A Slap in the Face

I said once in an earlier post that I was thankful Sims never had fertility issues or miscarriages. I never considered child death to even be a possibility. I knew that if you didn't take care of the children, social services would come and take them away, but I never knew that the children could actually die. Even pregnant women seem to have a sort of immunity against death.

I say all this because the other day, I watched one of my Sim children drown. No, I did not trap him in the pool intentionally. In the Sims 3 you have to actually build walls around the pool to trap them in, since simply removing the ladders does not prevent them from exiting the pool (they are able to climb out of the sides of the pool). No, he just floundered and died.

Truthfully, I didn't even know he was in the pool. I was on the other end of the house, watching Fedaykin teach baby Marcus how to walk, and occasionally glancing over at Caspian painting in the living room. It was an otherwise calm and collected Sunday afternoon. Suddenly, the event camera jerks me over to the pool, just in time to see Pye slip beneath the water. I paused the game to stare in shock at his corpse, just suspended in the water. The knowledge that there was nothing I could do, that he was dead, that I had played for several hours without a save so I couldn't reload, that all the plans I had made for him were now useless. Pye was gone.

 I un-paused the game and watched as the Grim Reaper showed up and most of the family ran outside to mourn and cry in shock. I have decided that this shot is one of the saddest and most horrifying screenshots I have ever taken in any of my Sims games. Pye, the child, begging for his life from the Reaper, who watches coldly while the child's grave lies between them. I will admit, I cried a little bit, not because I particularly liked Pye or anything, but because he was a child. A child.

Forgive me if the deaths of children hit me particularly hard.

Forgive me as well if the idea of a child, who for whatever reason must die, dies by drowning - is also particularly painful - I had a close brush with drowning as a child and was narrowly saved by one of my little sisters and my dad.

I suppose I had been living in this dreamworld where I felt the Sim children were immortal, unable to be harmed by fire or flood or famine, and that the worst thing that could happen was to be placed into state care. It was quite the slap in the face to learn otherwise.

Not something I ever wanted to see.

The Journal of Gonff, page 2

I woke up this morning and sat on the steps of the Comb and Wattle. I had slept in the stable, for I had no money left at all, and my belly was rumbling with hunger. I didn't know what to do. I had tried everything. No one had any work for me. 

I watched as people went about their business. Mostly common townsfolk, nothing interesting. Then, a stranger rode into town. He was rough looking, but he looked like he came from money, what with that big fancy horse of his and that green enameled armor. It was obvious he was a foreigner. I watched him for a moment as he rode slowly up to the inn and looked about, checking something in some little book of his. So, he had business here.

 I leapt up and offered to  watch his horse for him while he went inside. Foreign type like him should be easy enough to fool into thinking his horse needs to be watched. These might be troubled times, but no one is desperate enough to steal a horse yet. I just had to hope he didn't know that...

I must not be the wonderful salesman I always thought I was. Guess folks just used to buy my sister's salves and potions cause they actually needed em, not because of any great charisma on my part. The blasted fellow saw through my ruse, I think, and wouldn't even get off his horse while I was near! I wasn't going to make off with it, you miserable ....

In the end though, he gave me some pretentious speech about trying to always do good no matter your circumstances and not resorting to petty thievery just to get by. While I saw his point, I didn't need a sermon. He tossed me a few silvers and sent me on my merry way. I picked them up (stars above but I was starving) but I also didn't want to be some charity case. 

I didn't stay to see what he did. I went to one of the shops in Combe and bought some food, and then wandered south a ways out of town, where I sat under a tree and ate.

Turns out the tree I was sitting under belonged to some local farmer and I had unknowingly wandered onto his land. He didn't have any work for me, of course. But! His brother, a lumberer on the east side of Combe, did. That work consisted of clearing out some wolves and a few of the Blackwolds from the Chetwood. 

I am not a fighting man. I have a pair of knives, but one I've had since my boyhood, and the other I only picked up from a dead villager in the attack on Archet. I had never killed a man before. 

