A.N.: Sorry this took such a long time - I made it pretty long to make up for it. Actually, it was just rolling around my head for a few days because I knew what I wanted to happen, but not where to start. Once I did start, it really ran for it - so my apologies in advance if you get confused. It's about twenty-four hours after the last chapter, and Mene is a little bit stressed out. So he's babbling. That means bad grammar and lots of it. If any of it doesn't make sense, ignore it and go onto the next sentence. Also, he's swearing, quite violently; my staider readers might need to wash their minds out after this...

Thanks for all the lovely reviewage.


#4: Letters And Numbers

The Rack

Hiss…isss…sss

It's running, moving, swirling around like it's alive, red and dark and ominous. If there was anything else to get my mind off…everything…I'd smash the damned thing and be done with it. It's as odd, as discordant, as everything else in this damned place and, oh hells, I can't take a hammer to all of it but if I could just pulverise that one thing -

- something else in this room would creep under my eyeballs and scare the living crap out of me for no real reason instead.

There was a time, oh, years ago, though I guess technically it must have been within the last two days, when a little voice in the back of my head used to say, 'Mene, don't be silly. It's just an hourglass. There's nothing unusual about a large hourglass being here. Ha, that's funny - how can coloured sand look malevolent? Guess crossing the desert took more out of you than you thought…' but it went away because I was flatly refusing to listen to it. First, well, who listens to voices anyway, and second, it was lying because I fucking well know that thing is out to get me…

Crazy? Oh yes, I know, it's getting fairly obvious even to me. (Hey, Mene, chalk one up for being the first person ever to get madder when they stopped listening to the Voices…) But, shit, how in the Nine Planes of Gaia am I meant to stay even slightly sane-ish- when I've just signed up for a year-long shift in a -

- torture chamber?

Deep breaths, kit. Deep breaths. Maybe I'll wake up in a few minutes and find I'm still at the Iifa Tree…

I feel a warm tug inside my chest before my feeble mind can clamp down on it, and I slowly but firmly start banging my head against my hunched knees. I vow, by all that is good and holy, I will never, never, never feel nostalgic for the Iifa Tree ever again. I swear.

Though, come to think of it, maybe it wasn't so bad after all…

Grrrrrrrr!!!

Okay, so attempting to stare down the hourglass doesn't help. I may as well try pacing up and down the room again. Not like there's a lot else to do…

One, two, three, four, five. Ah, here's the wall. Not a bad wall, as walls go. Tall. Stone, nicely smoothed and carved a bit, like most of the other walls in this…place. Little niche set in it for the hourglass, and that big set of scales (no, I don't get it either, sorry). Brazier in the corner - do you really need that big a poker for such a little brazier? Oh, and the mirror. Hmm… I think my pompom's starting to fray a bit at the bottom right. I'm sure that's not meant to happen until you're at least nineteen…

Turn. One, two, three, past the - um - the birdcage, five, six, oh who decided to put the rack there? It's almost impossible to get any decent pacing in with that in the way… Seven, eight, and level with the little table by the wall with all the thumbscrews on it. You know, the day before yesterday I actually believed that thumbscrews no longer existed outside the pages of Monev's horror novels? Stiltzkin always told me that travelling…broadens the…mind… Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Huh?

No, come on…it was eleven paces yesterday, I know it was, I remember being pissed off because it's such an annoyingly weird number, twelve's almost normal, I know it wasn't twelve before…think now, three to the cage, two to the rack, then two more to the table and it can't be more than four from there to here…

Rewind previous thirty seconds of brainspew. Score another one, kit; the one between 'three' and 'five' is called 'four'. Oh fuck, what's happening to me?

