Rule courtesy of MendelevianDescent
9215. To whoever decided to prank Britannic by leaving a naval mine in his bed, his brothers would like to have words with you. After you pay for the damages to the cruise/ocean liner dorms.
Scapa Flow, August 22, 20xx
One thing had to be said about the naval base here in Scapa Flow: there weren't many other naval bases with such a considerable number of ocean liner shipfolk, which was of course unsurprising given Britain's former dominance of maritime shipping routes. The various house flags flown beneath the White Ensign outside the liner dorms bore witness to the varied population housed therein, and taking pride of place among the lot were the Cunard Line's golden lion rampant guardant on red, and the single-starred red swallowtail pennant of the White Star Line: the two foremost of the British shipping lines.
Being unable in their current state to serve as troop transports anymore, those who had volunteered themselves under the Admiralty's service found themselves mostly in supporting roles - taking convoy duty upon themselves, managing the supplies on-base (especially when it came to matters of food), or resuming their old duties as hospital ships from their steel-hull days. That said, the ocean liner dorms were by no means more peaceful than the warships' accomodations: shipgirls would be shipgirls (and likewise for the minor handful of shipboys whose existence was/should've been an outright fluke) and that meant mayhem was equally likely to brew regardless of whose dorms it was.
Dawn was hardly breaking, the sky not yet its full lightness and the sun hardly peering over the horizon, when HMHS Britannic awoke with a long, lazy yawn, rolling over in bed as he slowly sat up to greet the new day. Being a hospital ship meant he was needed on-call as early as possible, and while usually the youngest of the White Star trio would have gone to make himself a cup of coffee as a pickmeup beforehand, something black and heavy in his bed would soon give him a powerful enough jolt of adrenaline that would wake him up much, much faster, the moment he caught sight of it.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"
The stillness of the pre-dawn hours was broken by a full-throated scream of pure, primal fear that gave nearly everyone in the building a rude awakening, the entire dormitory coming to life with the sounds of shipfolk bolting out of bed and flinging their doors open to see what or where the commotion came from. Unsurprisingly, the first to the scene were a wild-eyed Olympic and a rather bed-headed Titanic, and they had scarcely approached the door to Britannic's room when it was nearly busted right off its hinges from the inside by an angry hospital ship who was literally trembling from sheer panicked fury and was currently scrambling to get the hell out of dodge.
"-swear I'm not paid enough to deal with this shit, the things I have to put up with sometimes for crying out loud! Wouldn't've minded seeing them from a distance but what the hell? Who the bloody hell thought it was funny to make me get up close and personal with one of those heinous devices!" he was heard shouting at nobody in particular. "What the fuck! What the actual fuck! When I find out who wanted to attempt my own goddamn murder-" "Murd- what? Oi Britannic, what happened? Where're you going?" Olympic called out, confused and very much concerned for the youngest of his class. "To the medicine cabinets!" Britannic retorted, not bothering to look back over his shoulder. "After what I woke up to this morning? Confound going to work, I can't deal with that crap, I need a goddamn drink!"
Peering into the room (which appeared to have been somewhat trashed in Britannic's hasty attempts to get the hell out of bed and as far away from there as possible), it soon became clear what the source of their brother's terrified outburst was. There, laying miraculously undisturbed on his bed, was what appeared to be a naval mine: the very thing that had sent his steel hull to the shallow depths of the Kea Channel. The two brothers took one look at each other, soon coming to swift and almost unspoken agreement. "You go upstairs, I'll go downstairs?" "Sounds like a plan. Let's get everyone right the hell out of here before that thing goes off."
"Well that," Admiral Collingwood said with an exasperated sigh, gesturing in the direction of the currently smoking-out-the-windows ocean liner dorms, "could have gone better." That the mine had detonated in a hallway while it was being removed from the premises instead of going off as soon as it was lifted off the bed was nothing short of a stroke of luck, and hinted at the possibility that it was possibly a rather old mine at that. "I'll say. It doesn't make sense though, it seems a bit excessive for a mere prank," Aquitania pointed out, himself already dressed for medical duty to fill in for Britannic in meanwhile. "We might have to conduct an inquiry, to see if anyone's got beef with him or his inner circle. Then again, when does anything ever make sense when shipfolk are involved?" the admiral mused, pinching the bridge of his nose. How he would've liked a drink...
Not long after, a sharp-eyed young lady in the same garb as Aquitania came striding towards the two of them, purposeful in her steps and evident displeasure in her eyes - the same eyes that belonged to the unfortunate victim of the morning's bad joke. "I got your message Admiral," Britannic's alternate/counterpart said, saluting Collingwood then and there. "What news do we have?" "So far, nothing substantive," Collingwood replied, shaking his head with a sigh. "Naval mine in his bed, it was a miracle he didn't set it off sooner by accident. We've not come any closer to catching the culprit, sadly."
