5.10 Alone Together

I know I said Sim Salad was next on the agenda, but it’s Valentine’s Day, and on Valentine’s Day you should be with the people you love.

Lol jk, only using them to cure my writer’s block.

Now where did we leave off last time? Nothing important, right? No cruel cliffhangers? Excellent, let’s get back to our everyday Langurd stalking.

Since Calamity’s birthday, there’s been some speculation as to how Brave/Insane/Couch Potato would manifest in a sim. Well, let me show you.

Calamity: I like to live dangerously. *dark laugh*

Calamity: I DON’T WANT TO LIVE DANGEROUSLY I WANT TO TAKE A NAP.

The first of many case studies.

Oh, my bad, were you waiting on a baby reveal? I must have forgotten. 😀

Baby: It’s okay, I don’t mind being forgotten!

Frieda: In that case, au revoir.

Baby: Hey what? *crash*

Omen: Mother, all life is precious.

Frieda: I know, I’m sorry. I actually have a good feeling about this kid. He may be the Chosen One.

Omen: …Well, most life is precious. Can I send him on another joyride?

New baby was aptly named Crash before any of this happened. I didn’t write down a single word about his birth, but I believe his first two traits were Insane and Athletic, and—like everyone else this generation—he probably likes a shade of purple.

Sibling rivalry is always a thing in legacies, but it’s more of a thing when your parents won’t stop making new siblings.

Calamity: So like, I know Fiasco is poopy and starving and hasn’t seen a human face in days, but you’ll read me a bedtime story, right?

Gumby: Of course I will, sweetie.

Gumby: Because YOU’RE my favourite!

Fiasco: </3

Frieda: Alright little Crash, Stroller Olympics make Mama very tired. Try not to get stepped on by the horses.

Crash: Gurrrrrrr.

Language skills went from 100 to 0 real fast there.

Speaking of 100 to 0, Mandrake’s big break at the Swanky Coffeehouse…

Mandrake: Look Ma, no hands!

Mandrake: Whoooooopsy daisy!

…quickly became his last hurrah as an acrobat.

Literally everything went wrong that could have gone wrong.

Mandrake: One second, I got this… I got this…

Michelle: Excuse me, aren’t you supposed to be a professional?

Mandrake: WE’RE SOARING, FLYING

I’ll take that as a resounding “no.”

Mandrake: And now, make fire. Fire good.

Crowd: *sharp intake of breath*

Mandrake: Fire bad! Bad fire!

Old man: Holy crap, this kid’s gonna kill himself!

Mandrake: You guys wanna see some more?

Angel Statue: Ugh, I can’t watch.

Even his stage props are done with him.

And in that moment, I had to accept that this (a pathetic Level 6) was as good as he would ever get.

Mandrake: Well, I guess this is it. Sayo-noro. Arribaderchy.

Paparazzi: Who are you looking at?

Mandrake: Just waving goodbye to my overlord.

Not yet you aren’t! What about Tariq? Don’t you want to confess your feelings before SP matches you with an eighty-year-old woman?

Mandrake: Oh yeah, I guess so.

Gumby: Everything alright, Manny?

Mandrake: Sure, just got my dreams shattered is all. You know how it is.

He doesn’t. He really doesn’t. Gumby is a raging success.

Pokey (offscreen): I beg your pardon.

For once, Tariq had the decency to show up—he just didn’t have the decency to really show up. It’s hard to interact with your almost-boyfriend when he’s cowering in a puddle of nervous pee.

Tariq: This is my home now.

He Lives in U(rine)—the Lion King number that never was.

And so, in a very Florin-esque turn of events, I said “fuck it, I need the house space” and threw my downtrodden spare out on the streets. At least now he can have a fresh start.

Mandrake: I’m gonna join the CIRCUS!

…or not.

Actually, right away Manny fared better in Story Progression than he ever had under my watch. First, he discovered the reason behind Tariq’s secrecy—dang fool’s still living with his ex-wife. So Manny went ahead and stirred that pot of shit.

Soon they were betrothed.

And with no time to waste, they tied the knot. Probably for the best since Tariq is all old and stuff.

All in all, an impressive first few days of freedom. Who knew Mediocre, Motherless, Moronic Mandrake had it in him?

Are you jealous, Gumby? Manny found true love.

Gumby: I have true love. Pokey and I are totally in sync.

