Michael Noakes wrote:

        Ranma Saotome groaned and opened his eyes and wished he hadn't.  The
ceiling above him was torn open, and water trickled from Nabiki's room
above.  His left foot lay in a growing puddle, a rhythmic cold patter
dripping against an ankle.  You'd think somebody would've moved me, he
thought, grumbling.  He went to sit up and, strain as he might, found that
he couldn't move.

Suggest: 'He tried to sit up...'

Swiftly and ghostlike, tenebrous buildings briefly looming and dimmed lights
sporadically flaring through misty darkness, the shadowed impression of
Tokyo flowed past as in a dream.

Suggest: 'Swift and...'

How she wished it was nothing but a dream,
but for Akane Tendo the obsidian arm that held her within its powerful grasp
was all too nightmarish, all too real.  The skin of her kidnapper was cool
and smooth, glassy as it encircled her waist.  Blurred suggestions of the
city rushed past and night winds pulled at her burnt and torn clothes; but
all sounds came to her muted, as from a great distance.

        To her surprise, the man smiled as well.  "Oh, I most certainly hope he
_does_ catch up to you, my precious Key.  I hope he finds you, and keeps you
safe."  He released his grip.  "Now go, little girl.  Run away!"

So Akane is Dawn Summers? AKA 'The Key' in Season Five of Buffy theVampire Slayer.

        She turned and ran, Takeshi's urgent cries for her to flee unnecessary.
The loud clang of metal against metal rang out behind her as she threaded
her way into the swiftly moving crowds.  The sounds faded quickly, but an
insistent buzzing in the back of her head convinced her that pursuit was
close behind.

At this point I was thinking, 'Pick up the sword, pick up the sword!' :)

Seriously though, there should be some reason why she doesn't. Perhaps
it breaks, falls out of reach, etc.

        "Everyone knows they hang out in Juuban, moron," she said.  "Now shut up."
        The horrific creatures--some parodies of the human form, others wholly
alien--formed an aggressive semi-circle around the black-skinned man.  He
seemed unconcerned, keeping his attention on the tall, slender woman
standing before him.  She made a sweeping gesture that took in the four
newcomers--her 'children', Manami guessed.  "Pathetic, are we?" Ryukiko
snarled.  "You stand before us alone, bereft of your own offspring, and you
dare call us 'pathetic'?"  She stepped back, as her children tightened the
circle around the dark man called Akuji.  His features, impassively black
against the night behind, were unreadable. "Oh, yes, Brother, I am well
aware of your losses tonight.  Your entire family slaughtered, yourself
wounded, and yet you presume such arrogance."

Suggest a new paragraph, beginning with '"Pathetic, are we?"', since that'sa new person
speaking.

        "What are you, Akane?" he asked, though his tone was rhetorical.  "I
_thought_ you were just another role-playing little bitch trying to get in
cheap.  The way you're dressed, I thought you were looking for a pickup, and
I had to admit, you played the part well and looked fantastic, so I let you
in.  I pride myself on picking the right people to create the right
atmosphere here, and you fit in nicely; and later, I knew you'd go down on
your knees easy, just like all the other silly cows that roll through here.

Woah! Need some kinda reaction from Akane here. She wouldn't pound himsince she's
trying to keep low-key, but she'd clench her fist or something.

        "But you kept the wide-eyed innocent schoolgirl thing going in the club,
and then I _thought_ you were just another silly little girl looking for a
spot of naughty excitement.  Which was fine, too.  I'm young and rich and
good-looking, I don't give a shit that you're underage, and the challenge of
getting you to spread your legs would've made it all the sweeter.  I get my
fun, and you've got a wild little story to tell your idiot friends at
school, and life goes on.

And here, I'd think she would pound him! :)

Apart from that, nice fic. Interesting to see how contemporary Japan
lives.

Phil.


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