I'm like one of those twin ice cream machines that do two flavors or let you swirl them together the flavors are just slice of life and depressed introspection
A ship. Comparatively small in length and draft, equipped with good sensors, fast. Armed with explosive charges, a few small guns, and torpedo tubes, purpose is escorting other craft. What is it?
A destroyer, obviously.
A larger ship. No torpedoes, with much heavier guns and computers to guide them by. Designed for engagements against ships of similar armament or bombarding coastal positions. What is it?
A battleship.
A ship of remarkably similar hull, but one that is filled very differently. Armaments are very light- only a few small, rapid-firing pieces- and most space is taken up by planes. Its purpose is the deployment of these planes into battle. What is it?
A carrier.
A man. Five foot nine inches, blue eyes, and brown hair. Armed with a pistol and half-decent muscles. Deeply sad and massively anxious, not that he shows it. Engaged in illicit relationships with several of his subordinates, hates himself but not enough to stop. Fighting to keep humanity alive, barely feels alive himself. Who is he?
Who am I?
Solomon sighed and stared at the keys, attempting to will a speech into existence. Tragically, he was met with an empty white expanse.
"Did you need something, Commander?" Penelope asked, looking up from her own small pile of paperwork.
"Yeah. Could you run this down to Hood and let her take a crack at it?"
"She wanted you to write it yourself, I thought…"
"But she can write a better speech. If I'm going up there, I want to be saying something decent."
"If you're so certain, Commander…"
"Tell Hood I'll come by and thank her later." He sighed and reached for another handful of paperwork.
Penelope's cheeks might have flushed for a second. "Certainly, Commander. Anything else I need to do while I'm out?"
"Tell…" he looked at the paper, "both Aurora and Avrora that they're on the next escort mission."
"Both?"
"Yes."
"Just making sure, Commander. I'll try to grab the mail for you if there's anything." She ducked outside, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Well no, it wasn't quite that bad. She left him alone with his paperwork, and that was a lot more manageable.
Later that day, he was with Hood. Thanking her for her work on the speech.
Hood rested her head on her hand and looked down at him. "You really should learn to write these on your own, Solomon."
"But you write so beautifully."
"It's a talent you could stand to foster. A gentleman should be able to give a speech. What if I'm not there?"
"I hope that never happens." He purred, leaning in…
"I'm being serious, Solomon. You'll have a career after this. You'll be a public figure."
"I don't want that." He sighed.
"It will happen regardless." She warned him.
"Maybe you can teach me?"
Hood arched an eyebrow. "Do you recall what happened last time?"
"Last time was good."
"You barely finished a paragraph."
"But it was good." He crooned.
"Your rakishness will be the death of you, Solomon." He laughed, she didn't. "I'm being quite serious."
"I'm sorry, Hood."
"Unless you take me up on my offer to go to England-" he could see the disappointment in her eyes as he tensed, the disappointment that only grew as he stayed quiet.
"You can stay with me tonight, at least?"
"Yeah," he sighed, snuggling into her.
Unfortunately, even a warm body right next to him couldn't keep him from introspection.
"Hood?"
"Yes?"
"What do you think of yourself?" He asked.
"Myself?" She asked. "That's an odd question, Solomon."
"Just thinking," he said.
"Well, I'm a Lady of the Royal Navy. That means obligations. Duties. I discharge them."
"That's it?"
"Of course not!" She laughed. "But it was what I was made to do."
"Made to do…" he muttered.
"I suppose that won't work for you."
The following morning came bright and they had a Full English, which one of the maids had brought. His proclivities were the base's open secret, something they only bothered to cover up when the higher-ups stomped around.
Hood put on her tights and her dress- slowly though, because for a Royal lady, she could be a horrendous tease- and bid him good day. Despite the fact that he had woken up to Hood in the morning, it didn't feel that good. There was a party at the end of the week and a speech to give, so that was a minor change from the usual work rigmarole.
No major battles coming up, so it was just small stuff. Commissions coming in and out, herding the shipgirls who volunteered to help with party prep, preemptively 'burning calories' with Omaha, trying to crack down on booze, assigning some poor girls to watch duty during the event, making up for that snubbing, etc….
It was business as usual. And he felt like shit.
The party was the fruit of weeks of planning, and everyone who could be there was there. Mushashi, Queen Elizabeth, Enterprise, Bismarck… they were all there in splendid dresses, chatting and laughing.
The real belle of the ball was Seattle, who was their first Research ship and quite the social butterfly to boot. Everyone was curious, and Seattle was more than happy to share a bit about herself. Unfortunately, he had to interrupt her fun for a few moments because of his speech.
