy.

A halfheartedly stifled giggle wafted over the waves from somewhere off Jersey's port beam. A very familiar giggle that Jersey was still unsure if she found endearing or annoying. The big battleship sighed, and glanced over at the source of the noise. "What do you want, poi?"

Yuudachi giggled again. Her hair flaps waved in the breeze like the flowing silk of the scarf she hadn't taken off since Jersey gave it to her all those… weeks ago. Damn, had the Princess really been that recent?

"You're…" the blonde destroyer tugged at her fingerless gloves—a Christmas present from Tenryuu. Jersey thought they were tacky and dumb. Her own cut-off flight gloves were infinitely cooler. "Like, really cute!"

"You take that back," Jersey locked her aviator-shaded glare on the little destroyer with a scowl, "You little shit."

Yuudachi shook her head, her hair flaps magnifying the movement like a very fluffy dog shaking itself dry.

"Destroyers," Jersey scowled. "What's got you in such spirits?"

"I get to see Shigure-chan!" Yuudachi hugged herself with a lazy-eyed grin.

"Your sister?" Jersey made a show of looking horrified. "Secnav strike me down…"

"No," Yuudachi shook her head. "She's, like really nice poi! You'll like her a lot!"

"Poi," Jersey chuckled. "I hate literally all of you meme-spewing Japanese shits."

"No you doooont~ poi!"

The battleship shook her head and planted her hands on her hips. "Go fuck yourself, kiddo."

Yuudachi darted over to give Jersey's hips a quick hug. Then before the big battleship could react she darted off to join Naka's patrol rotation, leaving nothing but the quiet sounds of pois in the mist.

Jersey shook her head. Hanging around Yuudachi caused her sanity to plummet like the Soviet GDP, but she'd be dammed if she didn't find the little shit adorable. Not… not as adorable as her own destroyers, of course. But adorable. In an annoying… kinda-wanna-strangle-her sort of way.

She'd give Japan one thing. They knew cute. It seemed to be literally fucking all they knew, but not everybody could land on the moon.

Speaking of cute, a few thousand yards astern the gigantic form of converted carrier Shinano tried valiantly and unsuccessfully to hide behind Johnston's feathery headress.

Jersey had been a little bit worried that her favorite clutch of homicidal destroyers might cause a problem with the timid carrier. But they'd apparently decided that since Shinano claimed White for her momboat—an agreement that was happily reciprocated—Shinano was now their honorary little sister and needed to be protected as such.

It hadn't exactly gone well. Hoel and Heerman clustered close to the timid carrier with their bare arms crossed and their tiny faces contorted in exaggerated scowls like diminutive club bouncers. Meanwhile, Johnston zig-zagged off the carrier's bow, pointing her guns at any suspicions-looking wave and demanding to see it's ID. She'd also glued a construction paper mustache to her upper lip, for reasons Jersey thought best not to look into.

Shinano seemed to be taking the attention in stride though. She'd stopped squealing after the first hour and focused on fiddling with her wrought-iron bow and occasionally sending a recon plane up.

Jersey appreciated the carrier's efforts, but with the vast aluminum dome of JASDF P-3s filling the sky with a constant drone of turboprops and Naka's kiddos pulling picket duty, she felt about as close to safe from subs as she'd ever felt.

Even further astern, Jersey made out the tripod masts and fluttering flags of Frisco's cruiser division. Frisco herself steamed in the lead, with the much bigger—and as Frisco was fond of pointing out, not treaty compliant—Prinz Eugen looming off her beam. Lou took up the rear, and seemed more interested in watching waves break against the shore than the furious argument the other two were in the middle of.

Jersey wasn't quite sure what they were talking about. The only words she could make was Prinz Eugen's increasingly frustrated Prussian accent sputtering "But why! Do they not! Have pants!"

The battleship though that was rich coming from someone wearing a skirt like Prinz Eugen's, but decided she'd best stay out of the conversation. Besides, she had something far more pressing to deal with just off her beam.

"Yo," Jersey pulled up alongside the quietly sniffling form of Kongou with what she hoped was a tender smile. She really wasn't good at subtley when it came to… anything, really. But dammit… she'd do her best. She wouldn't hold back a thing in her quest to be subtle.

