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Fri, Jun. 3rd, 2005, 07:09 am
pseudosex: From the log of Freya Crescent:

Dear Log,

I might have felt bad about dozing off in Amarant's arm chair and sleeping for a whole night had the man actually, in that span of nine hours, returned to the lab. When he finally came back the following afternoon -- I really must get a handle on this time zone and what to call things soon -- my immediate question was, "Where the hell have you been?"

He told me that people in his trade were never really still, but always on the move to find things they needed. This satisfied me for a while, so I let him off the hook about that one. He excused himself to put his crate of auction items away in the cellar. I stood and momentarily browsed his lab, as I had been away all day and had not done so yet. I found scrawled notes, and sometimes just symbols. Equations far beyong my mind and what I thought were Amarant's stared up at me from frayed experinent logs. I sat quickly as I heard him coming, and he actually sat down when he returned. He sighed and took a drink from a flask as I asked, "And what exactly is your 'trade' these days?"

Aggravatedly, Amarant stood and made his way back to his supplies. He quietly threw a few things into a test tube, neglecting safety goggles of a labcoat, then set fire to it and blew it out. He came back to where he had been sitting and handed me the tube. "Sip. Don't drink it all, though."

I did so, noticed nothing, and asked him what was supposed to happen. This is the time when I noticed what it was and that it already had, and he smirked when my words refused to come out. I tried again, but I found myself unable to say anything for almost an entire minute, when my voice cracked back into activity. He chuckled as I smelled, touched, and stared into the liquid in the tube, absolutely perplexed. Something tells me that experience will haunt me.

Tell me, Zidane, if you personally thought of Amarant as a chemist.

"Magic," he said, and he was serious about it, as opposed to just giving me some made up excuse. "After our little tiff with Kuja" -- he thought this was much funnier than I did -- "the black market for chemicals skyrocketed. It's calmed down a bit since then, but the biggest question was if anyone could really engineer a compound to replicate the powers of eidolons, such as that liquid Silence spell I just fed you, without being a summoner. I've got much worse, if you'd like to see." I shook my head and said that had been strange enough. "Suit yourself. I just thought I'd tell you, what with my name being so big in the market right now."

I had a question. "So can you do it?"

"Do what?" I asked again if he could really make duplicate powers of the eidolons. He smiled at me and said, "To be perfectly honest, I'm the only one who can, which is why I never really sit down; people know me and people want my services. A few bribes to the nobles and they keep it quiet about my whereabouts, but I could easily reestablish if someone found me and smoked me out."

It is comforting to know he is in such a wonderful position and only flourishing, but the nature of what he does still has me a bit worried. This is a very dangerous practice; even I can see that it will lead to capital punishment if anyone ever gets their hands around his throat. Maybe more than one set of hands, but still. "Are you saying that your practice since being a mercenary is tampering with unstable chemicals to make weapons for the highest bidder?"

He said no, he had done a stint of theft again to get the gil for such a high-priced profession. Still lost on me is whether he was joking about that or not; if I had to guess, I would say that was exactly what he did. We small-talked for a while about this and that; we caught up on who's doing what and where everyone is, and I asked if he would, what with his position, help me to rally support of people with funding. He said it would be tricky to actually meet one of his clients face-to-face, but he would try his hardest because it was me and he had taken a shining to me on our adventure.

As I was leaving for the night -- Amarant told me it was unsafe to have more than one person in the lab for a long period of time, as people would surely get suspicious -- I asked again about his experiments with what he called the Eidolon Market. The question had to be asked, so I did it: "What's the worst you've done with these, Amarant?"

He was quiet for a moment, but when he spoke, he was the same old Amarant; arrogantly proud about something awful. "I've done almost everything, but I've yet to use my own creations. Once someone does with them when they're out of my hands is their own business, though." I rephrased, asking him what his most powerful creation was. He looked like he was against telling me for a moment, but I weaseled the terrible truth out of him. "Those supplies I won at the auction are for my biggest yet. I'm on the brink of replicating what Kuja unleashed on Alexandria with a test tube full of liquid."

