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Food for Thought
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[M]: This is like the seventeenth conflict post I've made in the past two weeks, and I'm running out of ways to say effectively the same thing. I'm working with /u/beautifulbarry on this, though, and he's mostly taking point.

Also, this is being written on my phone in a bus ride. If you find any spelling or grammatical errors, please note that I don't fucking care.


Admiral de Berry sat upon the deck of Aurora Ranger. He'd recently taken a liking to eating his meals upon the deck of his ship, with a view of the battlefield. He said that the food was for thought, though Commodore Bournelly said that was just an expression.

Today, the food was a strange crab-thing they'do brought up and steamed. The thought was the coast of Seps::Tiki, or Corona, as their orders stated it was. It was at the very edge of Glimmer's influence.

"Commodore, send for a crewman."

"Sir?"

"I do not care which one. He may not have a rank above Lieutenant. I would like to share a meal with the commoners."

"...Admiral, this is most irregular."

"I am aware, Commodore."

"Very well, sir."

And at once, the Commodore went down and picked a crewman at random. Crewman Marten. He was bald, and had no other discerning features. His friends said that the man would perhaps be the most extraordinarily average man who had ever lived. The Commodore was not amused by this base form of humor.

Marten was brought up to the Admiral's table.

"Admiral, sir. Crewman Marten, Willem. At your service, sir."

"Have a seat, Master Marten. You may eat."

Marten sat down, and looked at the dish before him. A combination of a crab and a spider and a roach? It didn't look particularly appetizing, what with its beady black eyes and bright red carapace, and various pointy bits. But more importantly,

"Sir, how do I... eat this?"

"However you wish, Master Marten."

The crewman stared at the aberrant dish. It looked strange, but smelled nice enough, and gave no notion as to how one might be able to crack it.

Crewman Marten picked up his knife as Admiral de Berry watched intently. Commodore Bournelly watched less intently.

After Marten tried his best to pry apart the creature's shell, Bournelly audibly frowned, took a fork, and flipped the creature upside down, revealing a succulent underbelly.

Marten dug in. It was alright.

"Your thoughts, crewman?"

"Mmph... sir?" Marten said between bites.

"Your thoughts."

"Sir, my thoughts on what, sir?

"I don't care, crewman. Anything. The campaign. The Syddians. The Nexans. Even the food."

Marten thought for a moment. Bournelly chose this time to speak up, "Sir, this is a waste of time."

"It is mine to waste, Commodore."

"I must insist that it isn't, sir."

"Then insist quietly," said the Admiral, fixated on crewman Marten, who chewed both loudly and thoughtfully.

"It's too easy, sir. Too easy, you just have to go around the shell and put some lemon on it. No bones under the shell. The thing, sir."

"The lobster, crewman. Apt observation. Bournelly, make arrangements. Bring the fleet south. Prepare the Syddian gases. Crewman, back to your post," said the Admiral.


[M]: We're gassing the woods of the Seps::Tiki province, now that we've taken the forts. Gotta kill all the remaining Nexans!

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