When she arrived at the familiar docks of Rota, Cervantes was surprised to find the place quiet, only broken by the snapping of flags battered by the wind of a brewing storm. A common enough occurrence for the time of year, but something that nevertheless put Cervantes on edge. Storms often brought Sirens, and worse, difficulty in effectively holding defense against them. A fact she knew far too well from firsthand experience. But for now, it was more important to stuff her intelligence folder into a plastic covering to protect its contents, especially the electronics.
Leaving her ship to rest at the dock with the others and retrieving the briefcase holding her findings from Azur Lane, she vaulted over the rail onto the dock below, her heels clanging on the steel surface as she landed. Another figure waited at the end of the pier where it met the beach, a woman who would easily be mistaken for Cervantes herself if not for the difference in their clothing. The stylized conquistador armor that Cervantes wore was instead a form-fitting knee-length white dress, the top two buttons of its tight grip left undone for some degree of leeway. A black jacket hung over her shoulders with golden epaulets, red and purple ribbons fluttering where they held the top layers of a loose hair bun, leaving no question in Cervantes's mind who had been sent to meet her.
"Cervera, sister. What are you doing out here?"
Cervera clasped her hands behind her back, turning to lead the way back to the base's headquarters. "Her Majesty thought it would be prudent to wake our remaining girls and rearrange patrol schedules. Azur Lane performing reconnaissance on our ports meant we needed as many hands on deck as possible. At the very least, they will provide a few extra hands to manage mass-produced fleets until their proper ships are completed."
Cervantes frowned, following close behind her sister and letting the utilitarian concerns override the dashing of a sliver of hope that Cervera had come to greet her. "I knew the data of my assault on the Sirens in our waters was to be used for sampling the Tabarca-class, or at least one of them, but trying to copy the data into the Cubes of both? And what about -"
Cervera shrugged. "Perhaps Iron Blood provided some supplementary data. I can only guess at the reason and source for it. I'm not exactly privy to information regarding research development, nor do I care to be."
"Ah…" Cervantes said, trying not to push out a sigh at the implication she interpreted from her sister's initial statement. She didn't deserve the disappointment she felt from the realization she had misinterpreted Cervera's words when she was the source of the misunderstanding.
She couldn't be selfish or narcissistic enough to expect Cervera to see her as exactly the same person as before circumstances forced Cervantes into what she was now. She wasn't even sure herself if she was still the same person. And that wasn't mentioning how she had been seen as a Siren on Azur Lane radars… Perhaps there already existed an unassailable gap between them.
"But," Cervera said through Cervantes' thoughts, turning to flash a gentle smile to her sister, "I was hoping to see you return from Azur Lane, Cervantes, independent of any orders from Her Majesty. I consider myself lucky that I am the one to welcome you back to the Crown."
Cervantes gave a nod and managed a small smile. It was a small reassurance.
But as Cervera led her towards the building that housed the Crown's research block, Cervantes knew she had to put aside the thoughts for now. An audience with her monarch was the first thing she needed to do upon her return.
Opening the double doors with a well-coordinated simultaneous swiping of their keycards, Cervantes and Cervera stepped into a spotless hospital-like hallway. A security chime rang out an electronic tune as the door opened, a sound which Cervantes knew would be heard throughout the facility to signal an entrance. A sound that she had in the recent past hoped to trigger herself as a temporary resident of this research block, and here she was triggering it as a returning visitor.
Further down the hallway, Cervantes heard the click of another door being opened, and a woman leaned out, a clipboard with papers still in her hands. Upon seeing Cervantes, a smile brightened on her face as she quickly dipped back inside to drop off the clipboard and fully step out.
The normal regality of an ornate, flowing-sleeve dress and jewelry Cervantes associated with the woman in front of her were nowhere to be seen in the moment, instead being replaced by a simple dark blue dress and silver medium-height heels, a white lab coat thrown over it all that Cervantes already knew was entirely unnecessary but a personal indulgence. The ordinarily backless outfit accommodating enormous feathered wings from the small of her back and ruffled as she walked were given only small slits to peek out of. But the brilliant halo that glowed above the woman's head, boasting the shape of the crown of Iberia, was unmistakable.
Not that Cervantes would ever misidentify her liege and monarch. Even if she were to hide her halo and wings, even if she were to dress in attire that would otherwise be entirely inconspicuous amongst a crowd of civilians, Cervantes would always be able to identify her. A bow of reverence on one knee was instinctual for the knight when entering the presence of Reina Victoria Eugenia.
"Welcome home, Cervantes," Reina said with a welcoming smile. "And thank you for bringing her here, Cervera. You may return to your patrols."
"Understood, Your Majesty," Cervera murmured, wasting no time making herself scarce after a formal bow. The chime of her exit entered Cervantes' ears as she stood up and awaited Reina's command.
"Walk with me, Cervantes."
Cervantes briefly glanced inside the room that Reina had just left, curious about the girl within but leaving the question for later in order to follow her queen. She had no reason to question her monarch's decisions anyway, not when she likely would have made the same choice in her position. It was hard not to be constantly reminded that the forces that served the Iberian Crown were spread dangerously thin and any one ship could be the difference between their survival or their demise.
