Since my story is being discussed, and I happen to agree 100% with Bert, I'm
going to throw my 2 cents in.  SPOILERS of both stories under discussion are
below.

At 03:36 PM 8/12/97 -0500, otakunxs@bellsouth.net wrote:

Bert Van Vliet wrote:

Now, my final gripe with this story centers around the final scenes. Set
initially in Hot Legs, Priss is giving a concert. Then she's shot by some
crazed nut with a gun, who apparently has been stalking her.

Excuse me? Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is the central plot device for
Jeanne Hedge's "True Love" fanfic:  Priss has been shadowed by an obsessed
fan for weeks, and then he shoots her at a performance so that she can't
'leave him'.

This has to be the worst ripoff of someone else's story I've seen....the
fact that the author in this case actually kills Priss doesn't alter that
fact. It's very flimsy camouflage on a poor copy of someone else's story.
Coupled with the fact that the author has based their story on Rob Pool's
fanfic, this particular fic is almost as painful to read as Mr. Pool's
original story.

	Whoa, wait a sec here. Obsessed fans shooting their objects of
affection are not only part of Fanfiction, but real life as well. In
fact, I seem to remember some rather recent incident of this occuring.
The fact that Priss dies seems to point more to that Real Life tradgedy
being the inspiration rather then someone's fic. It's easy to
accidentally "steal" someone's idea. Until I wrote Suicide Blast, I had
no idea just how many Ryouga Suicide stories there were. 

The point of contention isn't the idea of a stalker/fan after Priss.  No one
in their right mind would claim that that is their story idea.  The problem
is a bit deeper than that.

Let's do a comparison, shall we?  Please pay attention to the activities of
the POV characters (Nene in "True Love", Shaelynn in "Sylia's First
Boyfriend"), and the reactions of those around them. 


>From the approximate mid-point of "True Love", final version added to
rec.arts.anime.stories 26 April, 1996:

    When the house and stage lights went down, a stylish half-hour 
late, the crowd turned its collective attention from their mundane 
activities to the stage.  Priss had dictated a change in the playlist; 
instead of their signature opener, "Konya wa Hurricane", the Reps 
were kicking off with another old favorite, "Rock Me."  As the pulsing 
bass and percussion lines of the opening began, the crowd roared in 
recognition.  The roar built as the wailing guitar solo joined the wall of 
sound thundering out of the darkness.  An infinitesimal pause in the 
music, and the lights flared on as Priss began the verse.  The roar of 
approval changed to something more primal, like that of some 
prehistoric beast, shaking the building to its foundations.
    Priss strutted around the stage, putting everything into the 
performance, selling the song to the crowd of willing buyers.  Nezumi 
might have spies in the house, and she was determined to prove that 
they were worth a better deal.  There were times when Priss was totally 
drained after a performance; this looked to be one of those nights.  
And then...
    During the reprise of the intro, Priss suddenly staggered backward a 
couple of steps, a surprised look on her face.  As she fell to her knees, 
one of the can lights at the side of the stage exploded.  Some of the 
crowd cheered this bit of rock-n-roll pyrotechnics, something new for 
the Reps, but Nene seemed to know instinctively that something was 
very wrong.  The band vamped a bit when their leader didn't come in 
on cue, confused looks on their faces.
    Nene grabbed Linna's arm and they moved out from behind the 
board onto the floor, shoving their way through the crowd of drunken 
or stoned (or, in some cases, both) fans, all intent on, it seemed, 
getting in their way.  As they finally broke into a relatively clear area, 
Linna looked up in time to see Priss fall forward onto her face.  The 
band ground to a halt, and the drummer climbed out from behind his 
set, moving to Priss's side.
    "Get him!  He's got a gun!!"  The cry shattered the sudden silence 
engendered by Priss's collapse.  The crowd started to panic: a few 
moving to the source of the cry, more moving toward the stage, most 
running for the exits as fast as they could.
    "Go on!" Linna yelled into Nene's ear over the screaming crowd.  
"I'll see what's happening over there!"  Giving Nene a push in the 
direction of the stage, she began shoving her way across the room to 
where several men were pounding on someone.  Although it had only 
been 3 or 4 seconds since Priss fell, Nene felt as if hours had elapsed.
    Thanking her stars that she was, for once, complying with 
regulations, Nene pulled her shield case out of the pocket of her jeans.  
She clipped her ADP ID card to her collar, and looped the case 
through her belt, all while worming her way through the rapidly 
thinning mob.  The initial surge away from the stage seemed to have 
passed, and, after flashing her badge at one of the overwhelmed 
bouncers trying to move the remaining crowd out the exits, she 
climbed onto the stage itself.  She walked quickly over to the small 
clutch of band members and stagehands huddled around Priss.  
Wiggling her way through the group, she was finally able to see her 
friend.
    Priss was lying on her stomach, face turned to the right, feet tangled 
with some cables, wig askew.  One of her band-mates (the drummer, 
Nene identified distractedly) was kneeling at her side, talking to her 
softly.  She's only tripped and knocked her fool self out, Nene sighed 
in relief.
    The drummer looked up then, the lost expression on his face 
shattering her illusion.  "Please, do you know what to do?  She won't 
answer me.  She's just staring into space."  Nene blanched, then knelt 
at Priss's other side and gently removed the microphone still clenched 
in her hand.  She checked Priss's pulse, first at the wrist, then reaching 
across and checking at the arteries in her neck.
    Reaching up blindly, Nene grabbed the nearest fist full of clothing 
she could reach.  "AD Police.  Call an ambulance."  The person didn't 
move, and Nene looked up at him, anger suffusing her face.  It was the 
bass player, and he looked back at her blankly.  She shoved him away, 
wishing that there was someone she could count on here.  Even Leon 
would do.
    "Hey!  I need some help over here!" she yelled at the nearest 
bouncer.  Focused on a rapidly escalating fight near one of the side 
exits, he didn't hear her.  "Hey!  YOU!!  FIIIIIIRRREE!!!"  That got 
his attention.  "AD Police.  Call an ambulance.  Call the police.  
NOW!"  He nodded, and started moving toward the bar.  Now that 
help was hopefully on the way, she returned her full attention to the 
injured singer.
    Nene pulled the tangled blonde wig the rest of the way off Priss's 
head, then, with help from the drummer, she turned her friend onto her 
back.  Priss's chest was covered with blood and gore from what looked 
like a gunshot wound, and there was blood trickling from her nose and 
mouth.  Nene started to panic a bit herself when she realized there 
were air bubbles in the blood welling from the chest wound.  
OhmygodohmygodohmyGOD please don't let me fuck this up! her 
mind gibbered as she closed her eyes and took two or three deep 
breaths to steady herself.  The crowd on the stage vanished when they 
realized what was happening.  Someone had been shot and the police 
were on the way.  Not a good place to be.
    Nene grabbed the drummer before he could disappear, and sent him 
in search of a first aid kit, threatening to come and find him some dark 
night if he didn't come back.  Then she took off her own jacket and 
folded it up into a kind of pad, and placed it over the wound, applying 
pressure.
    She suddenly realized that Priss was watching her.  From the look 
in her eyes, she obviously didn't understand what was going on, but 
there was some bit of consciousness there.  Nene brushed the hair out 
of Priss's eyes with blood streaked fingers.  "Hang in there, Priss.  
Everything's going to be fine.  You just relax and keep still and let me 
take care of things," Nene muttered, trying to comfort her.  Oh SHIT, 
why didn't I pay more attention in field medical training?  What do I 
do now?!
    "Oh my God...."  Nene glanced back to see Linna standing behind 
her, a stricken look on her face.  As she looked up at her other friend, 
another part of her mind registered the sudden quiet in the club.  The 
drummer returned, dropped a battered metal box with a red cross on 
the lid on the floor at Priss's feet, and ran back stage again.
    Linna broke out of her shock and grabbed the first aid kit.  Moving 
opposite Nene, she opened it and began digging through the contents 
for something that could be remotely considered a bandage.  Priss's 
eyelids began to sag shut; she was fading out.  Nene reached out, 
slapping her face lightly, leaving bloody finger marks on her cheek.  
"Come on, Priss, stay awake.  Stay with us here.  Don't you do this to 
me, Priss.  Come on...."

