Helplessness wasn't a feeling Barham was used to, but it was the only thing that suited the gnawing unease that had settled deep within her. Everything was wrong, yet none of it was within her power to change. She could not undo the reappearance of the Iberian Crown's forces that now held the Gibraltar fleet at their mercy, nor did she have any influence on the fact that they had, at the very least, been merciful enough to simply not crush the base militarily; a fact that she was painfully aware would have been tempting to take seeing as it allowed for Royal Navy residence in the Crown's own backyard. She also could not make the Commander reappear out of thin air, nor could she absolve Molotov of perceived guilt based only on her gut feeling, no matter how reliable they often were. Perhaps worst yet was her inability to give Baden the answers to the problem that had plagued Iron Blood - the current state of their former flagship, who now was only an experimental subject in attempts to revive the dead.
Instead, she had retreated to Weston Mill in an attempt to avoid those same problems. Or, at the very least, get drunk enough to forget for a while that they existed. To her dismay, the mental haze of alcohol had only served to make her feel worse about her situation. She had called and all but begged Baden to come join her, lest she give in to maudlin instincts. She couldn't make the problems go away, but she knew of one that she still stood a chance of heading off at the pass.
When Baden arrived, she was finishing another pint of beer and wasted no time calling for the bartender to bring two more once Baden had sat in a chair across from her. "I thought you were going to Molotov's tribunal," Barham commented.
Baden shrugged, not seeming too interested in the implied question. "It was over quickly. She was decided guilty before she had even entered the room. It was probably more about telling Soyuz we allowed Molotov to plead her case before giving her the boot over anything for Molotov's sake. But I could ask the same for you: why didn't you come?"
"You know it wasn't her," Barham remarked, immediately taking a sip from the beers brought out for her and Baden, giving the bartender a thankful smile for the mugs. "Well, maybe not you. I do. I can feel it. Someone else came here but I don't know who. I haven't seen anything, so the Commander is at least safe, but it feels so… violating to know someone snuck in just under our noses and whisked someone so important away with nobody the wiser."
Baden sighed, staring into her cup. "You could not have predicted that would happen. Though I doubt that is why you asked to speak to me here."
Barham gave her a grim smile. "You are correct. I had meant to bring the subject to you earlier, but I allowed myself to get distracted helping you settle in. Not that that is something I have any regrets about before you dare think to apologize to me," she said, seeing Baden preparing to do precisely that. "I wanted to ask if you have spoken to Admiral Scheer since our discussion following Operation Crossfire. You do recall what I said, yes?"
Baden sighed, taking a long drink from her cup but still feeling Barham's expectant gaze on her. Setting the glass down on the table with perhaps a little more force than was warranted, she grimaced. "I did try to tell her that it would be best to abandon her current course, but she would not have any of it. She is dead set on seeing Bismarck return regardless of what she has to do in pursuit of that."
"That is exactly the problem, Baden. You have to make her understand that she cannot continue this," Barham insisted. "She is following the same path Bismarck took. It will not end well for her either. That is something I can say I have seen."
"I'm not doubting you, Barham," Baden soothed, shaking her head. "But Scheer will not listen to me. I am an old relic in her eyes. And, if I ever say anything she dislikes, a traitor. My words mean nothing to her."
"You must make her see sense. If you feel you are unable, it has to be through someone else, at the very least. I fear what it will mean for all of us if she is not stopped. Please. Have I ever been wrong about such things?"
"No… I will bring your concerns to Friedrich when I return. Perhaps Scheer will be more willing to listen to her."
"I hope so too."
When the plane landed and Apocrypha had offboarded, she was met by another woman standing on the tarmac, the white stick of a lollipop protruding from between her lips. The woman, however, wasn't looking at Apocrypha, but past her, her dark amethyst eyes narrowed into a glare at the two shipgirls who were following behind the newcomer to Vichya.
With both continuing to whisper between each other, the woman gave Apocrypha a brief apologetic glance before removing the lollipop from her mouth, what remained of the hardened candy being crushed beneath the sole of a black boot as she approached the aircraft. "La Galissonnière, Gloire. I hope you two have a good explanation for this. Or since I am to assume you have none, I hope you can come up with one that won't result in an inquisition before we reach Clemenceau's office."
Leaving the response as a rhetorical one, the woman turned on her heel to address Apocrypha, her demeanor only softening the slightest bit in formality. "And you must be Madame Commandant. I apologize for my sisters' actions, although I understand that likely means little," she stated, beginning to walk toward a car parked a short distance away while pulling a new lollipop from the pocket of the black coat she wore and unwrapping it. "Clemenceau has asked to meet with the three of you posthaste, so let's get moving."
Apocrypha glanced uncertainly at Gloire and La Galissonnière and then toward the back of the other woman. "Is this Clemenceau your boss? Who is she?"
"You could say she's Gloire's superior," the woman with the lollipop responded. "She is also the head of the Tribunal, which I believe roughly equates to whatever secret government intelligence agencies you are familiar with back in Eagle Union."
A slight degree of nervousness crept into Apocrypha at that information, but it wasn't her station at the moment to do much thinking anyway. Not since Gloire had been involved in Devonport had Apocrypha felt that any mental exertion would be of any help in the situation. .
"And may I ask who you are?"
Gloire rolled her eyes, making to follow and dragging La Galissonnière along with her. "Our sister, Jean de Vienne. And if you think she's got a stick up the rear, be thankful it's her and not Marseillaise. Man, I can't believe we just got back and we're already being summoned to the principal's office. Guess it works out, though. I would've taken you to meet Clem sooner or later anyway."
"Let's go! Enough of your dallying!" de Vienne shouted, met with a long-suffering groan from Gloire.
"Coming, Mother!" Gloire called back with a dramatic roll of her eyes, sarcasm dripping from the words despite her obedience to the command.
She had only taken a few steps toward the car when in what seemed like a well-practiced blink of an eye, de Vienne had summoned her riggings, leveled one of the AA guns at Gloire, and fired a shot that had Apocrypha instinctively throwing herself to the ground lest she be the next target. However, only one shot had rang out, and just as quickly as they'd come into existence, de Vienne's riggings had disappeared as if it had been nothing but a hallucination.
