Chapter Text
Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay,
To mould me man? Did I solicit thee
From darkness to promote me?
The great warship Prinzregent Luitpold had survived the battle of Jutland, and the prize she received for it was life. Eventually. Jutland had proved the ability of shipgirls to act as force multipliers, but Germany had only earned eight after the confrontation at Jutland. The hope was that more shipgirls would produce more cubes, of course – exponential growth? – but in the short term they had to be choosy. There was potential to earn wisdom cubes in smaller confrontations…
They were suspect to the same feuding and bickering that any sufficiently valuable military asset would be, although the Admiralty was smart enough to equip the most modern ships with cubes first. A shipgirl couldn't pull potential out of the ether. (There were already scientists wondering where those bodies had been pulled from… but that was an entirely separate matter.)
The ship they were working with today was Prinzregent Luitpold. Her captain was the one doing the job – von Hornhardt – but that was another factor they had been experimenting with. Captains and admirals struggled to get anything approaching hard numbers or a scientific understanding of the process, not really managing anything more specific than 'hold the cube and think.'
It was a vexingly unscientific process, filled with uncontrollable variables. The smallest quirk in a ship's design, the most meager difference from the fellow members of her class, suddenly exploded into a tremendous difference in character. There was no knowing what you would get…
And yet all you could do was take the cube and hope.
The captain thought of the good fortune she had at Jutland – even if he wasn't her captain at the time – and hoped that might reflect on her in some positive way. Perhaps her performance under fire would be reflected in a better attitude than SMS Kaiser's.
The cube shone like a star above the deck, pulsing with spikes of blue-white light, before it plunged into the floor like a meteor, flashing brilliantly when it made contact. Blinking the stars out of his eyes, the first thing he noticed was a rich blue cape that almost seemed to glow, white lines tracing through like lightning.
A bolt from the blue, huh?
In front of the pooling cape, there was a pair of heavy, metallic heels. Above these heels there were stockings with terribly delicate patterns: rampant lions and crosses and lozenges, dark grey on ink black. Pulling his gaze further up, there was a hint of pale leg above garters, a garterbelt that vanished under the cape, which was actually a bit more like an overlong coat.
The coat was held closed by a Maltese cross shaped clasp, and a little above that there was a medal that looked strangely similar to an Equestrian Order of Saint George award… which was probably fitting, considering it was a Bavarian honor. Looking up further, there was a leather choker studded with metal around a pale, graceful neck. Dark grey-black hair with hints of blue and white, along with that horn motif some of the warships tended to have.
(There was some irony in a woman wearing devil's horns also wearing a medal for Defense of the Faith and the Immaculate Conception…)
Yellow eyes that stared directly at him, with pupils like slits. "My name is Prinzregent Luitpold. If you see fit to call me by that, I'll answer." Suddenly, it didn't seem a very fitting name. He had seen pictures of the old regent, an aging man with a great beard… and he was nothing like this woman.
But couldn't the same thing be said for Kaiser and Friedrich der Grosse and the whole rest of their lot? The ship in question cleared her throat. "Did you need something from me, Captain, or are we here to waste time?"
"We've testing to do…"
Admittedly, clothing in dark colors wasn't a total oddity among German ships, but Prinzregent was an odd duck even by their measure. Smoky eyes, abundant lace on the gloves, a leather choker with studs, and the coat falling to pieces… it was a bizarre look.
She was cooperative and a hard worker – already putting her a step above her elder sister Kaiser, especially when she was in a snit – but she kept interactions short and to the point. Curiously, she was one of the few German ships who bothered with small arms practice, and among that small number, she excelled. Incredible drive… not that you'd learn of it unless you just chanced upon her practice.
Wurttemberg actually shot at targets alongside her many a time, but neither of them were the sort to just start up a chat for chatting's sake. They sunk lead into targets and moved on with their business. Wasn't Luitpold's business, especially not when Wurttemburg had her… thing with Konig.
There was something off about that. While the Bayerns weren't the eldest of the ships in the German navy, they occupied some strange position that wasn't quite a teacher and wasn't quite a student. While not as 'supremely' experienced in the ways of war as Seydlitz or Lutzow, they could be, to some extent, trusted to explain the art of fighting as a shipgirl.
