Abyssal Shenanigans Are Go!

That was fast. That problem had taken her twenty minutes and help from Maria to do, and he just… 

“Correct. How did you… You know what, I don’t need to know.” Opening the same compartment, out came a box; a carrying container, if you will, waterproof with a handle and clasps.

“For you, Mr. Tail, I have something more… refined. You see, the candy shop wherein I purchased the month’s provision of sugar for Rei also had a small joke shop attachment. Now, seeing as you two stick out like a sore thumb on shore, I thought I could do something to… help.” Unclasping and opening the container, she allowed light to shine on the contents.

Nazario Sauro shook her head, almost ashamed that she helped her flagship pick that out.

Within the case was a pair of sunglasses, a pompadour wig, and a false nose and mustache combination.

“So I got you an infiltration - snicker - kit. You should, uhm - snicker - attract much less attention in this get-up.” Without waiting for permission, she then applied each piece to the mouth at the end of the tunnel.

It was all she could do not to fall over laughing.

Lacking most of what would constitute a face, Mr. Tail’s expressions were not exactly easy to read. That said, one would likely be struck by the impression that the symbiote was enduring Cesare’s shenanigans with the same stoic silence that a parent of a toddler showed when their child was doing something repetitive and annoying but ultimately harmless. It made sense that life with Rei had instilled the living weapon with a considerable tolerance for shenanigans. When the transformation was complete, Rei clapped her hands in delight.

“Holy moly, Momma Cesare! That’s amazing! If he wasn’t attached to my butt, I’d never think that was really Mr. Tail!”

“...Skreeeee.”

That was… certainly an answer.

“The, uh, correct answer was… seven. You remove… the s… and it becomes the word even.” Cesare blinked a couple of times, processing that exchange, and making a choice.

“But you still get an A for effort and confidence! So I suppose I could give you your present.” Double-tapping a compartment in her rigging, out came a surprisingly large, unmarked plastic bag.

“I found a candy-maker in Genoa who still does all kinds of sweets by hand! I knew I had to save some for my little Charybdis. Here you go, tesoro mia .” Looking behind Rei proper, she locked… eyes? Did he have eyes? Do the gun barrels count as eyes?

Whatever the case, she took a deep breath.

“Alright, Mr. Tail. I had to do some research for this one, so I hope your mental math is as good as your ballistics.” Ahem.

“A faucet is turned on, and the water flows out at a rate of v of t equals t cubed minus one-half t squared plus four gallons per minute, where t is the number of minutes since the faucet was turned on. To the nearest gallon, how much water flows out of the faucet during the first two minutes the faucet is turned on?”

On being informed of the correct answer to the riddle, Rei’s eyes lit up.

“Oooooooh! Wow, Momma Cesare, you’re super duper smart! Hehehe! Silly me, I thought it was a math riddle, but it was a word riddle along!”

Her amusingly misguided train of logic was instantly derailed at the sight of her reward, however, and she scooped up the bag of candy with glee.

“YAAAAAAAAY! Thanks so much, Momma Cesare! I loooove candy! Hehehe!”

While Rei was thoroughly engrossed in her new bounty, Mr. Tail’s attention was turned completely towards Cesare, awaiting his own challenge. Almost the exact moment she finished speaking, the Abyssal symbiote screeched out a response.

“Ssskreeeaaahha skreeeeeaahhh!”

Mr. Tail turned expectantly to Rei, awaiting her translation, which came with an unanticipated touch of dramatic delay thanks to the girl insisting on finishing her mouthful of candy before speaking - evidently her mother’s lessons in good manners had stuck.

“Hehehehe! Wow, Momma Cesare! These are super tasty!”

“Skreeeeeee!”

Cesare brightened at the amount of energy Rei contained, just spending time with her girlfriend’s daughter adding years onto her life.

“I had to look this one up in English because there is a similar riddle in Italian, but… I think only Mr. Tail would understand it, and that’s no fun! So!”

