Chapter 114: Spectrum of Civility

After the appalling display of crass gluttony devoid of even the barest hint of proper table manner that was New Jersey's dinner last night, standard battleship Arizona resolved to eat her breakfast with ladylike grace. While the old standard could admit her Amazonian compatriot was hobbled by her necessarily vast appetite, she saw no reason that Jane should fall into the graceless consumption Jersey so recklessly displayed.

Her admiral might not have given Arizona the honor of being Jane's mother, but that didn't mean the plump standard couldn't do everything in her power to set a good example for the admiral's daughter. After all, Jane wanted to be an Admiral someday—something which Arizona dearly hoped she'd live to see. And what admiral could rise the ranks while eating with her mouth open.

So Arizona took small morsels of her rice and beans, and chewed each one thoroughly before swallowing and dabbing her lips with a napkin where needed. Occasionally, she'd eat some of the fresh broccoli resting on the side of her plate.

Arizona was quite sure she needn't expend any effort to maintain her—rather plump, if she was being honest—figure. But she wanted to set a good example for her Admiral's daughter.

One couldn't grow as big and strong as Jersey on Jersey's diet of… what seemed to be exclusively meat or syrup-laden breakfast products with a light garnishing of pie. "Jersey?"

The fast battleship glanced up. A stack of pankcakes the size of Arizona's fist hung from her open jaw, and a little rivulet of Syrup—the terrible corn-syrup kind that Jersey insisted was the "good stuff"—ran down the corner of her mouth and trickled off the point of her chin. "Whuzzhu?"

Arizona's lips tensed, and she fought back the urge to whack the bigger battleship's knuckles with a ruler. She was quite aware that Jersey had to eat like a slob if she was going to sate her endless hunger in anything like a reasonable time. And for all her seeming immaturity, the Iowa was Arizona's superior officer by quite a few grades. "When was the last time you ate a vegetable?"

The big Iowa shot Arizona a sideways glance as she swallowed. "What do I look like, a fucking communist?"

Jane giggled, and almost choked on her breakfast of frosted flakes and orange juice.

"Vegetables," Jersey waved a skinny piece of bacon around like a field-marshal's swagger stick. "are what food eats."

Arizona scowled, but Jane just giggled. "But I wanna grow up big 'n strong!"

Jersey shrugged. "I'm already a big motherfucker, no reason to get even huger."

"Jersey, language please."

The big battleship blinked. Then her stern features twisted into a scowl. "Oh, Fuck! Sorry!" She reached over the table to rustle Jane's hair. "Don't say any of the fucking words I say, okay, kiddo?"

"Okay!" Jane smiled and took a long drink of juice. "Miss Shinano?"

The giant carrier who had up until this point been as quiet and still as a fly on the wall—a very, very very large fly attempting to ineffectually hide behind her small glass of milk, but a fly nevertheless—let out a tiny squeak of surprise. She offered a closed-lip smile to the little girl who almost looked older.

"How are you liking the sandwich?" Jane fished out her notebook and one of the only gel pens Albacore hadn't 'borrowed' yet.

Shinano offered a tiny thumbs up. "'s guh," she said. Which might have been "it's good" or "Sugoi", it hard to tell with her voice muffled.

"Shinny," Jersey poked the carrier in the ribs, "Are you chewing? Or did your teeth just get glued together."

"Gluhw tufetha."

"Goddammit," Jersey scowled. "Why the fuck did we give her nutella."

"Becuse you said that nutella sandwich I gave you was good!" said Jane.

"Yeah!" The Iowa waved her syrup-coated fork in a way that would be threatening if it were't for the massive chunk of fluffy pancake stuck to the end. That Jersey was unable to keep from eyeing hungrily. "Fucking… because I wanted more."

"Shouldn't I share then?" said Jane.

"Not with fucking Yamaflat!" Jersey scoffed.

Shinano muttered something too garbled for Arizona to understand.

"Shut the fuck up, Shinny," Jersey rolled her eyes. "Your opinion is not relevant, you got outsmarted by a fucking sandwich."

Shinano shrugged, and went back to happily mashing her nutella-covered teeth like a pensioner mashing his gums.

"I think she likes it though," said Jane.

"It's fucking chocolate in spread form," said Jersey. "Everyone with a soul fucking likes it."