"How did my valiant knight's trip to Azur Lane go?" Reina asked. "Productive, I hope?"
"You flatter me, Your Majesty. I am but your humble servant," came Cervantes' instinctual response for whenever Reina called her that. "And as for the mission, I leave the judgment of whether it was productive for the Crown to Your Majesty after I compile my report before the sun sets."
Reina frowned. "You know that's not what I meant, Cervantes. I want to hear how you feel. We have plenty of people that can compile intelligence reports, and that includes myself in the near future. But there is only one person in the Iberian Crown that has walked the halls of Azur Lane as an official visitor."
Cervantes bit her lip. She didn't exactly trust herself to give an objective assessment of what she had seen, heard, and read at Azur Lane's base, but a visitor under a diplomatic mission would certainly be looking for very different things than a spy. Walking openly amongst the residents of a place without the burden of pretending to be somebody one was not was quite the perspective adjustment.
And that wasn't mentioning the concerns she had about Azur Lane's Commander. Cervantes remembered being determined to bring up the matter to Reina personally, with the self-justification that it didn't warrant weight in her official report. But now that she stood in front of her liege, it was a hard sell.
But what better time to bring up her private concerns than here, walking through the empty halls of the research lab, every other presence there busy with their individual experiments and projects? Not to mention that it would be the last thing Cervantes wished to disobey or withhold information from her liege.
"It's alright, Cervantes," Reina reassured, seemingly reading the knight's thoughts. "You can be as personal or opinionated as you desire. Nobody else will hear but me, and the inclusion of personal belief does not diminish my opinion of you nor your claims. I need the opinions of Miguel de Cervantes as much as you yourself do."
Cervantes nodded, her doubt falling away with Reina's reassurances. "I feel that if nothing else, Azur Lane is a group that can be trusted with itself. A major operation did nothing to slacken their patrols, and I would have likely been stopped and questioned by multiple ships had I not been who I was."
"And what did you think of the atmosphere there? Did you witness any conflict or tension?"
"None that I did not cause myself as a part of our negotiations, Your Majesty," came the response. "Had I not known otherwise, I never would have imagined these factions were at war so recently."
Reina nodded along, though her expression gave away no indication of her thoughts on the information. "And what of the leadership? Does it seem that Azur Lane's new Commander has been trusted to work with the proper leadership of the factions, or have they only provided cannon fodder that would be tolerable sacrifices?"
Cervantes mulled over the question for a while, trying to decipher any potential deeper meaning to the question. "I think it is safe to say that they generally seem cautiously optimistic about this one," she answered at last. "Unsurprisingly, the top leadership has not been committed to Azur Lane's New York base, but those there were all of high standing in their respective factions. Northern Parliament has only sent the bare minimum to maintain a presence, and the Polonia Commonwealth has no representatives present."
"It is likely that the Polonia Commonwealth is allowing the Royal Navy to act as their proxy," Reina pointed out. "As for the Northern Parliament, well… For the sake of offering them the benefit of the doubt, they may have themselves spread too thin to be able to offer much to Azur Lane."
But why send a representative here, a Sovetsky no less? Reina wondered. Feeling a frown trying to take hold, she moved on to her next question.
"What are your thoughts on Azur Lane's Commander?"
Cervantes had been unsure of how to broach the topic with her queen, but now the door had been swung wide open to offer her opinions without fear of being judged for bias. Even so, the concern she was about to present was severe and could be the thing that would make or break Reina's decision regarding any future between Azur Lane and the Crown. And yet, if she chose not to share, it would be a grave betrayal of her queen's trust.
"I believe that she may be a command ship that was kept secret due to using technology similar to that of our own. Possibly stolen or obtained through corrupt means."
Reina looked over toward her curiously, although a level of surprise nevertheless emanated through her. "I find it hard to believe that the Eagle Union would resort to such means to obtain the technology they condemned the Iron Blood and Sakura Empire for, but go on."
"They refer to her as Apocrypha, but no ship comes anywhere close to matching the thematics of Eagle Union's naming conventions in the entirety of their history, nor does she possess a signal such as would be expected of a shipgirl," Cervantes clarified. "She was largely silent during the negotiations and only spoke when directly addressed or needed to redirect discussions, as if she wanted to avoid drawing attention to herself. The shipgirls of Azur Lane still deferred to her despite that."
Reina smiled, holding back her amusement at the mental gymnastics Cervantes must have performed to come to her conclusion. "Have you considered that it may be equally possible that Apocrypha is a human and the name serves as a pseudonym? Perhaps she has something to hide that has nothing to do with her position."
"Your Majesty, with all due respect, I do not believe it wise to underestimate them and assume that they are being wholly truthful," Cervantes insisted.
"You misunderstand. I will keep your concerns in mind. As my most trusted knight, you know that I trust your judgment, but for your sake I must also help you to understand when you have missed other possibilities. I assure you that I will be cautious in how I proceed with guiding the Crown with my decisions regarding this."
Cervantes bowed deeply with her hand across her chest. "I apologize for my brashness, Your Majesty. I allowed my concern to overstep its station. Please forgive me. And thank you for heeding this humble servant's advice. I shall be taking my leave unless you require anything further of me."