No, I'm going to put off answering that for a bit. It sounds a bit difficult, like something off Mogster's 'Advanced Prepositions' course or something, and I just know it'll give me a headache…if, that is, there is room for another one in here and I frankly wouldn't rule it out given the rather extreme circumstances, oh, but what if they start breeding, I might wind up with even more of them if the first one's a boy headache and the second one's a girl headache…

Mene 3: Sanity 0. Hey, only three hundred and sixty three more days to go…

Wall. Look at the wall, yes, the one in front of you, no not up there you fluffy headcase… Okay. Wall. Like other wall, only no assorted squicklykins (it's a word now, alright?) Carvy, like. Oh, and there's a door in it too, but that's not much help 'cause it's even weirder out there than it is in here.

Okay, I've paced it out now. I'll try sitting on the rack again… Gods, this is far too weird; the rack is the only thing in the entire room that is even vaguely the right shape for sitting on. Forgive my squeamishity (conjugate, conjugate), but I find this fact somewhat disturbing, not least because it's me who has to do the sitting. What sick fuck designed this stupid Palace anyway?

Him. Him, him, him. Okay, so he never built the damn place but he must have refurbished it or redecorated it or something, I think Stiltzkin would have said if it was originally this creepy. And it takes a certain kind of person to create a fully fitted torture room then add a full-length mirror, a balance scale, and that thrice-cursed hourglass…

"Fuck you," I mutter, watching the top bulb empty itself a little more. Ha, that's four-times-cursed now, take that! I guess it's 4: 0 by now two, no damnit too, four, two, eleven…noooo…my head hurts…

It doesn't add up! Nothing about this place makes sense! That's what's getting to me - there's something incongruous everywhere I look, like the overgrown eggtimer over there, there's something weird everywhere…

...hell...

It started when we got here. I mean, that Kuja guy's in the Sanctum place and okay he's spooky, but I can take spooky, no disrespect to her but Freya's damned spooky at times and she's my friend. But then I look around at the spookiness props, and they're all there, you know, the enormous fireplace, the unnerving statue, the truly esoteric bookcase (I swear I saw a Namingway original up there - that's, like, every kit's dream, to be like Namingway, so famous that they still read your books after you've been dead for two hundred years. Most humans don't even know that Namingway was a moogle these days…), the flaming torches - everything a maniac could possibly want.

And there was a pot plant in the corner.

A pot plant.

Okay, so it was flowering in black, but…

It went downhill from there.

There's the big things, like the vanishing staircases (I can write that off as just background creepiness providing they don't do it when I'm using them) and the rather unconventional type of central heating (lava, of course, what else?). They just make me shake a bit and wish I was a very long way away. It's the little bits that really scare me. Like the Fire Chamber, for example. We decided before we got here, Mogryo and I, who was going to write what. It wasn't hard; we're completely different about writing. He just wanted a quiet, inspiring corner to scribble poetry and philosophy in, and I wanted to write about what it was like and what happened here (I love a good traveller's tale), so I went wandering around yesterday taking a look at the place. I found the Fire Chamber, and it's beautiful… Every surface polished and gleaming with reflected firelight, floor covered in purple-white tiling and red carpets, statues of women with hoods round their faces, kneeling to pray to the light…amazing, I'm sure it was a chapel once, back in the old days when the Desert Palace was the home of the highest nobility in Gaia… Just a perfect, complete effect. I could almost hear the singing.

Until, that is, I saw the roses someone had left sprouting in the font.

Now look, I'm not a cruel person, and I have nothing against red roses or any other kind of flower for that matter, but they do not belong in an ancient chapel and damnit, they looked so wrong! Like the hourglass in the torture chamber; it doesn't belong there! Everywhere I look there's something strange, and I don't like it, I can't get used to it, it's too -

- evil.