"Ooh!" Jane perked up, and frantically scribbled something down in her notebook. Judging by how long she spent bent over with flying pen in hand, she'd had some sort of brilliant idea or revelation.

Jersey blinked. "I preemptively state that whatever happens is not my fault."

Arizona huffed, and chewed a head of broccoli as angrily as she could. But after barely four bites, she felt something warm and slightly sticky squish against her cheek. Whatever it was, it pulled away a moment later, leaving a few flakes of sticky glazing stuck to the old standard's cheek. But the next second it was back, squishing what felt like warm jelly against her skin.

"Jersey," Arizona sighed, and glanced over at the towering battleship. "What is this?"

"Jelly donut." Jersey grinned like an over sized child. Arizona knew it was a childish grin because Jane had the exact same look on her chubby face.

"I shouldn't," Arizona pushed Jersey's hand away with a little smile. The plump standard wasn't exactly fat… but she certainly wasn't svelte either, and her soft tummy sat like an oven-fresh muffin over the waist of her long skirt.

"But you shooooould," teased Jersey. It wasn't a bad imitation of Mutsu's teasing lilt, but the American clearly had much to learn before she could wield a tease as artfully as the big-seven battleship. "We're battleships. One donut won't do shit to your waistline."

Arizona started to protest, but the pleading look in Jane's eyes was enough to quell any dissent before it'd even reached the battleship's lips. Jane might not be an Admiral yet, but her pleading stares carried every bit as much authority. "Very well," Arizona daintily took the squashed pastry in her hand, "But only one."

"She says now," smirked Jersey.

Arizona ignored the fast battleship's impropriety and took a carefully measured bite.

Then another.

Then yet another.

Then, when the little delight had vanished down her gullet like a bowl of rice presented to Akagi, the old standard turned to Jersey. "Commander," said Arizona's voice was shaken, and the old standard practically tripped over her words in her haste. "Would you perhaps happen to know where I could get several dozen more?"

Jersey laughed, and offered her massive hand to Jane for a crisp high-five. "Base bakery. There's a fucking krispy kreme on-base too. Their donuts are shit, but the best fucking kind of shit."

"Mmm," Arizona licked bits of jelly off her fingers. "I'll… keep that in mind."

"Sure you will." Jersey chuckled speared a pile of soggy pancakes the size of Arizona's fist with her fork and somehow managed to fit them all into her maw.

But before Arizona had time to bristle at the fast-battleship's unladylike behavior,she felt a chill run down her keel.

Her sister had just stepped though the doors. rage radiating off her like a mirage off hot tarmac. Arizona's pulse skyrocketed as she saw Pennsy's short form turn squarely towards her table and accelerate to flank.

"Shinano," Pennsylvania's voice was harsh and forced, each word slipping out with a groan like a buckling pressure cooker.

Shinano whimpered in surprise and shrank back against Jersey's flank.

"Eat somewhere else," there wasn't an inch of give in the furious Standard's voice.

Shinano was too terrified to do anything, but Jane was quick to react.

"Why?" asked the Admiral's Daughter. "She's just eating breakfast."

"Right," said Pennsy. "And the next thing you know she'll be handing us all bloody, screaming deaths and laughing all the while."

"She's not like that!" Jane puffed out her cheeks defiantly.

"Jane…" Pennsy dropped to one knee, her fury suddenly tempered by deep, honest tenderness. "She's a carrier. A nip carrier—"

Quiet tears trickled down Shinano's smooth face. Jersey froze. Then the big fast-battleship quietly placed her fork down and wiped her face clean with utter calm.

Pennsy didn't seem to notice. "—I know you think she's nice, but you can't trust her." Her eyes drifted from Jane to Shinano, and every scrap of tenderness vanished into pure hateful rage. "If anything happened to you," she said, her words as much a threat to Shinano as they were an assurance to Jane, "I'd never forgive myself."

"Pennsy," Jersey's voice was cold and calm, but Arizona saw every muscle in the towering battleship tense. Her temples pulsed as Jersey clenched her jaw, and her pointed eyebrows crouched low over her terrifyingly blue eyes like football players getting ready for a play. "Hallway. Now."

Pennsylvania stood, but dug her heel in to stand her ground. "Commander, I was just—"

"Hallway," said the amazonian battleship. Jersey pushed her half-finished breakfast away and stood to her full height, effortlessly towering over the diminutive standard. "And that's an order."

