Disclaimer: This is something of an experimental piece, being written in second person. I’m not sure if I’ll ever do this again or not. If you do not like second person writing, or it makes you uncomfortable, perhaps do not read this.
Background 1: The setting origin.
Background 2: The setting.
Background 3: Short story featuring the centrepiece of this work.
Melodic cacophony.
Angelic bruiser.
Technological majesty unlike any you’ve ever seen before. Before you a labour of years, an oceanic titan, drifts carelessly out the screaming doors of its concrete and armour steel nursery for the first time. If only it weren’t the loudest thing you’d ever heard. After a few moments you relent, pulling your issued hearing protection over your ears. The soft, penetrating growl of churning water echoing from hundreds of meters back contrasts the protests of unlubricated metal mechanisms in a most delightful, albeit painful, manner. The new ship’s contained wake dances and reaches and sprays – and almost gets you! You take a step back, less sure of the security of your footing upon the indoor port. It’d be an unfortunate end, swept away at the launch of the very thing you’d spent months building.
You can’t help yourself. You take off after it.
You could never hope to keep up with the newborn leviathan. But it doesn’t matter. There’s a strange thrill, a peculiar compulsion, to see a creation partially yours surpass you. A final burst of speed, the last of your muscles’ strength, to try to keep up. To yourself, you’re the nascent arm of empire’s first test. It passes with flying colours. A good ship is a fast ship. A great ship is a tireless ship. An incredible ship is both.
You admit defeat. The magnanimous brute takes its victory lap in the form of a triumphant blast from its horn. Out of doors, the sun shines, the cold bites, the sea crashes, the crowds cheer. The Union’s ultimatum struts through the harbour built for it alone, prow already signed with its name a rich red ink denoting fresh plates floating Armageddon. Is it hubris? Perhaps. Apollyon is Apollyon.
You shiver. Even fresh from a sprint the northern weather calls its due: an ample helping of your body heat. You turn back to the colossal cocoon, ready for a hot chocolate from the workers’ lounge. You doubt you’ll be the only one. Prior your retreat to warmer chambers, you hazard a glance at the waterways’ youngest. It’s the greatest ship afloat. Greatest since the days of the SS Great Eastern, at the minimum. Minutes old, already ruling the blue, and commanding the lands.
@126 @TheMouse @EnglishGarden
Application for short story tagging here.
@YarisSedan Deadnaming /s
@EnglishGarden tank u!
@Graingy that's okay lmao
@Graingy really good story
@YarisSedan
I, uh, forgot to update that tag...
@EnglishGarden Good enough? That took a while.
@EnglishGarden Fine.
Beautiful ruckus.
Majestic giant.
A technological achievement better than anything you've ever seen. In front of you the massive thing, which took years to complete, slowly moves out of the building it was built in through the loudly opening doors. Unfortunately, it's very painful on the ears due to the volume. You decide it's too painful so you use the hearing protection you were given. The sound of the water being pushed by the ship's propellers combines in a satisfying way with the shrieking noise the enormous building's doors make as they open, but still, it's too loud to listen without your ear protection. The water being pushed out of the way of the ship splashes against the platform you're standing on, nearly going over it and soaking you. That would be bad, as it could kill you on the day you finally see the thing you helped build move.
There's no reason to, but you decide to run alongside the ship from your platform.
The ship is too fast for you to possibly outrun it, but you do not care. You find it enjoyable to see the machine go faster than you without tiring because that means that it works as it's supposed to. Despite your best efforts, you cannot keep up. In your mind this means the new ship is complete, as it can outrun one of its builders.
You stop running. The giant ship isn't the kind of thing to rub its victory in your face, but it still celebrates its winning of your race by blowing its horn. It's finally outside into the sun, where it's a chilly day. The ship, an ultimate weapon of its country, sails steadily through the harbor built specifically for the construction and servicing of the giant ship, while the ship's name is written clearly on its front. The ship's name is an intimidating one to represent its power. It might be foolish to think the ship is that powerful, but the ship acts like it's invincible anyways.
You're now cold. Even though you were just running it's cold enough outside that you now want to go back into a heated room, so you turn around and go back into the building the ship was built in. The break room has hot chocolate, so you'll probably get some. Some of your coworkers have probably decided to do the same thing as you. Just before going back inside you look back at the new ship. It is an incredible sight. Probably the most amazing ship to be launched at least since the SS Great Eastern was put in the water in 1858, breaking the size record at the time by a factor of six. The new sh
please adapt to my low vocabulary grain man
@Graingy hmm
@MIGFOXHOUND31BSM26 It’d hardly be accelerating full speed out the dry dock. Besides, you can keep up with anything accelerating from rest - how long is the question.
@Graingy noice, although how would someone keep up with a ship?