At first, even after doing what the man asked me to do, I still felt as though I had not yet killed a human. These Blackwolds were a pest. They destroyed my village, killed everyone I knew. Stars know where my sister is. I even relished the feel of my knife slipping between their ribs, watching their surprise as they fell. They were evil, and deserved to die.

At the end of the day I found myself with a fat pocket full of silver - the foreigner's odd coins mixed with those from the grateful fellow at the lumber camp. 

I went back to Bree and got myself a room at the Prancing Pony, completely overlooking the prices the innkeep was charging for both. I was a wealthy man now, with more silver than I'd had in years. But as I was eating, the reality of what I had done hit me. They may have been Blackwolds, but they were still humans. Still people, with lives and hopes and dreams. They were not like the mindless wolves I had killed, or the bear that chased me on the outskirts of Staddle. The food turned to ash in my mouth and the crackling fire suddenly felt like the Icemaw itself. Everyone was watching me, I knew it. They could see it on my face, could see the blood on my hands. Was there blood on my hands? I thought I had washed ...

I ran from the inn, guilt bearing down on my shoulders and grief clouding my eyes. I ran blindly, stumbling through the streets, until I could run no more. I retched up the little food and drink I had already consumed and fell down, exhausted. 

When I woke up the next morning my pockets were empty. I had been robbed during the night. Good. I didn't want that man's pity money, or the blood money from what I had done. Better to starve and die.

I stood, slowly, and dusted myself off. I wandered aimlessly through the streets of Bree, and by nightfall found myself in this place known as Beggar's Alley. Here was where I belonged, among the thieves and the rabble and the ... the murderers.

Wordless Wednesdays: Fangorn Forest

 

Legitimate Reasons

Was playing Skyrim the other day, and found my adopted daughter roaming about in something slightly less than appropriate:

 My only thinking is that perhaps she had the clothes stolen right off of her back. From a realistic viewpoint, I find this highly unlikely. From a gaming viewpoint, well, you get that dexterity up high enough you can do all sorts of crazy stuff. 

 Which is one reason I love tabletop RPGs so much. Games such as Dungeons and Dragons provide so much more room for story-telling and the imagination than even your most open world and sandboxy of video games.

As a DM for a local game, my players will occasionally ask me if they can do x. Can they justify doing x from a realistic standpoint, or have we entered the realm of Asian-martial-arts-film-gravity-defying power? My former boss at my job had a rule that was similar - she didn't care what we pinned  into the dresses, as long as it made logical sense and we had a plan for carrying it out. If we just pinned it just to pin it, then that was a no. If my players want to do a triple somersalt over this minotaur just for the sake of doing it, then no.

If, however, you can provide a legitimate reason for pulling the skirt up like that, or tucking that seam there, then go ahead. If you can provide a reason for wanting to set that on fire, then sure, go ahead.

That may seem a bit restrictive, but bear with me, I, too, have my reasons.

For the longest time in my writing I steered clear of any sort of 'magic' or magical systems. I didn't want it, because I'd seen too many books where, over time, the author decided to use it as a crutch.  Don't know how to escape from this latest hairy situation? MAGIC. Don't know how to solve this problem? MAGIC. I was tired of it, I consider it to be lazy, unimaginative, and flimsy.

I use that same logic with my players at the table. If they can accurately describe what they are trying to do - if they have a motive, some sort of plan behind what they are doing, then go ahead. You'll still have to roll for it, of course (nothing is free), but you can at least try.

I won't say this approach hasn't backfired before. In some cases, if a player wants to do something, but can't give an in-character reason why, then I've denied them, and subsequently they had a much more difficult time with the encounter or puzzle. I'm then faced with - well, if I had just let them do it, maybe it would have been easier.

But that's not the point.

The Problem with Color

Playing with color groupings. Also a horse.

I don't normally feel my age. When you've been playing a video game for years, especially if it's one that updates and improves continuously, then it's hard sometimes to feel the age of the game, either.

I'd been saying for years now that stained glass was high on my wishlist for Minecraft. It was something I was sure would take my Masterwork, my cathedral, to the next level.

Random colors hooray!

He wanted Avengers windows.