Gloire had frozen mid-step, raising a hand to her right ear at the feel of a warm, sticky liquid trickling down the edge of her ear where there had been none but a moment before. When she pulled her fingers away, a smear of red came away with them, confirming what she'd assumed. "You shot me."
De Vienne shrugged nonchalantly, opening the front passenger door to the car. "I thought since you've been talking about getting more ear piercings, I'd go ahead and give you one myself. It won't even be there in a few minutes."
De Vienne deftly reached down and helped Apocrypha up. "I apologize for the outburst, Madame Commandant. I trust you would agree that there is little room for moderation when dealing with these two whom I am embarrassed to call my sisters. Now then, if you could get in the car, please."
Most of the drive was spent in silence, leaving Apocrypha to squirm uncomfortably in her seat when de Vienne would turn around to look at her as if wanting to ask something. When the question finally came, it wasn't anything Apocrypha had been expecting.
"You seem pretty calm about this. Am I wrong to guess that you went along with these two crétines willingly? No struggle, no call for help, just… 'Yeah, sure, I'll go along with you'?"
Apocrypha blinked stupidly, trying to make sense of the question. "Uh… Yeah- Yes?" she answered with uncertainty. "I never considered any other option when Gloire was involved."
Gloire opened her mouth to answer but hesitated when de Vienne turned a glare toward her.
"Be careful how you answer, sœur. You want another piercing? Maybe on your tongue this time?"
Gloire huffed, turning to instead glare out the window at the passing scenery that soon gave way to the buildings and streets of a city. Unlike Devonport, with humans and shipgirls alike hurrying about their days as if all was normal in the world, Toulon still visibly bore the scars of war. Damaged buildings with haphazard scaffolding or ongoing construction, burned and charred areas of stone or wood where fires likely raged from bombing or shelling, and tape still crossed over windows meant to reduce the risk of shattering injury in case of further bombardment. Apocrypha wasn't sure if it was the remnants of the war among Azur Lane's factions or if it was the result of attacks by Sirens. Most likely, it was a combination of both. After all, the Sirens never had any regard for pre-existing conflicts or politics amongst the world's nations.
They were met at the door by a blonde twin-tailed shipgirl that reminded Apocrypha of Hanazuki with her shy posture and the look in her red eyes. But her appearance reminded her of some sort of clergy: a white veil with a red underside that extended from her head like a nun's veil down to her torso like a cape, and a golden halo of a fancy Greek cross glowed over her head.
As the shipgirl and de Vienne exchanged a few hushed words, Gloire whispered in Apocrypha's ear that the girl's name was Kersaint: a destroyer that acted as Clemenceau's right hand.
De Vienne turned to address the group. "Kersaint will take you to see Clemenceau now. Once again, Madame Commandant, you have my apologies for the abduction and our unpreparedness to offer hospitality. If either of them should give you further trouble, please don't hesitate to request of me from Clemenceau. I'm sure Gloire would be delighted to have a multitude of piercings all over her body if the situation requires it."
Kersaint smiled nervously with all attention turned on her now, her hands clasped in front of her chest as if in prayer, although whether it was genuine prayer or just uneasy wringing was unclear. "R-right. Um… S-shall we go now?"
Apocrypha smiled and nodded as reassuring as she could make it. "Please lead the way, Kersaint. We'll be right behind."
Kersaint seemed to relax a bit at the reassurance, turning to lead the small group into the compound. Gloire launched into an explanation of each sector as they walked, pausing in her rambling as they passed one long hall with a singular door locked by a keycard reader. Whatever the room was, it was clearly an enormous one that spanned the length of the hall to have only one entrance. The silence only lasted a second, though.
"Hey, Kersaint, is, y'know, she around, or are they finally working on her again?"
"The Iron Blood still have not provided the final parts for her rigging," Kersaint answered, wariness of the question creeping into her tone. "You would have to request access to the research block from Lady Clemenceau, but I believe she would still prefer for that project to remain classified for a while longer. How do you know about it?"
Gloire blinked, scrambling to find an excuse. "Lucky guess? Clem's always got some sort of project or another going. It's not like we all didn't know we'd been sitting on the original blueprints used for those sisters since the split, considering Richelieu was more concerned with getting them out rather than the plans for them. Why wouldn't we finally take advantage of less time drawing up plans?"
Kersaint sighed, opening a different door as they approached and peered inside. "Lady Clemenceau, I have La Galissonnière and Gloire here for you, as well as the Commander."
"Bring them in, Kersaint," came the voice from inside.
Kersaint motioned for the trio to follow as she entered the room, closing the door once all were inside. Regardless of how comfortable La Galissonnière and Gloire seemed to be, Apocrypha felt a crushing unease that reminded her of the first time Gloire had dragged her away at Azur Lane's New York base to meet the Vichya Dominion representatives. Yet simultaneously, what she felt now made that feel like nothing more than a mild discomfort.
A quick glance around the room revealed Jean Bart and Primauguet standing to one side of the room, both of whom expressed a nod as a greeting. Apocrypha's eyes were briefly drawn to the saber that, at the moment, remained sheathed hanging at Primauguet's hip; one she knew could be drawn to strike in the blink of an eye. The feeling of being watched, though, drew her eyes next toward the borderline throne at the head of the room where a third woman sat, her golden-pink hair, save for a few strategic strands, held up in an updo of a style that Apocrypha couldn't quite place, adorning her scalp almost like a second crown to the actual crown that sat above. That must be Clemenceau.
She wasn't the sole source of Apocrypha's unease, she realized. The feeling of being watched came from someone she could sense but couldn't see, and a flicker of movement a distance back from the woman's seat confirmed her suspicions of a fourth person watching covertly. A shadow behind the throne Clemenceau was sitting in.
And then Clemenceau was speaking to her as if to force her attention from whoever else was in the room. "Imagine my surprise when I was informed that Azur Lane's very own Commander had come to grace the Vichya Dominion with her presence, albeit unexpectedly. Gloire, La Galissonnière, would either of you like to enlighten me on who gave the order to have our dear Commander brought here to Toulon?"