>From the approximate 2/3 point of the beta version of "Sylia's First
Boyfriend", posted to the FFML on 8 August, 1997:

  Ignoring the exchange Shaelynn could see that the show was about to
start.  The music was going and the lead singer was strutting around the
stage smiling and looking the crowd over.  Just as her cue came up she
backed up and had a shocked look on her face the pitched forward on to
the stage and did not move.  Shaelynn weaved his way through the crowd
to see what had happened.  He thought that maybe she tripped on a
microphone cord or something and was knocked out.  Getting closer he saw
that the drummer was talking to her.

  "Is she alright?  Shaelynn asked the drummer.

  "I don't know." the drummer said.

  "What's her name?" Shaelynn asked.

  "Priss.  Her name is Priss." He said

  "Priss, are you alright?" Shaelynn asked her.  He got no response. 

  "Priss are you alright?" Still nothing.

  Figuring that she should be turned over, he supported her head with
unseen hands and gently turned her on to her back.  The sight the he was
greeted with was one he had only heard about it was a very large wound
near her left shoulder.  Looking up he saw that sociopath putting a gun
back in his coat.

  "That man has a gun!' Shaelynn yelled and pointed to the man.

  Needless to say that the may caused a scene and fled the building in
a hurry.  Deciding that Priss had maybe minutes or even seconds to live
he acted.  Pulling of the sweater that he was wearing he folded it into
a compress and put it on the wound to stop the bleeding.  Holding it
down with the force of his mind he sent out an invisible hand to swipe a
cellular phone and called 911. 

A bit too close for coincidence, in my opinion.




Jeanne Hedge
http://www.accsyst.com/jhedge/
NEW Address: jhedge@wwa.com

_____
Girls do what their mothers tell them. Ladies do what society tells them.
Women make up their own minds.

The same thing applies to boys, gentlemen and men.

                                   - 'Consult Charity' advice column;
                                     "Katwalk", Karen Kijewski