Yeah. It - it is kind of evil. Why is it like that? I - I don't understand - I mean, I can imagine a torture chamber would look evil but that it gets more evil if you put an hourglass in it, no…but it is

The last of the sand tumbles into the bottom bulb, leaving my eyes with even less stimulation than before. Maybe I ought to turn it over again. Maybe I ought to go outside and throw it straight into the lava pit. Maybe I ought to jump in afterwards…

A movement in the mirror catches my eye. Smoke? I turn and jump up off the rack, reaching for my dagger as the dust-cloud expands before my eyes…

Hey, waitasecond - I sag back in abject relief, inhaling the once-familiar scent of vaporised Superslick oil. That's a jumpjack brake! They never came that way in Lindblum, they always came by airship like they do whenever they can - oh, joy…

The little cloud bursts, and before I know it I'm crouching down and helping him up amid the aftershocks. Yes, oh yes, someone out there gives a damn, someone hasn't forgotten me, I feel so much better just looking at him -

"Umm…Mene, are you okay? You look a bit…dizzy…"

I freeze, jaw moving in disjointed circles. That must make it six-nil at least, maybe as many as twelve or thirteen, good hells I need to get out of here - I was maybe three inches away from hugging Artemecion damnit -

…hmm, all that sleek fluff, I could really do with a good pillow to cry on…

It's not easy, talking through clenched teeth, but I've never been a quitter. "Yeah, I'm fine! How about you?"

A surprised half-smile touches his little pink face. "Not so bad, thanks. I've made a lot of jumps this morning, so I'm a bit woozy, though. S'tough sometimes, being mailman."

You know, I never thought of that? It's not like I've ever used a jumpjack but I've heard stories… The Central owns precisely two of the things, one for the mailman and one for the Wayside Scribe (current incumbent; Moguo, kind, hardy, possibly-the-least-patient-moogle-in-history Moguo) whose duty it is to be ready to jump anywhere there's anything that needs writing down when there's no-one else in range. They aren't cheap machines; they can't afford another one, however much Moguo and Artemecion ought to have helpers - too much of the annual budget goes on servicing the two they have. And they aren't comfy, either. Poor kits, bouncing around like that all the time…

"Is there anything for me in there?"

He digs into his satchel. "Yeah, you got a couple, I think. Do you know how much mail there is the week after transfer? Millions of letters all saying 'hey, how's your new placement?' and parcels sent to everywhere… I think my arm's about to fall off…"

I heft the bag experimentally. "Fuck, that's heavy."

"You think?" He raises a (neatly plucked) eyebrow. "I've done half the round already today."

"Oh." I guess it is tough being mailman… He finds the right bundle, two envelopes strung together, a paper tag with MENE written on it dangling off the whole. I take it eagerly.

"Is Mogryo around?"

"Yeah, he's in the Library. It's just up the stairs, you can't miss it." (Sarcastic? Moi?)

He grabs another little letter-packet. "Is it okay if I leave the mailbag here, just while I find Mogryo? That'll give you time to write a few replies, right?"

He looks so hopeful, and so tired… "Would you rather stay here a minute and get your breath back?"

"Oh, yes! That'd be great!" He grins from ear to ear, the first real smile I've seen all day, and yes that definitely includes all the hours I spent staring at the mirror (currently only the third most annoying thing in the room; no, I'm being cruel, Artemecion's not so bad really…) The jubilant expression fades a little as he starts to take in his surroundings. "Um…Mene - isn't this-"

"A torture chamber? Yes, I suppose it is. It's my new placement." My eyes dare him to comment.

"Oh. M - maybe I had better go give these to Mogryo…"

I probably ought to warn him about what the rest of the Palace is like, but I'm too stressed out to find the words… "Could you wait two seconds while I jot down a note?" He nods, and I yank a strip of letter-paper off the ever-handy pad.

From Mene to Mogryo.
I hate this place. I think I'm going mad. I want to go back to
Lindblum where all I had to deal with was drunk engineering
students and Lilias's 'What The Moogle Said To The High Priestess'
jokes.
So how are
you?

Hmmm…concise, informative, grammatically not-so-bad… I hand it to Artemecion and he stuffs it in Mogryo's packet. I watch him leave the room, see him halt at the sight of the two vampire statues in the Dungeon outside, push the door shut on his muttered expletives. Clang!, how satisfying…

Hm. Post. May as well start at the top. Oh, look at this!