Gloire flashed a smile and stepped forward to put an informal spotlight on herself, every part of her body language showing the sort of relaxed confidence of someone who was absolutely sure of themselves and their plan. It was a sort of confidence that Apocrypha could only dream of, doubly so if what de Vienne had previously said was true and Gloire had no excuse for her actions that would improve her situation beyond what would happen if she had had no reason whatsoever.
Gloire raised one of her hands as if to make some sort of gesture and took a deep breath…
"It was all La Galissonnière's idea and I just went with it," she said as she pointed squarely at the shipgirl standing next to Apocrypha.
Apocrypha's jaw dropped at the anticlimactic cliff of contrast between Gloire's posture and her ratting out of her sister, but Clemenceau's slight smile didn't shift in the slightest compared to the completely gobsmacked Apocrypha. Even Jean Bart did little more than an eye roll, and Primauguet closed her eyes in annoyance.
"So you were the perpetrator after all, Gloire," Clemenceau said with next to no hesitation or opening for consideration, "and La Galissonnière, while also at fault, can be considered an accomplice."
"Yeah, that's exactly- Wait, what?" Gloire said, interrupting herself as Clemenceau's response had seemed so natural. "Did you hear what I just said, Clemenceau? I said I wasn't the one to -"
"Yes, yes, I heard you perfectly well the first time," Clemenceau said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "However, it is my understanding that whoever is to step up first and claim the other as responsible is often the true perpetrator, most of all when the perpetrator in question is a La Galissonnière-class. You must give myself and the Tribunal more credit than that, Gloire."
La Galissonnière breathed a sigh of relief in a somewhat down-low manner, and Apocrypha wasn't quite sure if Clemenceau noticed that. Meanwhile, Gloire huffed like a child who had been caught in a lie but nevertheless refused to explicitly admit guilt. "Well, since you're clearly going to assume I'm guilty just on principle-"
"An assumption with more than enough evidence to back it," Clemenceau interrupted. But she wasn't done even as Gloire opened her mouth to continue.
"Don't pretend you aren't internally delighted at this sudden development courtesy of my fine self, Clemenceau," Gloire continued. "I already see the wheels turning in your head. The Commander was meant to meet ships under development by the Royal Navy. As if they're the only ones in the world with that in their labs."
Apocrypha could feel the slightest shift from the same presence she felt in the shadows; the one hiding somewhere in the shadows of Clemenceau's throne. It was subtle, but it was the reaction of someone whose attention was jolted by a conversation that unexpectedly mentioned something more personal than originally expected; like a conference attendee dozing off in their seat before hearing their name mentioned by the speaker.
Clemenceau's mouth curled into a small smile. "Even if that were to be the case, I fail to see how that has anything to do with your own wrongdoing."
"It's to Vichya's benefit! Even if I broke a few rules to do so, those stuffy royals have more than enough money for their own ships. We could certainly use the help a lot more, no thanks to them and their attacks on our fleet!"
"First, 'those stuffy royals' you refer to are ultimately our allies against the Sirens, regardless of their previous actions against us," Clemenceau retorted, her wry amusement slipping somewhat to the cold anger of a chessmaster whose plans were disrupted by an element they should have accounted for but didn't. "I am of no more desire to flatter them than is practically necessary, but I am of equally no desire to anger them if it can be helped. Second, 'a few rules' is quite the underselling for the kidnapping of an official that outranks either of us from the territory of another nation."
It was here that the small tightening on Clemenceau's jaw became more prominent, enough that it caused Jean Bart and Primaguet to avert their gaze ever so slightly.
"Since you seem so eager to justify your present misdeeds using past grievances, I would not be surprised if the Royal Navy were to break off diplomatic ties over this and attempt to excommunicate us from Azur Lane. Perhaps they would be so kind as to communicate this displeasure through sudden explosions raining down from the skies."
Gloire's eyes widened in genuine panic as a slight shiver could be seen emanating through her figure. Apocrypha winced slightly at the sight, and it was enough to allow her to unstick her jaw from her skull and step somewhat in front of Gloire. Regardless of her kidnapper's fault, she couldn't stand by for what seemed to be hurtling towards a terrible conclusion for Gloire.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I think you might be taking it too far," she said, suppressing a shiver or a flinch similar to Gloire's when Clemenceau's hard gaze turned to her. "I can understand if you have no sympathy or desire to trust the Royal Navy, not after what happened before the Sirens arrived. I read everything I could and I wouldn't trust them either if I were in your position. But if for nothing else, I can vouch to prevent the situation from deteriorating to -"
Clemenceau held up a hand and Apocrypha's words died in her throat.
"I appreciate the sentiment, Azur Lane commander. I am also flattered that you have spent the time to investigate Vichya's brief history. However, there is every reason to believe that even if you were to throw whatever weight you possess behind defending us, the Royal Navy would still consider it a grievous insult that a shipgirl from another nation was able to kidnap a high-level official such as yourself under their noses. Emotions will not be so easy to temper regardless of a leader's influence on the situation, and both sides are to assume selfish motivations."
Apocrypha gulped but forced herself to continue pushing.
"Then do that. Make it a selfish motivation like Gloire said. I'm the Commander of Azur Lane, and I'm standing right here in front of you. You can treat this exactly like the visit I was making to the Royal Navy. Make Vichya something personal to me, and I'll act accordingly."
Clemenceau raised an eyebrow. "You will forgive me for being skeptical that you would be willing to ignore your allies to help a nation that previously aligned with the enemies of your own nation. Do you not have an obligation to the entirety of the alliance?"
"I do," Apocrypha replied. "And this is my way of being equal. You deserve my attention as much as Royal Navy and Eagle Union do, and as long as I have the opportunity, you can tell me to do whatever will help."
"And what benefit is there to you?"
Apocrypha let out a sigh despite herself. "If you want a selfish motivation that badly, then I want the Vichya Dominion to become a proper contributor to Azur Lane. I command that alliance, and it holds personal meaning to me far beyond fighting against the Sirens for humanity. Is that enough for you?"
Clemenceau was silent, rolling the information through her head. Even without speaking, Apocrypha could tell some of the hardness that was in her expression and emotions had calmed somewhat, just as her own anxiety started spiking as the momentary rush of boldness started to fade from her system.