I suppose I cannot be too surprised about what he does, nor can I mind that he seems so casual about it. In our time travelling with him, I caught on to how ruthless he can be for the right price, which he assured me this latest creation would bring in. Still, at the bottom of it, if you can stay on the man's good side, there is a beating heart which he will use to protect his friends. I could see this in the way he talked to me last night; he knew who I was to him, knew I was too good of a friend to rat him out, and therefore threw his entire current life at me. He trusts me, and strangely enough, even with the power of Kuja in a few scientific cases, I trust him, too.

I returned to the room at the inn to find an unopened letter from the Council on my bed. I showered, got comfortable, and crawled into my bed, where I still lay, before opening the seal and reading what it had to say. Again, I would paste it directly into my log, but I know you never learned Burmecian.

'Miss Crescent:

I hope your travels to Treno are pleasant,
but I feel it is my duty to tell you that
you may not be returning for quite a while.
Given the nature of the reconstruction in
our city, much support will be needed, and
the nobles of Treno will probably not be able
to give us all we need. After you have ral-
lied enough support in the City of Night, we
will be sending you to Beatrix's location --
or, rather, intended location. There, in
Daguerreo, you will find more financial aid
for the rebuilding process, and if this is
not enough to appease the rest of the council,
you will then be relocated one final time to
Esto Gaza.

Councilman Kroul

I apologize for the late arrival of this
letter; it was sent on the chocobo cart a day
behind you, as I forgot to give it to you when
you left.

I see directly through it. If Kroul, as I remember the Head of Council's name was, had given me this letter before I had left, I would have never gone, and he knows it. He knew in sending this letter late that he would be able to keep me away from Beatrix's aid for longer, and feels that I have no way to oppose him because I have no way to send him a letter of resignation. He certainly cannot find out about Busca helping me, or the old Burmecian might even face punishment.

Sadly, I see Burmecia's future in the lies of Kroul. I see the populace becoming dishonest and hostile, and I see the city only falling to ruins after what we are doing to rebuild her.

I will send a letter to Beatrix with Busca tomorrow afternoon, telling her of what has happened, but I really should be getting to sleep now. Tomorrow I will go with Amarant to meet with some of his associates and try to rally support, as immoral as it may be. I hope you and Burmecia both can forgive my use of such dirty gil to rebuild such a beautiful city, but I knew before I left that Amarant could not give us good, honest help.


End log seventeen.

Tue, Apr. 19th, 2005, 05:44 pm
pseudosex: From the log of Freya Crescent:

Dear Log,

I would like to tell you exactly when I arrived in Treno, but the City of Night has always given its residents a bit of trouble when it comes to telling one day from the next. I seem to be a real winner when it comes to cities; I went from a place where it always rains to one where it is constantly nighttime. I suppose, though, that both of them have been beautiful. Burmecia's elegance shows through in its rain, while Treno's rich prosperity comes with its night.

I cannot emphasize how much I enjoy looking out over the city from the town's balcony, even though I know I must soon ask the locals for their financial support. My things were unpacked and I was sitting in my room at the inn when I got my first visit. I thought perhaps it was one of the nobles who had heard our call for gil, but was surprised to find one of the Burmecians that had accompanied me here.

He was an old one, easily one of the oldest in the town, and we'd spoken before. A fit Burmecian, considering the laze that has recently taken over my city, age showed through in his features but his eyes sparkled like he was out for an adventure. He was in no way a soldier, and I noticed from his goggles he must have been the chocobo cart driver.

"Yes?" I asked him, obviously sounding surprised, for he smiled.

He told me he would be making frequent trips from Treno to Burmecia to deliver supplies and gil both ways and asked if I would like him to take any letters to Beatrix. "I ain't like most o' dem, Miss Freya. I t'ink you and Miss Beatrix got a good t'ing goin' on, an' I'm gonna help out doin' what a guy like me can. So if you need anyt'ing, jus' let ol' Busca know, okay?"

The strange accent was probably because, in total, I saw about six whole teeth in his mouth. The rest had been eaten away, probably from a low-income diet, or knocked out by the Alexandrian soldiers. I saw no deception in his eyes -- he was definitely not a spy for the Head of Council to see if I would give up -- and so I invited him in for coffee. Busca turned out to be an old friend of my father's, and he loved to talk. He gave me the ups, downs, and side-to-sides of the city since I had left. We became friends quickly, which is a relief considering where I am right now.