Now that I finally have it, I'm not quite sure what to do with it. I flew to my cathedral, eager to redo the existing windows and add new ones to the unfinished portions. Too bad I can't make little strips and maybe make a more intricate window on a smaller scale. Maybe that would solve my dilemma. The huge color blocks end up either looking gaudy or childish to me.

A friend and I played around with color groups and patterns, and we could figure out something that would work - or so we thought.  In the end, I wasn't happy with any of it.

Turns out patterning color is much much harder than just patterning windows with clear glass. At least with clear glass all you have to figure out is what shapes you want. Now - it's - I don't know how to put it, other than I feel like some film director during the transition from black and white films to technicolor. What once did not matter much (if at all) now matters a lot. 

I proceeded to Google screenshots of others' Minecraft creations, to get ideas. Well, as it turns out, the good news is that it is perfectly reasonable to be able to produce beautifully patterned windows. The bad news? To get a decent look, your window needs to be about 100 blocks high. Not gonna happen with this one. My large rose window at the entrance of the church doesn't even approach that height, I don't think. Honestly, I never really counted. 

I'm beginning to think I like the cathedral as it is, with just the clear glass, or else with just a smattering of color (which you can barely make out on the rose window at the far end of the room in the bottom screenie). It's funny how long I wanted it, asked for it, and now that I have it, I don't know what to do with it.

It's coming along, at least.

The Journal of Gonff

It's been five days since the burning of Archet. My family, what little there was, is missing, with no sign of either my sister or her husband.  I left the ruins of the city after picking through the husk that was our house.

There was nothing left. 

I might have been comforted by bones - but there were no remains. I'd like to think they are still out there somewhere, alive. Maybe they got out in time.

Well, that bit about nothing might be a tiny lie. I did find one thing - an old journal of my sister's - the one she used to write her herbal remedies and recipes in. It's a bit charred on the edges, but there were lots of blank pages at the end, and as I've nothing else to do - - - 

The sky has been pouring rain for three of the five days since the fire. Rain. You'd think it could have been raining the day of the attack. Maybe then Archet would still be standing. The dead would still be dead, but there would be something still standing at the end.

I left the ruins after two days, when the rain started and the ashes turned to black sludge, running smears of char down the streets in runnels. So many deaths. The fields of Archet are sown with headstones, row upon row. 

Like every other refugee, I've fled to the other cities, looking for work, food - anything. Combe was full to bursting, and the guard of Staddle had been so increased over the past few days in fear of the Blackwolds, many folk (myself included) are avoiding the city simply out of fear. 

So far, Bree has held little for me either. Though the streets are full and the markets bustling, clogged with other refugees like myself, people keep to themselves and have little in the way of a warm smile, much less an open hand. Times are tough, and purse-strings tight. 

There are so many people about, looking for homes and work and food, the citizens of Bree have hardened. Most are turning away any questions about employment, and many won't even acknowledge you in the first place.

The air is turning cold. I can tell winter is on its way, though the leaves have just now begun to turn. Maybe the dryness of summer's last breaths are what fueled the flames - maybe if it had only been a wet spring instead, or - - -

 I stumbled my way through the streets to some inn called the Prancing Pony. It was warm enough inside, to be sure, but I spent almost the last of my coppers on a mug or two of cider to warm my belly. I had little enough left, none for a crust a bread, let alone a room.

After dozing by the fire for a while, letting my soaked clothes dry, I wandered about the inn. The proprietor, a bumbling man by the name of - - - to be honest I can't remember his name. I was cold and wet and all I wanted was something warm in my belly, with a bite to numb my mind. Anyway, the inn was busy, with people coming and going. 

No one saw me slip into the kitchen. No one saw me slip a few handfuls of food into my pockets. The ale was over-priced anyway - it's not like I was actually stealing. I was evening out the cost. 

I am sure he has gouged the prices to take advantage of the refugees anyway.

