“Renee Live on Air”

By: Red Centeno

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The room is dark, the crowd whispers silently in anticipation for what is about to unfold. A disembodied voice in front of the crowd whispers “Three, Two, One, and...”. A soft hum escalates to a loud and final hum as the studio lights come to life. The crowd feels the temperature rise to nearly an uncomfortable level with the light’s activation. Below the light fixtures is the film crew, who busy themselves preparing for the show’s introduction.

The show’s set was simple. Two heavily pillowed grey chairs faced the audience at an angle, where to also have a host and guest be able to see each other comfortably as well. The most interesting aspect of this set was a large wall behind the two seats. Made of a heavily polished steel, the audience could see a cloudy reflection of themselves, but that was all about to change.

Each crewmember wears all black and specialty gloves that aid them in handling the often hot filming equipment, and better harness the magic needed to fuel and adjust the monitors, lights, and cameras. The person who initiated the countdown now points to the camera. Multiple people bring up panes of clear light between their two hands and begin waving them as they begin twisting dials and pushing buttons, prompting for the machines to come alive.

The lights begin waving this way and that, occasionally flying over the excited crowd. A snazzy jazz tune begins to slowly crescendo as more panels come to life, emanating with a misty projection. A live feed of the show’s introduction, which features bright text and a silhouette of Ashenport’s cityscape scrolling behind. The wall behind the set showed its true purpose, becoming a large live screen filled with colorful graphics and art, its purpose a colorful backdrop. Finally, the cameras begin recording, swerving their mechanical necks towards the crowd, which can now be seen in the monitor’s live feed.

The crowd is a strong mix of people of all shapes and sizes, providing nearly a rainbow’s worth of colors. A family of elegant Azrtathi’s bioluminescent skin caused the scaled Doromathi they were sitting next to become a multicolored disco ball as their scales reflected the light. A couple chuckled at the sight of this, and looked towards the stage with their pointed Marani ears perked as a disembodied voice began:

“People of Ashenport, you know her, you love her, she’s the host of this great show, please give it up for Iolani Philopa!”

The crowd happily obliged, applauding excitedly as the woman herself strutted on stage, waving to the eager audience. Wearing a white flowing jumpsuit with a pair of heels to match, she wore sparkling silver jewelry that were shaped into teardrops, delicately floating near her ears, wrists, and bosom. This contrasted greatly with her honey skin and matte obsidian hair, which glimmered with an almost golden shine. Her powerful presence (and high heels) definitely hid the fact she was one of the shortest people in the room. She finally ended her little journey and sat comfortably on a heavily cushioned grey chair.

Iolani turned her attention from the colorful crowd to the camera awaiting her gaze. A glowing panel appears above the camera, displaying a script. She begins to speak “Welcome everyone to The Evening Gathering, Ashenport’s premiere show focusing on the many amazing things that makes our city one of the best in the nation! Today, we feature a very unique and special guest, who comes all the way from the Ashe University campus, quite the trip if you try to take the train during rush hour, a whole five minutes!”.

The audience softly chuckled, as they were all aware the university was only a block or two south of the studio. “Please welcome local storyteller Renee A’Lemoire!” They noticed a gangly silhouette appear on the edge of the stage and began to applaud enthusiastically for their new guest. The audience swept their eyes up and down Renee as they shuffled toward their seat, smiling meekly, and waving awkwardly. They had long raven hair tied loosely back, the left side of their head was neatly cut short. They were dressed in a tight- fitting vest covered by a comfortable cloak, which all featured the colors of off white, desaturated reds, blues, and purples.

“T-thank you for having me...” they squeak, stiffly sitting on the soft canvas chair with an abhorrent number of pillows. They clear their throat and take a moment to regain their composure and readjust the spectacles that delicately balance on their long nose. “It has been an honor to be invited to such a prestigious show.”

 

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The audience settles down and Iolani shares a quick biography: “Born in eastern Ashenport to a pair of Marani parents, Renee is a true Ashenport local! After discovering their passion for telling stories at a young age, Renee has been working hard to reach their goal to become a StoryTeller, which they finally did a few years back!” The crowd briefly applauded the achievement, and Renee blushed proudly. The host continued, “Not only that, but Renee is also the first ever non-binary StoryTeller!”

The crowd’s applause is interrupted by Renee who chimes in, dreading the subject being brought up, recalling multiple negative events occurred due to their gender identity. “Thank you, but I didn’t become a storyteller to become the first to achieve such a title. Not only that, but StoryTellers have been around for thousands of years, before any sort of databases, so there was probably a non-binary StoryTeller during those times.”

A silent buzz emanated from the audience as Iolani looked at the guest interestingly before moving onto her first question. “Speaking of StoryTellers, what are they? You say they have been around for thousands of years, but what exactly do they do? This is a question for all of you who may not know of this ancient art form.”

Snapping out of it, Renee feels a bit shaken up when they reply. “Well, StoryTelling is a form of magic that immerses viewers into a narrative that the caster weaves. Often times, viewers can feel like they’re actually in the story and have influence, but mostly it’s more like a movie than something interactive like a game. Historically speaking, StoryTellers not only provided a form of entertainment, but their stories often had historical or religious purpose.”

Iolani nods, but to Renee, it feels like she’s feigning any sort of interest. Renee swallows hard as they stare at the shimmering host before hearing their mind say: Why exactly was I invited to this interview?

 

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As the interview continues, Renee’s focus is slowly shifted to their thoughts. Iolani asks “I’ve also heard that there are different kinds of StoryTellers, would you mind shining a light on the matter?” Renee responds, explaining that StoryTellers often focus on a genre or subgenre, and they themselves focus on folktales; stories exclusively written for their morals.

