Yamal grimaces.
"Imagine a ship, metal or wood hull, whatever. Or a girl, like me. To us, they're one and the same- you look at another shipgirl and you see both girl and ship. It's a bit trippy. Sadly humans don't have that trait. They just have to look at one or the other. ANYWAYS."
She coughs, taking a sip.
"Imagine a shipgirl like me. Or an actual ship, it doesn't really matter.
Now imagine it pale. Like the dead. Paler than the dead, even. Its sides are plated with black, chitinous armor, like a metal insect. Teeth, too many teeth, line its decks, opening up its bow, distorting its once-human or human-made form into strange shapes- Abyssals even swallow ships whole from time to time. Its eyes, and it always has eyes, human or ship, its eyes BURN. White mist is the weakest, simplest kind. If you're looking at blue or golden hellfire blazing from the eyes, you have a serious problem. It is strangely graceful, a nightmare that sails across the waves, living plating that swallows light, with turrets that if you listen too closely to, you can hear them hunger, hear the gnashing and growling...."
The Russian's brow furrows, eyes narrowing in focus.
"And it hates. They scream and laugh and sob and shout and demand your death. Some are cold, ice cold, like the bottom of the Abyss. Others are playful, innocent children or eager warmongers. But they all hate and they want to maim and kill and burn and they aren't afraid to make it known. They're plenty intelligent, too. Just as smart as you or I. Smart enough to form their own fleets. Tactics. Ambushes. Strategies. Psychological warfare. Imagine a fleet of those things.
Since they are fond of emerging from the depths unbidden, I think Abyssal is a fitting title. Though some call them other names. Sirens. Shinkaisei-kan. Fog. Other things.
Oh, and particularly emotionally disturbed shipgirls can become one of them, if you let them fester long enough. So there's that."
Yamal pauses for effect, then grins sharply, downing another bottle.