"Letters"
by Acey
Disclaimer Logic: Acey was born several years after Dragon Ball Z started. Therefore, she could not have been the one who created Dragon Ball Z. Also, since she was never wealthy enough to buy anything of high value at all, it is highly improbable that she owns DBZ now. It borders on impossible, in fact, and is at the very least extremely unlikely.
Author's Apology: When the workers were messing with the road on my street (something they've been doing every summer since about 1973-- never have gotten finished), they accidentally (I hope) cut the phone wires. I couldn't update until the phone company came to fix it-- a whole day later. I hate you, phone company. The shoutouts:
Loony Lovegood: I'm not terribly observant, either. The same friend pushing the Squirrel Liberation Act claims to be observant, yet does not realize for weeks at a time when I am carrying a different lunchbox to school. -_- It irritates me to no end... no, not too much plot development last chapter. Unhappy ending? I can't say without spoiling it all. Gero is a jerk, but at least he's careful about it. I don't ever do much with the tough-to-write-about-yet-often-badly-written-about characters, because they've been done over and torn apart so much it's tough to stand seeing the summaries sometimes, much less reading the actual fics, especially when they're romances (hence I spend my time writing in the androids section). I always did like apple cake, too. Ducks? They need protection!
Kelly Neptunus: Gero is a very cold and evil man. That's what makes him Gero. I'm very happy that you like "Letters" so much. (I hope I lived up to the promise I made that it was going to get more entertaining back several chapters ago!)
Chuquita: I'm glad you found "Letters" again! I was about to tell you about the new chapters, but you found them before I could.
Manda-Chan: I am very glad that you enjoy these fics! Don't worry, I plan to continue writing 17 stuff, and this fic as well.
DoraMouse: I always thought that there had to be quite a bit of monopolizing going on with Capsule Corp. for it to be the huge company that it was. I appreciate you saying that the police call was authentic-- the woman really has almost nothing to go by. It would be very interesting for her to see Sixteen or something, you're right. The fact that we know so much about the woman, but not even her first name, was always one of the things I liked best about this fic. I'm very happy that you could tell that I spend a lot of time with "Letters," both with the disclaimers and the chapters.
And now, part twelve of the semi-epic "Letters." As always, I sincerely hope you enjoy it.
She'd read the fifth letter twice now. Twice, once at the speed of a normal fifth-grader, once at a pace rivaling that of the top speed-reader's. Nothing came up that she didn't already know. He was being careful.
The woman had gone back downstairs, letter still in hand, her cook quietly washing the Bundt cake pan and measuring cups, seemingly not noticing her prescence. The woman liked it that way.
"New people moving in across the street, Miss."
Cook, for all her pretenses, noticed more than she was ever truly credited for.
"Who?" her mistress said, distracted, rereading the letter as she spoke.
The cook stopped scrubbing entirely and leaned halfway out the kitchen window. Her reply was succinct and to the point.
"Idiots."
The woman folded the letter and chuckled.
"First impressions can be quite decieving, Cook."
"You look at them and see if I'm wrong," the cook said defensively, pointing.
Letter still in hand, she glanced outside.
"See them, Miss? There they are, the ones out--"
"Cook, I see them."
It was a couple, fresh out of college, and from the way they were holding on to each other as the movers carried their furniture into the house, probably newlyweds. The woman watched in amusement as the man awkwardly carried his wife into the threshhold.
"Well, Miss?"
"They're not idiots. They're just young."
"Not much difference," the cook replied coldly, scouring the pan. "Not much at all, Miss."
**********************************************************************
She would have shrugged it off and started on the last letter if the Cook had not been in such a bad mood the rest of the day. The young couple had irked the poor cook somehow, and from then on her responses to the woman's remarks were sullen, clipped. Cook had been slow about making dinner as well. When asked about the delay, the ill-mannered response was that the woman needed to buy more food, she couldn't cook with what was still in the pantry. The woman held her tongue about the matter and went back upstairs, put away the fifth letter, and emerged with an aircar capsule. She tried to hand it to her.
"You go on, Miss. I'll tell you what to get."
'The end's in sight when Cook starts to order you around,' the woman thought, resisting the urge to reprimand her for impertinence. Cook was, after all, the only one who hadn't run off by the time she had returned. She deserved a little more than her regular pay on occasion just for that show of loyalty.
"Fine, Cook. What would you like--" getting out a pad of paper and pen.
The cook rattled off her list. She needed eggs, she needed bread, she seemed to need everything. It made the woman sardonically wonder how the cook had managed to make the apple cake when she was so out of ingredients, or at least said she was.
The woman nodded and put on her coat, removing a faded handbag from the door.
"I shall return," she muttered in the fake melodrama that had caused more than just the cook to roll her eyes. "Good-bye."
**********************************************************************
Author's Note: I will be on vacation from the eighteenth to the twenty-seventh, so this will probably be my last update for awhile. ^_^ Don't worry, I'm coming back.