The next morning I made my way to the Mayor's office. There was rumor he had a listing of those in the town who had work or lodgings. The line of people waiting to see the mayor was out the door, and the crowd around the notice board was so tight I am amazed I even got close enough to be able to read it.  I took every name off that list I could remember in the time I had before I too was shoved out of the way with fellow desperates and went my way to check out the leads - all of them had either been filled already or - - - 

There was this one fellow, lived near the Staddle gate as best I could tell - I can barely find my way around this mess of a city - I asked him about the notice he'd left in the town hall, and he gave me one good look over, spat his chaw out near my boots, and shook his head.  "Naw," he said, "I don't reckon I've got any work for the likes of you." I wanted to punch him in the face, but instead I turned and walked back out into the rain. No use getting myself arrested. The likes of me, indeed. I'm no criminal. Honest, hard-working man. Have been all my life. Sold my sister's remedies, wrote the post for those in the town as couldn't read nor write themselves. Taught the boys their letters in the winter-time.


As I wandered the streets some more, slowly eating the last of the dry bread and hard cheese I'd 'borrowed' from the inn, I spotted a miserable looking dwarf, slouched against the wall, an empty mug in his hand. I wondered if he was from Archet too, or what troubles he was trying to drink away. 

Ah well, the rain has to stop eventually. The refugees will eventually all find work - places to sleep and eat and fields to work - and I will find - - - something. My sister, maybe? 



Not tonight, though. I've got enough coin for one more bit of ale. 

 

A Minor Pair of Glitches

It seems Ben Ben the Dog found a way to swim between dimensions. That, or else the floor really is lava. In which case, I don't think he knows how to play the game. 

 

 What is this I don't even.

Marrying the Princess

 I didn't think she would go through with it. I don't think Fedaykin did either.

Fedaykin and the Princess by the Water

I might be a bit jealous.

Oh my gosh it's been so long since we've visited the legacy house. Where to begin?

JC, Sybil, Celandine, and the boy left the longtime home of their ancestors and moved to Paradise Island, where they have made a new, lighter life among the tropics after the incredibly sudden and totally unexpected death of Rian, Fedaykin's father. Seriously, I had no idea, and it took me almost as long as it took Celandine to get over it. They left Warden and Vofura behind, but that's okay. I really can't stand those alien voice clips.  JC bought a home on the top of a hill, and this is the view from their backyard. Life could be worse, I guess.

Fedaykin took to the water like a natural, and he began to flourish in this new environment. He loves the water. I can't keep him away from it. He's constantly thinking about it, wanting to be swimming or boating or just outdoors, near it.

Celandine hasn't had much to say about it, really. She might just be letting him go his own way, letting him find himself after the death of his father.

He's actually a really good kid, he works hard, always helping around the house and always doing his homework. His only fault? Staying out too late. One of the reasons I've already mentioned - I can't keep him out of the water. The other reason? A girl. 

And not just any girl. The girl. The only girl on the island he had any interest in from the beginning. Lilliana Ichtaca, the princess of the island. Literally, she's a princess. Her family is the last vestige of the hereditary monarchs of the island, left over from an era before the island was brought into the fold of whatever vague, amorphous democracy rules the collective cities of the Sims 3 world. I didn't think she would go for him. She's kind of a snob, and I have a feeling the only reason he piqued her interest is the fact that his family, whether they are new to the island or not, is definitely considered old money.

 I hope he ends up with Lilliana. I hope she isn't horrible to him. I hope he is always by the water.

I hope JC never stops being JC

An RP Experiment: One Lonely Burglar, Seeking Companionship

This is Gonff. Aside from being my first male character in an mmo (heck, in any game where I had a choice), he is something of an experiment for me. I will be rp-ing this poor fellow as hardcore as I can. That means a few very distinct things:

1. He will walk everywhere, unless he has a justified reason to run.

2. If he manages to acquire a horse, he will probably walk the horse for the most part, as you can't run a horse like a race car. It'll collapse.

3. He will only do his adventuring during the day, unless his activities necessitate nocturnal behavior.

4. If, in the course of his adventures, he dies, then he is dead. Honestly, this is the one that scares me the most. I kind of want to run to my friends and see if I can wrangle up a pocket healer, but I don't know how that would fit into his character.