Reina let out a bit of an internal sigh at the stiff formality that Cervantes had maintained the entirety of the conversation, but decided against saying anything further about it. "Your apology is accepted, Cervantes. You have done well in your service to the Crown."
Cervantes bowed deeper than she already was, and deftly turned on her heel to retrace the path she had walked with Reina; a path she had been mentally keeping track of this whole time.
Please be prudent, Your Majesty, the knight thought to herself as she walked away. I recognize that I must sound like a paranoiac, but I would rather be a rambling madman than someone who fails to provide the Crown with sufficient warning. I cannot bear the thought of failing you again, least of all in this sort of way. Every moment you spend believing that the Commander of Azur Lane may be but a normal human may be moments where the Commander will be hatching a plot to bring the Crown under her heel. I can only imagine what information the mere act of my visit has given her, and what plans she might be conspiring to do at this moment.
Apocrypha tapped her pen restlessly atop her desk, glancing from time to time toward the door between her and Swiftsure's offices. At what point did the anxiety over a simple question become unreasonable? She figured she'd passed that point at least an hour ago, probably more. It felt like no matter how she asked it in her head, it wasn't right. It had to be reconsidered, with the serious possibility of a total abort.
If she asked Swiftsure to go on a picnic with her as a friend, she risked repeating the mistakes she'd made with Biloxi, and while Biloxi was straightforward enough to call her out for it, she knew Swiftsure was too shy and polite to do so. It was far more likely that Apocrypha would carry on obliviously and Swiftsure would carry an unnecessary emotional burden for the rest of her life, and the mere idea that she could potentially be in such ignorance terrified Apocrypha.
On the other hand, she worried that it was too presumptive to ask her on a date - that Swiftsure was interested in her; that Biloxi wouldn't be hurt by it. That latter point added even more issues, too. It didn't take a genius to see how tight knit TF 58 was and that any offense against one member would be taken as an offense to the group as a whole. By now, she'd done enough looking into Azur Lane's forces, especially in Eagle Union, to know that she couldn't afford to turn TF 58 against herself.
Groaning, her arms folded upon her desk and her head fell into them as her feet swung restlessly back and forth beneath the desk. When her foot lightly bumped the basket she kept hidden beneath her desk, the thought came to mind: surely the shipgirls would be better off without a so-called Commander who couldn't so much as decide how to ask someone to go out for a meal. Such a no-consequence, trivial act that would probably fade from the memory of all involved within a few months was creating this much indecision. How could Apocrypha trust herself, or more importantly, how could she have anybody trusting her in good faith for the countless decisions of much greater weight that would have to be made? She wouldn't be the first Commander to fail the post. The one that had his brains painting the wall of the same office Apocrypha now sat in because he let his lust overtake his responsibility, or the one that had withdrawn from the position less than 24 hours after accepting it, were both bars that Apocrypha could consider her meager achievements marginally better than, if one were to stretch their imagination. The shpigirls were long since used to operating on their own. Surely it wouldn't risk too much of a lurch if Apocrypha were to simply resign and leave.
But the thought was shut down swiftly by another part of her mind that reminded her: even if she left, she had nowhere to go. Even if she was spared the money to fly back to San Diego after dropping her position out of nowhere, she couldn't go home . At that point, whether by her own hand or that of a certain other, death would be a mercy. If she stayed Commander of Azur Lane and tried to do her best, she could convince herself that what she was doing, no matter how empty or unnecessary for the shipgirls, was something worthwhile. Who could condemn someone leading the charge of a cause as noble as the elimination of a threat that, left unchecked, could take over the world's oceans and doom humanity to a future isolated from one another? Apocrypha even had shigirls at the base that had sworn to protect her, with cannon and shot if need be.
As if to give herself a more physical view of what she needed to convince herself of, Apocrypha bent below and pulled out the picnic basket, placing it on her desk and staring at it for a good few minutes. Opening the lid a crack to peek inside revealed a short line of foil-wrapped rectangular objects; a rather familiar sight for Apocrypha from her old life. But Apocrypha wasn't in her old life. Being in an entirely new one certainly took a lot of luster out of what had once been sustenance to be cherished in the midst of uncertainty for the rest of the day or the days ahead.
Even if Apocrypha were able to set aside the doubt swirling in her mind about asking Swiftsure out to a picnic in the first place, nobody on this base deserved sandwiches of such poor quality. And it wasn't due to lack of ingredients as was normally the problem for Apocrypha; quite the opposite. She had witnessed an enormous and unending selection of premium-quality ingredients, from vegetables and fruit that glistened with the look of produce straight from the vine and tree, cuts of meat and fish with a quality Apocrypha had considered wholly out of her reach prior to arriving at Azur Lane, bread that was still steaming from being just pulled from the oven, sauces and condiments from untouched bottles, all offered in a kitchen sparkling from the meticulous maintenance of the Royal Maids. All of it had been without hesitation delivered by Royalist at the mere request for sandwich supplies, for Apocrypha to choose from at her leisure and freedom. Royalist had even forgotten to bring pesto, an ingredient that Apocrypha had to spend a moment to remind herself of what exactly it was, and bowed in apology for inattention before returning less than a minute later with a freshly mixed jar.