"Oh," Kongou sniffed and smiled back. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were a little glassier than usual. "Hello."

"Uh…" Jersey bit her lip. "Fuck."

Kongou glanced at the water with a sigh.

"Look," Jersey scuffed her heel against her deck. "I'm not fucking good at this shit, and I get if you want me to leave you alone. But… fucking… I'm here if you want me."

"That's," Kongou gave Jersey a weak smile. "That's very nice, Dess."

Jersey scowled. "Fuck, after what you did for me? Fucking 'least I can do." The big american crossed her thick arms and scowled at the horizon. "'sides, I'm a commander now. I'm supposed to be all officerly and shit."

"An officer and a gentleman, dess?"

Jersey glanced down at her shorts. "Well, I don't have a dick. So the fucking gentleman part's off the table," she said. "But I can listen, and fucking help if I can."

"Well…" Kongou brushed a strand of chestnut brown hair past her ear and smiled despite herself. "I… I want to have teitoku, dess!"

"Don't we all," chuckled Jersey.

Kongou, meanwhile, was too caught up in what seemed to be a prepared speech to bother responding to the American. "I… I want to love him! And make him tea! And scones! And have his babies, dess!"

Jersey blinked. "That went zero to a hundred real damn fast."

"Don't tell me," Kongou sighed wistfully and cradled her belly in her hands. "You haven't dreamed of children, dess."

"Fucking—" Jersey bit off the rest of her retort. Now that she thought of it, she did feel a little something whenever she was with Crowning—or her destroyers for that matter. She'd assumed it was just her belly grumbling that she wasn't currently eating pie—mixed with a healthy dose of headache and hatred when the destroyers were involved. But… maybe it was something… other that her tummy.

"De~ny it, dess!" teased Kongou.

Jersey scowled. Now that the mental image of her with a belly full of Jersey-spawn and a few more little shits playing on her lap had entered her mind, she was finding it impossible to drive out. In fact, she was finding it impossible to even try. "So fucking what, I want kids!"

Kongou giggled for a moment, then her face fell into a melancholy sigh. "I hope… someday…"

Jersey watched her for a moment, then carefully put an arm around the battleship's shoulder. "Uh… how many do you want?"

"Hmm?"

"Kids," said Jersey. "How many do you want?"

Kongou blinked. "I… I'm not sure, dess."

"Well. I get five for every three of yours," said Jersey.

"W-what?" Kongou brought a finger to her chin and tilted her head to the side.

"Washington treaty, bitch," said the American.

"I… don't think that applies here," said Kongou, smiling in spite of herself.

"Doesn't matter," said Jersey. "Don't try to out-build American Industry. You'll fucking loose."

"This isn't a contest, dess!"

"I'm American," Jersey threw her head back with a smirk. "Everything's a contest and we always fucking win! U! S! A!"

"USA!" chorused the taffies. "USA! USA! USA!" Now Frisco, Lou, and eventually even Prinz Eugen joined in.

Kongou blinked. She didn't know how or why, but she somehow felt a lot better after her brief chat with the American. That alone scared her. But also… she couldn't stop smiling.

"What's going on, poi?" asked Yuudachi.

For the first time in her life, Kongou was at a loss for words.

—|—|—

After what felt like hours on the ice, Alaska and her would-be boyfriend glided to a stop near the bench. The large cruiser never quite grasped the concept of "steering", and spent the whole time coasting in whatever direction she happened to be facing at that particular instant in time.

It hadn't dampened her spirits though, the cruiser's smile was positively incandescent as she fumbled with the laces on her skates. Somehow, she seemed at home aimlessly coasting over the ice, content to go wherever her skates took her. It was almost as endearing at her lopsided smile and glittering snowy hair.

"'laska?" Cameron glanced up from his skates.

"Hmm?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're really pretty?"

The cruiser blushed, and squeaked out a tiny noise of thanks before furiously turning back to her skates. For a warship, she was hilariously easy to fluster.

Cameron chuckled. "'cause you are. Hey, you hungry?"