He left and I retired to bed, knowing it certainly must be late by some standard in Treno. I slept well. . .for the three hours I was allowed to before the alarm went off, alerting me to the late hour which I had obviously been awake until. Looking outside, I saw the nobles still milling about and some workers going off to their jobs.

I must get used to this time system within the week.

My agenda for the day was nothing short of tedious, if not impossible: take a shower, eat breakfast, and find Amarant, stopping for meals when appropriate. The first two went as smoothly as anything; in fact, the entire travelling party ate together and exchanged opinions on the beauty of the city. It was the third and final item that held me up, though, soon after our meal.

Everyone I passed knew exactly who The Flaming Amarant was, since our fight with Kuja, and everyone made it a point to tell me he was, indeed, in town. However, when I posed the question of where he was, no one could give me any sort of a hint. The bounty hunters I spoke to said they had given up on trying to fight him and frequently spoke on good terms, but they still had no idea where he was staying. I was going to give up that evening -- or, at least, I estimated it was evening because of the time -- and then someone finally gave me a lead.

Well, it was more of them running away because I had apparently asked them twice already. Even so, it led me to Doctor Tot's old lab, which was of course abandoned when he packed up and left for Lindblum, a place I had not yet checked. I had always thought that certainly the locals would have been respectful to Tot's research and left it alone, but there was a light in one of the windows and so I went inside, not bothering to knock.

There, fiddling with chemicals and wearing a labcoat, stood our old comrade Amarant. I waited until he had finished mixing whatever that was to clear my throat. He turned serenely, looked at me -- or so I assume -- and sniffed. "So you are in town." He paused for a second, as if I might just accept this and leave, then reached into his pocket and drew a notepad from it. He wrote something down, looked at me again, and uncertainly said, "I hope everything's going well."

For some reason, that reassured me that everything would be okay. It certainly quelled my fear more than if he had tried to be extremely nice and lie to me. But no; the same old, blunt Amarant was there to welcome me to the city he'd stolen from so many times. He left shortly afterward to go get some supplies from the auction house, and it is in this interval that I am writing. I assume he will be back relatively soon, however, and so I will write again when he informs me of how he, himself, is.


End log fifteen.

Sun, Mar. 20th, 2005, 10:04 am
pseudosex: From the log of Freya Crescent:

Dear Log,

The dinner has come and gone since the last time I wrote. In fact, an entire day has passed. I think I needed the full time in order to sort out my thoughts.

Beatrix met me outside of our temporary home just before dinner was to take place, but we chose not to speak as we made our way to the small, comfortable café. Of course, the Head of the Council had been there for quite some time and already eaten, but he invited us to have a brief meal before business. We also ate in silence, myself feeling quite uncomfortable, and Beatrix feeling. . .well, I can only imagine.

The small bit of talk made was when Steiner, who had come in fashionably late and looking beat up from a fall off a ladder, complimented my choice of attire. I shrugged and glanced down at a rather ugly blue dress, knowing he didn't give two shakes of Zidane's tail what I'd worn. His mind was so preoccupied with Beatrix that he'd probably had to rethink the statement many times to avoid blurting, "Freya, your night looks very good for dressing" or "Could you please pass me the table?"

As much as I love Steiner, you know I'm right.

After a wonderful meal of local flavor -- Steiner's second failed attempt at conversation for the night was saying Beatrix surely hadn't cooked it, for which I stepped on his boot -- business was curt and serious. The Head of the Council asked the two men that had entered half-way through our meals what their viewpoints on the rebuilding were.

I had seen them both. The first, a short, human man in charge of the repair of Burmecia's social structure, spoke in professional vocabulary: "The poeple are tense. Pardon my frankness, but the incident involving General Beatrix has shown us so. Obviously the Burmecians need something reassuring right now, and. . ." He glanced about nervously, and I felt my stomach twist. I knew what he meant, and so did the Head of Council. I hate to say that I could feel him getting more smug by the second, but. . .