After Royalist had left, Apocrypha had been left standing there for several minutes staring at a selection and quantity of food that was almost alien to Apocrypha's old instincts, and it had been about as intimidating as looking at a towering mountain; a seemingly insurmountable entity. Ultimately, there was nothing else to use, and the mere thought of allowing what Royalist had provided to go to waste sent a chill down Apocrypha's spine. So she had gathered some relatively basic materials and made sandwiches in ways that were most familiar to her, a fact that she only realized after completion and deeply regretted not asking Royalist for help. The food was probably of much better quality thanks to the ingredients alone, and Apocrypha had Royalist to thank for that, but prime ingredients never made up for lackluster construction.
It was hubristic to even think that they could be worth a shipgirl's time when an enormous amount of money from multiple national defense budgets were dedicated to providing the shipgirls with the very best amenities. Even food, something physiologically unnecessary for shipgirls, were given top billing with the understanding that such expenditure for the sake of morale was a well-worth sacrifice. Apocrypha dared say that if she had tossed the sandwiches in the trash and gone down to any of the dining halls or restaurants that dotted the base, she could get something that would be better quality than food slapped together by the hands of someone who rarely had the luxury to care about taste or even nutrition. That level of food was something that only Apocrypha herself deserved, and she wouldn't dare put it in front of someone she depended on as much as Swiftsure.
Yet there was the inescapable fact that as the person who would initiate the invitation, it fell on her to provide the food. And while at this point going out to get some takeout seemed ideal, time was running out, and the amount of time the picnic could potentially take was seeming longer and longer as Apocrypha spiraled into the anxiety of having to make a decision. It was either open the door between their offices and ask Swiftsure right then and there, or not do so at all within the day.
Apocrypha softly let out a cross between a laugh and a sob at the thought of waiting for the next day as her head fell into her arms again. Such an action either meant she would have to let the sandwiches become a day old, or discard and remake them. Apocrypha could choose between being delusional to present day-old food to someone she invited to a picnic, or crazy to take the fresh, high-quality ingredients Royalist provided and throw them in the trash, then proceed to use even more.
No matter what direction Apocrypha approached the situation mentally, there was some sort of wall. Something that flared her anxiety and her self-consciousness, something that tried to convince her to call off what she had spent hours convincing herself was the way forward.
But far be it from Apocrypha to not seek out a solution, even if said solution involved addressing none of worries that were swirling around her head. After all, why make a choice about something when it could be done without?
If the concern was how Swiftsure would see Apocrypha's invitation, it needn't be ambiguous. She could claim to want some fresh air with a meal to talk about business, or possibly for taking a break she wanted to share with Swiftsure. If the concern was about the food she had prepared, she could hand a sandwich to Swiftsure before they left the office and ask how it was. If she reacted even the slightest bit negatively, Apocrypha reassured herself, then she had carte blanche to offer to go to a dining hall or restaurant and buy her whatever she wanted. And if the concern was letting the ingredients Royalist had provided go to waste, Apocrypha could eat the sandwiches herself if Swiftsure reacted even the slightest bit negatively. Day-old sandwiches were haute cuisine by her old standards, and it certainly wasn't going to waste if somebody was eating it.
Apocrypha pushed her chair back from her desk and forced herself to stand up and walk, perhaps a bit robotically but walk nevertheless. A similar action forced her hand to knock as her other hand reached into the basket and pulled out what she was fairly sure was a roast beef sandwich. It was probably the best she could offer amongst what she had made, and if this was no good for Swiftsure, Apocrypha could feel relatively safe consigning the rest of the batch for the one person that truly deserved such low-quality food: herself.
From that point until they sat on the green grass of one of the hills overlooking the port's waters, it was all a blur to Apocrypha. Much to her surprise, Swiftsure had liked the sandwich and agreed to come out with her. Even Apocrypha's own eye, desperate to look for validation of her anxiety, had failed to find anything to act on. Swiftsure had also been the one to suggest where they now sat, and it wasn't until they'd reached the top of the hill that she'd realized why. Already laid out was nothing short of a king's feast of food, containers stacked like cargo with individual dishes preserved as they were when completed, with even a steaming teapot and icebox bursting with a variety of drink options: water, multiple types of soda, and even a bottle of wine that Apocrypha could sense from pure sensation was probably worth more than a month's paycheck. The sight of it all instantly made the simple wicker basket carried on her arm feel like a leaden weight of utter unworthiness.
"Swiftsure, what -"
She couldn't even force out the words, and Swiftsure's sheepish smile made her feel worse for daring to express anything other than gratitude.
"I, um…" Swiftsure wouldn't meet her eyes, her hands clasped in front of her and wringing nervously. "I wasn't aware that you were making plans, and I know you have had a lot to worry about since returning from Operation Crossfire, so… I had asked Barham and the Knight Commander if they would help me prepare something so you could relax… I apologize if I went beyond my station, but by the time I realized this, everything had already been made and I didn't want it to go to waste…"
Apocrypha forced a smile, fearing that she might cry if she didn't. As far as she was concerned, it was abundantly obvious now that Swiftsure had only complimented her sandwich earlier out of politeness. It would be much easier to fake enjoyment of something if you had something prepared to replace it. Worse, she was now the reason that Swiftsure had asked two of the shipgirls of the Royal Family to take time out of their undoubtedly busy schedules. No, she couldn't dare suggest that Swiftsure allow all of it to go to waste for the sake of a few lackluster sandwiches.