"No," Alaska shook her head. Instants later, her tummy let out a loud rumble, and the cruiser instantly clutched at her slender waist with an apologetic wince. "r-really, no."

"'Laska," Cameron reached around the cruiser's narrow—though quite well muscled—shoulders to hug her. "It's okay, Admiral Raleigh said he'd expense any food I got you if I brought him a receipt."

"Oh," Alaska stopped clutching her stomach and leaned into the hug. "He's really nice."

"Yeah," Cameron let his arm slide down to rest on the crook of her hip. "Like you."

Alaska let out a tiny squeal and shuffled closer. So close he could feel the grumpy vibrations coming off her tummy.

"You know," said Cameron, "there's this really great burger place just across the lot."

"Mmm," Alaska nodded. "Let's go there."

Cameron smiled. Then for a few minutes he stared at her. "You know you have to stand up first."

"Mmm…" Alaska scooted closer. "Don't wanna."

—|—|—

Battleship Arizona stood as rigid and tall as her squat figure would allow, and struggled to keep her face even as the little flotilla steamed in from Yokosuka.

One would imagine that after weeks of having to endure the comically tiny assemblage of cloth and steel Mutsu mockingly claimed was a "skirt", after weeks of watching the abbreviated fabric flutter with every gust of wind, always threatening to lay bare what little dignity the Japansese battleship had left, but never quite showing anything below the waterline, after weeks of chasing aviation-cruiser Chikuma around in a fruitless attempt to force her into something even the slightest bit more modest than her sideless skirt… and the less said about Shimakaze, the better.

After all that, one might imagine Arizona would have built up some sort of tolerance to… unchaste, to be polite outfits.

One might think that, but they would be wrong. The moment she saw the towering figure of New Jersey, with her criminally short shorts clinging to only the barest vestige of modesty because of the slightly-less impossibly short—though so tight they may as well have been painted on—shorts she wore beneath, Arizona felt her blood start to boil.

The pudgy standard clawed at the thick fabric of her properly-ladylike skirt and bit down on her tongue. While she found the… minimalist clothing of her Japanese allies almost intolerable, they were her allies and her hosts. She could at least extend them a certain degree of latitude.

But to see a fellow American dressed so provocatively? Arizona had forced her feelings away the first time she'd met her towering compatriot, out of respect to Jersey's obviously wounded state. But at the same time, the standard had clung to the hope that the fast battleship state of undress was a mere artifact of her obviously battle-weary state, and that she'd change into more proper clothes once she was repaired.

But, as Arizona could plainly see, that was not the case. If anything, New Jersey's dress had got yet more revealing. The down vest she'd worn before—which at least concealed her chest—was gone. In its place was a fitted garment of shimmering navy blue that left nothing to the imagination, complete with armor plating of the same style she'd seen on Mutsu that lifted and framed the Iowa's chest, presenting her… womanly figure for all the world to see.

"Ufufufu~"A sultry giggle slipped past Mutsu's lips—was there really any other kind coming from her? "Arizona-chan, something bothering you?"

Arizona bristled at the nickname. Yes, she was significantly smaller than the Big Seven battleship, the tip of her pristine combination cover barely reached the base of Mutsu's porcelain chin. But she was a good five years older than the Japanese super-dreadnought. "You know me well enough," said Arizona.

Mutsu giggled, and clasped her gloved hands to hold her minute skirt down as a brisk sea breeze washed off the calm ocean. "I think it's quite fetching on her."

Arizona smiled in spite of herself. "Yes, you would think so."

"Ufufufu~" Mutsu trailed off with a smile, then clicked her heels together with crisp precision. "Attenn-SHUN!" The swell of her chest wasn't just for show, the littlest Nagato had a powerful set of lungs on her, and her crisply snapped order echoed over the water.

Arizona snapped to, her chest thrown out with the cape of her heavy coat flapping off her back.

"Battleship," Mutsu puffed out her chest with each syllable, her face never totally loosing that smirking edge. "USS New Jersey, arriving!" The battleship brought a gloved hand to her brow in a parade-ground perfect salute. Arizona might detest the bigger battleship's choice of outfit, but she could never find the tiniest flaw with her professionalism. At least… when Mutsu was trying to be professional.