From Kuppo to Mene.
I'm bored, kupo. Really bored.
So I went to the Iifa Tree to see Mocchi. I tried the good old
run-up-screming-'Hey!-There's-an-entire-invading-army-just-over-
that-mountain!' trick.
He said, 'Oh. I hope you've still got your rock.'
I
hate this place…

Ha, I knew that little kit had spunk in him somewhere! I curl up, giggling, fluttering three inches upward before I notice I'm doing it. I love the post, there's always something to cheer me up in there. This one definitely warrants a reply, no, maybe two…

From Mene to Kuppo.
Guess he foiled you. Live with it.
Why don't you go exploring? There must be something you can write
about on the Donna Plains!
Maybe you could take up poetry?

He won't, of course. He's more likely to take up banditry. But it never hurts to try.

From Mene to Mocchi.
I heard about the 'rock'.
Nice one.
Kupo.

Okay, so what's in the other letter?

From Freya to Mene.
I hope you got to your new post in one piece.
All is quiet in Lindblum, but I've heard some dark rumours about
Alexandria. They say Queen Brahne is raising an army. If I had
anything to worry about, I think I'd be worried.
As it is, I'm just preparing for the Hunt…

Gods, I'd nearly forgotten what the Mist Continent's like… Normal people, or as normal as Freya, anyway. Normal problems, like impending wars and such. Normal places, like Lindblum…

Damn, real nostalgia. I think I'm improving, though, call it Mene 12: Sanity 2 or something. What shall I say to Freya, then?

From Mene to Freya.
Yes, I got here, but I really don't like it. It's too scary!
I'm sorry to here about the trouble in Alexandria. But worrying
never solves any problems. And I know you and your lance can
fight off anything!
Thankyou for writing. It's good to hear news from Lindblum, and
good to hear from you.

Hmm…I think that's okay. Letter-slips are far too small, but I guess if they weren't Artemecion would have no arms left by now.

I slouch against the wall, idly trying to straighten out my fraying pompom. This is not exactly my idea of a perfect home, but I've signed it for a year and a year is how long I have to live with it. After that, I think I'll be really picky about my next post. I want somewhere that isn't a desert, or any kind of palace either. Not a city, I'm tired of those. Somewhere still, with lots of plants and plenty of rain, maybe out on a small island a long way away from anywhere. Someplace with quiet music and clouds like angel-trails and a warm stream singing down from the plateau…

The hell?

Mene knocks it for six; now I'm really losing it! That damn dream's chasing me again! What was I trying to think about? Next year. This year. Survival thereof. Ipso facto, it is now time to unpack.

Why didn't I do it yesterday? Simple; I wanted to be all ready to leave when I finally decided to run off into the endless desert all alone rather than stay here in the Rack. I curse my stubborn streak sometimes. Okay. So open the pack, then.

The Towel's on top, right where I stuffed it when Kuja dragged us off on his little tour of the premises. (Don't ask. And don't even mention the Stairwell, I still feel a bit dizzy…) Hmm, it'd go nicely on the rack, folded up to make a cushion. Either there, or on top of the blasted hourglass; I really can't stand the sight of it. The books are next. Stiltzkin's I've finished, but I might need it for reference if I decide to escape. I'm done with Monev's vampire story; thank the gods I read it on the boat, there is no way in hell I could cope with a horror story in this place… I'll save Mogrich's history book until I'm feeling clever enough (I'll keep a space clear in my Diary for next April, then), which leaves Laudo Wren as tonight's read. I'll give it a go, but it takes a special kind of human to write as well as a moogle. They aren't designed for it the way we are. There have been a few really great ones though, people like Dr Tot (and Cid Fabool's done some amazing scientific stuff, revolutionary things about steam power and clockwork) so I guess he deserves a chance.

