whimsy wrote:

Sitting at home with an aggravating cold, I decided that rather than
annoy the FFML with a series of short messages, I'll annoy it with one
longer message with little organization or structure.

<snip>

Curse of Silence -

Another well written series.  However, I think Ranma is getting over his
tendency towards foot-in-mouth disorder a little too readily.   Thinking
before speaking is a sufficiently new experience for Ranma that he
should show some lapses.  I also think that Akane's problems would have
had more effect on the rest of her family, yet they seem virtually
identical to the standard characters (maybe Nabiki is slightly less
mercenary).  Living with a family member with a disability will change
them.  I'd like to see these changes better reflected in subsequent
chapters.  Will they be overprotective?  Or perhaps annoyed?  Or even
jealous of the greater attention and fuss made over Akane?  In fact, all
of the aforementioned and more are likely reactions.

    I don't think Mad-Hamlet is on the FFML anymore -- I'll pass that review to him.

Rants:

Too many authors apparently only use a spell checker when proofreading.
Unfortunately, a spell checker will not catch mistakes which are real
words, such as "rouge" instead of "rogue".  Please, pay closer attention
to all spelling, not just those flagged by the checker.

    Guilty! >_<

    It's hard to find people willing to pre-read 100k+ chapters, though... �_�

  I've noticed very few fics in which Ryouga wins Akane and a high
proportion of those involve deceit on Ryouga's part.  Why is Ryouga
getting Akane any less likely than some of the Ranma matchups?

    There's a thought...

--------

  I enjoy Ranma fics as much as the next otaku, but why is Ranma always
portrayed as more powerful than various aliens, supernatural creatures
etc...  How would Ranma react if faced with an entity truly beyond
physical challenge, e.g. Lady Tokimi

    *cough* Um... right.

        Process of Elimination -- Chapter Six

    Disclaimer: The primary colors in this story are from Takahashi, Viz (Ranma 1/2) and Pioneer (Tenchi Muyo!).

    Additional tinting provided by: Kitty Films, and Naoko Takeuchi (Sailor Moon), TV Tokyo and Ken Akamatsu (Love Hina), Takada Yuuzou, and A.D.Vision (Bannou Bunka Nekomusume Nuku-Nuku). The easel is mine. That's all.

    Notes: Diverges from Ranma after volume 24, continuation for OAV 2 in the Tenchi universe (well, one of them). Nuku Nuku is from the OAVs, not Dash or TV. Sailor Moon occurs, well, at some point in the series, but it's something of an alt anyway. This fic uses the bizarrely vague 'Pick One!' scenario. Enjoy.

    Important: I made a few errors in chapter 5. Michiru and Haruka (Neptune and Uranus) weren't supposed to be there for the fight Ranma had against the reavers. Kinda explains why they didn't react much, huh? Aside from that, just before Hotaru destroyed one of the reavers with a Silence Glaive Surprise, I mistakenly referred to Ranma's gem as blue, when it should have been green then.

    -----------------------------

    "Ginraii was founded as a gesture of respect to those of house Amatera, and nothing less. It's only because of Amatera's actions all those years ago, that we've been able to rally what little support we have. When you consider that the current emperor carries some Amatera blood anyway, it makes our duty clear. How can we have supported Amatera in the past, and then ignore their successor now?"

    Laruma Genoh of Minor House Laruma, Chairman, Ginraii -- Speech given in rally to Ginraii workers supporting Emperor Masaki Tenchi, 1999


    A dry, hard wind gusted across the landscape. Ranma blinked, slowly frowning, and looking around himself.

    The land was dry, parched and cracked. Great chasms rent it wide, the ground flat above them, and nothing more than a chaotic jumble of stone spires and jagged rock fall within.

    He surveyed the horizon, faint brown smudges of mountains in the distance. Behind him, lay a small heap of head-sized boulders, rising perhaps to his shoulders, and fifteen meters away.

    Grunting, he walked to the edge of the nearest chasm, peering into it. Fifty meters wide, and beneath the warm sun the bottom was still obscured in darkness. What was illuminated was more of the serrated granite and basalt that lay scattered about, and nothing else.

    "Well," he said aloud, more to break the stillness than any hope of a response, "it's hot, but at least it's a dry heat."

    No response came anyway, save the wind increasing its pace slightly, picking up stray grit and dust. The dust storm rose, and Ranma instinctively grabbed for his shirt to raise it as a shield from the worst of the airborne dirt.

    Only to remember that he wasn't wearing a shirt. He grimaced, but looking down, found he actually was wearing a shirt. The white Chinese shirt and the blue pants he was most fond of.