She could only hope this didn't end with Gloire's head on a pike. Or hers, for that matter. Whether now, or for future application. It was likely a sentiment shared by the rest of the shipgirls in the room, collectively holding their breath for Clemenceau's reaction.
"Very well then, Commander of Azur Lane," Clemenceau said, standing up from her throne and leaving her staff leaning against an armrest as she descended the stairs between her and Apocrypha. "If you are aware of this much, you will know that words are cheap. Vichya will require action to prove that you are willing to consider the nation as on equal footing to the rest within Azur Lane."
Apocrypha nodded as Clemcneau arrived at ground level and faced her at an equal physical elevation. "I will do my best to back up my claims."
"That said, however," Clemenceau commented. "This does not change the rather grievous violation of Vichya's rules that Gloire committed by bringing you here, regardless of whatever benefits it confers to us going forward."
Apocrypha resisted the urge to gulp as a lump built up in her throat. Was everything she said for nothing? Would Gloire have to suffer while Apocrypha would be given a diplomatic welcome?
"I had several angles of punishment prepared once our discussion was finished, but seeing as you seek to make this violation worthwhile for Vichya, I will waive them based on your actions for the rest of the day, Commander."
Gloire rather obviously let out a sigh of relief that she had no signs of having before now.
"However, there is one punishment that I took the liberty of enlisting the help of another. It has taken preparation on the part of this individual, so I cannot waive this now. But seeing as I will not allow justice to be served cold on my watch, we can consider that the more immediate punishment before the act fades from Gloire's short-term memory."
Apocrypha tried to maintain the composure in her expression for Gloire's sake. "I assume this isn't going to be a specialist in torture with a sense of excitement at the sight of bloodshed?"
The corner of Clemenceau's mouth curled into a somewhat devious smirk. "Hardly. But I would dare say that they will have the ability to force reflection on Gloire where even I might fail. You are already familiar with this individual as she has been dispatched to the Azur Lane base before, Commander."
Apocrypah's brow furrowed at the comment. Someone from Vichya who had been at the Azur Lane base, who had the ability to put Gloire in a position where she was forced to genuinely reflect on her misdeeds? Who matched such a description?
"Seeing as they appear to have arrived, Kersaint, open the door for them, please," Clemenceau said as her words cut through Apocrypha's thoughts.
Kersaint dutifully strolled over and turned the doorknob, holding the door open to the individual Clemenceau had arranged with. Someone who sparked a feeling of surprise in both Apocrypha and Gloire. Someone that also sparked a sense of impending doom for Gloire, but confusion for Apocrypha.
"Dunkerque?!" both exclaimed at the same time.
Dunkerque gave a slight bow before entering the room. "I didn't expect our next meeting to be so soon, Commander. I hope you're well, even if a bit confused by your current predicament?"
Apocrypha blinked, still trying to wrap her head around this development of Dunkerque being the punishment Gloire was so clearly dreading. She leaned a bit to try and see around Dunkerque, sure that someone else was following behind, but Kersaint closing the door confirmed the bizarre fact that the intended individual was, in fact, Dunkerque. "At this point, I've chalked it up to something I like to call 'acts of Gloire'. But, and no offense meant by this, you're the punishment that has Gloire looking like that?" she asked.
Dunkerque laughed softly at the ever-increasing incredulity from Apocrypha the longer that fact sank in. "I have expertise in a certain area that Clemenceau lacks. It just so happens that my specialty is Gloire's weakest point."
"Clem, this is taking it way too far!" Gloire pleaded, desperation rising in her voice. "I'll do whatever you want! I'll never kidnap the Commander again! I-I'll clean all the toilets with my toothbrush until they're sparkling! For a month!"
Apocrypha could hear stifled laughter coming from Jean Bart and Primauguet across the room; not that she blamed them, trying not to laugh herself. La Galissonnière was far less subtle, openly laughing at her sister's pleas, and Apocrypha was sure that she heard a cough from the still unseen presence that was an attempt to cover up laughter, too. It wasn't hard to guess at the unexpectedness that was the foundation of all humor in this sort of abnormally desperate overreaction on Gloire's part.
The edge of Clemenceau's mouth again curled into a slight smile, although this time she seemed desirous to actively suppress such expression. "Your reaction tells me enough and changes nothing, Gloire. And I am all but certain that no one in Vichya will agree to assist you in evading this punishment, purely out of personal choice."
Gloire puffed up her cheeks, crossing her arms over her chest while she glowered at Clemenceau, who only returned the look with the cold steadiness of her own. Gloire blew her breath out, letting it hiss out from between her teeth. "Fine, whatever. But Gali went along with it willingly. I mean, she could have ditched me and told you instead of getting us the plane, so really, it's unfair to only be punishing me."
"Hey! What happened to not throwing me under the bus if you got caught, Gloire?" La Galissonnière whispered. "I only agreed because you said you'd take the blame."
"And you believed me?!" Gloire whispered back. "Dumbass."
"Are you two finished?" Clemenceau asked. "I will be addressing La Galissonnière's role in the incident. The rest of you are dismissed. Dunkerque, I am entrusting the Commander to you until we have the opportunity to make a decision on what our next move ought to be."
"Understood. Commander, Gloire, please come with me."
Dunkerque led them from the room and through the halls, Gloire now eerily quiet, until they reached a kitchen where a variety of confections were laid out on a tray as if they had been about to be delivered to someone. Gloire lunged for them at first sight, only to be stopped by Dunkerque grabbing her by the collar, Apocrypha realized what the punishment Clemenceau and Dunkerque had discussed must be. Gloire's next words confirmed her thoughts.
"Dunkerque! You promised!"
Dunkerque kept her hold on Gloire and with the other hand carefully picked up the tray and passed it to Apocrypha. "On the grounds that you had not been causing problems. Kidnapping the Commander, may I remind you, falls squarely into the realm of causing problems. And seeing as I do not wish for all my work to go to waste and you have gravely inconvenienced her, it's only fair that the Commander gets these instead, no?"
Ignoring Gloire's protestations, she looked to Apocrypha. "I'm sorry that the Vichya Dominion could not offer you a better welcome. Unfortunately, we were taken by surprise with Gloire's actions as you were and are currently not in the best of circumstances as you may have guessed, though I'd appreciate you not letting Primauguet or Jean Bart know I told you that."