“I am an odd number. Take away a letter, and I become even. What number am I?” Looking just away from Rei’s face, she took the thinking time to address Mr. Tail.

“And don’t think I forgot about you, mister. I have a problem and reward for you, too.”

Rei scrunched up her face in intense concentration, eliciting a gurgling chuckle from Mr. Tail as the young Abyssal racked her brain for a solution to the riddle.

“Uhhhh... lets see... odd number... take away a letter... even... umm...”

“I got it! Three! Because if you take out the ‘H’, it becomes a tree, and trees are even!”

“...Reeeeeeeuuuuu...”

“What do you mean, trees aren’t numbers? Don’t be silly, Mr. Tail. If they aren’t numbers, then how come they have roots, huh?”

Here’s a list of other programs. Keep posting till it’s widely known.

Let it be known that Nazario Sauro has put up with more than she ever expected to, and has stayed at Cesare’s right hand without fail.

Nazario Sauro was, luckily for Cesare’s public image, the only ship escorting the Great Emperor, and the only ship privy to her flagship’s unique… relationship.

So, when with the screech of a Re-class battleship breaching the water, the screech of her tail, and the screech of Giulio Cesare’s stunned panic as she was shot up feet in the air in the arms of her adopted daughter abruptly broke the serenity of the Tyrrhenian…

Nazario Sauro just pulled a cigarette from her left pocket, sighing quietly.

“BEATA MARIA YOU GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK!” Calming down, safely in Rei’s surprise hug. Catching her breath, a grin broke the flagship’s features, her hand reaching under the hood to ruffle her hair.

“And here I was thinking you’d forgotten about me, eh? How’s my favorite little Charybdis?” Looking over, the battleship was going to give her escort the order to stand down… only to find her placidly smoking, looking off to the West.

One can only be shocked so many times, it seems.

“I was expecting you to come visit me sometime soon, so I have a present for you. Buuuuuut before I do, you must answer me…. A riddle!” She wiggled her fingers mysteriously, hoping to build suspense as to the nature of the riddle.

Rei giggled happily, hugging her ‘momma’ affectionately, though her attention was immediately piqued by the promise of a present and a riddle, as was Mr. Tail’s.

“Oooo! Oooo! A present? A riddle?! Yaaay! Mr. Tail is super good at riddles! Right, Mr. Tail?!”

“Ssskaaraaaoooo!”

Pokemon: Lusamine

0130 hours, Barents Sea.

With a slow maximum speed, it would be a long sail back home from Narvik for Väinämöinen, unable to risk catching port along the way north to rest for the night; it would be unwise to keep her regent waiting, anyway.

Besides, the laundry needed to be done, especially after that bloodletting.

Finally, her home sat on the horizon and, for the first time in a very, very long time, she felt fear on her approach. However, it was just as the port features came into view that her radio crackled; fragments of a locally-directed transmission.

“… assure you… no ill will… grateful to you… Assured Destruction…” Her radio fairy was hard at work, trying to find to original frequency to process the message; those efforts paid off, Väinämöinen able to listen in on the rest of it.

“So from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for providing me a stage for the world to see that my conviction is without question. A pity you could not say the same. Seventeen? Open fire.”

Oh, shit. That was an unmistakable voice; a voice that leaves an impression the first time one hears it. The Cold War Princess had delivered a message, likely delivering her dissatisfaction.

Her contemplation on whether to run from the inevitable or continue on was interrupted by a sharp, painful feeling in her head, as if someone was caressing her very consciousness itself.

“Ye… who have invoked the ire of the Cold One… May thy Gods find mercy upon thee… For my great beams shall not.” Without time to process this phenomena, the Finn was simultaneously blinded and psychically deafened.

“BE CLEANSED.” A bright beam of blue light plunged into the island before her, growing steadily in size and intensity, as if the heavens themselves were bringing annihilation to Bjørnøya for the sins of its inhabitants.