"It's fine," Apocrypha covered, silently relieved that she managed to keep her voice from betraying her. "Yours looks better anyway. I was already questioning whether these were worth anybody's time on my own."
"But you took time to make those sandwiches… We could just have both. I know that they didn't make sandwiches, so it's not as if there would be any overlap," Swiftsure suggested.
It's a trap, the annoying little voice in the back of Apocrypha's mind warned. She's too good for you and she's trying to make you prove it. And forget Swiftsure, imagine the consequences for offending two members of the Royal Family. What are a few crummy sandwiches worth in the face of that?
Despite the warning, Apocrypha found herself rapidly agreeing to Swiftsure's proposal with a nod. She didn't know what Barham or King George V were like, and she didn't dare use Warspite or Wales as a baseline for guesses - she knew firsthand how different one sibling could be from another. But in the moment, she could at least be certain that her subconscious voice was wrong about Swiftsure. She had given no reason for Apocrypha to levy such suspicion against her kindness.
If she wanted the shipgirls to move past their past experiences, she needed to lead by example and stop letting her own past control everything in the present. Apocrypha could stew about her past on her own all she wanted, but it mustn't bleed into her interactions with anybody that saw her as the Commander.
Swiftsure gave a relieved smile and nodded back, quickly unrolling and laying out an extra blanket for Apocrypha to sit on as she started to open containers to serve food within. Apocrypha reciprocated by emptying the contents of her basket and starting to unwrap the foil from each sandwich as they both reached to place their respective contributions on the same plates. Yet even after piling plate after plate, there seemed hardly a dent in what Swiftsure had brought, something Swiftsure sheepishly admitted originated from George and her tremendous appetite projecting onto her fulfillment of Swiftsure's request. Although if Swiftsure's words were to be believed, she had to greatly thank Barham for restraining George to a fraction of what a George left to her own devices would have made for two people with much smaller appetites.
With the food ready, Apocrypha found it easy to start a back-and-forth, where she would ask some benign question about the Royal Navy and its shipgirls and Swiftsure would respond, at times sharing some story or another that related to it.
But an observation remained on Apocrypha's mind even as Swiftsure became ever more enthusiastic about the answers she gave to Apocrypha's questions. A stiffness of sorts in Swiftsure's posture, a formality in her responses, the apologies that would arise if she felt she had become too passionate when Apocrypha wouldn't dream of being against such a thing.
If Apocrypha had to pinpoint, it was a sort of disquiet in Swiftsure's behavior that had existed more or less since they had first met. Retroactively, Apocrypha could even consider such behavior as always having existed. But here it was more pronounced, more noticeable.
This wasn't to say that the thought of asking Swiftsure provoked much initiative within Apocrypha herself. Such a dampener of spirits on their picnic would be as bad as how Apocrypha felt about her sandwiches after seeing the feast Swiftsure had been willing to arrange for their time together.
But the thought nagged and nagged nevertheless. Her hopeful and cynical sides arguing for their own reasons, but agreeing that probing for more information was the best call.
"Commander?" came a worried question from Swiftsure that interrupted Apocrypha's thoughts. "Are you alright?"
Apocrypha blinked at the fact that she had expressed nothing to the contrary, but the worry on Swiftsure's expression and body language was clear. She was ready to apologize or offer amends to anything that Apocrypha identified. It was the stiffness of someone at a formal event who knew enough to recognize the high society they were interacting with yet had little idea on how precisely to act. The conflict and concern within Apocrypha had likely shown with a sour expression on her face.
Apocrypha managed a smile that she hoped was reassuring. "Yes, I'm alright, Swiftsure. You haven't done anything wrong, and the food has been above and beyond my expectations."
Swiftsure's expression softened somewhat at the reassurance, but the concern and preparation to apologize seemed to remain, and Apocrypha decided to push the point, even if she felt a tinge of guilt for doing so.
"But as long as you bring it up, are you alright, Swiftsure?"
"I-I'm sorry?" Swiftsure responds, her stutter reviving itself as doubt washed over her. "I'm in the best shape I can be if that's what you mean, whatever that might mean for you. Have I been unsatisfactory in some way…?"
"I don't think you're in the best shape you can be right now, Swiftsure," Apocrypha said, internally wincing at being more pointed than usual but determined to get to the root of the problem. "I can't say I feel at ease when I can see that the person I invited is so visibly nervous. You've barely had so much as a bite and you always put your plate down whenever I ask you something."
Swiftsure's posture shrunk as her expression became crestfallen. "I apologize," she mumbled. "I know I-"
This was a response Apocrypha was already expecting, and she quickly put a hand on Swiftsure's shoulder. "I'm not blaming you, Swiftsure. I know you repeatedly think little of yourself because you believe yourself to be timid and lacking self-confidence. But I want you to know that you don't need to worry about that here. You've done so much for me, and there's nobody I trust more to help me with my inexperience as Commander than you."
