Legends

Interlude IV: Dieu Sauve la Reine

Normandie was looking forward to reaching Greenock. She'd passed Queen Mary at halfway point, a meeting that she used to make comments on the lovely blouse the liner wore. Which earned her a punch in the arm instead of the traditional passing high five. As fun as that had been however, seeing Titanic again was far more exciting. Normandie considered the British liner more than a girlfriend but not quite a fiancee. Even with her impressive repertoire in the language of amour, she wasn't sure what word to use.

The coastline was in sight and instantly Normandie knew something was wrong. She was careful to triple check her radar to ensure no Abyssals were out but the fact her escorts, led by the ever venerable Curacoa came out to greet her all somber faced spoke volumes. They all looked like they'd hit the bottle hard. Even adorable little Maury had a few strands loose out of her ponytail and a slight stagger to her walk.

Normandie gave them all a few minutes before she spoke. "Okay, care to clue me in?" She asked.

"Hmm?" Curacoa mumbled, eyes locked on the shore.

"You're all quiet. Too quiet and don't tell me that's alcohol I see Maury holding." Normandie glared at the destroyer who gave a cute sounding "eep" and stuffed said bottle back in her supply locker.

"If you're wondering if this has anything to do with Abyssals you're wrong." Maury said.

"Although if the bastards try anything they'll regret it!" Curacoa hissed, pure venom in her voice.

Normandie frowned. What could be worse than Abyssals? She found out soon enough.

Effortlessly leaping onto the dock and putting her rigging away, Normandie waved farewell to her escorts as they wondered off to resume their drinking. The base was eerily silent. Normandie didn't like that. She liked crowds, noise. Even if it was the kind that preempted one of Phoenix's experiments and subsequent screaming from Admiral Briggs as the poor man suffered another breakdown. This though. This was just, wrong. No base should be deserted especially not a shipgirl base. There was always some kind of chaos happening.

Sighing, Normandie navigated her way to the ocean liner barracks. The building was still very spartan as only a handful of ships had returned and all were relatively recent summons. Her girlfriend aside of course. Titanic's room was simple to locate for someone who'd been here on her last trip. Plus, Normandie's girlfriend had tied a ribbon around her balcony to let her know exactly where she was. There were worse calling cards as Normandie regrettably had seen. I mean seriously, where did Liberte get it into her head that a (REDACTED) was a good thing to put around her doorknob. And Normandie thought she'd seen everything.

A quick knock on the door was polite and after what happened in Halifax, Normandie felt it was only prudent. But seeing the door open and a half naked, clearly sloshed British liner with dripping wet hair glomping her was not what she expected. Normandie used her greater bulk to nudge Titanic back far enough to step inside and close the door. Gently, she tipped her girlfriend's head back and looked her in the eyes. Just that one look and it was mystery solved. Normandie knew what had happened.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, embracing her. What else could she say? What could anyone say to something like this? She sighed. "Dieu sauve la reine." She rasped.

"Thank you, Normandie." Titanic replied.