Apocrypha accepted the tray, smiling but internally wondering how she was expected to eat everything on it. "It's fine, but… If the Vichya Dominion needs help, whatever form that needs to take, all you need to do is ask."
Dunkerque smiled ruefully but shook her head. "It's not me you need to convince. We would be hard-pressed to decline any aid that just so happened to be sent our way if there was an unfortunate clerical error, though," she commented.
Seeing the change in Dunkerque's expression, it was easy to decipher what she meant and Apocrypha nodded. "Right. It'd be really unfortunate if a convoy was accidentally directed here."
"Then I'm glad we understand each other. Now, let me think… I have to finish cleaning up here, and then I promised to meet Algérie to try a new wine she brought back with her. Oh, I know. Commander, why don't you join us?" Dunkerque suggested.
Apocrypha bit her lip, trying to figure out how to decline without seeming ungrateful or rude. "I, uh… I don't drink."
It was a weak excuse, she knew, but at least it was the truth. If she was being honest with herself, she was hoping Dunkerque might see the opening and offer an alternative. After all, she hadn't really wanted to decline except for the involvement of alcohol.
As she'd expected, Dunkerque picked up on the opening.
"I can prepare tea or coffee for you if you would prefer. It wouldn't be any trouble."
Apocrypha stifled a sigh of relief, instead smiling gratefully at Dunkerque. "Coffee sounds great if it's really not any trouble for you. Do you need any help here?"
"While I appreciate the offer, that won't be necessary," Dunkerque declined, already beginning to gather what she would need to prepare the coffee and tidying a few things as she went. "Gloire, can you show the Commander to the Place de la Liberté? Algérie should already be there by the Fontaine de la Fédération."
Apocrypha glanced over toward Gloire then back to Dunkerque. "Shouldn't she stay here with you so you can keep an eye on her?"
"She's less likely to cause trouble if she's busy giving you a tour on your way over there. She'll only make a nuisance of herself if she's sitting around waiting on me."
Apocrypha couldn't argue with that fact. If she, herself, was the reason for Gloire causing problems, then in theory there should be fewer problems if Gloire stuck with her for the moment. And maybe, just maybe, she was learning to enjoy the bit of carefree mischief that had forced itself onto her.
Sure, Mobile - most of Task Force 58, really - and Mackensen both caused trouble in their own ways, but it was always different with Gloire. It never felt like there was some ulterior motive behind her actions. The only drive was a desire to enjoy life in her own way regardless of what everyone else thought or what the consequences might be. Even if others would advise against it (Augusta immediately came to mind), Apocrypha couldn't help but wonder if maybe it would do her some good to take a few pages from Gloire's playbook.
But Gloire was quieter on the walk this time, and every couple of minutes Apocrypha caught her glancing toward the tray of sweets she was carrying. By all means, she was aware that going against what Dunkerque had said was maybe not the wisest decision and was liable to be taken as a reward by Gloire, but a couple of sweets disappearing from the tray probably wouldn't be noticed.
Gloire's next glance was accompanied by her reaching for the tray as if she'd read Apocrypha's mind, and Apocrypha turned to move the tray out of her reach. She fixed her with a stern look, waiting until Gloire had backed off some before she opened the lid. "You can take two," she informed her, stressing the exact number she was allowing. As Gloire reached for the tray again, she specified, "One is yours, and the other I expect you to give to La Galissonnière. Understood?"
Gloire rolled her eyes, trying to snatch the sweets and pouting when she again found them moved out of her reach. "Ugh. Okay, fine! Only take two and give one to Gali. Got it. Now gimme."
Apocrypha gave Gloire a warning look that the cruiser naturally ignored, moving the tray back within her reach. Almost immediately, two of the goods disappeared from the tray, one just as quickly stuffed into Gloire's mouth and making her cheeks puff out like a chipmunk's. She managed to mumble something around the mouthful that Apocrypha guessed was a food-muffled expression of gratitude given the blooming grin on her face, making Apocrypha shake her head but with a reciprocated grin herself.
"You can take bites, you know."
Gloire shook her head, pointing toward the fountain in the center of the plaza, and Apocrypha's gaze followed the direction of her finger. Algérie was seated on the low stone wall beside the fountain while La Galissonnière leaned against the stone railing that encircled all but the front section of the fountain.
Apocrypha failed to resist the urge to roll her eyes in response, making her way over to the pair by the fountain and offering a smile when Algérie looked over at her approach. "Hope you don't mind me joining you. Dunkerque invited me."
Algérie returned the smile, ringlets bouncing gently as she shook her head. "I don't mind at all. I understand that your visit to us here was a surprise to you as much as it was to all of us."
Apocrypha laughed, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah," she admitted. "Clemenceau is talking to Jean Bart and Primauguet trying to figure out how to sort this out. I'll probably be out of your hair sooner rather than later."
"There's been no decision yet, so fret not," Algérie reassured.
Apocrypha nodded, then remembered she'd left Gloire alone with the sweet she was meant to give to her sister. "Oh, La Galissonnière, Gloire has something she needs to give to you. I'd hurry up and go find her."
La Galissonnière gave her a skeptical look but spotted Gloire peeking out from around a corner, waving her over. "Alright, fine. I'll see ya later, then."
Algérie arched an eyebrow at the exchange but then seemed to notice the tray Apocrypha was carrying and laughed. "I wouldn't have trusted Gloire alone with any of those for long either. Don't worry, I won't tell Dunkerque you shared with those two." She patted the wall next to where she sat and tilted her head slightly to indicate the space. "Come sit."
It was funny, Apocrypha thought as she sat down and placed the tray between them, how it felt easier to relax in the presence of the Vichya Dominion's shipgirls compared to the Royal Navy's. They were certainly more intimidating, she wouldn't deny that, but it brought with it a certain blunt honesty. An understanding that the other party could be trusted to mean exactly what they said, for good or for ill. Not that she was naïve enough to believe she was being told the whole truth; if she were, she'd know who that person was in the shadows during her meeting with Clemenceau. But in every individual interaction, it was certainly a contrast.
Apocrypha sat in silence for a time, at some moments sneaking glances in Algérie's direction, trying to think up some topic of conversation. Another glance and a realization struck her.