The comparatively tiny stood her ground even as Jersey's vast shadow loomed over her. Her hands balled into even tighter fists than usual, and her feet were planed firmly on the deck. For the barest fraction of an instant, Arizona thought her big sister was about to summon her guns—in a tight brawl, even an Iowa couldn't trounce a mad enough Standard.

But while Pennsy's features burned with barely-constrained rage, Jersey's face was as cold as the ice in her eyes.

The two battle wagons stared at each other, neither titan willing to bend before the other. Then, with the Herculean effort of a man bending steel beams with his bare hands, Pennsylvania slowly snapped to. "Sir."

With the soft shuffle of Pennsy's flats and the oiled creak of Jersey's leather gunbelt, the two made for the doorway, leaving a twisting wake of burning anger and ice-cold fury in their wake.

Jersey waited until the door swung shut behind her to corner the shorter, slower standard against the wall and slip the mirrored aviators attenuating her terrifyingly intense blue eyes. "What the fuck was that, Lieutenant?"

"Sir," Pennsy thrust our her chin and scowled almost straight up at the towering Iowa. "I was merely attempting to ensure the safety of those under my charge sir. As should we all, sir."

Jersey growled, but her unearthly, unblinking blue gaze never wavered from the standard. "By reducing the third most powerful fleet carrier in our arsenal to a crying wreck?" Jersey's neck tensed with corded muscle as she forced each word past her gritted teeth. "Fucking explain to me how that make sense, Lieutenant."

"She's a ni-"

"So help me god," Jersey leveled her gaze at Pennsy, "If you finish that word, I'll fucking end you."

The standard scowled. "Fine. A Jap. Her comrades butchered mine… ours at Pearl!"

"You know damn well she wasn't there for that."

"Right!" Pennsy threw up her hands like she'd just realized something. "Because she only sailed to ferry suicide planes! To murder our sailors because the goddamn slant-eyed bastards had run out of any other way to make us bleed!"

Her chest heaved as hot breath hissed though her bared teeth. "They knew they'd lost. The fucking knew it. Her people were willing to throw their lives away not for victory, but for just a chance to make us bleed."

"That was seventy-five years ago," said Jersey. "Re-fucking-mind me, what happened seventy five years before pearl?"

"It's not the same!" spat Pennsy. "You weren't there. You were born into victory! I have the image of my little sister blowing sky-high seared into my mind! Every time I close my eyes I see her, body torn asunder. I won't— I can't let that happen again!"

"Pennsy…" Jersey shook her head. "I don't give a single rotten fuck. Okay? I don't. You know what I do care about?"

The standard just scowled.

"Shidens," said Jersey. "Three-hundred-fifty knots in a straight line. Armored to the gills, but a climb rate almost a mile a minute. They are, bar none, the best fighters in our arsenal. And we have exactly one fucking deck that can spot them. And you just made her cry."

Pennsy stared at Jersey, too angry to do anything else.

"You love your sister, right?" asked Jersey. "I assume you at least fucking tolerate me and Lou. Maybe the taffies too."

The standard slowly nodded.

"Thanks to you," said Jersey, "They're steaming into battle without air cover." She leaned over until her nose was mere inches from Pennsy's. "You're gonna watch your sister die to a bomb all over again. Only this time it'll be all your fault."

The fire in Pennsy's gaze dimmed, and she glanced down at her toes. "I…"

"Lieutenant!" Jersey barked. "You are speaking to a superior officer!"

"Sir," Pennsy muttered and squared her shoulders again. But this time, she couldn't quite bring herself to meet the towering Iowa's gaze.

"Go back in there," said Jersey, "And apologize to Shinano."

"S-sir," Pennsy nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And then apologize to your sister," said Jersey. "And to Jane, and I want you to explain to her why what you did was wrong."

"Sir." The standard stiffened, but didn't quite spit the word out like she had before.

"And when you're done," said Jersey. "Report to the Admiral. And pray you get there before my report does."

—|—|—

Sarah Gale woke with a start. The last thing she could remember was passing out into the warm an inexplicably nutmeggy embrace of Wash's soft breasts. Now she was lying on a couch, and neither Wash nor her delightfully full chest was anywhere to be seen.