Luitpold's method was distrust and verify, essentially. She could never guarantee that her perception was like someone else's. Was Bayern's bright blue the same blue Luitpold beheld with her own eyes? Could such a thing even be proven?
Unfortunately, Luitpold's way of looking at the world was complicated slightly by the fact that she had been thrust into it so suddenly. She liked to consider herself a bit more world-wise than Bayern and Sachsen, but how could she claim that distinction? She was their junior in living, and while her larger stature seemed to be complemented by an adult's view of the world…
She hadn't gathered that information herself, had she? She had all the actual lived experience of a tottering babe, and she found herself as dependent on others as one. An infant had no real choice in trusting their care to someone else, because of their impotence, but the mind and figure of a woman grown didn't save Luitpold from having to depend on things she hadn't verified herself.
At some point, she knew that an excess of skepticism grew absurd. (Or at least, she had inherited thoughts that told her as such.) It impeded your ability to enjoy life. How could you leave your house – hell, how could you even bear to live in it – if you had to verify the safety of every last detail? You had to trust experts, people other than yourself, especially if you were a mess of moving parts like a warship.
Luitpold struggled to trust people. Struggled to trust the information that had been planted into her mind when she was hauled into existence. She certainly distrusted the Admiralty. And yet, the poison of trust was unavoidable. The income that kept her alive was as a spring of water in a desert – she couldn't exactly turn up her nose at the option she had, even if it meant taking in toxin.
Well, there were other wellsprings, but they were beyond her reach. A government who saw her as a national interest, and a distressing lack of practical skills to make a living with even if she staged some escape… and perhaps she wished to stay because she had some sense that this was where her greatness waited. The great objective of her life… was it war?
That was what her greater self had been made for. But that hunk of cold steel had no desire, it wouldn't eventually sit at the end of a lifetime, heavy with regret. She had a feeling that there wasmoreto this world than it being 'sweet and fitting' for her to die for her country. That was a hunch of her own, and it was worth trusting.
A portion of the shipgirls in the German fleet smoked. Not in the sense that they were currently on fire or anything… just cigarettes or pipes. As key figures in the war, they had a decent supply of the stuff, whether it came from German farms or ones as far-flung as Asia Minor. There was, Luitpold believed, something of a stigma against women smoking in Germany as a whole, but shipgirls were already afforded many indulgences. Their very purpose as weapons of war made them a break from traditional femininity.
She didn't particularly enjoy smoking, but even if she did the enjoyment would be dampened by Friedrich breathing down her neck about setting a bad example for the Bayerns. Luitpold didn't buy a lot of the fearmongering around the things – especially regarding their effects on women in particular– but she could respect Friedrich's interest in hygiene and tidiness. Made working with her easier than Kaiser, certainly.
(Kaiser was a chain-smoker, to the point of honestly seeming a bit of an addict. In contrast, Friedrich exercised restraint… in those exceedingly rare moments when Kaiser opened up, she seemed quite jealous of Friedrich.)
Huffing smoke didn't sound fun, but Luitpold couldn't really begrudge anyone's enjoyment at a time like this. If she went out to battle and took a shell tomorrow, she wouldn't die wishing she had smoked more cigarettes, but a few little pleasures on the way would be nice.
A brilliant blue sky with a few roaming and a gentle breeze were a pair of simple pleasures, one that was a bit more enjoyable when there wasn't cigarette smoke sneaking into her nose. The world still surprised her at times. She barely had a few months of lived experience, and there always seemed to be something new. Something novel, something that gained more charm than she thought possible when she saw it with her eyes instead of through vague memories.
There were little pennants flying on the clotheslines, bizarre dresses next to normal uniforms. There was the sunlight gleaming on metal, the smell of a sea breeze coming in. There was the pitter-patter of someone's soles hitting the concrete, someone rushing toward her seat. Almost instinctively, she reached toward her gun – shoulder holster given to her by an officer as a 'gift', a transparent attempt at winning her favor – but stopped when she recognized the head of white hair as Bayern's.
"Evening, Bayern."
"Hey, Luitpold!" Bayern grinned, taking a seat next to her. "You, uh, ready for that drill tomorrow?"