Apocrypha patted her hand on the picnic blanket next to her, hoping Swiftsure would understand the point. "So I want you to trust me on this: I genuinely want this picnic to be a friendly occasion for the two of us. I know I'm not the solution to what troubles you, Swiftsure, but I want to be someone that helps you forget about your worries, even if just for a little while."
Swiftsure instinctively hesitated, but slowly stood herself up and moved, if not quite to the spot that Apocrypha noted with her hand, but closer than the almost professional distance she had been keeping before. In resuming their back-and-forth banter as they ate, Apocrypha felt the atmosphere between them changing with each interaction.
The more they talked, the more they both relaxed, the formalities falling to the wayside, and Apocrypha wondered for a moment if this was what normalcy felt like. She wasn't sure if the pang in her chest was the feeling of jealousy - that the shipgirls had always had this amongst themselves; that they'd been allowed to develop support systems for each other as friends or more in some cases - or if it was despair at realizing just how much she had been denied in her life. Likely, it was some combination of both.
It was the unexpected crossing of a black-gloved pale hand passing into her line of sight to grab one of the sausage rolls in a small tray that snapped her back to attention. A quick sideways glance followed a trail of fiery red hair on top of the green grass, trailing to its owner lying on her stomach on the grass, her hands underneath her chin and a smile of equal parts amusement and contentment on her face. Mackensen's crimson eyes showed a sort of sparkle of curiosity to match her smile.
"Oh don't mind me," Mackensen said as she stuffed the roll into her mouth. "Just got hungry watching the lovebirds on their date and decided to help myself."
Over her shoulder, Apocrypha could see another woman behind her, helping herself to some food that she must have brought herself with an expression that seemed intentionally blank. Her casual clothes made her very different from the woman with the peaked cap and black fur-lined coat she saw during the Operation Crossfire meeting, but Apocrypha nevertheless quickly recognized her as Tirpitz.
"Uh, hey. Hi," Apocrypha blurted, hurrying to try and stand up to greet Mackensen and Tirpitz but ending up in an awkward limbo between sitting and standing when Mackensen held a hand up to stop her as Swiftsure quickly moved back to her original spot. "I wasn't aware Tirpitz was at the base."
"Only temporarily," Tirpitz replied. "Baden has requested that Kronprinz return to Iron Blood, and I heard that Mackensen had been damaged during Operation Crossfire and wanted to see that she had recovered fully, so I volunteered to pass the message."
"And here I was thinking you came just because you were missing me back home," Mackensen teased, finding a spot near where Swiftsure and Apocrypha sat to also sit, motioning for Tirpitz to join her. "But back to you, Kommandant. I'm surprised to see you out here on a date. And don't try to tell me that's not what it is. I'm not falling for that."
Apocrypha could feel a blush rising to her cheeks, quickly taking a bite of food to prevent herself from denying Mackensen's words. After swallowing, she snarked, "If you could see we're on a date, why did you come over to interrupt?"
Mackensen shrugged. "It wasn't my intent. I knew about the spot and had the same idea as you two. Then I got absorbed watching two lovebirds and realized I forgot to bring snacks as I watched, so I was going to help the two of you with that mountain of food there."
"This is why we packed our own food, Mackensen," Tirpitz grumbled somewhat. "You were the one that told me to help myself so you could go and watch…"
"Well, that aside," Mackensen said, pretending like Tirpitz hadn't said anything, "it wasn't planned that I would interrupt. If you want Tirpitz and me to leave -"
"I didn't say that," Apocrypha pointed out, but then turned her attention instead to Tirpitz. "Do you guys have plans for later in the day? Anything I can help with during your stay here?"
Tirpitz gave a slight smile but shook her head. "Thank you, but I'll only be staying through tonight. I think I'll just spend the time in Mackensen's room."
Tirpitz's words seemed to spark something in Mackensen, a sly glint in her eyes. "That does remind me, Kommandant. You may want to put in an order for a new bed frame on my behalf. I don't see us sleeping much tonight, and I don't anticipate the current bed frame to hold up to our plans."
Swiftsure had nearly choked on her food at hearing Mackensen's words, her face bright red with a blush. For a second, Apocrypha had half a mind to ask just what Mackensen was planning, but it didn't take long for realization to dawn on her. "W-well… I hope you two enjoy your night. Swiftsure, let's pack the rest of this up and leave them be."
"Oh, but leave the sausage rolls," Mackensen asked, although it sounded closer to a demand. "And give my compliments to George for them."
Swiftsure glanced at Apocrypha in question, receiving a nod in answer to Mackensen's request. She passed over the container with the last of the sausage rolls before helping Apocrypha pack away the remainder of the food, still far too much for only the two of them to try and carry down. Swiftsure sighed, but it quickly bubbled instead into a laugh. "I suppose we'll have to ask the Royal Maids to come collect the remainder."
She looked away from the remains of the picnic to meet Apocrypha's eyes next. "Thank you for this, Commander. I truly appreciate you doing something like this for someone as unworthy of it as me."
Apocrypha opened her mouth to reciprocate the thanks, but Mackensen cleared her throat next to her.
