Page 43 - RKJ 2019 Online Flip Version

fearless dark bodies with a power in their Please, stay in Treno.
A Letter to Moi
by Francis Curran
Dearest Lowell,
You have grown to be a fine actor. One of
the best, indeed. No amount of fear could
imbue when your career began to ascend
greater heights. You knew it was inevitable.
Alas, if only you could see this letter now—you,
this bright young star—and perhaps, if you
could, it would cease to be, for I would have no
need to write it.
Please, stay in Treno. Ahh, no matter.
You were young, ambition kept your blood
flowing, and the promise of larger crowds,
adoring crowds, loyal crowds, tempted and
teased you. Turning your back on your home
and fellow troupe was your finest moment—not
a soul doubted the integrity of your
performance when you told them of your
intentions to depart. There wasn’t a dry eye in
the house, but you could not fool yourself with
what little regret you truly bore.
They deserved better. Please, stay in
Treno.
The promises came in full force when you
arrived in Lindblum that day. Posters and
papers, agents and assistants, all ready and
enthused upon your arrival. Not a day passed
without fan mail. You remember, of course, the
personal gifts; I doubt you will ever change
your preferences—no amount of Moccha
Coffee will ever taste like home. You can rock
a Moogle Suit like no other, but you need not
reminding why you would wear it full-bodied.
Please, stay in Treno.
There were no stage effects, no ingenious use
of lighting, neither acting nor exceptional
props. There were rumours in the street that
day about Alexandria and a flying ship of
hands. When the first blast took a chunk of the
Business District, not even the local gossips
could take pride in confirming their efforts.
Never had such a dark night seemed so
bright—too much fire, too many glowing eyes.
What could only distract from the sights
were the sounds. The kids would later come to
christen it the hoover from the sea; such
juvenile depictions insult the potency of this
foul beast. A deafening roar that ravaged more
than one’s ears, it took the Industrial District,
sucked it right up like steel and concrete held
no weight, like the power of Lindblum and its
advancements meant nothing to it. It bore
neither enemy nor ally. It and its wielder knew
only destruction. It was a quick end to those
frightful dolls, but a quicker end to the city of
promises.
Even you—I, I say, I—thought Lindblum
was invincible. When my own injuries
subsided, I came to appreciate the only
invincible things were my abilities, and so
when the letter came the next day—a timing of
sheer destiny, no less—calling for my talent, I
took no hesitant step in siding with the enemy.
Alexandria could have me; it was safer in the
shadows of the antagonists. All great actors
know this.
You never did salvage that Moogle Suit.
Please, stay in Treno.
It was a full week before I could summon the
resources to make my journey. Even an actor
of standard and success can fall victim to
losing one’s Gil in the aftermath of such a blitz.
But, I digress. A public journey, truly, is
humbling.
Alexandria boasted a fine shell. I could see
myself procuring residence in the castle after
wooing the Queen Garnet til Alexandros. Why,
I even knew her favourite play. ‘I Want to be
Your Canary’ is still quite respectable, but the
challenge no longer presents itself. I still recall
entertaining these thoughts as I approached
the gates. It was a good thing you were
delayed, Lowell. Mandragoras are pests, and
you won’t forget that.
It came from the sky. A great big lizard with
wings, all the appearance of a cannon yet ten
times the power. It had no time to decide its
aim, deploying balls of fire like it had no choice
but to release them, one after the other after
the other…within a minute there were civilians
storming past me, out into the plains, safer in
the company of beasts of burden. Why, they
did not seem to notice they were in the
presence of stardom. But I didn’t feel like the
star of this particular show. And nor was I
upset not to play a part. I heard tears, and not
the kind you hear while on stage, Lowell.
Please, stay in Treno.
Adopting the persona of Kabu, I dug deep and
found my bravery (every performance of
showing off this fellow has been met with
rapturous applause, you know), and I crept
toward the gate. At the time I spotted the
strange silver-haired chap, who seemed none
too fazed by the proceedings—you won’t ever
forget how calm he was, believe yourself—
there was a voice in the air, and the castle
grew wings. Was it a coincidence? It was
beautiful.
Then it died. The skies are no longer safe.
Keep your eyes focused ahead, always on the
crowd.
Also, please stay in Treno.
I made do in the company of a kind hippo lady
who provided shelter for the night. It was hard
to complain, given the circumstances; she was
frightened, and my company cheered her up.
When morning came, it was up to the
townsfolk to crack on with the restoration. Now
you understood your place: You would restore
this nation with your power to enthral, to
capture a masterful art and inspire the masses,
to bring the name of Lowell to Alexandria as
strongly as it was in Treno and Lindblum.