5. He must eat something at least once a day, and I don't mean while standing in front of an orc. He has to sit down, make a camp, and eat. While we are on the subject of making camp, let's talk about resting. He has to rest once at least every couple of in-game days - whether at night or during the day, it does not matter, but for an acceptable length of time. Enough to correlate with several hours sleep in the real world.

6. No use of global chat channels. He doesn't have a palantir, y'all.

7. No transferring of equipment or gold between existing characters on the same account.

8. No knowing things he doesn't know. He doesn't know people's names until they introduce themselves, there are no levels, etc.

9. In-game dialogue must be short and to the point, much like normal conversation. No rambling monologues or story-telling (unless he is asked to tell a story, of course).

10. ALWAYS STAY IN CHARACTER. No brackets, no OOC clarification, nothing.  If it's not in character, it does not come out of his mouth.

This character is going to need a lot of patience. Probably a good bit of planning and a quick hand on the HIPS skill if he's to survive. It'd be great to have a buddy on this adventure, one willing to RP it out with me. Any takers? He's on Landroval.  Send me a message and let's get going!

The Wibbly Wobbly Doldrums

I'm finding this time to be a bit .... slow. There's not much in the way of new games, unless I've just fallen out of the loop. I'm sitting here waiting for Starbound, maybe Wildstar.  I dont know. I've tried Rift, I don't know how I feel about it. I could try more console stuff, I guess. I feel so behind in all the releases, recent or otherwise. I've never finished Bioshock, or Red Dead Redemption, or even that last Prince of Persia game, whatever it was called.

Have I fallen out of gaming?  For several years it seemed to be all I cared about. Now that I'm about to jump headfirst into writing again, I don't know.

Is this what growing up feels like? I hope not. I know plenty of people who still game well into their forties - heh, even my mother, in her fifties, games a bit. Does that make them losers? People who found a hobby they still manage to derive satisfaction from after all these years? The cool people?

So what am I? Where do I fall? Am I destined to be one of those stodgy, 'mature' adults?

I suppose I'm  a bit young to be having a mid-life crisis. Or else too old to be wondering what I'll do when I 'grow up.'

 Also, this is the last time I type a post on a tablet. Erg, hate touch keyboards.

Almost Halfway There

So, I feel like a slacker. Lots of things have happened in the legacy house. So much so, I'm not quite sure where to start.

Well, let's see. JC turned out to be a much better husband (and father!) than I thought he would. He stuck with his job as a police officer, and eventually was promoted into the detective/spy branch, just like he wanted. For a while, he actually looked kind of dashing in his uniform. He cut his hair, was constantly working out, and kept a pretty good income coming in.

Sybil had two children, Celandine and Warden. Both of them got the hereditary blonde hair with the red tips that's been in the family for a good many generations now in some form or another. Celandine, the eldest, got the genetic marker as well, which made me happy. Warden didn't, getting his father's blue/grey eyes instead, which was also fine by me, since technically he's not really important for the legacy. Not yet, anyways.

Both children grew up in boarding school, which made it easier to manage the house in the elder days of Virgil and Mary, while JC was working so hard to rise in the ranks of the precinct and Sybil was being.... Sybil. Training horses, I think. She was kind of lazy, actually.

But then Celandine and Warden came home from boarding school, all grown up and ready to be productive. Celandine fell in love almost instantly with the family butler, Rian Bates, and they were soon engaged. Probably one of the most romantic engagements I've ever seen in my Sims games. Made me smile.

They had a simple, private ceremony, and she was pregnant soon after. I am so glad Sims never have to deal with fertility issues. She had a son, whom I named Fedaykin (had Dune on the brain, no regrets), who has his dad's black hair and darker skin, but still has those yellow eyes. An interesting mix, and if he gets his dad's cheekbones I'll be happy.

Warden managed to seduce the alien who kept hanging around the house, and after a while they too were married, and Vofura had a daughter with Warden whom I named Tan-loc. Not sure where it came from, but it sounded like something an alien would be named.