Arizona brought her own hand to her brow and watched the fleet file into the bay. The vast hulls of battleships, cruisers, and even a carrier she'd never seen before dwarfed the battered guided-missile destroyers standing watch. And then, in an instant, they were gone, and a neatly ordered row of girls stood on the far end of the pier.

Jersey snapped legs almost thicker than Arizona's waist together and brought a muscled arm up to her towering brow. The old Standard hadn't quite gotten over how enormous warships had grown while she was asleep. "Request permission to come ashore."

"Granted," Admiral Richardson returned her salute with a smile. "Pleasure to have you with us commander."

"Thank you, sir." Jersey closed the distance terrifyingly fast, her long legs sweeping out more ground at a lazy stroll than Arizona's stubby screws could at a dead sprint. She towered over the standard with the thickest part of her chest even with Arizona's scarred nose. She was… somewhat ashamed to admit it, but one of her boatcranes started to itch, and she hastily quashed the thought.

"You made Commander, hmm?" Mutsu trilled a teasing hum. "Congratulations!"

"Well…" It was hard to tell though the battleship's sunglasses, but Arizona swore she saw Jersey glace at Richardson for an instant. "You made wife."

"WHAT!" Richardson's face could have guided a sleigh though the fiercest storms the North Pacific had to offer. Jersey's sharp features contorted like a five-ton in a frontal collision as she fought back her laughter. Arizona felt faint, and the corners of her vision started to fade to black.

Mutsu, on the other hand, just covered her mouth with a glove and let a teasing, trilling "Ufufufuf~" slip past her teeth.

"I'm—" Jersey panted and fought back a howling laugh. "I'm sorry sir… I just…"

"You!" Richardson pivoted on his heel to stare at Mutsu. "You put her up to this!"

"Who?" Mutsu planted a hand on her chest and the look of scolded puppy on her face. "Me?"

"Yes, you!"

Mutsu giggled. It was the kind of gooey, teasing giggle that was at once as good as a signed confession of guilt and a dare that, no matter how hard Richardson tried, he'd never be able to pin anything on her. Arizona should know, she heard that giggle from Mutsu on an almost daily basis.

"I will get you for this, Mutsnail," said Richardson.

Without missing a beat, and without shifting her features even the slightest from deadpan disinterest, a shockingly pretty oriental cruiser Arizona recognized as San Francisco said, "Lewd."

For a moment, the world froze. It was so quiet you could have heard a the voice of an honest politician.

And then Jersey doubled over howling in laughter, Mutsu started pounding her fist against a bollard and clutching her side as she shook with mirth, and Richardson just shifted into new shades of red never before discovered by man.

"T-that-" Jersey panted and hauled herself back onto her feet. "That one wasn't my fault."

"Mmm," said Richardson in a valiant attempt to retain some commanding bearing.

"Anyways," the toweringly huge battleship—Arizona could not get over how much bigger than her Jersey was, especially this close—struggled back her laughter. "Should probably introduce everyone."

Richardson just nodded.

"You know Kongou—"

"Dess!" The oppressively cheerful battleship waved.

"—Naka—"

"Hai Hai! Naka-chan, Desu~~" Said Naka with a thrown-out hip and cute hand gesture.

"Goddammit," Jersey scowled. "I thought you said you were never gonna do that again."

"I lied."

"Motherfucker," Jersey scowled and swatted at one of the smiling cruiser's buns. "Oh, and Bucky—"

"Hello," A serious-looking destroyer with her hair in a tiny ponytail bowed from the waist.

"—And poi."

"Hello, poi!" A much less serious destroyer with her strawberry blond hair flapping like an excited puppy waved.

"Heavy cruisers 'Frisco—"

Frisco smiled. She looked just like how Arizona remembered, only she'd traded her crisp uniform for a grubbier tunic with the sleeves and midriff torn off. Arizona knew better than to inquire about the scars lacing her sinewy tummy.

"—And USS Prinz Eugen—" Jersey put an awful lot of emphasis on the national prefix.