"Kommandant, if this were a movie, this is where the two of you would kiss," Mackensen suggested, at the same time being poked in the side by Tirpitz as Apocrypha shot her a dirty look, her cheeks a bright red.
"Mackensen, please shut up."
The next morning, much to Apocrypha's relief, it finally felt as if things were settling back into a routine. Although it had been a little over a week since Cervantes had been at the port, and she still had the last few ripples caused by that visit to settle, before her sat only the usual forms: supplies to order, expeditions, patrols, and commissions to arrange, and other menial tasks.
It was just past lunch when a knock came at her door, and Royalist entered as Apocrypha called for her to come in, a crimson envelope sealed with golden wax held in her hand. It was obvious enough what the source of this envelope was, and anxiety gripped at Apocrypha's heart as she reached to take it from Royalist's hand. "What is this?"
Royalist smiled, slight bemusement in her expression. "King George V and Lady Barham would like you to join them for afternoon tea. The full details are on the invitation within. I believe Cardinal Richelieu will also be attending. I will fetch you when it is time."
Apocrypha could only nod, scanning the delicate handwriting on the invitation that had been encased in the envelope and trying to picture the person who had written it. The name signed at the bottom indicated the author had been King George V, the wording within the invitation grandiose and formal without being pretentious. Fitting for a member of the Royal Navy's Royal Family. But surely she couldn't simply be an uptight royal. After all, Swiftsure had said that George had helped prepare the food they'd had for the picnic just yesterday, and Swiftsure had spoken about her equally as if she would a friend, even if there was still an air of respect for her as a superior. Overall, Apocrypha felt it would be safe enough to assume she'd be rather like Wales.
On the other hand, Barham remained a black box. While Wales and George were likely similar, Apocrypha had already met two of Barham's sisters, and it was difficult to say if Barham would be like either when already Queen Elizabeth and Warspite were vastly different from each other. She did recall that during the meetings prior to the start of Crossfire that many of the girls spoke of Barham with great respect, in particular Baden, but that didn't much help with painting a vision of her. It only raised more questions than answers that someone in Iron Blood was the greatest supporter of a royal.
Rising from her desk, she crossed the room to where the bookshelves towered against one of the walls, pulling down a few books she recalled containing information on the histories of the Royal Navy's ships. With nothing else on her desk for the moment, she began to pore over the books, trying to dredge up any information she could on Barham until Royalist's knock at her door hours later put an end to her reading. A welcome relief when she considered the fact that she'd only frustrated herself more with her inability to glean anything from grasping at every fragment of information she could find on Barham. She'd found plenty of facts, but no information.
"Are you ready, Lady Apocrypha?"
Apocrypha gave a nod, carefully closing the book in front of her at the same time as she pushed her chair back so she could stand. "I'm ready."
Apocrypha followed Royalist through the halls, silent while she continued to debate in her head just what sort of people she was about to meet. As they passed through the doors to the Royal Navy's sector of the base, Apocrypha finally asked, "What can you tell me about Barham? What's she like?"
Royalist clasped her hands behind her back while she walked. "I am not all that well-acquainted with Lady Barham. She prefers to maintain distance between herself and others from my understanding, but I believe it may be best for you to see for yourself. It is not my place to speculate on the nature of one of Her Majesty's sisters."
"Oh."
Royalist chuckled, hearing the disappointment in her voice. "If you are asking if you need to concern yourself with your safety in her presence, then I am confident in saying there will be no reason to fret about that."
"It was that obvious, huh?"
"An educated guess, given the number of us girls who have made your time here less than welcoming. Admittedly, myself included. You have done well enough despite us, but you never cease to express your concern. Now then, here we are."
Royalist held open the door leading to the expansive parlor where the women had gathered for tea and snacks while they sat on plush couches and chairs. Richelieu occupied one chair that seemed positioned for guest use, with Vercingetorix standing nearby as guard - something even Apocrypha could figure out was unnecessary at the moment, but had likely been insisted upon by Vercingetorix herself. Considering the fact that Scylla was there serving tea, Vercingetorix's insistence seemed well placed. The woman Apocrypha guessed was King George V sat on one of the sofas, an inference Apocrypha made due to a rough similarity to Wales' uniform. But George's uniform was more ornate, with plenty of medals, more golden trim around her jacket, and a fur-lined cape longer than the simpler one Wales wore on one shoulder. She had the same golden blonde hair and red eyes as Wales, but her hair was much longer, and the hint of mischief in Wales' eyes was contrasted with George's sincerity and vigor.
On one of the couches sat yet another woman dressed in black with pale blonde hair, seemingly ignoring the others as well as the tea and food in front of her in favor of laying out cards on the table. A third unfamiliar woman was nearby, as well, her white hair pinned back with a clip decorated by polished river stones and revealing pointed ears reminiscent of an elf's or fairy's.
Before Apocrypha could ask, Royalist was already guiding her across the room to introduce the newcomers. "Miss Apocrypha, allow me to introduce you. Sitting there is the Knight Commander, the battleship King George V. On the couch directly ahead is Barham, the fourth battleship of the Queen Elizabeth class. While the two of you may not have met before, you may recall her as the named flagship of the Royal Navy's eastern Atlantic fleet during Operation Crossfire. Ladies, I'd like you to meet Apocrypha, the Commander."