I may have tinkered with her skin tone a bit. Just don't like that green skin. Wanted her to come from a warmer planet. The baby doesn't look half bad though.

In the end, Fedaykin and Tan-loc are so far the sole members of Generation 9 - and then it will be 10 coming up before I know it.

It's all downhill from there, they say. Please don't glitch out.

It's Not a Party Unless Someone Dies

So to celebrate her engagement to JC, Sybil really really wanted to have a bachelorette party. This was a feature introduced in the Generations expac which I hadn't  tried yet, so I gave it a shot, for curiousity's sake. I invited her aunts and any other young females she was more than moderately acquainted with, and they all went to the bar owned by JC. Turns out he was working there that night, so that was a bit ... awkward. Not that Sybil was planning on doing anything unsavory or unfaithful, mind you, it just put that nagging feeling of being watched in everyone's mind. "Don't get too crazy, the groom's watching!"

But he wasn't paying any attention, engrossed as he was in washing the dirty glasses. I couldn't get over his outfit though.  That sense of style.... if it can be called that - I will never get over it. Poor man. Or maybe, poor everyone else and he's just a fashion genius. I still don't know exactly what material that suit was supposed to be made out of. It was nice to see him trying to be a productive member of society though, instead of just lazing about.

Regardless, everyone showed up, even a bunch of women she hadn't invited, and the bouncer decided she'd rather play foosball than guard the door, so all sorts of women were there jumping around and giving toasts to Sybil and her future with the bartender. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, and then I got the notification that the 'Male Cowboy Dancers' had arrived. Oh boy. Who asked for them? I was afraid things would get ugly, what with JC downstairs mixing drinks while Sybil slow-danced with the cowboy, but no one seemed to care much, much to my surprise. Perhaps JC knew there was nothing harmful to it? Still, I don't know. All I know is when JC and Sybil try to slow-dance, they do nothing but step on each other's toes. This guy was a dancing master and had her spinning in circles, bending backwards, all sorts of things. All while hip-hop blared through the bar's sound system. It was quite the juxtaposition.


And while I may have complained about JC's outfit of choice, Sybil's surprised me. I had designed a nice little party dress, thinking I could get her to wear that to the party, but as soon as it officially started and her guests started showing up, she changed into this short little number and I was so surprised I let her keep it instead of forcing her back to the outfit I had planned. Huh, the way this game works sometimes if I had tried to change her clothes back that would have probably somehow ended the party and everyone would have left five minutes after they had shown up.


Apparently, my legacy family cannot have a party without someone dying. It's happened three times now, no matter where the party is held, one of the guests always decides to die. I've no idea who it was this time, all I know is everyone was upstairs dancing, even JC, when all of a sudden someone decided the dance floor was the best place to go. Everyone was quite shocked, and the look on the dancer's face in the back made me giggle. He looked so sad.

JC looked pretty upset too, and if this had been a game with more real world problems, I can imagine him thinking "Oh I hope I don't get sued for this..." I mean, the whole town knowing that someone died  at your bar isn't exactly the best advertisement. Unless he redoes the whole design of it in a dark gothic look, and then it can be a 'haunted' bar. I wonder if I could mover some of the remains from the cemetery over so that some ghosts might decide to hang out? Or is that sacrilegious, to exhume and move remains simply to add atmosphere to a bar? Might drum up business a bit. Hmm. Not a bad idea......



The Grim Reaper showed up and collected her, whoever she was, and everyone soon went back to partying, despite some lingering bad moodlets. But the despair didn't last for long, and soon everyone fine, dancing and chatting and toting their drinks around. I thought the party was going really well, minus the death, of course (but you can't help everything). I was hoping the whole time that despite the death the guests would think it had been a great party since that was Sybil's wish at the moment - for everyone to have a good time. I wonder if the woman who died had fun?

Anyway, they ended the night with JC spraying Sybil with a bottle of champagne. Sometimes I love the facial expressions in this game, and JC's in this pic is priceless. He's having so much fun ruining her dress.

