Evangeline Anastasia McDowell

[Bazza]

Entry#: 154
Date: 10 - 07 - 819 AS @ 19:23 SUT
Title: Untitled.

Been a rather hectic not-quite-a-month. Where to begin?

I suppose the fact that one half of my blood line is now shooting at the other half. Rheinland is at war with Bretonia - the cause thereof, from what information I have been able to gather, is a fine relating to cargoes being carried by a Bretonian in Rheinland which may or may not have been legal.

It does, however, bring to light the true, core nature of both houses.

The Bretonians are stubborn to a fault and will absolutely refuse to back down on something if they believe themselves correct. I, of course, bearing more of my Bretonian heritage than Rheinland, follow Queen Carina's style.

And then there is Rheinland. Looking for any excuse to fuel her lust for blood and carnage. Elevating refusal by a single ship to pay a fine to a full-scale war with the entire house it came from... is something one could only expect of the "Gott-Kanzler".

How to feel about this mess is not something I'm quite sure of yet.

I myself am Bretonian at heart, so naturally Rheinland is the enemy now. But my daughter has far deeper-set ties to that house than I do. Goes without saying her father is, or rather was, the Fleet Admiral of the Kriegsmarine.

I've yet to see any major movement reported in the news, however I find myself conflicted with who I should want to be victorious.

Moving on to more personal matters, however...

I have a new name. A new personality. A new ship and a new outlook on where my life is going.

I managed to run into Vincent Pryor again in Liberty whilst I was working my life out, putting measures in place to create what I now have. We wasted what must have been a good four or five hours just talking to each other, the evening culminating in Vincent taking me back to his place on Planet Erie. Allowing myself to be taken home on the first date... Hah. I may have changed most of my personality but I like being a harlot too much to get rid of it. I do, however, keep more to myself than I used to. Misaka seems most happy with this.

Vincent gave me a guided tour of his home. I, for a moment, wondered if he was, perhaps, a Junker in an alternate reality. The place is a Junkers' wet dream - an abandoned hangar and airport facility situated smack bang in the middle of bloody nowhere. Not only that but it had that delicious, decadent dilapidation thing going for it - something I adore greatly in my architecture. Felt like moving in right there - it'd give my evil underground lair a run for its' money in the awesomeness factor, for sure.

Despite my lust for the establishment, I avoided making an ass of myself... mostly. I think I scared poor old Vincent by being a bit too cuddly. He had just given me one of his ships - the Outflyer II - for me to use in Liberty to keep my profile low. I figured I could thank him with a hug, however, with the benefit of hindsight perhaps I went a little overboard. He sure as hell didn't expect it, that's for sure.

I ended up abandoning my little green snotbox at his facility and took off with the Outflyer. I flew directly from Erie back to Manhattan, sat my new ship down on one of the civilian landing pads and casually walked through the city back to the hotel I seem to have taken a semi-permanent residence in.

I think it goes hand in hand with the great sea change in my life but I am finding this regal, high quality establishment much more attractive than I used to. Whereas previously I'd've been happy staying in a crusty old motel for the night, I now consider it a bit... "meh". The Cosmopolitan is by no-means a top shelf hotel, but it's a solid, respectable building and orders of magnitude better than what I'd've once been content with. Sure, I still need to haul my own luggage, but the place is clean and tidy.

Another thing that's changed, or rather, that I've let change, is the sort of clothing I wear on a daily basis. I lay the blame squarely on the fact I'm living in the middle of the biggest consumerist society in Sirius but the amount of money I've let Misaka spend on "good" clothes both for herself and me is ludicrous.

From a plain white camisole to a high quality cream-white blouse. From steel-capped boots to high heels. From a messy, bedraggled ponytail hidden away under whatever I was wearing to immaculate, shining, free-flowing hair that I'm actually proud of again.

I've gone from daggy, oil-stained jeans to a freakin' skirt of all things. Misaka wasn't content to let me get away with business pants or a suit anything like that. I haven't work a skirt since I was a kid for crying out loud and now I'm supposed to wear them every day - apparently they make me more feminine.

Really, all I need to do is take everything off and it'd be perfectly clear I was female. Hah!

But you know, I just can't say no to that face of hers. I'll be damned if she isn't the cutest little angel I've ever laid eyes on - the way she looks at me when we're all alone - just the two of us, lost in each other - is achingly addictive. Those gorgeous caramel eyes of hers... staring at me as we quietly talk about nothing in particular, side by side in our bed, wrapped up under the blankets surrounded by the cool air of a Manhattan summer's night; a gentle breeze blowing in through the open windows of the 12th storey room we're calling home for the night...

I can remember why I fell in love with this girl.

And of course... the fun part. Not only did she insist on me trying real clothes, she bought some of her own. Among the collection she and her co-conspirators Kana, Fumika and little Sakura dragged home was, as expected, a vast array of the sorts of things you'd expect a modest, responsible teenager to buy - polite blouses and tops, a variety of respectable dresses, skirts and so forth.

What I wasn't expecting was the one bag she hid away from the other girls until after they'd gone back to their room next door. Putting aside the fact someone would have committed a federal crime selling these sorts of underwear to a sixteen year old girl, I was left looking like a stunned mullet by Misaka's solidarity in actually buying them. She'd've no doubt had to try them all on before committing to a purchase - I know her well enough to be able to affirm she'd not buy anything without knowing it to be the right size beforehand.

There I was casually stabbing away at my laptop's keyboard running an end-of-year stock take on the company when Misaka awkwardly peers out from the ensuite, hiding behind the door. I immediately suspected something was up, but I was somewhat expecting an awkward personal or biological mishap that I'd need to help her with.

Even though we're not only both women but also intimately connected, Misaka still gets quite bashful where her body is concerned. Talking about her cycle is an awkward, fumbling mess and anything related to sexual functions takes a lot of convincing to get her to discuss. She's able to disrobe around the other girls for benign purposes like showering but that's as far as it goes.

Nevertheless her bashful nature is endearingly adorable - one of the many aspects about her I find so utterly gorgeous. Although to be honest I can't see why she's so embarrassed about being naked under lights - she's got nothing to be ashamed of at all, really. She's six years my junior and has a body that even I envy. She also goes to great lengths - far greater than me - to look after herself both inside and out. She exercises, eats well and meticulously preens herself like a prideful, regal housecat. She's also been well looked after by whichever deity hands out boobs, legs and butts when children are ordered.

Which is why seeing her standing in front of me, in full light, in what basically amounted to a few strings of lace wrapped around her private feminine features, left me absolutely gobsmacked.

Like a slack-jawed Liberty yokel I just laid there, staring at her. My eyes wandered over her body as she fidgeted with her hands, covering up her intimate features - quite apparently nervous. She asked me if I liked it. If I would have been able to pick my jaw up off the floor I'd've replied in earnest.

I promptly threw my laptop off the bed, disassembling it in the process.

Not that I cared, of course. I had more important things to do. Misaka told me the clothes - and herself - were presents for getting my life back together. I couldn't let all of her effort go to waste, now, could I? What tiny shreds of lace she had on didn't stay on for long.

High fives.

But!


That does explain why it's been almost a month since I wrote anything here.

I still need to do the damned stocktake, too.

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