I hoped the other man, a Burmecian in charge of the physical reconstruction, would be sympathetic. Something told me he would see the side of the Head, even before he did. "Well, the place is trashed, we know that. Ain't much chance of getting it back to the way it was before without a lot of money and a lot of high-profile backing. The Knights have been a huge help, but it'd be a lot better if we had more of a workforce, too." That was all he had to say, apparently, because he sat down.

The dread on Steiner's, Beatrix's, and I am sure my own face was obvious, but that did nothing to affect the initial decision, I could tell. The Head of the Council stood and dabbed at the edges of his mouth, letting us know he was ready to end these meetings. "More funding is needed for the completion of Burmecia's reconstruction, and outside assistance will surely be vital soon. Due to this, I am making an official order. In two days' time at precisely eight in the morning, a chocobo cart will be outside the city."

His head turned toward me and I knew he reveled in the news he gave me. "At that time, Freya, your relocation to the city of Treno will begin."

The next few moments were a mass of confusion in my head, so I hope that Beatrix will give you a more accurate report of what else may have been said before she and Steiner left. Come to think of it, they also may have been relocated. At that point, I stood up and once again let go of my restraint. "She'll be ripped apart if I have to leave her alone here," I shouted, "and you know it!"

He showed no emotion. "You may leave now, Miss Crescent."

I once again tried to change his mind, but he only frowned dangerously before saying, "You. Will. Leave now. Miss Crescent." I stormed out in a rage and spent the night wandering the town, refusing to return to the Inn until very early this morning. No one talked to me, nor seemed to acknowledge my presence; the statement must have gone public after out meeting.

Since awakening, most of my day has been spent packing for tomorrow's trip. Although I fully object to leaving, I suppose I should at least be prepared for it as well as I can be. I hope to have a private dinner with Beatrix tonight if Steiner has not reserved her company.

In either case, it has occured to me that perhaps I can find Amarant in Treno and I may not be as lonely.


End log thirteen.

Fri, Feb. 18th, 2005, 07:09 am
pseudosex: From the log of Freya Crescent:

Dear Log,

This morning at breakfast, Beatrix was assigned cooking duties, a job truly unfit for her. As much as I hate to say it, I tried my hardest to look surprised. My look plainly said "How can you do this?" as I thought of how typical it was of a country as proud as mine. Beatrix dismissed herself on some other business, and I longed to follow her and tell her how sorry I was, but I'm a diplomat now -- country first, right?

As soon as she had left, I turned to the head of Council, raising my voice as I said, "Sir, what is your intention in putting the general of Alexandria in a kitchen?" I hoped she might still be listening from outside, and I wanted her to know my outrage.

"Freya," he said softly, as if I were a misguided child. I suppose that was how he saw me now that I'd come back with the hope of reuniting two countries such as Burmecia and Alexandria. "You know the way things are around Burmecia right now. People are scared. The relief effort is being led by a country with a violent history and a former queen who supported the very man who destroyed us. Things will happen if we let the general have almighty power; you saw that as clearly as I did yesterday, and --"

I lurched toward him. "Sir, you can't blame this all on that damn tomato!" I was mad. He was going to crush the duty of my friend just because the locals had become paranoid. "You're acting like a child with a throne! No, we can't curb the hatred for her, but we can't just crumble under their wishes and lock her away!"

The head of Council stood and wiped his mouth, folding his hands and nodding for everyone else to begin leaving, as this meeting was most definitely over. "Freya, I don't recall ever separating myself from the country. I don't quite follow who this "we" you speak of is." My eyes must have widened, because his eyebrows furrowed. I hadn't even realized what I was doing. I was trying to take a stand against my country -- my very own homeland. "By showing such defiance," he continued, "in throwing down that tomato and marching off, she has insulted the very social class of Burmecia. Had she shown shame and accepted it, we may not have had to make this decision."

"Sir," I pleaded, "she is the war general of Alexandria. You certainly could consider yourself lucky she decided not to attack. How was she supposed to know not to disapprove of produce being hurled at her? Is she not only human?"