Are you worthy of creating such stories? Renee felt their shirt stick to their skin as they realize they have been sweating heavily. They curse wearing such thick clothing with studio lights shining down and emitting strong waves of heat in their direction. Renee reaches for a handkerchief in their breast pocket and delicately dabs their forehead as they try to put their focus back on Iolani’s next question.

She asks how Renee makes a living with such a unique and rare profession, especially since MetaMagical devices are direct competition, and have been on the rise for the past two hundred and fifty years, as they harness both magic and technology in near perfect harmony and can do much more than the sum of its parts. She waves her hand to show a clear panel similar to the ones used by the filming crew to control the show’s equipment.

Renee quickly opens up their own MetaMagical device, flicking through multiple images and articles as they speak. “Although this technology has made it harder for contemporary StoryTellers to find an audience, MetaMagical devices have also made it easier for us to create our stories, as we have nearly infinite resources and information in our research in the palm of our hands! As for me, I often do small groups or events such as weddings, since my work often has to do with teaching a lesson. I’ve also been fortunate that there is a strong community that wants to preserve the art form, even if it is nearly obsolete nowadays.”

You said it yourself, there isn’t a place for StoryTelling anymore, you’re on a sinking ship! Renee reels, praying they didn’t say that out loud. They grip their clammy hands, unsure how much more of the interview they can take. Iolani peers over to her guest, now with a concerned look on her face as she notices Renee start to shake, their face shiny and hair slick with sweat. . .

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“I have time for one more question, and it’s a big one.” She says to Renee, almost as a warning to get prepared for what’s to come. The audience oohs and Renee shifts uncomfortably in their seat, trying to stay calm in the stifling heat.

“In a wedding a few weeks ago, you shared a story about a prince cursed to be taken away by a dragon every time he experiences fear. He falls in love with a knight and learns how to defeat the dragon. This story was set in the Emerald era of the Gervan country, with all the characters dressed in era-appropriate proper attire and was accurately depicted in most accounts. I spoke with a historical expert on this era and location, and he agreed for the most part, except he states that no Azrtathis, Merthans, or the folk of Doromathi were around during this time. Nor were there any records of a prince or knight getting married, or even anyone of the same gender tying the knot during this time. What was your decision for depicting this story as such?”

Renee stared in horror, seeing their story pulled apart right in front of them. The wall behind the two changed, showing images from the story. The first being the dragon spiriting away the Dromathi prince after being surprised by a group of children, second being the day he met the knight, and the final being the two men holding each other close in wedding attire, pink petals showering them. Renee looked at the familiar images in despair as they heard the audience mutter.

Their throat felt like fire when they first decided to finally speak, their brows furrowed in rage. “I am someone who focuses on folk tales, which are stories that are meant to teach a lesson, need I remind everyone. I have never in my whole career have expressed to anyone that I wrote anything historically accurate, nor have I ever claimed anything about my stories to be true.

I have two main purposes in my stories, to teach my viewers the importance of their actions, and the importance of representation. I as a non-binary person, have never seen myself depicted accurately except in few certain pieces, and I hope to provide a much-needed representation of everyone equally. One thing you fail to mention is that the dragon in the story never even existed in that continent for another thousand years, yet you question everything else. The dragon was supposed to be a metaphor for the prince’s fears that were holding him back from living a normal life. Why didn’t you ask about the dragon then?!”

At this point Renee was practically yelling. When they finished speaking, the show was dead silent. All Renee could think was Is this the right reason to continue storytelling, are you truly happy? With that thought, tears began to well up in Renee’s eyes.

 

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Iolani’s face is dark as she casts her eyes down in shame. She looks up and attempts to calmly thank Renee before calling a commercial break. The moment the live monitors of the show swap to ads, Renee quickly gets up and briskly heads off stage. Crewmembers and the audience alike look at each other grimly. Some want to stop Renee and talk to them, but none do.

Renee hurriedly speeds out of the building to the station outside. Swiping their hand across a stone tome, they are permitted through a gate and onto a platform where a train is waiting. Renee steps onto the train, its carpeted placemat on the entryway scuffed and soiled beyond recognition due to the thousands of passengers that walk over it every day. Renee looked around, seeing many undisturbed faces, staring down at their MetaMagical devices. It was almost quiet, as the passengers were staring at the endlessly glimmering screens, a galaxy of light, coalescing and forming before their tired eyes. Staring at the magical aura wafting from their tablets, bright colors reflect and shone off their skin. All that could be heard was soft whisperings between some of the riders, and some screens were playing their audio, softly. Some look up and stare at Renee, concerned, recognizing them from just a few minutes ago, as they were watching the show Renee had just fled from. Avoiding any eye contact, Renee quickly trekked to the back of the train, and sat on the cheaply upholstered seats, patched, sewn, and scraped beyond any chance of being considered plush. A waft of acrid cleaning products and something even more unpleasant is overtaken by a chaotic mixture of different scents emitted from the devices. The train finally fills with a familiarly warm hum as it slowly lifts off the ground and begins to trudge forward. The soft red light of the magic reflected off the glass buildings and back into the train, mixes with the sunset’s honey-colored radiance creating a deep orange.

Renee looks down to their MetaMagical device and notices a sharp pain in their throat caused by crying. They open their mouth and feel the sensation of their tongue unsticking to the roof of their dry mouth. They close all the notifications that flooded their device during the terrible interview without reading any. They then unhappily scroll through an application menu before selecting the now dreaded purple symbol marked ‘appointments’. A grim judge slamming their gavel for a sentencing; Renee pressed the red x, cancelling all their future appointments. Renee took a deep breath and leaned back on their seat, staring at the brilliant city, the sun scrolling behind the tall buildings.