"Ardent!" A familiar voice cried, barreling into the quarters shared by the pair of British destroyers on post, kicking into a pile of laundry left lying about and coming to a stumbling stop, kicking the pile up in a hail of soiled garments.
Ardent didn't even bother looking surprised, quietly sparing a glance to Zubian she let out an annoyed sigh before folding her glasses deliberately and placing her book firmly on her bedside table to convey her annoyance.
Standing up from the pile of discarded laundry, her hat hanging lopsided on her head after the impact, Zubian anxiously stared at Ardent, her slight fidgeting and worried expression increasing in intensity with every second that the A Class refused to take her bait.
Ardent sighed and reached for her book again before the tribal class let out a anxious squeak that seemed to indicate that Zubian was nearing her breaking point. Grabbing the bridge of her nose in frustration, Ardent sighed deeply again and turned to Zubian. "Fine," she muttered dejectedly, "I'll take the bait, what's got your panties in a twist?"
"She's hurt." Zubian loudly declared with alarm.
Ardent blinked in confusion, before her expression of dejected annoyance returned "Zubian, you're going to have to clarify. Who's hurt."
"The battleship!" The tribal class declared with mounting agitation, flailing her arms in dramatic fashion towards the door. "Our battleship, she's british!"
Ardent sighed again and reached for her book, "Zubes, I've told you, the Kongous aren't British, nor are they battleships, despite what they claim, they lie about pretty much everything."
Zubian pouted and shot an angry glare at the A-Class "we saw her, she wasn't a Kongou, it looked like-" Zubian hesitated, mulling over her thoughts, her eyes growing wide with sudden realization, "we think she looked like Dreadnought."
Ardent raised a doubtful eyebrow, "a battered HMS Dreadnought is wandering alone and unescorted through our port in Japan?" She asked dryly, " the port in which, last I checked, we're the sole British ships stationed."
"Yes." Zubian confirmed firmly after mulling over her thoughts. The destroyer leaned up against her bedpost, crossing her arms with a twinge of smugness. "We remember her coat," she mentioned with deliberate pride.
Ardent rubbed the bridge of her nose again "Well- go give her a hand than." she mused, picking up her book and opening to the page she left on, "I'll stay here and get the place tidied up and set a kettle on."
The older girl smiled widely at the suggestion "Right!" Zubian affirmed proudly, "I'll bring her back so we can make sure she's safe!"
"You do that." Ardent mumbled, returning her glasses to her face, "and remember if the ship isn't Dreadnought, keep looking, where there's one vaguely British old time ship, the rest naturally follow."
"Of course!" Zubian proclaimed proudly, "we'll go get Dreadnought."
With that, Ardent rolled over, electing to read on her side and excused herself from any further conversation with Zubian. The A Class paid no further mind to her comrade beyond a grunt of acknowledgement and a turn off the page.
The door swung open loudly and protested against the hinges as Zubian took to her new task eagerness causing Ardent to let out an annoyed groan.
The first thing Zubian did was return to the last place she saw Dreadnought walking. Barreling down the hallway at an excited jog and dodging various uniformed personnel she ignoring the various complaints and chidings the nearly missing other pedestrians caused. It wasn't until she reached her last contact that she paused, the location, a nearby intersection in the hallways, marking a connection between the dorms and offices, was near empty.
Getting down on all fours Zubian elected to comb over the tile floor for traces of the battleship, anything to serve as a breadcrumb to guide the destroyer on her self appointed quest.
Her focus entirely captivated by looking for clues, Zubian was caught completely off guard when someone managed to barrel right over her, pushing her backwards and flinging her to the ground. The newcomer let out a startled shriek and flinging her book down the hall with the force of the impact, collapsed in an undignified lump on top of Zubian. The sound of shattering tile accompanying the terrific crash.
Zubian attempted to cry out at the impact, but a fierce elbow to her stomach left her breathless. The destroyer elected instead to wheeze desperately on the ground beneath the girl for the daunting length of time it took the newcomer to recompose herself long enough to stop apologizing and give Zubian space to breath
"Hey ooshoes." the Tribal class wheezee between labored breaths
Ushio proved incapable of responding in anything but incoherent apologetic babbling
Zubian let out a labored laugh and pulled herself up, wincing as she sat up straight. "We're okay," the English ship soothed, "you just hit us pretty hard."
The Japanese destroyer still appeared near the breaking point with guilt, the slight sniffle that sounded in the lulls of her apologies and the tears brimming in the corners of her eyes made her worry abundantly clear.
Finally standing unsteady legs, Zubian shot the girl an adventurous grin and offered her hand to the younger destroyer "You want to come with us on our mission Ooshoes?"
Ushio slowed her sniffing her expression reflecting miserable confusion.
"We're trying to find HMS Dreadnought," Zubian announced happily, the wheezing shortness of breath now only faint in her voice, the destroyer reached down to pick up Ushio's discarded manga. "She's somewhere in the base and she looked like she had been in a nasty fight. Ardent suggested we get her back to base and get her some tea and scones to make sure she's not hurt too much." The Tribal class thrust the book into her Japanese compatriot's hands with a bright smile. "Do you want to help?" She asked cheerily.
Ushio hesitated, her head bobbing in only the faintest trace of a nod before perking up suddenly as if only now discovering the question's nature "Yes!" She decided in a quiet but excited tone. "We have to help."