He looked at me for a long moment and I knew I had no chance of winning this one. I had no chance of much anything these days, for I was one person against the ways of an entire people. "Then perhaps she should go back to a place where she can attack." He moved for the door. "Meet me here for dinner and we will discuss your relocation. Good day, Miss Crescent."

When that door shut, I knew he was set in his ways. He knew I had distanced myself from the country, too -- he had never called me Miss Crescent in my life. I sat and began to think about what had become of Burmecia. When did they get so proud? When did they start to look at newcomers as immediate threats? When did they start implementing a policy of shooting first and asking questions of morality second? When had they. . .

I continued on, but it took no more than five minutes for me to realize what had really happened. I've been away from home for so long, I've forgotten what it is like. They never started doing things such as that. I've just chosen to forget that this is how it was before I left for so long. Years ago, tomatoes would have been thrown as Queen Garnet herself. Nothing has changed. Burmecia is exactly as proud as it was before I went away. It is I who have changed.

Were I to arrive all over again, my letter would read:

Dear Burmecia,
How could you let me forget your ways?

I now am going out to find Beatrix and talk to her, but I await my meeting with the head of Council this evening all the same. Perhaps I can apologize for my actions over breakfast.


End log eleven.

Mon, Jul. 12th, 2004, 12:23 pm
pseudosex: From the log of Freya Crescent:

Dear Log,

I cannot help but worry about the fate of this mission. Upon entering Burmecia, everyone cheered for me, which only made me more nervous to bring Beatrix out from behind the wagon. The people looked so hopeful, and for a moment I wished to preserve this happiness and send all of the knights back to Alexandria. I told Beatrix that the reception was unexpected, and she simply said, "You're their hero. This is expected."

I was unnerved at the way Beatrix was accepted, with nothing but a dead silence. Never has Burmecia been that quiet, at least in my memory, and the Council didn't even bother to explain her. I have to imagine the anxiety would have been cooled if he had at least said she was a friend of the city now and that she meant no harm, but it was not to be done.

We began to move through the streets, and the head of the Council, an old friend of the family, said that I would be doing much more executive jobs than Beatrix and the knights. As nicely as I could, I said that I would much rather stay and see to Beatrix's safety, and he told me that would be less likely than possible and to start preparing for a long separation from my new friend. As we were arguing over this, Beatrix tells me that a tomato was thrown her way, before the second one that I was aware of.

I remember just how she looked, a tomato splotched on her face with a momentary expression of rejection. But then Beatrix Griffinheart was back and she threw the remains to the ground, stepping on them in rough defiance. I felt for her then, more than I'd felt for anyone in a long time. Indeed, I agreed that Steiner's plan would be overdoing it, but I do not think I should have walked so far ahead and left her open for attack.

We were led inside and shown our quarters, but requested to attend a meeting within the hour. Beatrix declined, saying she needed to wash up a bit, but I was almost obligated to show up, and so I did. We went over the specifics and what to rebuild first; it was a small meeting with myself, the Council head, Steiner, and a few of the site foremen there. We decided to rebuild the most prosperous zones first, then to move onto the independent businesses. Understandable, as it would take money to really get the rebuilding efforts on the move.

The meeting was ended rather quickly, as no one saw the need for larger plans until some menial tasks were out of the way. Steiner walked me back to my room, ever the gentlemen, and entrusted to me the secret that he intended to ask Beatrix to dinner once a restaraunt was reconstructed and he felt it safe for her to go out without much protection.

I laughed and told him that it didn't have to be so secretive, but I have known Steiner long enough to know that, while very vocal, actual actions take him a while to get out of the way. I always told myself he annoyed me horribly, but in truth, I could probably deal with him for quite a while.

I have decided not to tell Beatrix of the intended separation yet. While I know she is as strong a person as anyone I am acquainted with, this is a strange land with people who are far from fond of her, and I am afraid the knowledge I cannot be with her at all times may do something to her confidence that could make this harder on her. I will tell her when the time comes.

For now, I, too, much wash up and get some rest. It is nearly one in the morning and I will need all the energy I can get for tomorrow's beginning.


End log nine.