As soon as it occurred it ended. The great beam ended after ten seconds that felt a blinding eternity. When Väinämöinen moved her hand from her eyes, a gasp of shock was all she could muster.

Nothing remained but steam and flotsam. It was as if the island had vanished entirely, and the reactive force of that much water displacing had turned the once-still seas rough.

“Perkele…” After breaking the silence with the initial curse, more bubbled to the surface, quiet and reserved as the coastal defense ship pushed to the epicenter of the bombardment. If Scharnhorst had beaten her home as was most likely, she was dead to rights. No sane person would approach the debris field, much less to search.

But Väinämöinen was no sane person. Desperate curses belied her calm demeanor as she pushed through the field of debris, looking for some sign, any sign, that Scharnhorst was alive. Some sign, any sign, that she had not defaulted her lifedebt. As she contemplated the best ways to punish herself for her almost certain failure, something caught her eye.

A scrap of pink cloth, bound to something caught deep below.

It was now or never. If this wasn’t a sign, even a fleeting chance of hope… No, there was no time to argue. If she was wrong, freezing to death in the Arctic waters was as fine a way as any to fulfill the final parameter of her debt.

Unstrapping herself from her rigging, FNS Väinämöinen removed her boots, her hat, and her coat. It wouldn’t be that bad, right? A Finn should have a tolerance to the cold. Pushing the doubt from her mind, she dove.

The first thing she noticed was that the water was still uncomfortably warm, still radiating the energy dispersed by whatever form of insanity the Cold War Princess inflicted on them. The scrap of cloth was linked to something deeper; very close to the surface, there lay a pile of rocks likely created by a cave in from the bombardment.

And there, protruding from the rocks, was a scrap of red cloth and the sign of hope she needed. Ichor, black as oil, flowed in a steady stream from a gap in the rocks. Steeled in resolve, the Finn dove deeper, and began prying and pulling at the rocks. They were heavy, but the water made them easier to manipulate, if only barely.

Twenty minutes passed. Several times, she had to come up for air, and her radio fairy had sent a recall order across all channels; The first submarines returned from patrol, ghastly blue eyes in the dark waters, growing more frigid by the minute.

Finally, the worst of the rubble had been removed via team effort and relief flooded the coastal defense ship. Beneath a layer of smaller debris lay the unconscious form of the Svalbard Battleship princess. However, it wasn’t all good news. The worst of the injuries she had sustained from the battle at North Cape hadn’t healed fully, most of the bleeding caused by pressure re-opening the wounds. One of Scharnhorst’s arms was completely crushed, having been caught in the rubble as she tried to escape, and her left leg was still trapped, crushed beneath a large chunk of stone that the remnants of the fleet combined couldn’t hope to budge.

Väinämöinen motioned over one of the Ka-classes, gesturing to the leg. If they were to rescue the battleship, there was no other choice.

Some minutes later, the Finn was back to the surface. Now that the immediate issue was dealt with… She had no idea what they could possibly do. There was no Abyssal option available that was palatable. No, no, they needed a surface option. A surface option where they had leverage; something, anything, that could be used to keep Scharnhorst alive.

Only one solution existed: The battleship Gneisenau, likely being unloaded from medevac in Scapa Flow at that very moment. Perfect.

An hour later, a damp and determined Väinämöinen made final checks on the towing hawsers tying her and her charge together. Satisfied, she hefted herself back into her rigging. Warming the boilers and getting underway, the Finn sent a transmission to what little remained of Abyssal Fleet Barents.

GENERAL ORDER: ALL SHIPS ASSIGNED ESCORT. PROTECT CARGO AT ANY COST.

Sighing, the Finn resigned herself to being forced to sleep in the saddle; with the meager 15 knots she could make alone,the trip to Kirkwall from here was seventy long hours. It was what she deserved, she reckoned.