"Is Dupleix not with you?"
She recalled that while in New York, there had been a consistency of certain girls that were rarely if ever apart from each other - Andrea and Veneto; Mobile and Franklin; Zuihou, Shoukaku, and Zuikaku. She had seen Algérie and Dupleix as among the most inseparable of those, and the lack of Dupleix's presence felt wrong somehow.
For a brief moment, Algérie appeared perturbed by the question, but it was gone just as quickly. "She preferred to remain in New York with Joffre. Some time away from the worst of the fighting may do her some good, so I felt it best not to argue."
Apocrypha wanted to ask, but knew enough of the history behind Dupleix's name to know that was likely a poor choice. Nor did she want to imply - intentionally or otherwise - that Algérie was required to spend every waking moment with Dupleix. Especially seeing a glimmer of the same guilt she'd seen with Mobile whenever Franklin came up as a topic, she decided it was better to avoid making Algérie concern herself further with being away from Dupleix. And if it was anything like Mobile and Franklin, any reassurance would only worry her further.
She was saved by Dunkerque arriving with the promised coffee and the easy conversation she struck up with Algérie. Algérie was plenty eager to extoll the virtues of the wine she'd brought while producing it from the ice-filled cooler set at her feet and opened it, pouring the contents into a pair of wineglasses that Dunkerque had brought with her. That conversation quickly gave way to other casual conversation, ranging from comparing experiences at some of the boutiques they'd gone to during free time in New York to discussion of the rebuilding progress in Toulon. Amongst all of this, Apocrypha had somehow found herself agreeing to go with them to a number of places upon their return after expressing that she hadn't so much as considered venturing outside of the New York base.
All too soon, though, it was over, marked by a message from Clemenceau to Dunkerque that she and Apocrypha were to meet Vichya's leaders in the headquarters' research sector. From what Dunkerque told her while they walked, a decision had been made regarding Apocrypha's presence in Toulon, but they wouldn't know the specifics until arriving. In the face of such a swift decision, Apocrypha had already resigned herself to the likelihood that she would be well on her way back to Devonport before the evening.
They passed room after room of weapons and other war technologies in various stages of development - some only holographics showing concept designs, some with prototypes partially or entirely built, and others that looked like they were just waiting on testing and finalization. They continued on past these, deeper into the complex until they reached a large room, the glass windows too opaque for Apocrypha to make out anything more than vague outlines of shapes within the room until Dunkerque entered a code on the keypad and the door slid open.
This room was far larger than the others, and a quick glance around soon revealed why. Not only were various armaments and system components laid out on tables, accompanied by rolls of paper that Apocrypha guessed were the blueprints to those items, as well as the girl lying unconscious on a large examining table. It was around that table that Clemencea, Jean Bart, and Primauguet stood, and once again Apocrypha could feel that strange, unseen presence watching her.
The girl's pale skin was largely covered with armored pauldrons and a cuisse-grieve combination that extended upwards towards her bicep and her thighs, matching the black metal of two antenna-like protrusions coming out of her bobbed blue hair, as well as a strange black-and-gold halo-like device that floated off the back of her head. A plain white dress covered her torso, with a large golden cross hanging from a black choker around her neck. Even lying without any hint of life on the table, Apocrypha could sense a sort of grim purpose behind the existence of the shipgirl in front of her. Her appearance seemed intentionally trimmed down on bells and whistles to focus on her destiny as a weapon fighting on behalf of Vichya, and Apocrypha couldn't help but wonder if the same extended to this shipgirl's mental and personal faculties once she opened her eyes.
In spite of her fascination with the girl on the table, that feeling of being watched never left, but then Clemenceau was already speaking, leaving Apocrypha's brain to scramble to catch up with no time to search out who or what it was that was watching her. She caught something about an improved Richelieu-class ship as Primauguet passed a set of rolled up blueprints to Clemenceau, which she used to point toward the woman lying on the table.
"This is Gascogne, the product of our aforementioned efforts," Clemenceau was saying, either not noticing or not caring that Apocrypha had only just tuned in to her. "Ideally, we would have had her awakened before bringing you here to see her, in order to demonstrate her capabilities, just as you visited the Royal Navy to receive a demonstration for. However, there have been some rather unfortunate delays in her construction. And, of course, Gloire's decision to kidnap you during a period where we are not in a position to be hosting diplomatic guests did not exactly help matters."
Apocrypha nodded, musing silently how best to bring up her offer to help with supplies. Dunkerque was easier to talk to - less intimidating; less scheming -, but it was Clemenceau and the two flagships that Apocrypha needed to convince. All while making sure to avoid offending them or saying something that could be misconstrued as her pitying Vichya as a faction. She needed to find a way that made it their idea, not hers. She immediately grasped onto a particular neighboring threat - one that she'd recently met and had made abundantly clear what they were willing to become.
"About three weeks ago, a meeting was held between the factions with an interest in the Mediterranean and the Iberian Crown," Apocrypha stated. "Of course, I assume you know about that and the interference from the Iberians during Operation Crossfire. I want to know if the Vichya Dominion will be prepared to respond if the Iberians reject the terms for non-aggression."
"What are you implying here, Commandant?"
This time it was Jean Bart who spoke, and Apocrypha didn't have the chance to answer her demand before she had continued on. "We have survived the Sirens and the stranglehold of Iron Blood, despite being betrayed by Richelieu and her followers to fend for ourselves. If the Iberian Crown wishes to pick a fight with us, they'll find that we aren't going to be made their playthings so easily, regardless of what power they might wield."
Apocrypha held her hands up placatingly. "I wasn't saying -"
"Let someone help for once instead of thinking you can do it all yourself, Jean Bart," Dunkerque cut in. "A blind man could see what sort of position we're in. I didn't want to say anything, but I didn't think your pride went so far as to be more willing to doom us than accept help that's being offered."
Jean Bart narrowed her eyes at Dunkerque, finding the battlecruiser equally as unwavering in her resolve, and glancing toward Primauguet. "We aren't agreeing to this, right?"