Sun, Jul. 11th, 2004, 12:09 pm
pseudosex: From the log of Freya Crescent:

Dear Log,

The awning of Burmecia is still intimidating. I know that I will be welcomed with open arms, but Beatrix has voiced the concerns I have been thinking of since we started our journey. I suppose that is a good thing, though; after all, if she thought things were going to be fine when we arrived between she and the Council, she would be very much vulnerable.

I pray that the residents will not think myself an enemy to them. Beatrix mentioned that the Knights were also Alexandrian, a concern that had not passed my mind. As is the Burmecian way, allying yourself with the enemy puts you in the direct line of fire, and the soldiers are quite, pardon the cliché, "trigger-happy." Hopefully the Council will tell them that we are safe and are here to help.

I do not have much else to say; I am going to go back and talk to Steiner once we arrive at the gates, which should be in about ten minutes. For now, I must wake Beatrix up and brief her on what we are to do once inside.

Log. . .I think I'm scared.


End log seven.

Thu, Jun. 10th, 2004, 10:25 am
pseudosex: From the log of Freya Crescent:

Dear Log,

Beatrix mentioned earlier that the lamp Zidane gave us was great to write by, so I suppose I will try it tonight. The chocobo trainer said we will, indeed, be arriving in Burmecia around the first sight of dawn. As the temperature gets colder, I begin getting more nervous. Of course, I will be accepted with open arms, but I know the mental state of traumatized Burmecians, and they may not even accept the Knights of Pluto.

My biggest fear is a violent movement against the party.

I have not brought this up to anyone in our train, including Beatrix. My ears tell me that she is asleep, as are the rest of the Knights; understandable, given the fact that it is nearly two in the morning and we were advised to rest up for our arrival.

Also understandably -- I think so, anyway -- I am unable to get any rest at all. My stomach has been tying itself in knots ever since we passed the Grotto a few hours ago ( which may tell you what a sluggish pace we are going at ) and it truly hit me that I am going back home. How will they react? Will they say they've missed me and wish I would have come sooner? Will they tell me to leave, for I abandoned them in the first place?

Beatrix and I spoke about these things on our hunt in the Daines-Horse Basin when we last stopped. I believe the problem was that the lead bird injured its ankle and the knights had to hunt down a dropped potion or something to that effect. Of course, there was the Ochu to mention, but I am sure Beatrix mentioned it in her log, as she seemed to be very intrigued with our first Mist Monster encounter.

But I digress. As I was saying, Beatrix has been a dear about this whole thing. While I know she has more to worry about than anyone in our party, I can't help but trust her and tell her my concerns. She told me, very simply, to just do what we have to do and see how it turns out. If badly, we leave. If it goes well, we stay and do more of it.

I have nothing more to say until we get to Burmecia, where I will hand over this letter I have written. Beatrix's input on that was that I should just say whatever came naturally, and so I did. I know you can't read Burmecian, Zidane, and so I will translate it here:

Dear Burmecia,
It's good to be home.

End log five.

Tue, Jun. 8th, 2004, 11:14 pm
pseudosex: From the log of Freya Crescent:

Dear Log,

I suppose, seeing as how we must get along for this adventure back home, I should address you with a proper name. So I will address you as Log, not a proper name as I had promised, as it must be apparent I am not too partial to your company. Perhaps we can become better acquainted once we get to Burmecia, or perhaps not. We will see.

I suppose, if Zidane reads this, he will think I have gone positively insane. I will blame it on the day I have gone without food, of course. We have stopped to give the chocobos a rest. Beatrix has joined in on what sounds like an uproarious chat with the Knights of Pluto, particularly Steiner, but I will not eavesdrop on what it is they're speaking about. It is, of course, their business and not my own.

Over the past few hours, I have composed a letter to the Burmecian Council on behalf of Queen Brahne and Kuja. Beatrix was a delightful help in the writing of that letter, as she had been on their end of the war, and agreed that the apology needs to be given, no matter who it came from. Our relationship, if you will call it that, has gotten much less tense over night. I awoke very early this morning to find her writing in her own log; I pretended to be asleep as not to disturb her.

A memo to whomever does read this as a reference for the other cleanups: Please, for the love of Gaea, choose a kingdom or town not so afraid of airships. The cooling system went out in the cart overnight, and the heat has been so dreadful that I was forced to shed my hat and coat. The smell of chocobos combined with that has made this trip a horror.

