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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.