"A naval mine..." Madame Britannic seemed lost in thought, wincing as if recalling the memory of that morning in November 1916. "If this is their idea of a prank it's an absolutely terrible one, and I have no idea what possessed them to pull it off. Yes, it probably wouldn't have killed him like it did to us back in 1916, but even if it didn't, he'd be in for repairs for a good long while. What were they even thinking? Heaven help them if Belfast finds out... oh. Oh." The hospital ship stopped in her tracks as she turned to the pair of gentlemen alongside her, a devious grin slowly spreading on her face. "Suppose, instead of trying to catch the culprit, you lure them right into your waiting arms?"
"They did what?!" If looks could kill, the look of outraged fury on Belfast's face would have been the equivalent of staring at a dozen basilisks all at once - deader than deader than dead in an instant. Her ire was justified, given her own previous (and very painful) experience with being mined. Collingwood nodded, letting her take in the news before proposing the plan to her. "It's exactly as bad as it sounds." "And you want me to-" "Yes. If we want to find whoever did this," the admiral said, rising from his chair and setting his hands on his desk, "we're going to have to turn up the heat on them." There was hardly any hesitation from the Town-class cruiser before she nodded, cracking her knuckles almost as if contemplating how much trouble the perp would soon be in. "I'm in."
By mid-afternoon, signs and posters were popping up like weeds all over Scapa Flow, plastered on walls and posts, and even on doors. The Uncle Sam-esque image was of Belfast pointing accusingly at the viewer, with the headline BELFAST WANTS YOU. Beneath her scowling face was an explanatory notice written up by Admiral Collingwood: To whoever almost blew up one of the Britannics by sneaking a mine into his bed, Belfast has learned about said 'prank' and isn't happy. For the sake of your health, turn yourself in immediately before she decides to find you and take matters into her own hands. It won't be pleasant.
Belfast wasn't the only one desirous of taking matters into her own hands though. Some of the posters were later found with a warning tacked on in very neat penmanship: Our names are Olympic and Titanic. Your prank could have killed our brother. Prepare to die. As if quoting The Princess Bride again wasn't bad enough, the lead ship of the class saw fit to go on the hunt for the perpetrator himself, and by late afternoon he'd been prowling the base for hours on the lookout for someone to let slip what they'd done to his brother.
He didn't expect the admiral to find out about his designs so quickly, but then it wasn't as though he was the most subtle among the shipfolk on base. "You'd better not be thinking of returning the favor," Collingwood said, looking towards the liner with a bit of a frown. "You're courting serious trouble over there." "Oh believe me, I'm sorely, sorely tempted," Olympic grumbled, uncrossing his arms and stuffing his hands in his pockets. "But I can't just stand by and let them go scot free! Whoever did this, they need to pay. That's my brother they scared the bejeezus out of and nearly killed! I'm not going to let them walk away from that, what sort of lead ship would I be if-"
"I know," the admiral replied, more than a little annoyance in his tone. "You don't think I'm upset about this either? The repairs to your dormitories are going right out of our budget, and not only that, one of our best medics is off drinking his traumas away 'til he's three sheets to the wind because of that mine prank! Believe me, I want whoever did it found just as much as you do, because if Belfast gets to her before I do-"
Collingwood had scarcely spoken when a screaming someone sped past so fast they were but a loud and terrified blur, and the Admiral quickly threw his arm out to block the liner from charging at the offender with murderous intent to rival HMS Victory's: for his hand had on instinct gone for his axe without him realizing it. "I'll take it from here," he said, his tone so direct and commanding it clearly brooked no objections. "Find your brothers, take care of them. That's an order, Britannic's been through enough already without you risking the brig or worse for his sake." Olympic opened his mouth to argue, before second thoughts made him reconsider and shut it, and his hand slowly fell away from the handle of his axe as he headed off to find the other two members of his class to dote on.
"Now then." Shaking his head with a quiet sigh, the admiral began the long walk back to his office, where no doubt the panicked shipgirl was now hiding herself to claim sanctuary and escape Belfast's wrath. His thoughts found themselves voiced in the melody of a certain song about sloshed seamen, the words now altered for the current situation. "What do I do with a pranking shipgirl, what do I do with a pranking shipgirl, what do I do with a pranking shipgirl, early in the evening?" Oh he was going to break into his liquor stash later that night, he'd absolutely need it.
At last I have another snippet hot off the presses! I've been having schedule woes and some trouble finding inspiration, which is why this one took a while to churn out. Credits to Allard-Liaofor the original rule (this is I think the first time I wrote a snippet for his rules)! Note: Britannic's not completely mine-phobic, mind - it's having them sprung up close and personal as a surprise that gives rise to the violent reaction, but otherwise the sight of them wouldn't set either of the Britannics off.