Quoted By:
Wanted to write a little something on the topic of the /morig/-/kfp/ naval cooperation.
Any KFP here got some critique on the accuracy of my representation, or suggestions?
Professional relationships: /kfp/ and /morig/
She strides into the bar, with the steady gait of an experienced maritime officer
“Jürgen! What a fucking drunkard, I knew I’d find you here.”
A uniformed Orange Beret sergeant looks up from his corn nuts to glare at the intruder.
“Samantha? You salty bitch, what are you doing here?”
“Got myself assigned to the harbor for a while, some logistics chores to take care of. You know, got work to do, can’t spend all day in the bar dodging my better half.”
She plants herself on a stool next to the sergeant and gives the barkeep a well-practiced hand signal, prompting a pint of nearly black booze.
“The pot calls the kettle black, you just do it on a ship instead.”
“Oh ho, marriage is making you witty, ain’t it?”
Bone white skin stretches over her cheekbones as she smiles at the jab.
“Anyway Sam, how are you liking Kaiserreich waters? Enjoying the weather?”
“Oh, the sea’s nicer near the Nijicontinent, but the lack of /meat/heads here is pretty nice. Hunting down your schizo pirates and eggs is a cakewalk compared to the defensive campaigns of /ggg/.”
“Huh, I thought you’d be the type to enjoy that living-on-the-edge lifestyle.”
“Schizos don’t try to bite my tits off while I skewer ‘em. You have no idea what fighting those bastards is like, ya’ll have it easy here.”
“Hah, get off your high horse, I’ve fried enough trinitarians to be spared that.”
“Fine, fine, let’s skip the cock-measuring contest for today, how’s the wife?”
A prideful smile creeps onto his face.
“She’s good, she’s gotten so big! We think it might be twins”
“Fuck, Mori help us all. One more Jürgen was already too much.”
The woman produces a golden /morig/ doubloon from her pocket, holding it curiously between her index and her thumb.
“Hey, you’re the one who asked. Anyway, I get a feeling you had a purpose walking in here.”
“Yeah, how about that gunpowder?”
Jürgen raises an eyebrow.
“Gunpowder? What about it?”
“I was going through our warehouse's stores, supply’s getting low. You’re going to the national arsenal farther inland, right?”
Her thumb pushes the coin towards her first knuckle, but it slides off and clinks loudly on the hardwood floor.
“Ah, careful. I am, want me to put in a word with the quartermaster?”
“You know nothing gets done if it’s just my bony ass sending semaphores.”
The second attempt improves on the first, but the coin slips and falls at the second knuckle.
“Your native freund hasn’t taught you how to get things done here yet?”
She reaches down to pick up the doubloon.
“He’s taught me you chickens get clingy if your girl is at sea for over a week, not much else. Can you do it? Sinking pirates goes way faster if we can shoot ‘em.”
“You know I can, but what the hell are you doing?” The sound of gold striking the planks resonates in the small establishment a third time, to Jürgen’s dismay.
“I saw a sailor do it, this dance-the-coin-on-your-knuckles thing? Looked cool, I’m trying it out.”
“Fuck me, you’re such a dork. Alright, but you’ll owe me. I reckon we can get you stocked up in two weeks, I’m headed to the mountains tomorrow.”
Samantha flicks the gold up and catches it in her hand, a “cool coin move” she manages to execute.
“Sounds good, I’ll just forget the third time I saved your ass, a couple more of these and we’ll be even.”
Jürgen shakes his head, but his eyes light up at the memory.
“Hah, something like that. Say, heard anything about this deadbeat jeweller who just boated over? The wife’s been nagging me about Mont Mori diamond earrings.”
“Pffft, way, way out of your paygrade Jürgen! Maybe the Kaiserin can buy you a pair for your leal service in fifteen years...”