Zubian smiled widely with delight, grabbing Ushio's arm and pulling her down the hallway with enthusiastic zeal. She pulled the eternally nervous destroyer behind her for nearly a hundred meters of quick jogging before stopping suddenly at an intersection. Her quick halt caused the Fubuki to impact lightly against Zubian's back. Ushio let out a quiet startled squeal, though her Tribal class counterpart seemed not to notice.
The British ship glanced back over her shoulder, dropping her grip on Ushio's wrist. "We don't know where we're supposed to go," Zubian deadpanned.
Worry formed in Ushio's expression over Zubian's sudden uncertainty. "The docks?" She quietly suggested, "or maybe she went to get some food?" She asked in a manner phrased as much as a question as it was a suggestion.
Zubian for her part grinned heartily at the later. "Good idea," she affirmed, grabbing Ushio again by the wrist. "Let's go get some food, it'll help us think better."
Ushio let out no verbal protests and allowed herself to be dragged on.
Dreadnought pushed herself further into the corner, ignoring the passing confused and worried looks people passing in and out of the mess hall's kitchen shot her as they went about their duties. Worriedly, she added another napkin dispenser to the impromptu privacy curtain she had assembled.
Her captain continued to pace around the bridge, the action causing her anxiety to raise with each passing step. The figure paused suddenly, as if reaching an epiphany, removed it's tiny pipe beneath the greying mustache and let out a triumphant squeak of glory. The captain dramatically let out a declaration to his crew assembled on the table, gesticulating wildly from a window on the bridge.
The tiny figures of the blue clad Royal Marines racked the charging handle on their Vickers, the assistant gunner's small pinkish hands readying a cloth strip of bullets up for feeding. A sailor bearing "HMS DREADNOUGHT" on his comically small hat, placed a tiny apple on the squirming target.
Panic surged in the Battleship's eyes and the unveiling scene, "No!" Dreadnought dramatically declared, slamming her hand down between the Marines and their target. "We're not going to shoot them!"
On the other side on her hand from the Vickers a pile of tiny figures began to squirm in panic. Pushing hard against their bindings, they were quieted down by a barked order and a brandished bayonet from one of Dreadnought's crew. The tiny sailor picked the apple back up off the Americans and blew a raspberry at them.
"Stop telling them you're going to stick them like a bloody Christmas hog." The battleship whispered in quiet panic, hovering over the bayonet wielding marine. "The bloody American is crazy enough without her crew giving her a good reason to want to fight us."
A squeak sound from her bridge. Somewhere deep within her an armory locker opened and sabers and pistols began being doled out in earnest.
"No. Killing then is not an option, they're still our allies, even if that crazy American willed them into boarding me." Dreadnought reddened slightly at the statement, glancing down at the offending pile of struggling American Marines.
Her captain let out another squeak, pounding its tiny fist into its palm, in an effort to accentuate its tirade of disappointed and angry squeaks.
"Yes, very shite allies." the woman agreed, "and no- we certainly can't untie them or let them back aboard."
The inner turmoil the battleship suffered continued to deepen, her thoughts making her deaf to the excited creeping of a figure behind her.
"Maybe we could leave them adrift?" She pondered idly, that doesn't really count for killing them does it?" Dreadnought hesitated as the excited squeaks of her captain ridiculed her suggestion. "Yes I'm aware we're on land." She snapped briefly. The battleship let out a tired groan and rubbed her temples in frustration.
"Are you really Dreadnought?" A English accented voice asked from behind the distracted battleship, an edge of excitement that threatened to blow over into celebratory fangirling obvious at every syllable.
Dreadnought quickly looked up and whirled around. Behind her stood an extremely excited tribal class destroyer, the nervous excitement of the girl obvious to the battleship even as flustered and surprised as she was. With a glance down over the napkin-dispenser prison she had constructed a feeling of panic surged into the ship, pulling a discarded meal tray from the table and slammed tpit over the top of the improvised walls. "Um- yes." Dreadnought muttered, flustering over the question. "Yes that's me."
The girl squealed with delight, shaking her fists in excited glee. "We're Zubian." She declared enthusiastically, before pulling another far less enthusiastic girl more directly into Dreadnought's view. "She's Ooshoes."
"A-A pleasure." Dreadnought managed to stammer out, propping herself more firmly against the walls of her impromptu prison.
"We're here to help." Zubian declared proudly, completely oblivious of Dreadnought's efforts to hide the impromptu prison camp
"Help?" the battleship squeaked out.
"You're hurt." Zubian noted with a thin tone of chastisement backing up the destroyer's words. "You're bleeding and you lost a tooth." Zubian stood back briefly before pushing herself into Dreadnought's face with an uncomfortable intensity that caused the battleship to back herself further against the table. "Several teeth," the Tribal corrected tersely after an intense examination of Dreadnought's face from several angles.
"Oh right, the fistfight." Dreadnought recalled offhandedly, tonguing her missing teeth idly. "I'm quite alright I just-" a small rifle shot sounded from inside the the barricade along with the excited squeaking cries of prison guards announcing an escape attempt. Dreadnought froze briefly, sparing a worried look into the perimeter. "Actually I could use a hand," she muttered dourly.
The terrified uncertain looks that Ushio gave the napkin dispenser wall wasn't reflected in the least on Zubian's face. The British destroyer positively beamed at the prospect of assisting the battleship.
"Do you have somewhere a little less public where we could speak?" The Battleship nervously muttered, eyeing the unfolding chaos in the impromptu prison before her.