K-1 bobbed up and down on the surface.  Outwardly there was no sign of activity on the submarine's deck.  Her hull was adorned with elaborate patterns, the trademark of Fog ships.  Their soft glow was the only indication that the submarine was anything more than a relic.  Not too far away was the massive silhouette of Shinano, whose sheer enormity was enough to make K-1 seem like a bathtub toy.  All was quiet.  At least on the outside.

Inside of her hull K-1, in her mental model form, was wallowing in her liquor.  She had only hours earlier left the confines of her hull, but when confronted with the multiple surrounding ships that made up the Phantom Fleet, she had locked herself back in her hull.  Her many years at sea had no doubt contributed to how socially awkward the personified submarine was, and now it was a struggle for her to even peek out of her conning tower.  Even worse, at times like this, she indulged herself in alcohol, which compounded the issue.  While drinking herself into a stupor (gin, this time,) she struck up conversation with the naval mine that sat nestled against the wall.

"Tomaaaa, I tried my best.  Why won't they talk to me?!  Wouldn't it be really awkward if I just approached them?  But...it would also be awkward if they came to me!  What am I supposed to do?!"

Seeking comfort in the warm embrace of intoxication and her "friend," Toma, it seems K-1 still has a long way to go.