"Guten morgen." A tall blonde wearing a skirt that made even Mutsu's seem decent and an American flag bandanna awkwardly tied around the arm of her obviously German uniform. "It's a pleasure to meet—" her crisp Prussian accent halted, and Arizona could almost hear the girl's mind switch gears. "Um… ya'll."

Frisco flashed a thumbs up.

"—and this is Lou."

"Cee-ell forty-nine." The tanned redhead beamed a laid-back smile that stood at odds to the vast array of guns strapped over her lean figure. "Nice to meet ya!"

"—You already know the taffies…" Jersey waved to a gaggle of Fletcher class destroyers with torn-off sleeves. And… what looked like imitation-gold chains from a costume shop draped around their tiny necks. And construction paper mustaches taped to their lips. For… some reason. "…are little shits."

The girl with the huge feathered headrests—Johnston, Arizona was pretty sure—beamed like she'd just been complimented by God himself.

"And that's Shinano," said Jersey, "Be nice."

The largest carrier Arizona had ever seen in her life was utterly failing to hide behind the three destroyers. She was bigger than even old Sara, as tall but… thicker. Comparing the two was like putting a ballet dancer next to an iron worker. Grace and poise traded for sheer brawn.

But, when Arizona eventually got past the sheer enormity of the gigantic carrier's body and the way her open-fronted skirt revealed legs thick with almost as much muscle as Jersey, she noticed something else.

The girl, amazonian build aside, looked young enough to be a destroyer. Her face was soft and round, and kind brown eyes cowered timidly behind the protective barricade of her eyeglasses. Even little Jane wasn't usually this timid and shy.

Arizona felt her maternal instincts go into overdrive as she crouched against the pier. "It's okay, sweetie."

"Hi" Shinano tried to stand up, but only overbalanced onto her bottom with a creak of wood. She might be young, but she was still straining the pier she stood on to its breaking point. "Hi, miss Arizona."

"Hello, Shinano." Arizona smiled at the girl with what she hoped with a reassuring grin. "It's nice to meet you."

"Y-you too," Shinano picked herself up, suddenly looming over Arizona like a very timid mountain. The big carrier nervously worried her heavy wrought-iron bow. "Um… you're really not mad?"

Arizona shook her head. She wasn't… but she couldn't say the same for the tightly-caged ball of rage that was her big sister. And… from what Mutsu'd told her about the giant carrier, she felt more pity for the poor girl that hatred. "No, sweetie. You weren't even born when I died."

"Oh," Shinano's chubby cheeks slowly spread in a timid smile. "I… thank you."

"Told ya," said Jersey. And then her belly let out a grumpy rumble.

Shinano clutched her own stomach as it let out a sympathetic whimper. Even Kongou's tummy sounded less than content.

"Um," a nervous chuckle slipped past Jersey's lips. "Maybe we could continue over food?"

Omake - By MagisterAurelius

Texas clicked her phone shut. "Well it looks like 'Laska is going to have a really nice time."

"So ripping her date's arms off and shoving them up his backside will probably not be necessary then?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Avery Mean! You will do no such thing to that nice young man. Besides, Atago is in main battery range and you wouldn't get there in time if he did try something naughty." The grizzled mountain of a Marine, somehow being competely intelligible while talking and chomping an unlit cigar simultaneously, muttered something about being able to make it to melee range in time if he was shot out of a cannon. Texas raised her eyebrow and replied, "And if you were to make Alaska cry as a result of that?"

"You really do not fight fair do you, my little battle barge o' delight?" He raised his head at the hearing of a ding in the kitchen. "Ah, the first batch is done. Care to assist me in the kitchen?"

"Sure thing dear." She did marvel at the dexterity a man 6'8" tall and at least 340 pounds of muscle was capable of. Especially in his hand made candies. "You are something though. How someone all the shipgirls call the "Candyman" is called by every Marine and ground pounder in the United States as the Meanest SOB in the Valley of Death or that angry bastard who hunts feral hogs with a sledgehammer..."

"Alright the hammer thing was once. And that was because the heavy bol- " He stopped and shook his finger. "Ah hot! - er Barrett jammed and it was charging me so. I hit it until it stopped moving." He shrugged. "Not the stupidest thing I've ever done before."