Clothes. I unpacked one tunic already, to replace the one I trudged around the desert in yesterday. That one's going for rags. I may as well leave the rest in there; they're folded neat enough. I'll root out the hankies, though. Let's see -

"Hey, Mene." Artemecion slides back though the huge door, looking a little rested. I guess he had a sit-down in the Library, maybe on one of the directionally-subjective bookshelves in there. "Uh, this Palace looks like…fun…"

"Don't lie, Artemecion. It's horrible."

He doesn't reply, probably because there's not a lot to say. He shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably, then suddenly digs into his pocket. "Here - Mogryo sent a reply."

I catch the scrap of paper in one hand, and unravel it.

From Mogryo to Mene.
It's not as 'promising' as I thought, kupo. The Library is nice
and quiet, but I can't seem to get used to the naked black-winged
angel picture on the wall. I think I preferred it in Treno…
Maybe we should meet up soon and discuss it. Come visit me,
please!

Well. If Mogryo's creeped out, I think I have a case. Sanity Be Damned - I'll go visit him as soon as I've calmed down.

"Thanks." I give him my other three letters. "Is that okay? I mean, I only took two off you, and you're pretty tired -"

"It's fine - Mogryo got a parcel, so I'll still be running lighter than when I came." He slips them in his bag and shoulders it, then starts spinning the jumpjack motor. I open the door a bit wider and try to fan the fumes out with my paws; you're really not meant to use a jumpjack indoors, but we don't have much of a choice.

He punches in a few coordinates as the smoke starts to thicken. "Mene," he says softly, finger hovering over the big blue ACTIVATE button.

"Hm?"

"I just wanted to say thanks. For - for being so kind to me. Not a lot of people are as kind as you."

He vanishes, leaving me blinking stupidly at his vapour trail.

I think I ought to get back to the unpacking. Artemecion being genuinely friendly? That's too much to think about…

I flop back on the Towel and rummage down into my pack. Clothes, more clothes, oh the spare notebooks and ink, I'd better get them out before something spills. My quill case! So that's what was gouging a hole in the small of my back yesterday… I'm sure there was something else I put in here, something important, now what was it - Huh? What's this? It feels like a pouch of something…

I pull the softened leather out into the firelight.

Serino's bag of kupo nuts.

I do believe I'm saved…


T.B.C.

Case Notes: A few weekends ago I sat down with my Playstation and covered two A4 pages of spidery writing with the most meticulous notes imaginable, doodling every last candle in the entire Palace...I hope my pernicketiness payed off. I love the place, it's so beautiful, but there's all those unnerving little touches that tell you Kuja lives there.

Laudo Wren is back. And STILL no-one remembers him! The surname is my own invention, but the character is 100% canon. Human. Writer. Laudo. A minor character who Thene loved on sight. If no-one gets it by next chapter, I'll have to start dropping hints... There WILL be a giftfic for anyone who remembers him. I promise!

Just to clarify; Mene is fourteen and a half years old. Why? Well, I wanted to work out how old moogles should be, so I went and looked up the FFVI index at ffonline.com. I read that Mog was 11 during the story, and I think if he were human he'd be about 18 or 20. Therefore I decided Mene's career started when he was 10, and that was four years ago. Okay? I think they live to about 28 or so, but I'm not about to kill one, so that's all in the realms of the We Shall See.

Some of these kind, sweet reviews have informed me that People Like My Writing Style. Firstly, I am much flattered. Secondly, I am not wholly deserving; I have two teachers for this first-person-present madness I indulge in. The first is a truly amazing FFVIII writer called XIneko. She's right there on my favourite-authors page, brilliant, demented, and very very funny; truly the best first-person writer I've ever come across. All her work is in NC-17, but if you're a little too young for that, fear not, you can still look at her stories; she flags all the squishy bits at the top of the relevent chapters, and the first few installments of both her multi-chapter fics are clean enough, if you're just wanting to fish for tips. She really is a complete genius...

The other great teacher is 'getting experience and trying hard.' Hn.