The next morning, which coincidentally was Valentine's Day (or Love Day as it's called in the game), Sybil and JC ran off to the nearby beach to get married in a small private ceremony at dawn, but it started hailing (silly unpredictable spring weather) and they were forced to retreat to the nearby covered shelter to finish the ceremony.

She's pregnant by now, and I'm waiting to see what the little bundle of genetics looks like this time. I'm hoping it's a boy so that I can name him Perrin in honor of the golden gene-marker I've managed to keep in the bloodline thus far, but we'll see. That is, assuming he has the marker. Sometimes it skips a generation or so.

Yes, he really did wear that to the wedding. I had to giggle.

Sybil and Her Man-thing.

Sybil, the current heir to the Morel legacy,  is an equestrian, like her forebear Mia. She loves her horse Gaucho and had already won several advanced races before she even graduated from high school. However, this has nothing to do with Gaucho. This has to do with the guy she met while in high school named JC Grayson. Now, unfortunately, I didn't take any pictures of JC when he was younger, because he was nothing more than your typical awkward teenager - chubby, bad hair, clumsy and unimpressive. Nothing to write home about. One day Sybil came home from school all flushed and excited - JC was now her boyfriend. Again, nothing to be alarmed over, so I didn't worry about taking any pictures.

Until, that is, when JC graduated high school Now he's .... well, let's just say he's interesting. Definitely one of the more colorful figures in town.  He owns the local bar and acts, all of sudden, like he's some cool tough guy. He wears his shirts open, hairy chest and all, and his hair full of grease, and he looks for all the world like some guido. By the way, if you don't know what a guido is and go to that link, definition #3 is particularly fitting, I believe. Too bad sims all have the same relative accent. I'd love to throw a pseudo-newyorker's twang on him. Let's hope he doesn't turn into a raging alcoholic or a wife-beater :( 

He loves working out and messing with cars, and he pretends that he can play guitar. None of those, inherently, are bad things. I'm just wondering if Sybil knows what she's gotten herself into with this one. He's not a bad looking guy, don't get me wrong. I'm actually interested to see what turns up in the gene pool from this. It's just that the family tree hasn't always been as stable as I'd have liked, and there have been several splits when I'd have preferred the couples to stay together.


I know it sounds bad, but while I watched him propose, there was this cliffhanger feeling. I don't know how it's going to turn out for them. There have been lots of times when I thought I had it all in hand for that particular generation, and everything fell apart in the blink of an eye (I'm looking at you, Lily Lassiter). And then there were other times when I was sure things weren't going to work, it was all going to crash and burn, but somehow, they survived, pulled through, and came out okay in the end. Kind of like life, I guess. They say art mimics life, right? Or is it the other way around?

Here's hoping things turn out okay for Sybil and JC.

And that I can actually make it to gen20 without my file corrupting.

Two Things

  So far, two things have happened in the Morel household. Aegon has died, this time of old age and completely naturally, in his sleep at the ripe age of 95 days. Mojo did not plead for him to stay this time, although you can see from the plumbob in the screenshot that he was witness to the death, if rather out of sight behind the desk. Aegon's wife Jodie, who had been separated from him for a while, had moved back into the house now that Virgil's other five siblings are grown and on their own, and she and Virgil watched Aegon leave. I am trying to remember how many sims have died in this room, in that bed, passing in their sleep. At least three, now, with Aegon. I should probably redecorate or something. Maybe it's the wallpaper that's killing them.

 Virgil mourned his passing after a quiet graveside funeral. It is still the depths of winter, and the snow was so deep it came up to the seats of the park benches. I had the Morels buy the cemetery when they first came into their vast wealth, and since then I have rearranged it a bit so that they have a private, fenced area, shaded by oaks in the summer and lit by lamplight in the winter, where all the ancestors and forebears of the family are interred. So far I haven't put any siblings in plots, but only because they usually end up moving out before they die, and it's impossible to procure ashes off another lot.

Jodie, Aegon's widow, has been a bit senile lately and has taken to wandering about in the snow. Then, rather unexpectedly, this happened:

I've no idea where Jodie is, or how long she will be gone. But for now, the Others have her.