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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.