Primauguet heaved a sigh, not seeming all that much more keen on the idea than Jean Bart. At the same time, she had seen firsthand what the Iberians were capable of. Iron Blood's objective had been conquest and subjugation, not annihilation. What had been demonstrated by the Iberians, though? A war against them without proper preparation, she was sure, would lead to a complete marginalization of Vichya Dominion as a nation and a naval power in Azur Lane, if not a complete erasure to be snapped up by Iron Blood or Iris Libre, if not the Iberian Crown themselves. "Tell us what it is you're proposing."
Apocrypha lowered her hands, sighing in relief that at least Primauguet seemed willing to listen. "I'd like to make Gascogne a priority for completion," she explained. "If the worst were to happen, I'll be relying on Vichya and Sardegna to address things in the Mediterranean, so I want to be sure you're prepared."
Clemenceau, Jean Bart, and Primauguet exchanged a look, some indecipherable silent discussion occurring before Clemenceau took the lead once more.
"That's quite the generous offer, Commandant, but what are Azur Lane's demands for such an agreement?"
Apocrypha furrowed her brow, not understanding what she was asking. "I already said. I don't want you guys to have to rely on the rest to defend your home, so I thought this would benefit both sides. I'm not a politician, so I'm not in any business of attaching strings or anything like that. Especially not when I don't desire to pissing off everybody in this room and find myself sent home with no results."
Seeing them still with lingering uncertainty about the offer, she pressed on. "I'm not asking you to make a decision right this minute. It's just an offer. You're free to take it or leave it."
"Then I hope you'll allow us some time to discuss this proposal amongst ourselves. We will inform you when we've reached a verdict on the matter," Clemenceau allowed.
Apocrypha nodded. "I hope that my own patience will be enough to last however long it takes. I feel the only limitation for both our times is that there may be people knocking on Vichya's doors looking for me."
Clemenceau cracked a small smirk. "Certainly there will be those that believe we have kept you for far longer than we had any right to, and that is where your own promises come in, Commander. As a result, I would like to request that you spend our period of deliberation going with Gloire. She and Dunkerque will be assisting you to return you to the Royal Navy."
"Do you plan on directly interacting with any of the fleets Royal Navy are sure to have sent?"
"Far from it," Clemenceau replied. "After all, it would be difficult to contest if the Commander were to mysteriously appear at the Royal Navy's valuable base at Gibraltar just as quickly and mysteriously as she seemingly vanished from the British Isles. We intend to transfer you to those who currently have the base under blockade as the question of hostilities is yet to be decided."
The suggestion brought a mixture of relief and dread within Apocrypha. The thought of Vichya and Royal Navy fleets having to be anywhere near each other for Apocrypha to physically cross over was just tempting fate, if not an outright firefight.
But if Apocrypha suddenly appearing in the presence of another nation's fleet was the first confirmation that Royal Navy would receive on who was responsible for her disappearance, the tension didn't exactly alleviate itself if Apocrypha was found seemingly in the company of the Crown. The Crown had its own tensions with Royal Navy, as Apocrypha had plainly seen, and it was a tension most physically manifested by the very port Apocrypha was to be dropped off at: Gibraltar.
Realistically, there was no easy way out. But, if Gloire was meant to be accompanying her for at least one leg of the journey, then Apocrypha knew what would best stem the rattling of anxiety starting to course through her system.
Perhaps it was a problem best thought about once it was confronted and the lines drawn up on either side. There was no way to know what would happen until it actually did in a delicate situation like the one Apocrypha was in.
It was a total lack of belief that she could in any way influence the situation that had brought Apocrypha all the way to Toulon, and it would probably be a reciprocation of that same belief, albeit with a little more awareness of the delicate situation, that might get her out.
A resolute click could easily be heard in the enclosed room as a pointer was tapped onto a laminated plastic poster on the wall, its white surface divided into three segments: one held a set of Latin alphabet letters in a triangle formation of progressively smaller size the lower one went, a rough outline of a clock without hands and Roman numerals designating the hours above a set of variously colored squares arranged in a similar arrangement of progressive shrinking as one went lower, and a set of black-outline squares, each with a different side removed to create a boxy U shape that pointed in any of the four cardinal directions. The clicker had shifted from a letter on the left column to a smaller one on a lower level, or at least had tried to.
Despite being in the center of a military R&D facility, every stop was pulled and every detail matched to replicate the environment of a civilian doctor's office. The walls, the medical implements, cabinets and jars of everything from tongue depressors to cotton swabs, a syringe disposal, even the adjustable bed covered with a layer of translucent exam table paper, which was currently being given its standard-issue crinkling experience by the patient who sat on it, were exactly accurate. There was even a glass jar of colorful lollipops in prominent view, which was of particular interest to one of the two individuals in the room.
This dedication to replication extended as far as the woman holding a pointer to the poster on the opposite side of the patient, who had changed out of her lab coat and blue dress for a doctor's coat and a stethoscope around her neck. Both outfits were a far cry from the regal standard the women usually dressed herself in, but the same glowing halo that bore the shape of the Iberian Crown (both the nation and the symbol) was unmistakable.
"Your Majesty, I appreciate the sight exam, but I think I might not be the only one that needs their sight checked," came a lightly teasing voice of the patient, a woman holding a black strip of plastic over one of her emerald-green eyes, her shoulder-length light blonde hair falling over and around the strip, her white shirt, and shoulder-length black cape.
Reina Victoria Eugenia glanced at the poster she had shifted the pointer on, realizing it was pointing at a point exactly between two letters. Obviously any claim about sight was entirely unjustified as she had been keeping her attention on the shipgirl 'patient' opposite of her instead of the poster itself, but Reina wasn't as blind as to not notice the attempted jest and cracked a grin of her own.
"Perhaps I should, but I believe the quality of your eyes is of far greater importance to the Crown than my own in this moment, Ibiza," she replied, which elicited an even wider grin from Reina's 'patient.' "But as long as my mistake is concerned, why don't you tell me what both of these letters are?"
"Efe and ese," came a resolute and rapid answer from Ibiza. Reina leaned over to a clipboard behind her to make a mark on the paper held on its surface: a simple check mark to indicate a positive result.