"Ugh," Gale grunted as she hauled herself up on her elbows. She couldn't have been asleep for too long, her stomach still creaked with the vast bounty her mother's Southern Hospitably had produced. She smiled, and gave her belly a contented pat. Base food wasn't horrible, and the odd dishes Lou or Tenryuu's kids baked were a welcome treat. But it just couldn't compare with home cooking from a tiny little woman who loved her so.

"Ma?" Gale hooked her thumbs over her belt loops and lazily waded though the Christmasy debris of shredded paper and wadded-up ribbons. The muffled sounds of explosions and cheers wafted in from the family room, clearly her dad was still completing the Christmas tradition of watching Die Hard and Commando back-to-back. No wonder his old ship was so enthusiastic about that movie.

But Gale was inexorably drawn towards the kitchen. She was sure she was so stuffed she couldn't fit another bite in with a sledgehammer and a pack of angry marines. But she smelled her mother's fudge. And her mother's fudge was worth exploding over. "Ma, do I smell fudge?"

"You do, dear!" Gale's mother's voice wafted over from the kitchen on warm chocolaty air that set Gale drooling. She'd worked her ass off all year to slim down and tone up… she could afford a few pieces of fudge for Christmas. Wash would understand, right? She could always work the weight back off.

But as it turned out, Wash didn't need the concept to be explained to her. The serene battleship sat happily on a table with a little plate of fudge cradled close to her soft chest. Her queenly features glowed with glee as she slowly chewed, and Gale couldn't help but notice the bottom few buttons of her uniform were undone.

Even the battleship's superhuman appetite fell before a little southern mother intent on fattening up her daughter-in-law and becoming a little southern grandmother. It was good to know that even shipgirl magic crumbled in the face of good old-fashioned southern hospitality. And… if Gale was being really honest with herself, Wash looked adorable cheerfully nomming on fudge.

"Sarah!" Gale's mother wheeled around from the stove with a beaming smile on her face. "You didn't tell me your girlfriend liked fudge!"

Gale blinked. "I… I didn't know she did." Whenever Gale saw the battleship eating, she tried to look anywhere but her overflowing plate, as an ultimately futile attempt to cling to at least some tiny shred of her rapidly depleting sanity.

"I do," Wash smiled and popped another cube of fudge in her mouth with a happy purring moan.

"She's a good girl, you know that?" Gale's mother smiled. "Came in here insisting she help with the dishes."

"I just thought it was proper," mumbled Wash.

"It was very nice, sweetie," Gale's mother smiled at the battleship. "But you're my guest, and I won't have you wearing yourself out."

Wash smiled.

"That's my daughter's job."

"MA!" Gale's face glowed a brilliant red.

Wash smiled, but Gale got the sneaking suspicion that this smile wasn't totally fudge related.

"I've made up a bed for you two in the boys' room," said Gale's mother.

Gale frantically shook her head. "No, Ma… we…"

"It would hardly be kind," said Wash. "To ask the marines to drive all the way out to pick us up again."

"You're not helping," scowled Gale.

"So it's settled then!" Gale's mother smiled and planted both hands on Gale's waist. Then with a gentle but firm shove, she pushed the suffering sailor into Wash's warm softness.

"Ma!" Gale shook her head and veered away just before she smashed into Wash's chest for the second time today. "It's… I'll just sleep on the couch."

"Nonsense!" Gale's mother waved a frying pan at her. "I will not have my prettiest daughter—"

"Your only daughter."

"—sleeping on couch catching cold. You've got a country to protect, missie!"

Gale was about to mount a resistance—one that she suspected would be ultimately futile anyway, but a resistance—when she noticed something in Wash's face. The quiet battleship was as serene as ever, but there was a desperate plea in her honey-brown eyes, and she shuffled her hips a tiny bit to be closer to the sailor. "Fine."

Wash smiled slightly, and Gale's mother flashed a catlike smirk. "Excellent!"

Gale shook her head, her cheeks burning from a combination of scarlet blush and painfully wide smile. Her mother always did drive her up the wall, but in a good sort of way. And then Wash nuzzled her in the cheek with that slightly misshapen nose of hers.

"Sarah?" Wash's voice purred in Gale's ear.

"Yeah?"

"I… have a spot of fudge on my cheek," said the battleship. True to her word, there was a little spec of chocolate right at the corner of her mouth.

"Okay…" said Gale.

