And thus the war continued. Certainly things were a little awkward—suddenly it seems a little... intimate to mess about with Roboat's engine—but self-preservation was a good distraction. Crankshaft never forgot Roboat's situation, but he did grow to accept it. As for Roboat itself, it never spoke about it, but it became a fury on the aquatic battlefield, a demon of churning oars and sparking cannon. After all, it wasn't just fighting for itself and Secular ideals anymore; it was fighting for someone it loved too.
On the whole, the situation was politely ignored until one fateful day when the Roman fleet herded them straight towards Scylla and Charybdis. Roboat was faster over distance, but not nearly enough to duck the herd, and as they headed towards the proverbial rock and a hard place, it looked that their days were done.
“It has been an honor to serve you, Cap'n,” Roboat said, in the odd disjointed voice it got when it was sparing power to row.
Captain Crankshaft stood very straight on the bow, watching the dread choice loom closer and closer. “Roboat, I haven't been completely honest with ye.”
“Captain?”
“I've loved you since the moment I set foot on ye. You're a marvelous boat, and a fine mechanical person.”
Roboat was threshing through the water at full speed, so couldn't spare much steam for its tubes, but its voice blared. “And you never said?”
“I'm not an emotive man,” Crankshaft gruffed. “I've lost too many loves to the battlefield. I... just wanted ye to know. In case we don't survive. Now, can you outpace Charybdis?”
“I don't know; it's in full strength. And I can't spare power for the cannon.”
“We'll take Scylla then. And forget the cannon; the beastie's got five more heads. We'll just have to try and outrun it. At the worst, at least we'll die a proper death together. Maybe ye can choke the damned thing.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
That was all the time they had. Roboat needed all its power for speed, and Crankshaft had to bolt below decks to man the boilers.
Roboat never pushed itself so hard. Its pipes screamed. The heat warped pipes, burnt Crankshaft's skin as he frantically shoveled coal. Warning klaxons wailed. Rivets burst.
Scylla only got time to tear out two chunks of hull as they shot by.
They didn't have time to celebrate. The Romans were behind, forced to navigate around their own monsters, but that wouldn't stop them long, and Roboat was taking on water fast, a quarter of its mechanical oars dragging uselessly due to burst pipes. Crankshaft bolted back and forth, alternately bailing and repairing. Roboat rowed on, too battered to even spare the steam to speak.
“Well done, you marvel,” Crankshaft bellowed as he welded and waded. “Truly no beastie on earth can rival you!”
Roboat could not speak, but its engines thrummed weakly.
They fled until dusk, repaired until dawn, and by noon, they were married.
Re: The First Mythic War! (part two)
And thus the war continued. Certainly things were a little awkward—suddenly it seems a little... intimate to mess about with Roboat's engine—but self-preservation was a good distraction. Crankshaft never forgot Roboat's situation, but he did grow to accept it. As for Roboat itself, it never spoke about it, but it became a fury on the aquatic battlefield, a demon of churning oars and sparking cannon. After all, it wasn't just fighting for itself and Secular ideals anymore; it was fighting for someone it loved too.
On the whole, the situation was politely ignored until one fateful day when the Roman fleet herded them straight towards Scylla and Charybdis. Roboat was faster over distance, but not nearly enough to duck the herd, and as they headed towards the proverbial rock and a hard place, it looked that their days were done.
“It has been an honor to serve you, Cap'n,” Roboat said, in the odd disjointed voice it got when it was sparing power to row.
Captain Crankshaft stood very straight on the bow, watching the dread choice loom closer and closer. “Roboat, I haven't been completely honest with ye.”
“Captain?”
“I've loved you since the moment I set foot on ye. You're a marvelous boat, and a fine mechanical person.”
Roboat was threshing through the water at full speed, so couldn't spare much steam for its tubes, but its voice blared. “And you never said?”
“I'm not an emotive man,” Crankshaft gruffed. “I've lost too many loves to the battlefield. I... just wanted ye to know. In case we don't survive. Now, can you outpace Charybdis?”
“I don't know; it's in full strength. And I can't spare power for the cannon.”
“We'll take Scylla then. And forget the cannon; the beastie's got five more heads. We'll just have to try and outrun it. At the worst, at least we'll die a proper death together. Maybe ye can choke the damned thing.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
That was all the time they had. Roboat needed all its power for speed, and Crankshaft had to bolt below decks to man the boilers.
Roboat never pushed itself so hard. Its pipes screamed. The heat warped pipes, burnt Crankshaft's skin as he frantically shoveled coal. Warning klaxons wailed. Rivets burst.
Scylla only got time to tear out two chunks of hull as they shot by.
They didn't have time to celebrate. The Romans were behind, forced to navigate around their own monsters, but that wouldn't stop them long, and Roboat was taking on water fast, a quarter of its mechanical oars dragging uselessly due to burst pipes. Crankshaft bolted back and forth, alternately bailing and repairing. Roboat rowed on, too battered to even spare the steam to speak.
“Well done, you marvel,” Crankshaft bellowed as he welded and waded. “Truly no beastie on earth can rival you!”
Roboat could not speak, but its engines thrummed weakly.
They fled until dusk, repaired until dawn, and by noon, they were married.
If Eros disapproved, he never let on.