For a shipgirl that had some corners in the process of construction cut in the name of hastening her deployment to the waters around the Iberian Crown, Reina was relieved that she had needed to make far more of these positive checkmarks than any brief handwritten notes indicating the necessity of further testing and possible troubleshooting. She had been handling tests of everything from hearing to reflexes to locomotion, and now sight, to ensure the efficacy of the newly conscious Tabarca-class cruiser dutifully sitting on the patient bed, and all signs were pointing away from herself and the staff of the R&D facility having their work cut out for them and having to work on Ibiza some more to ensure combat effectiveness. The Crown needed more ships the day prior, but every one had to be held to the highest standard possible for military and political reasons.
The returning silence of the room was again broken, this time by a buzzing vibration of a device, muffled with its position in the pocket of Reina's doctor's coat. A frown of confusion crossed Reina's expression, as she swore she had turned it off as a matter of basic protocol when she entered the lab that day. But her mind was quick to remember there existed a singular exception for such a call to be made.
"I apologize, Ibiza, but can you excuse me while I take this call? Sit tight and I'll be back in just a moment."
"Of course, Your Majesty. Please take your time if it's something that important," came the reply, albeit with the slightest hint of mischief detected by Reina. She quickly waved it off due to her present urgency and stepped outside to the more familiar white hallways of the laboratory, the warmer yellow lights of the doctor's office replaced by the sharp white of LEDs.
Reina permitted the communication to go through, keeping the volume low and pressing it against her ear as she held a hand against the other to ensure as much privacy as she was able in the moment.
"Can you hear me, Your Majesty?" came a familiar voice from the other end, the slightest din from what appeared to be the slight roar of sea winds audible in the background.
"I can, Cervantes," Reina responded in a hushed tone that she hoped Cervantes could make out in return.
"I am reporting from my patrols in El Mediterráneo. I apologize for interrupting your work at the lab, and I hope that this matter can be considered urgent enough to use this emergency frequency and disturb Your Majesty,"
"If a valiant knight like yourself even slightly thinks so, then there is no need to concern yourself, Cervantes. What behooves you for this call?"
"I have been receiving reports of large-scale naval mobilizations to the north from Royal Navy. It seems that at least one fleet is headed south towards the Crown as we speak. We have also intercepted communications to the Gibraltar base to arm themselves and prepare for possible confrontation, although they seemed to desire clarity of message over any sort of encryption. I have taken the liberty of rerouting myself to the maritime borders around Gibraltar if either Royal Navy fleet desires to communicate their intent.
"Are you aware of what might have prompted this?"
"I initially thought I might, but unfortunately that assumption has slipped away from me, Your Majesty," came the response. "I have been told that the Northern Parliament's diplomat has been expelled by Royal Navy at the same time these mobilizations have occurred. However, further patrols to the east of my current location by the Flota Morada have also confirmed that a Vichya fleet has sortied and is heading west towards the Crown as well. I can only theorize that there must be some larger diplomatic incident unfolding before our eyes, but I cannot identify what it might be."
Reina pursed her lips in concern, her sentiments about the situation in full agreement with Cervantes' own. Royal Navy alone had a number of reasonable hypotheses in immediate reach to seemingly move against the Crown, but the profile of Vichya Dominion threw a wrench into such calculations, especially when occurring simultaneously.
But Reina was also quick to identify the problem with giving any specific orders in reply: someone in the comfort of Iberian landfall was a poor choice to an unfolding and sensitive situation many miles away. Cervantes' eyes were likely a better option to make the call even if her own view was distorted or distant.
"I will mobilize what forces I can on the western coast, Cervantes, and I will attempt to open overtures with the Royal Navy fleet to see if I can discern their motive."
There was a slight pause on Cervantes' end, most likely out of worry about Reina choosing to deploy herself, but ultimately no complaint expressed itself in the reply.
"Understood. Please stay safe, Your Majesty. But what are your instructions for fleets on the eastern coast and Gibraltar?"
"I am giving you operational command of any fleets inside El Mediterráneo, Cervantes. Shipgirls or not, you will lead the Crown's response to whatever happens from Gibraltar. I will recommend you contact the Flota Morada as well, and give them instructions on how they should approach, if at all, the fleet from Vichya."
There was another slight pause as Cervantes absorbed the gravity of the situation for her monarch to be delegating such command to her, but her response was resolute and clear.
"Understood, Your Majesty. I swear on whatever my name is worth that I shall not muddy the Crown's name with my response. I will protect the Crown with everything you have granted to me."
"Your name is worth much to the Crown and to myself, Cervantes," Reina added as a final comment. "I will trust in your abilities."
Hearing the click of an ended communication, Reina returned the communicator to her pocket and reentered the doctor's office, her mind heavy with the knowledge that potentially dangerous days lay ahead for the Crown, even speaking relatively to past periods of instability and danger.
Ibiza was sitting where she was when Reina had left, but something about the crinkling of the exam table paper suggested otherwise…
"Ibiza, what happened to the lollipops that were in this jar?"
"What jar?" came a response that was almost too quick, as if expecting such a question.
Reina tapped the one glass jar placed more prominently than the rest. It was in exactly the same state and shape that it was when Reina had left, and she would have been fooled if not for the crucial fact that the colorful contents of the jar had entirely disappeared.
"This jar right here. What happened to the candy that was inside of it?"
"I can swear that none of the contents of that jar exist anywhere on my person, Your Majesty."
Reina crossed her arms, amused despite herself. "Then what are the wrappers I see sticking out of your pocket?"
Ibiza's eyes flashed with panic as her hand quickly patted her right pocket, but her realization that it was a trap came to her only after her hand had started to move, as she had buried the wrappers and sticks of the lollipops she ate in the small lidded trash can in the corner of the room.
"Especially as, you may have forgotten, Ibiza," Reina added before Ibiza could respond. "You currently have the main content of those candies in your stomach, meaning you currently have some of the contents of this jar on your person."
"Well, maybe so, Your Majesty, but I just intended to try one for experience's sake and somehow they had all disappeared after I tried the first one," Ibiza replied with the most intentionally innocent look she could muster. "I don't believe you ever said that I couldn't have any."
"Perhaps I didn't," Reina replied with an equally amused grin. "But I believe that this entirely nullifies my original desire to give you as many as you desired after the examination was over, so I hope what I assume was a rather rushed period of enjoying the sweets was worth it, Ibiza."