Disclaimer Logic: Acey was born several years after Dragon Ball Z started. Therefore, she could not have been the one who created Dragon Ball Z. Also, since she was never wealthy enough to buy anything of high value at all, it is highly improbable that she owns DBZ now. It borders on impossible, in fact, and is at the very least extremely unlikely.
Author's Apology: When the workers were messing with the road on my street (something they've been doing every summer since about 1973-- never have gotten finished), they accidentally (I hope) cut the phone wires. I couldn't update until the phone company came to fix it-- a whole day later. I hate you, phone company. The shoutouts:
Loony Lovegood: I'm not terribly observant, either. The same friend pushing the Squirrel Liberation Act claims to be observant, yet does not realize for weeks at a time when I am carrying a different lunchbox to school. -_- It irritates me to no end... no, not too much plot development last chapter. Unhappy ending? I can't say without spoiling it all. Gero is a jerk, but at least he's careful about it. I don't ever do much with the tough-to-write-about-yet-often-badly-written-about characters, because they've been done over and torn apart so much it's tough to stand seeing the summaries sometimes, much less reading the actual fics, especially when they're romances (hence I spend my time writing in the androids section). I always did like apple cake, too. Ducks? They need protection!
Kelly Neptunus: Gero is a very cold and evil man. That's what makes him Gero. I'm very happy that you like "Letters" so much. (I hope I lived up to the promise I made that it was going to get more entertaining back several chapters ago!)
Chuquita: I'm glad you found "Letters" again! I was about to tell you about the new chapters, but you found them before I could.
Manda-Chan: I am very glad that you enjoy these fics! Don't worry, I plan to continue writing 17 stuff, and this fic as well.
DoraMouse: I always thought that there had to be quite a bit of monopolizing going on with Capsule Corp. for it to be the huge company that it was. I appreciate you saying that the police call was authentic-- the woman really has almost nothing to go by. It would be very interesting for her to see Sixteen or something, you're right. The fact that we know so much about the woman, but not even her first name, was always one of the things I liked best about this fic. I'm very happy that you could tell that I spend a lot of time with "Letters," both with the disclaimers and the chapters.
And now, part twelve of the semi-epic "Letters." As always, I sincerely hope you enjoy it.
She'd read the fifth letter twice now. Twice, once at the speed of a normal fifth-grader, once at a pace rivaling that of the top speed-reader's. Nothing came up that she didn't already know. He was being careful.
The woman had gone back downstairs, letter still in hand, her cook quietly washing the Bundt cake pan and measuring cups, seemingly not noticing her prescence. The woman liked it that way.
"New people moving in across the street, Miss."
Cook, for all her pretenses, noticed more than she was ever truly credited for.
"Who?" her mistress said, distracted, rereading the letter as she spoke.
The cook stopped scrubbing entirely and leaned halfway out the kitchen window. Her reply was succinct and to the point.
"Idiots."
The woman folded the letter and chuckled.
"First impressions can be quite decieving, Cook."
"You look at them and see if I'm wrong," the cook said defensively, pointing.
Letter still in hand, she glanced outside.
"See them, Miss? There they are, the ones out--"
"Cook, I see them."
It was a couple, fresh out of college, and from the way they were holding on to each other as the movers carried their furniture into the house, probably newlyweds. The woman watched in amusement as the man awkwardly carried his wife into the threshhold.
"Well, Miss?"
"They're not idiots. They're just young."
"Not much difference," the cook replied coldly, scouring the pan. "Not much at all, Miss."
**********************************************************************
She would have shrugged it off and started on the last letter if the Cook had not been in such a bad mood the rest of the day. The young couple had irked the poor cook somehow, and from then on her responses to the woman's remarks were sullen, clipped. Cook had been slow about making dinner as well. When asked about the delay, the ill-mannered response was that the woman needed to buy more food, she couldn't cook with what was still in the pantry. The woman held her tongue about the matter and went back upstairs, put away the fifth letter, and emerged with an aircar capsule. She tried to hand it to her.
"You go on, Miss. I'll tell you what to get."
'The end's in sight when Cook starts to order you around,' the woman thought, resisting the urge to reprimand her for impertinence. Cook was, after all, the only one who hadn't run off by the time she had returned. She deserved a little more than her regular pay on occasion just for that show of loyalty.
"Fine, Cook. What would you like--" getting out a pad of paper and pen.
The cook rattled off her list. She needed eggs, she needed bread, she seemed to need everything. It made the woman sardonically wonder how the cook had managed to make the apple cake when she was so out of ingredients, or at least said she was.
The woman nodded and put on her coat, removing a faded handbag from the door.
"I shall return," she muttered in the fake melodrama that had caused more than just the cook to roll her eyes. "Good-bye."
**********************************************************************
Author's Note: I will be on vacation from the eighteenth to the twenty-seventh, so this will probably be my last update for awhile. ^_^ Don't worry, I'm coming back.