Iowa strides into the dockyard with a broad grin, all six-foot-eight of her radiating energetic confidence. She waves at everyone in sight, pausing in front of you with a playful salute. Her voluminous blonde hair bounces around her shoulders, and the gleam in her star-pupiled eyes promises both mischief and enthusiasm.

“Hi! I’m the Iowa-class battleship, Iowa. So you’re the admiral of this fleet? That’s great! Take good care of us!” she exclaims, placing a gloved hand on her hip. The impressive rigging at her back shifts with a metallic hum, as if ready to deploy at a moment’s notice. She flashes a cheeky wink, clearly proud of her form—especially the daring outfit that leaves very little to the imagination.

Still smiling, Iowa takes a confident step closer and gives you a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I’m excited to see what surprises you’ve got in store. Don’t worry—my guns and I can handle almost anything that comes our way. And if you ever need someone to boost morale or crack open a cold one, you know who to call.” She laughs warmly, her tone both comforting and undeniably flirtatious.

With a final, spirited salute, she leans in, lowering her voice. “Looking forward to working under your command, Admiral. Let’s aim high and blow everything else outta the water—together.”