I have decided what we should do when we get to Burmecia. We will make friends with the remaining Burmecians first, before we try to help their cleanup. Of course, when I mention "we," the focal point is Beatrix. Burmecians never abandon their own kind, nor their heroes, and so the Knights and I shall be well-accepted. I know not fully of the role Beatrix played in the destruction of my hometown, but she has proven faithful, and therefore I have forgiven her. And yet, I know the Dragon Knights, let alone the citizens, will not be as easy to forgive her as I am.

Perhaps I will ask her later what role she played, and what she thinks we should do when we arrive. This is, obviously, not just a position I was given; Zidane has as much faith in her as he does in me, and I do as well. I will mention to Beatrix that she needs to voice her opinion on matters more often, and bring up the fact that I will not threaten her as Brahne probably did.

Again, something I might ask when we get to Burmecia. I have a feeling that the General and I will be having a long talk on what happened during the war when we get a break and some privacy.

I've just asked the chocobo trainer when we will be leaving, and he says the chocobos will need about two more hours of rest. When I said the cooling system had gone off, he said he would take care of it and walked off to find his tools.

The hours have passed. Beatrix has just climbed back into the cart and informed me we will be leaving in a few minutes. So I will end the log and have a short talk with her now; I hope it does not end up in a squabble as the last one did.

Sadly, she informed me, the Knights have eaten all of the food.

I pray we make it by nightfall, lest I may be tempted to eat Steiner where he stands.


End log three.

Mon, Jun. 8th, 2009, 08:59 pm
pseudosex: (no subject)

Behind the cut are links to every post in the community. For new readers and Azora's and Josh's references.

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Tue, Jun. 8th, 2004, 07:14 pm
pseudosex: From the log of Freya Crescent:

Zidane has asked me to keep this log as a reference for progress in the rebuilding of Burmecia. After telling him it was a stupid idea, he managed to convince Beatrix and I it would help in rebuilding the other cities that that bastard Kuja destroyed. Even though I don't get along with Zidane as well as the others, he really is sweet at heart. So here I am, writing to tell whoever is going to read this that Beatrix and I are well on our way to Burmecia. We had to take a chocobo-drawn cart on Cid's orders; understandably, he said, the locals would not take kindly to any more airships for quite some time. I don't mind too much; the cart we are in, part of a train carrying the Knights of Pluto as well, is spacious and cool. Beatrix and I had some terse conversation earlier, and she's been looking out the window ever since. I assume we'll eventually get on well, as we seem to have a mutual respect and she seems to have a level enough head, but that's simply speculation.

As for the rebuilding, I'm quite excited. Sure, I don't get giddy and jump around like Vivi and Zidane about it, but it will be good to be home. I can hardly imagine how it will seem when we arrive, though; I saw it when it was first destroyed and abandoned, and I have talked with survivors, but the emotional distress they are going though will be evident when we get there and see them actually seeing the after-effects for themselves. And it is not only them; the experience will be hard on me as well.

Beatrix is a noble warrior, as far as I have seen. Although we have fought together before, we had been too rushed for me to notice the art in her power. We had to bring our weapons for two reasons. One, monsters have always been very abundant in open areas such as these. And two, we've been looking out for Mist monsters and making sure we have taken out any we come across. So far, we haven't found any, which is a very good sign. Twice we've run into packs of monsters, though. The first time, the Knights eliminated the threat, and the second group was left to Beatrix and I. It was very elegant, her fighting style, but also had a lot of force behind it. Thus, I look forward to perhaps training alongside her, maybe sparring with her once in a while.

The sun is setting now, and though we have a perfectly good lamp in the cart -- "In case you need to write something suddenly in the middle of the night," said Zidane -- I suppose I will close for the night and get some rest. We expect to reach Burmecia either late tomorrow evening or early the next morning. Perhaps Beatrix and I will use tomorrow to get to know each other better.

I apologize for the length of the log entry, Zidane, but there's not much to talk about when you are just smelling chocobo for eight hours in a wooden cart.


End log one.

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