"Think so. You need help with anything?"
"I wanted to check on you." So earnest. "But…"
"What?"
"Sachsen and I were going to do some stargazing tonight."
"Before a drill."
"... Yes?" Bayern said, flushing.
"I suppose you're free to do so if you like," Luitpold said. Bayern pouted, and Luitpold knew exactly what she wanted. "Despite my name, I'm not some sort of babysitter."
"Can't I ask you as a friend, though?"
A friend, huh? Luitpold stood up. "You really want me to do it?"
"Of course!"
She supposed he could indulge that desire. There was no guarantee she would have other opportunities to relax and stargaze– there was too much chaos in battle, enough that her own skill may not be enough to deliver her. "What time tonight?"
"Uh…." Good Lord, girl.
Still, she found herself bumming around with Sachsen and Bayern late at night, getting as far away from the base as they possibly could to avoid the light. Maybe it was a good thing Luitpold was there; she wasn't entirely sure Sachsen wouldn't have tried jumping a fence or something. She didn't jump up her ass like Konig Albert would've, at least.
The view proved worth it, at least. She had seen it several times before, had vague hints of what that the vault of heaven should look like… a surprising amount of it was poetry inherited from the memories of her manifester.
A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold,
And pavement stars – as starts to thee appear…
She needed to actually read that book, now that she thought about it.
Reaching peace was a strange feeling. Well, it wasn't a true peace, despite what the propagandists would tell you; the fighting just became the acceptable sort performed in the colonies against dusky natives instead of the sort that cut off the coffee shipments.
Luitpold had performed… fairly. She had helped during Texel, but just well enough to counterweigh the embarrassment of her men walking out in protest of the government. That was a funny thing. Apparently, shipgirls were supposed to keep an eye on their crews and prevent seditious elements from organizing on board. Her responsibilities grew and grew.
(It was embarrassing that her men just… walked out. But she supposed that was to be expected when she didn't bother to form bonds with most of them?)
At the very least, they were working with more food than they were before. The puzzle of getting enough food to feed German mouths wasn't completely solved, but with a bit of work, Luitpold could get her hands on luxury goods that would have been a dream a year back. Buttercream! Chocolate!
That was a special pleasure. A shock to the system, even. A few of her comrades proved themselves to be shockingly talented domestics, and it was a useful skill to have. Ironically, it could almost be a marker of independence. Sure, some of the girls fell into the role of a domestic because it was simple and non-offensive, but a shipgirl cooking for herself wasn't dependent on some chef (whether hired or army). It wasn't full-on independence or anything that grand, but it was something.
Funnily, for all her thoughts about independence and making something of herself, she was cooking for someone else right now. Maybe it was something in the name: a Prinzregent was serving someone else, inherently. Still, there was no reason a regent couldn't go for their own share of the cake, so to speak.
Pun not intended, even if she was working on a cake. A Prinzregentorte, to be specific. A dessert from Bavaria that was just too decadent to make during the war, what with the chocolate and sponge cake. They had the resources now, though, and it seemed a fitting way to celebrate Bayern's cubing.
Cubing was separate from and more important than launch day, at least in their eyes. A shipgirl who had the same date for cubing and launch… well, it happened more frequently now, but it was a clear indicator of the Navy's favorite children. The most recent and most magnificent produce of her dockyards, that whole thing. Some of them were distressingly lax about their training, a 'luxury' of peacetime.
(If it was a true peace, Luitpold would have been glad to see it. But with the rise of the Syndicalists to the west, it seemed that the long reign of violence over Europe would continue a little longer.)
Speaking of annoyances, even if they were minor ones, there was someone sharing the kitchen with her while doing absolutely nothing to help with the cooking. In fact, she was actively impeding it:
"Oh, is this apricot jam?" Bayern gasped, lifting up a jar of the stuff. (It was apricot jam, yes.)
"Every time you interrupt me, I'll remove a layer from this cake," Luitpold grumbled.
"Really?"
"That's seven now," Luitpold warned.
Bayern almost made to apologize, but quickly shut her mouth. Good. The girl learned quickly. Luitpold grinned a little and continued her work on the cake.
The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide:
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.