    Frowning, he pulled his sleeve across the lower half of his face, and attempted to float upwards. Whatever mechanism allowed him to levitate failed, and he found himself standing in the dust, holding his sleeve across his face. "Great," he mumbled. "At least there'll be shade."

    A soft, lyrical voice rang out, "Oh, how little you know... indeed, there will be shade."

    The wind increased, no longer content to merely pick up loose dirt, now grabbing the packed soil and prying it up to fling into the mess. Ranma spun, narrowing his eyes and crouching to better shield himself. "Who's there?" he tried to shout through the dust.

    A violent burst of wind erupted around him in a circle, not touching him, but forming a solid sphere about him, whirring and silent, that pushed back the storm. He dropped his sleeve, coughing, and shook himself off, dislodging more grit. As he looked around, the storm increased to the point of blocking out all light and visibility. "Oh, this just sucks," he muttered sourly. "What the hell is going on here?"

    Blasting a violent path through the maelstrom, and halting only after it struck the spinning air around him, a corridor formed, clear of dust and debris. He looked up apprehensively, eyes tracking across the scoured earth and onward, to the small heap of head-sized stones. "Greetings," the soft voice said again. Not in the manner of someone who is gentle, but in the manner of someone who was afraid of breaking whoever it was they were speaking with.

    "Who are you?" he asked, looking at the figure atop the small heap of stones. She was a woman, dressed in a black and green gown, with a flowing white cape. Her hair was a solid dun color, save for a few streaks of orange bursting from a brass disk on her forehead. Her eyes were solid pits of deepest blue -- so deep that they turned purple in the shadows of her well-defined eyebrows. Her pupils were elongated black slits, like a cat's, or Ryouko's.

    She giggled, her eyes narrowing into little lines as she rocked with mirth. "I am the eldest of three sisters, child." Her giggles trailed off, and she gestured Ranma closer.

    Frowning, he approached, noting that the corridor of air faded away behind him, sinking back into the storm. But there was an oasis of safety around the woman.

    He stopped at the edge of the storm, which had risen in intensity until a low grinding noise penetrated the shield. Ranma swallowed nervously, asking, "So, uh, what's the deal, then?"

    She leapt from the stones, drifting serenely down to the ground at Ranma's side. She eyed him appraisingly, walking around him in a small circle. The wind's protection expanded to allow her to do so, and he growled, turning to face her. "And what the hell is it with women walking around me like that, huh? What am I to you -- a piece of meat, or something?" he snapped abruptly.

    She ignored him until her circuit was complete, then hopped daintily back to her perch of stone. Cocking her head to one side, she said, "That is precisely what you are. Look at yourself, child. A pathetic creature of meat and bone. How can you compare to a perfect being such as I?"

    Ranma dropped into a defensive stance. "So you wanna fight me, huh?"

    Snorting disdainfully, the woman waved a gloved hand at him, the fingers tipped in spikes. "You could not stand before me. However, you are of... some interest to me."

    Grumbling, Ranma relaxed, shaking his head. "Yeah, what do you want? To kill me? I get that from time to time." His eyes narrowed suddenly. "You better not want to marry me," he warned. "That's just right out."

    Lips curling in disgust, she pointed at him, and he fell, collapsing in a sudden fit of intense pain. Fire raced across his nerves, the sensation of the reavers' slashes rent him to pieces, cats clawed his eyes out, his vocal chords seized up, and his lungs failed, leaving him gasping for breath, lying on the ground and writhing until the pain suddenly vanished. Weak, he staggered back to his feet, shuddering. "Do not mock me," the woman admonished him.

    He shook his head, growling, "What the hell is this?"

    "This is my realm, child. My sisters' realms are different places. Let me show you their worlds." Her voice slowly faded, until he was only barely able to make out her words, and the whole of the world about them fell to nothingness.

    When he returned to his senses again, he stood atop a hill, lushly carpeted in grass and small flowers. A stream burbled nearby, hidden in a small copse of leafy trees, spreading their green foliage to shade the loamy soil below. Small creatures fled from the sight of him, to blink from the protection of small shrubs dotting the landscape.

    He stared at his feet, ankle deep in the thick green flora. He ran a hand through the grass at his feet, confirming his speculations. His hands simply passed through it. If he were to step further forward, he would likely subject himself to the veritable meat-grinder of the sandstorm. Looking behind himself, he beheld the woman, still perched atop her rock pile. "Okay," he said slowly, "what is this supposed to mean to me? You're not answering my questions."