His stomach churned as he worked his way up to the stage, and he was quite glad he had spent his time exchanging vacuous pleasantries instead of eating. Omaha, who had suffered through his speech practice when she wasn't busy… ahem. Omaha had been his practice audience, and she gave him a thumbs up and a wide smile as he marched to the stage.
The podium was painted white and covered in enough gilding to fund a small country, a spare copy of the speech carefully tucked away in its shelves. Thankfully, he had no need for it- he cleared his throat as several hundred girls turned to stare at him.
He began the speech. Hood had put some truly marvelous words in his mouth this time around, and he had it all memorized and practiced… There was still the nagging fear, though. That somehow, this would be the time he'd screw it all up, where they'd all realize he was nothing like them. Foreign. Alien.
Not just because they were shipgirls- they were quite like women in every way that mattered, he had verified- but because…. He felt so wildly insufficient compared to them. So lacking. But he couldn't let that seep through during the speech, so he just kept on chugging, finishing with a few practiced gestures and vocal flourishes. There was applause, and he practically melted off the stage.
However, with his duties now out of the way, he could move on from that. So he drank and ate and groped his way through the evening.
And he felt so terribly empty.
Seattle was hanging with some Eagle Union girls- she knew them already, but there was no need to be a stranger! They all cleaned up so well: Nevada was dazzling, but Chicago and Omaha were certainly looking good as well.
"You've got your first big mission soon, right Seattle?" Nevada leaned towards her, the brilliant gold fabric of her dress shining in the light.
"Yeah," Seattle laughed, "I'm psyched!"
"And you're his flagship?"
"Yeah. Have any advice?" Seattle looked over at the Commander for a minute, who was currently wedged tightly between Ise and Eugen, laughing and drinking like a fiend. Was his hand slipping towards…?
"There's no one I would trust more," Nevada smiled, before correcting herself. "In battle."
Chicago laughed. "He's a very different man after battle, I'll say."
"I object to that," Omaha said.
"Of course you do, Omaha." Chicago sighed.
"What're you talking about?" Seattle asked.
"He's just…well, he's randy after battles, if you get what I mean," Nevada said, trying to skirt around the subject.
Seattle lowered her drink. "You mean…"
"Rabidly horny," Chicago said.
"Eww."
"Aren't you just… glad to be alive after a battle?" Omaha asked. "That's how he shows it."
"I am, but there are easier ways to get off than that trainwreck," Chicago answered, gesturing in the direction of the Commander, whose lap had been requisitioned by Prinz Eugen.
Omaha leapt to his defense again. "He's not-"
"Hun," Nevada sighed, "how many other women are there in this relationship?"
Omaha gulped, before looking down at the table. "Six…"
Seattle was starting to feel a little worried… but more importantly, Omaha was sad during a party, which she simply couldn't allow.
"How about you try some more of these?" Seattle offered, pushing a plateful of pastries Omaha's way. "I put raspberry filling in some of them."
"You made those snacks?" Omaha gasped. "They're awesome!"
The party ended, the after-party ended, and the hangover passed. With all that out of the way, it was high time that Seattle got going. They had sirens to fight!
It was pretty exciting, getting ready for her first real mission. She had already burned the regulations and requirements for flagships into her skull, but there were all sorts of surprising little things in the lead-up. Plenty of warm goodbyes from her friends, but also introductions to the other members of the fleet.
Volga was real sweet, giving her a little boxed lunch and thermos of borscht before they set off. She gave that- and a kiss- to the Commander before heading off to get her own ship going. Then the Commander fell into Seattle's custody, and really…
He wasn't that bad. Sure, a little no-nonsense when he was giving orders, but generally relaxed and not weird. It was nice to have someone giving such glowing praise of her cooking, even if he wasn't a stellar conversationalist.
The first few days were all sailing, just getting to the place where it was said the Sirens lurked. And yeah, it looked a out how Seattle imagined it. So overcast the sky was black, choppy seas, the whole shebang. Very spooky.
Kicking the mooks around was easy enough. Even with the cloud cover so thick, Seattle could sense their aircraft and knock them out of the sky. Bombers and boats alike just melted away, and Seattle was feeling pretty happy regarding the whole operation…
"Commander, we've got something on sonar. Something big!" Uh oh. "Directly below you!" Oh shi-
Tentacles sprung from the water, sending up plumes of spray as they shot up to curve overhead. Seattle sensed something jam itself against the rudder before the whole ship began to list as they rose into the air.
