At 19:14 11/30/2001, Linda Shen wrote:

Hi all -

All right, I finally got my butt into gear and cleaned things up.  I'm sorry it's so terribly late.  Many thanks to my wonderfully tolerant prereaders and editors, and to all those who wrote to me with support and suggestions.

This is newly collected, and the final draft of Fragments will only have three (*large*) parts.  Beware, this section is dreadfully long. =)

All comments are welcome. =)

-ling

       "Ask, and ye shall receive." - The Bible.

       "ASCII, and you get C&C." - Me.

       Heh. You ASCII'ed, and I ACK'ed. As requested, here's your
commentary, Linda.

"Okay, VIP gives you exclusive rights.  Such as you're allowed to *buy* the apartment as opposed to renting it; you have twenty-four hour maintenance at your beck and call.  Also, cleaners come buy once a week and do the entire apartment top to bottom for free."

       "come by", not "come buy"

Akane looked around her, and gently easing herself from Ryoga's hold, she hopped onto the ground, thinking to herself, 'Geez, this is insane, I don't mind him carrying me places, God knows I've gotten used to that, but this is ridiculous, the fourth time in a  *week* we've gotten completely lost!'

       Extra space in "in a  *week*" between "a" and "*week*"

       Some random broken sentences here and there, formatting
problem perhaps? 70 characters per line is usually a good idea.
WinHelper v0.9 is what I use, and it does an excellent job of
reformatting a fic to that standard. Email me if you want a copy.

The five-year-old Akane had then finally realized something truly horrifying: they had put her Mother under the *dirt*.  They had covered up her shining eyes and her smiling face and laid her under all that earth and mud.

She'd dropped onto her knees before her Mother's grave marker, and with her chubby hands wet with tears running down her flushed-red face, she had started dig through the soil, yelling all the while, "Mommy!  I'm sorry!
I'm sorry!  I'll get you out of the mud, Mommy!"

       I could hate you for just this one scene alone. I _should_
hate you for it. It brings back every memory I loathe of the day
they buried my mother after her hopeless six month battle with
pancreatic cancer.

       But I can't. The fact that you ARE able to grab my
emotions so strongly, so _painfully_, is proof you're a
damn good writer, lass.

       So accept my admiration of your skills for what it's
worth, and forgive my desire to hurt you for bringing back
that day.

       Enough said. If I dwell on this, I might do something
stupid.

"Would you like the nymphomaniac squid-monkey to greet you in a sexual manner?"

All of these and more were written deep into his mind in at least a dozen different languages.  While "Where is Japan?" and "Say again?" make perfect sense when we take into account Ryoga's fabulous sense of direction, and the rude phrase can be understood, no one quite knows where he learned the last one.  All we *do* know about it was that he picked it up shortly after bumping into a Chinese exchange student on the commons of a New England University, pity Ryoga never bothered to verify whether or not what the student told him actually meant "Which way is the bus station?"

       And here you make me laugh, just as deeply as the pain that
went before. Something that is SO perfectly Ryouga, and so very,
very funny.

       Don't ever let anyone tell you that you can't write, lass.
You write with skill and flair. I'm rather envious, in truth.

It was hours later when he was lying in the quiet hum of the hospital when he realized the error in her thought:

He was the only person who could ever understand.

       Something a friend once said comes to mind with this
passage - "... a fearsome symmetry."

       I think that says all that needs to be said. They are
mirror images of each other, and painful ones. Ryouga truly IS
the one person who could understand, and that's the saddest
thing of all.

"Ryoga-san," she purred, pressing the point of the blade to his throat, hard enough so it drew blood, but not enough to cause any real damage, "it's so nice to see you again."  She idly twirled the knife handle, twisting the point that dug into his neck and making Ryoga wince from the stinging sensation of flesh being broken.  She raised an eyebrow at the sight of a single droplet of blood sliding down his neck.  "It's been, why, near twelve years now, right, Ryoga-san?" she giggled softly, and hopping from her perch, she flipped the knife expertly, the handle landing in her hand again, but the long blade was now snuggled tightly against Ryoga's quivering throat.  "But that doesn't really matter does it?" she asked innocently.
"Because I'm certain I still know exactly what you think of me."

       This particular scene speaks to me for the oddest of reasons.
I lost the first woman I loved, and thought I could never love again.
I went nearly twenty years without trying again, chosing instead to
grieve for Tasha and what we had. Then Aili entered my life. And
while she is kind and gentle and loving and caring, the one defining
moment of our relationship was at a convention in Denver.

       An _extremely_ rude person walked up, announced to the world
that I obviously wasn't manly enough for a real woman like Aili, and
that HE, macho man that he was, would be HAPPY to show her what a
real man was like.

       A heartbeat later, this 'real man' was bent backwards over
a table, with my sweety's hand around his throat, helpless to
defend himself. And Aili was asking me, in a voice that just
DRIPPED cuteness, pretty please, could she have his trachea for
her collection? It wouldn't be a problem, she could rip it out
of his throat right here.

       It's nice to see an author who can depict a woman who
is loving, kind, gentle, and ready to kill at a moment's
notice. Thank you, lass.

What'd you think?

       I think you've written a most excellent story, one it's
been my great pleasure to read. Don't let people give you any
grief over what's canon and what's not. This story rises ABOVE
that, and rightfully so. You have my admiration, Linda.

       Sincerely,

       Edward Becerra

       "Dreamers may die, but the Dream is eternal..."

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