Nobody ever talks about precisely how… odd the summoning of a new shipgirl can be. We keep it all secret from the press and by extension the public of course, but even those who know of the process firsthand rarely if ever speak of it. There is something… personal and majestic about the occasion. The steady drum beating in the background as a cube is laid out over the water. Despite what the rumors online may tell you there is no chants, no hymns, just the drums of war and the steady call of action stations.

A whistle sounds through the air, a smartly dressed lieutenant in his service dress khaki straight from the forties (the shipgirls seem to respond negatively to anything else) blowing as hard as he could.

Then of course, it happens.

The cube 'dissolves' into particles of light and data, a shimmering form appearing in the water. It's too indistinct to make out at first, it always is. The woman starts to form moments late-

"Hi! I'm San Diego!"

Oh god what… is she wearing.

San Diego is an… interesting woman. That's quite possibly the most sedate way you could possibly describe her, she stylizes herself as an idol, one of those frou-frou pop acts from japan that the lower enlisted get excited about anytime you used to enter the waters where the 7th fleet dwelled.

Of course, now you are in seventh fleet. But that just means their focus has moved on from human girls in skimpy outfits singing about boys, to Japanese shipgirls in skimpy outfits singing about boys.

Frankly you thought it was ridiculous when Saratoga and Lexington started doing it, but at least they could sing.

It's a dichotomy you choose not to think about, but it does serve as a useful distraction as you attempt to drown out San Diego's singing. The girl has taken upon herself to put on regular concerts for the men… whether they like it or not. Her singing voice is for lack of a better word, atrocious, and beyond that she can't stop from falling all over the place and wrapping the cable around herself.

So by all reports a normal showing, though the crew is actually rather into it due to the alcohol being served.

She's a goof, a clown, the crew is laughing more at her failures than anything else.

… And it is all a lie.

You step inside the room, a little plaque hanging on a nail marking it as San Diego's quarters. It's not a room you've been in personally, you hardly get the chance to leave your own office half the time, let alone visit another's quarters. It's…

Simple, not as bare as Enterprise's billing the last time you happened by there, but definitely simpler than most. Shelves line the walls, after-action reports, history texts, ranging guides and thick heavy weapon's manuals.

A bed lies at the far corner of the room, a basic military cot with nothing out of the ordinary beyond pink sheets. The windows it is resting near are covered in papers, range estimates, angle of attack and identification charts, there are specks here and there where moonlight is allowed to shine through but it is scant and does little to combat the illumination offered by San Diego's desk lamp.

… Speaking of which, the ship in question is currently deep into a book, one hand holding up her head while the other is making notes off to the side. She doesn't notice you at first, it takes the sound of the door closing behind you to get her head to perk up and turn towards your direction.

She blinks once, twice. "Commander?"

You smile and remove your cap. "Evenin' Sandy, I didn't take you for much of a reader."

In an impressive display of multitasking, the shipgirl manages to stand up, salute, and knock all of the books off of her desk with a swipe of her hand. You'd clap, but the noise of some many tomes hitting the ground is rather painful to listen to.

Sandy, however, grins wide. "Studying for the next concert!"

Your eyes drift from her smiling face towards the books littering the floor. "Incorporating the finer points of naval gunnery into the next chorus?"

Sandy pauses, looking down towards the books before cocking her foot. One hand curls into a fist to bop herself upside the head while she sticks out her tongue. "Whoopsie! Sandy grabbed the wrong books~" She punctuates her statement with a giggle, bending down to start collecting them.

You fight the sigh that threatens to come out with every fiber of your being. "Sailor, attention."

San Diego technically outranks you, but the shipgirls natural inclination to follow their commander is strong. The girl snaps to attention, her figure going perfectly straight as her arms lay flat along her sides. "Captain!"

"Face me."

San Diego turns nervously around, her posture a picture perfect image of attention that is only marred by the fact her heel is digging rather nervously into the fake-wood flooring. Her eyes are looking off to the side, everytime they almost meet yours they dart away.

"Before I was posted to this billet I was a destroyer man, which meant that I was trapped on a small vessel with several hundred over men and women with their own issues and malfunctions."

San Diego's eyes slowly turn to look into my own.

"I am well versed in playing armchair psychologist, enough to know when someone is faking their personality." You speak softly as you finish, not wanting to sound accusatory or angry.

"Sir?" Sandy utters, an unasked question in her voice.

"Why precisely are you playing the fool?"

Sandy shakes her head vehemently from side to side. "Sandy is Sand-"

"Please?" you cut her off with your statement, the cruiser's mouth clicking shut.

San Diego looks towards the floor, her hands moving behind her back as her foot threatens to dig a hole into the floor at the pace it is going. "Sand- I… could still hear people commander, I was scrapped but I was still there as a spirit. Everyone was so sad, the sirens had destroyed so much. I'm not a symbol of hope like Enterprise is, but I wanted to make people smile."

"A ship does not earn eighteen battle stars by goofing around San Diego. I don't want people to think you are an idiot." Your voice is soft now, as soft as you can manage.

San Diego smiles, slightly. "I want to make people smile commander, and when this war is over I want to go back to my peace."

This time you let the sigh escape your lips, your hand moves before the cruiser can react to grab her on the shoulder. You pull her into a one-armed hug, your hand moving slightly to run through her hair as her face rests against your shoulder. "You do more than enough fifty-three."

You gently scratch at her scalp, a smile coming to your face as you feel dampness start to form on your shoulder.

The last you had ever heard of the Warship San Diego was that she had found a nice boy out in Boston and had gotten married. A rather monumental event considering it was a civvie that she had chosen to get married too… but after what she had to deal with in the war you are glad she got to experience her own peace.

The goofball, the hero, you had met both versions of the woman, and you consider it an honor to have served with her until the end.

The sound of scampering feet gets your attention and you look up from your paper, an excited greets yours. Your daughter holding an envelope.

"Dad dad dad!"

You smile, patting her on the head and setting the paper down. "What do you have for me, an eviction notice?"

She shakes her head fervently from side to side. "Aunt Sandy sent us tickets to her next concert!"

Oh god no.

Not necessarily romantic I know, but… I don't really see Sandy as that kind of character. Someone with a record such as her, she wouldn't be an idiot would she?