The tentacles crashed to the deck like felled trees, crushing smaller pieces underneath their bulk. She attempted to fire her working pieces: blowing huge chunks away, cutting bloody chasms with anti-air guns, even just trying to catch them with the muzzle blast, but nothing worked. Thick black blood ran down the deck and splattered on her skirt.
Then something else came from the water, something brilliant instead of dark. The problem was that the light came from a pair of terrible, yellow eyes.
Now, he realized he was in a life-threatening situation, and that there was a certain gravity to that. On the other hand, the Siren was…
Mesmerizing. He supposed the description of Siren was especially apt, considering they/she were terrible danger and terrible beauty in one package. Long legs, long guns. Alien rigging yet inarguably human curves.
Thankfully, his sense did not completely escape him. Or maybe it did, considering he reached for his sidearm and attempted to use it against a Siren like that would work.
To his eternal surprise, his shots struck true. The Siren took a step back, two holes weeping blackish blood over her decolletage, thoroughly ruining her looks. She laughed, and the blood splattered on the deck.
"Testy, aren't you? You might-" the Siren coughed, spraying more blood, as Seattle stepped back and prepared her rigging, "you might hurt someone with that thing."
"What do you want?" Sirens stopping to chat wasn't good. The last time that had happened… Purifier nearly blew off Enterprise's arm as a way of saying goodbye.
"A conversation. That's it, on my honor." She held her hand to her heart, where it did a little something to stem the flow.
"What's a Siren's honor worth?" Seattle scoffed.
"You wound me more," the Siren sighed. "I come here to give your poor man a checkup and this is how I'm treated?"
"I don't want your help."
"Too bad." The Siren smirked. "Consider this an intervention."
The other ships were moving, Seattle was probably flashing signals to them with her mirrors, so he made to buy time.
"What are you intervening about, then?" He couldn't imagine the Sirens walking up and espousing the traditional monogamous family structure….
"You. How are you like this?"
"Well, I was born in a hospital in Vermont to loving parents-"
"Not what I meant. You're caught, you're trapped."
"And that's your fault."
"Not like that. You're… why are you doing this?"
"Because it's my duty."
"Right." She scoffed."You fight because it's expected of you- you barely want to live- and you fuck like an animal. How do you live like that?"
"It's a perfectly decent way to live!"
"Is it really? Did it help? Did tacking Volga to the end of the list fix the problem?"
"She's wonderful. She's amazing."
"And that's not my fucking question! She's great, she's an absolute doll, whatever- what about you? Did it help you sleep at night? Did going behind Hood's back make you feel good?"
"I-"
"You hop from woman to woman because you're desperate for something concrete. Something real. They have purpose, they have meaning, and you're… this!" She gestured in his direction. "You latch onto them, piggyback, just like everything else!"
You have just been confronted by a Siren, a perfidious enemy of mankind bent on the destruction of you, your species, and all of your various side pieces. They engaged in a vicious verbal attack against you personally, and now you have to respond.
(A) You shake your head and carry on with your duty, certain that this is just some sort of mind game. Fight her yourself, or tell Seattle to blow a hole in her face.
(B) You think that maybe she's right. You feel, at times, like a parasite. Not something with substance of its own, a real solid core, but rather a shambling empty that moves from place to place, letting the glory of others shine through to hide that there is nothing inside. You attempt to immerse yourself into real personalities, of concrete selves with purposes and meanings, women who are well-defined and not illusory, in a vain hope that some of that certainty might rub off. Your technical mastery of combat puts you above them in the chain of Command, but whenever you descend from your position of leadership you are left a ghost, without even the ability to exact violence to measure yourself by. When the glory and adrenaline fade, you are left alone, having plummeted from the heights into the surly, vain world you always remember, the one you barely want to save. You are a shadow, quaking and shivering and gasping for life, in a base filled with hundreds of unique, splendid radiances, ones you can never quite bring yourself to open up to, for fear of what they'd see the inside. The nothing. The vanity. The self you don't even fully know.
Subjecting that- 'you', whatever it is- to the scrutinizing glance of someone real…
[CHOOSE ONE.]
"Commander?" Seattle's hand was on his shoulder.
Today's inspiration was "Lost In The Cosmos: The Last Self-Help Book". Commander Solomon suffers from some of the symptoms depicted there, with some liberties taken.
Sex and consumption to fill the void of the self, the 'expert' who is divorced from the world, a 'demoniac' urge to sex and violence… this is something I will blab about if prompted lol.
Also, after the party scene, I worked my way through like 30 pages of Dworkin which colored my writing. We love the symbolic association of male violence and sex don't we folks. (One day I'll throw back three beers and write a feminist critique of Azur Lane)
Also, there's just something very fun about writing a deeply flawed person.