    The woman raised her hand, and the world shifted again, though he was able to avoid the disorientation from the first time, as it changed to a world of darkness and light. There was a single point of light, and a single point of darkness, on a vast field of nothing.

    Light poured from its point of origin, the single brightly glowing point, thick and flowing like honey, to spread outward, slowly gathered into the point of darkness in swirling eddies and currents. "That," the woman said, indicating the light, "is the domain of my youngest sister. She does not concern me, for her realm will enter mine and be finished. It is of no import."

    There was a moment of silence before she spoke again, "This area, this world of gray between light and dark... it is my sister's realm. She does not govern it as she should."

    "What are you talking about?" Ranma asked, confused.

    Another gesture, and Ranma found himself on another hill. This time the landscape was not so burgeoning with life. The grass was taller, and large seedpods on the ends of some grass stalks broke free and drifted in the occasional breeze. Perhaps not grass, but something very similar to it. The forest was broken, some bushes having climbed into and toppled some of the trees, while others had grown larger. There were fewer small animals, though Ranma glimpsed a bigger one, disappearing into a larger mound of fallen branches and twisting vines.

    "Now," the woman explained, as though to a child, "you see two of the realms. It is quite simple." She waved a hand, and the scene returned to the barren wasteland. "There is life, growth, and then release."

    Ranma scratched his head, then shrugged. "Okay," he said. "I guess. But why are you showing me this?"

    "Because," the woman explained to him, "you are mine, to do with as I please."

    Ranma opened his mouth, but his vocal chords seized, refusing to let him speak. He gaped wordlessly for a minute, then snapped his mouth shut and glowered.

    "As it is, each is allowed only knight... and both of my sisters have chosen theirs. I hadn't deigned to -- there is no need, for me. And yet, when they created you..." she trailed off, gesturing at Ranma.

    He staggered to his knees, feeling his flesh slowly strip away, his insides shifting and warping.

    "Hmm," she mused. "When they fashioned you they made a mistake. For each is allowed only one. And in making you, they created you for anyone... and that one shall be me." She waved a hand absently again. "Oh, your powers will emulate those of my youngest sister... they can manage that. But my blessing has yet to be bestowed. How many times, I wonder, will you grace my doorstep? Washuu has changed you. You cannot cross into my realm naturally, and this vexes me greatly."

    She brooded for a moment, then shook her head. "Not that it matters." The shifting and warping cut off, and Ranma fell forward, catching himself and heaving for breath. Clothed in his black skintight bodysuit again. "I ain't yours," he gasped, finding his voice returned.

    "Oh?" the woman asked. "It is true that I cannot force your hand... but consider this, child. Your world will perish under the onslaught of what is assaulting it. You may perish, as well." She grinned at that. "And if you do perish at my pets' hands, then you will be mine anyway. I do not think Washuu has changed you enough to avoid that. She shirks her duties, and I will call her to heel. As my servant, you will bring her to me."

    Ranma shook his head, growling, and struggling to his feet. "Nothing doing," he stated. "I ain't gonna betray Washuu. If you think I am, well then, you can just go to hell!"

    Dead silence ruled the wasteland, and the woman's face twitched with vexation. Intoning deeply, and eyeing Ranma with nothing but contempt and disgust, she said, "Then your world will perish, and you will fall, and then you will be mine anyway. You are not given a choice in the matter."

    ***

    Process of Elimination -- Chapter Six

    Coming soon.

--------

  Although not a devotee of SM, I do read the occasional fic.  Are there
any that show them later in life, such as their 30s and 40s?  What would
become of them?  Spouses?  Children?  Careers?

--------

I came across the following by Borges, which I feel is especially
relevant to fanfic authors -

"At the end of the eighteenth or the beginning of the nineteenth
century, let's say (we need hardly go into a discussion of dates), man
began to invent stories.  Perhaps one might say that the attempt began
with Nathaniel Hawthorne and with Edgar Allen Poe, but of course there
are always forerunners.  As Ruben Dario pointed out, nobody is the
literary Adam.  Still, it was Poe who wrote that a story should be
written for the sake of the last sentence, and a poem for the sake of
the last line.  This degenerated into the trick story, and in the
nineteenth and twentieth centuries people have invented all kinds of
plots.  Those plots are sometimes very clever.  Those plots, if merely
told, are cleverer than the plots of the epics.  Yet somehow we feel
that there is something artificial about them - or, rather, that there
is something trivial about them.
...
Of course, nowadays people are inventing so many plots that we are
blinded by them.  But perhaps this fit of inventiveness may flicker, and
then we may find that those many plots are but appearances of a few
essential plots."