Apocrypha was met with a hearty greeting and a firm handshake from George, but she could barely make out the distractedly mumbled hello from Barham as her focus was primarily on her tarot cards. It wasn't until she'd crossed half the room and Royalist had started to prepare a cup of tea to serve her that she realized the fairy-like woman hadn't been introduced.
Gesturing in the woman's direction, Apocrypha asked, "Royalist, who is that? I don't think you introduced her."
"Yes, sister, what about me?" the woman sneered, making Royalist sigh in a way that made it obvious she was only doing so in order to not reply with the same sharpness that was being directed at her.
"My apologies, Naiad. I maintain my belief that you and Scylla are of no importance."
Apocrypha couldn't help but snicker when both Naiad and Scylla protested Royalist's claim, finding a place to sit while the two then turned on each other. Silence quickly fell after Apocrypha was served and Barham spoke, the cards that had once been spread before her now neatly stacked into a pile save for ten cards still on the table. These cards laid face down, Barham still shifting them around into what Apocrypha was beginning to recognize as the shape of a Celtic cross with one card at the center.
"Richelieu, Commander, I am glad that the both of you could accept the invitation. To begin with, I must apologize for the improper behavior of Scylla and Naiad," she stated. She paused for a moment to glance down at the cards on the table, frowning as she shifted the places of a couple cards before she continued on. "As for why we invited you to join us, it is for the sake of further invitation. I understand that due to the circumstances that befell your fleet during Operation Crossfire, Commander, that you had the honor of visiting the Sakura Empire's Kure base. Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth has sent us to extend the invitation that you might join us for a tour of the research facilities based in Devonport. Naturally, Richelieu, we would like to invite Iris Libre to also showcase their work if you wish to."
"I am honored by the invitation. I promise to you and the Commander that I will work to put our best foot forward," Richelieu replied. "However, will the Polonia Commonwealth also be present to show theirs? I was under the impression they'd finalized the design plans for one. It would only be fair to allow them the same opportunity, given it was us who failed to provide aid to them before it was too late."
Barham shrugged, sipping her tea. "My understanding is that they have been informed, but last I heard there was still no final answer."
"I see…" Richelieu sighed, disappointed but unsurprised. "The timing works well enough. Charlemagne is finally ready to be woken, so I had intended to return to oversee the process anyway. If time permits, Iris Libre would indeed like to allow the Commander to be there."
"I will inform my sister that she will need to leave time in the itinerary to accommodate that, then. It should be no issue."
"Um… Sorry to interrupt," Apocrypha interjected. "I'm just not sure I can get away from the base for a long time again. The paperwork here doesn't exactly do itself, and it's not fair for me to ask Swiftsure to handle it all for me, so -"
"That won't be a problem," George replied before Apocrypha could finish. "Augusta and Oriskany will handle any urgent matters that come up immediately here. An office has already been arranged and prepared for you in Devonport so that you can work as you please outside of planned events. If necessary, we can rearrange the itinerary for particularly urgent matters if at all possible."
Apocrypha turned her gaze down toward the cup of tea in her hands, trying to stamp out the feeling of being trapped, that the decisions had already been made for her. She certainly didn't want to refuse the invitation, but she'd only just returned not all that long ago. It was only within the last couple of days that the first full fleet had arrived from the Sakura Empire to begin rotations, too, and she had wanted to set some time aside to meet the shipgirls in that group. The last thing she needed to do was give the impression that all the responsibility was on the shipgirls while she gallivanted about on trips to the different countries.
Barham seemed to pick up the concern before George or Naiad could. "It is not an abandonment of your duties. In essence, you can look at this as a diplomatic visit to approach a key member of the larger alliance that is Azur Lane, and an opportunity to better understand a part of what the research budget goes to. Ultimately, it will soon be your decision what projects to approve and allot funding to. Additionally, it will not only be the Royal Navy and Iris Libre present in Devonport."
Naiad suddenly seemed keenly interested in what Barham was saying. "I don't remember anything about someone else joining us. Who is it?"
"I took the liberty of inviting Baden to watch Lion's testing," Barham explained. "I thought it appropriate given it was her we were allowed to study as a basis for our later battleships."
"Are you certain that's a wise choice, Barham?" George asked, furrowing her brow. "I understand that you consider her a friend, but she is still one of Iron Blood's leaders."
"I will assume full responsibility in the unlikely chance anything should happen due to Baden. Regardless, that is a matter to discuss in private. Commander, we still have not gotten any answer for you. Will you join us at Devonport, or shall I inform Her Majesty that you will not be able to at this time?"
Apocrypha nodded. "I'll go. When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow," George answered. "Wales has already arranged a fleet to accompany us on the return trip."
Apocrypha sighed, but at the same time could feel a small smile forming. "I was always expected to say yes, wasn't I?"
"We were confident you could be convinced. Your visit to Sakura has been quite the surprise in its outcome to us, and we hope to inspire similar change in the British Isles."
"I hope to be able to match the expectations of the Royal Navy," Apocrypha agreed.