Wash blushed. "We shouldn't let it go to waste, should we?"

Gale stared at the battleship, and slowly raised her hand to her face. "You want me to kiss it off, don't you?"

"Very much, yes," said Wash with businesslike calm.

"Well," Gale smirked, and put one hand around Wash's slender waist. "I guess I could…" She stopped.

Her mother stood less than a foot away, phone poised to capture the event from every angle. "Continue."

"MA!"

—|—|—

"Attention on deck!" Jersey's barking contralto was suddenly lost in the rumble of several hundred thousand tons of seagoing war machines snapping to—and the comparatively silent rustle of four naval officers and one Marine doing the same.

"As you were," Admiral Richardson waved them down as he made his way to the podium. Jersey happily relinquished it to him, stepping back to the side of the screen with a nod. He wasn't sure how much that helped. Something about the massive battleship made her presence larger than life, and she as already pretty huge.

After a moment's fiddling with HDMI cables—during which time Jersey looked unbearably smug—Richardson tapped a key and the ceiling-mounted projector threw a satellite image on the wall behind him.

It was an island. A tiny, misshapen island dominated by an airstrip that stretched almost to the coral wave-breaks. An island that seemed to bulge around the concrete runway like some bizarre form of geological cancer, with spiky growths of artificial harbors on one end and an even tinier clubfooted peninsula stretching out the other on a narrow sandbar.

"This," he tapped two fingers against the island's center. "Is Woody Island in the Paracels. People have been squabbling over it for decades. The Nationalist Chinese took it, the French-Vietnamese took it, the PLAN took it—"

Jersey let out a guttural growl of disgust, then hastily clamped her mouth shut. "Sorry."

Richardson ignored it. "And most recently the Abyssals took it." He paused, switching to a slide showing the tiny island's crucial location at the mouth of the South China Sea. "It's one of three that command the theater, but it's the only one basing capital ships."

He paused for a moment. "We're going to take it, and we're going to hold it, understood?"

A chorus in the affirmative echoed from the assembled crowd.

"Mogami and Australia will lead their task-forces to clean out the torpedo-boat infestation at the Spratly and Riau islands." Richardson tapped the relevant islands. "But we have to secure Woody if we're going to hold the sea. We do that, and we've punched a safe corridor from Sunda all the way to Taiwan."

"Colonel Granger," Richardson waved to the uniformed Marine sitting in the back of the room, "Will lead the thirty-first MEU off the Bonhomme Richard and secure that rock. But first we need to get him there." The admiral stopped, and motioned to the towering battleship beside him to take over.

"Right," Jersey coughed, and straightened a pile of papers. "That's where we come in, bitches."

Arizona bristled, but kept her focus on her notes.

"According to recon photos from Shioi—" the battleship paused, and bit the corner of her lip. "Don't fucking ask me why the Japs put planes on a sub, but it seems to fucking work out nicely for us. Any-fucking-way, our primary surface threat is three Derfflinger-type Abyssal battlecruisers."

Jersey flailed madly at the keyboard until she brought up a grainy photo-recon slide. "Pringles was kind enough to help me with the research."

Prinz Eugen coughed, and nodded slightly. "I do not know where that nickname came from," she added.

Jersey ignored the cruiser. "Judging by the superstructure alterations, we're assuming each ship carries a full late-war anti-aircraft suite." She skipped to a telephoto photograph showing one of the ships' mast. The metal looked almost scorched into the film, but the obvious latticework of a radar mast stood proud over the decks. "And a surface-search radar, possibly linked into the fire-control system, so don't put too much faith in your smoke."

"But," Prinz Eugen spoke up again. "It is at most radar-assisted. Those… things do not have true blind-fire capacity."

"That's the fucking truth." Jersey smirked. "Moving on, there's no evidence of U-boat pens on the island, and the near-total lack of submarine activity in the theater probably means we won't need to worry about any of those sneaky motherfuckers."

"That said," Jersey squared her shoulders and tried to look professional. "Once we run the straight of Taiwan, the Chinese navy—" she caught herself for a moment. "The real Chinese navy—won't be able to screen us. So DDs, keep one ear on the fucking sets, okay?"

Akizuki, Naka, and Hoel all nodded.

"That brings us to the big fucking elephant in the room," said Jersey.

Shinano squeaked in shy right.

"No…" The battleship hung her head and tried to hide her smile. "Not fucking you, flatayam. Airborne fucking threats." The battleship switched to a fuzzy off-angle shot of the island's airstrip.

The shadowy images of planes dotted the tarmac. Long, slender planes like winged sharks with swept-back wings pointed noses and streamlined pods hanging off their wings. Arizona couldn't believe her eyes, the didn't have propellers. They couldn't have, there wasn't any room! For those to be Jets meant…

"Yup," said Jersey. "You're all thinking it. Those are ME two-six-twos and Ar two-three-fours." The battleship tabbed over to another slide of recognition diagrams.

"The Messerschmitts," she waved at a line drawing of the shark-shaped jet, "look like a mixed bag of your standard fighter variant and the bomber-killer ones with a fucking fifty mike-mike in the nose. We're unsure if they're fitted for underwing ordy, but given the number of munitions carts Shioi spotted—and our godawful luck—assume every one of those fascist bastards could have a bomb with your name on it."

The air-defense destroyers frantically scribbled notes on their pads.

"The Arados," Jersey waved in the general direction of the cigar-shaped bombers with their razor sharp wings. "Are the four-engine Charlie model, might have fucking Fritz-Xs for all we fucking know, so stay alert."

Richardson stepped forwards. "Seventh Fleet's lent us four Burkes to round our our air defenses."

Jersey flashed a grin that somehow consisted only of shining canines. "Fucking Nazis won't know what hit 'em."

Equally venomous chuckles sounded from the handful of uniformed sailors attending the briefing. Arizona felt her blood chill in a comforting sort of way.

"Assignments are as follows," Jersey flipped to an organizational chart. "Task Force Shield consists of Shinano and Bonhomme Richard with Naka and her DesRon as attached escort. USS Mustin will provide supplemental air-defense. Captain Ward will lead shield from the Richard."

Naka and her kiddos furiously scribbled down notes while Captain Ward idly tousled Yuudachi's flappy hair tufts. Shinano pushed her glasses up her nose and scratched even more furious notes.

"Sorry, kiddo." Jersey shrugged at the enormous battleship. "You're gonna need all your focus just covering Richard's harriers."

The carrier smiled, then nodded resolutely.

"Task force Sledge," said Jersey. "Consists of Arizona and Pennsylvania, with Hoel's DesRon and McCambell attached as air-defense. Arizona?"

"Yes?" the proper Standard stood a little straighter in her chair.

"You're in command. Three Derfs shouldn't be anything you can't handle."

"Understood," Arizona nodded.

"Get some practice in, both of you."

The two standards nodded with businesslike calm. They were relics of a bygone age and they knew it. They took no pleasure in battle on the high seas, only in the satisfaction of a job well done, and a country well protected.

"Task Force Razor," Jersey motioned to the three cruisers hanging out in a loose puddle in the back of the briefing room. "Consists of Frisco, Lou, and Prinz Eugen, with Fitzgerald attached to watch the sky."

"Jersey?" Lou's hand shot up. "I thought task forces had numbers."

"I'm a commander," said Jersey. "I can name things cool shit if I want."

"I think it sounds very cool," said Frisco with a smile on her face.

"Good," said Jersey. "'cause you're taskforce lead."

Prinz Eugen beamed and clapped her gloved hands with a giggle while Lou just jostled the little New Orleans with a lopsided grin.

"Which brings us to task force Sword." said Jersey. "Me and Kongou as heavy-hitters, with duckies and the Evans as air-defense."

The battleship tugged at the armor plating supporting her bust and yielded the podium to Richardson.

"Jersey has overall command of the surface element," said Richarson. "Ari?"

"Sir?" Arizona straightened her back as much as she could.

"You and your sister desperately need surface action experience, and these battlecruisers should be just the ticket." Richardson smirked. "Sword and Razor fleet will heard the abyssal fleet into your guns. I trust you can take it from there?"

"Sir!" Arizona and Pennsylvania responded in harmony. The standard sisters might be slow relics of a bygone era, but they had almost an inch and a half on Jersey's belt, and their rifles could punch though the abyssal battle-cruisers at anything inside twenty-eight-thousand yards. They might not be able to get to the fight, but if the fight came to them it would be a brawl for the history books.

"That's what I like to hear," Richardson said with a smile.