See, the correct answer would have been “I am married to a wonderful woman.”

Pokey: Can Ghostie clear a five-foot oxer with a human on her back? I don’t think so.

Gumby’s not lying – in their little backyard jumping session, they reached these milestones at exactly the same time.

It’s meant to be.

Unlike this shitshow of a marriage…

Gumby: You let me in this bedroom RIGHT NOW!

Frieda: Oh, is the door locked? Whoops.

Gumby: Don’t play dumb, I saw you hide the key!

Frieda: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Gumby: This’ll be the last one, I promise.

Frieda: I don’t trust you.

Gumby: I’ll stop exercising. I’ll take up smoking. I’ll eat cholesterol sandwiches!

Frieda: Now we’re talking.

True love indeed. ❤

In other news, the Langurds’ fame has reached new levels.

Paparazzi 1: Can I have your autograph, Miss Storm?

Paparazzi 2: No way, me first!

Storm: One at a time, ladies. One at a time.

Ghost hauntings are becoming a huge mess, too—especially now that 42% of our playable population is dead people. And that darn Gnome of the Damned keeps bringing randoms out to play.

Boa: She doesn’t even go here!

Morgana: Actually, I just haven’t rendered yet.

Arabella: How disgraceful to be dead at eight years old! You are no great-great-granddaughter of mine!

And more and more extended family is eager to join in the fun.

Dracha (offscreen): What is fun.

Calamity doesn’t mind being a disgrace. With her whacked traits and her ghostly permasmile, I get the feeling anything would roll off this girl.

Cally: ♫ It was waiting in the bushes for us, then it ripped off your dad’s face… ♫

(I can’t get enough of this song.)

As per usual, some of our ghosts just don’t know how to spot a sunrise.

Tuesday: Where’s the ghost party? Am I late?

Omen: If you don’t mind, I’m studying to be a wedding officiant for the Church of Molark.

We’ll leave him to it.

And go catch up with Skydancer, who was practising Charisma when she autonomously hightailed it across town to accost Don’t at the Spring Festival.

Skydancer: You’re a bastard. Thought you should know that.

Don’t: Huh?

Oh. I guess I forgot to restore their platonicness after Mission: Mommy’s Boy.

Well, it’s all for the best because Sky enjoys the single life.

Correction—Sky enjoys frolicking barefoot across pits of fire. Freaking pyromaniac.

Now stop dicking around and get back to your LTW.

Skydancer: Okay.

Omen needed a new skill to learn. Calamity had a fishing opportunity for school (I think). Time for some sibling bonding, I say!

Omen: I can’t fish here. We have to go to the pond across town.

Calamity: I’ll float as fast as I can.

Omen: There you are. What took you so long?

Calamity: That was hard. I need a nap.

Only with those two out of the house can Fiasco finally snag some attention.

Frieda: This kiss should tide you over for the next two days or so.

Fiasco: Don’t worry, it will. ❤

With that, Frieda turned her attention to more pressing matters. The scientific term for those matters being “I’ve used all my boy names so please make this one a girl.”

Frieda: Mmmm, watermelon!

Yes, note the watermelon. Note that she ate THREE OF THEM.

Also note that Skydancer does not do what I tell her to do.

Sky: Relax, it’s Love Day. I thought I’d grace the town with my luscious lips.

Former Kisser: Where did I go wrong?

Turns out Omen has quite the knack for fishing as well as chess. Strange that he’s so good at science when he claims to be a Man of Faith. 😉

Omen: Isn’t that why this is the Age of Contradictions?

Right you are, Harry! Omen.

And where was Calamity during this super-special bonding time?

Calamity: So close.

I am so lucky this isn’t an ISBI.

But she was up and at ‘em a few hours later—against my wishes, floating around on red energy.

Calamity: Like I said, I like to live dangerously.

GO HOME, Skydancer.

Skydancer: Can I at least take a family portrait?

What family?!

Skydancer: Exactly.

I finally chained her down to the speechifier’s podium so she could continue to practise her speechifying. This way she can’t talk smack about any mirrors.

Skydancer: Have you noticed that light bulb is just a bit brighter than the others? And what the heck kind of pattern is that on the rug?

She will make a wonderful fairy godmother one day.

So I went on last chapter about how the ghost gnome was useless, and it turns out it’s worse than useless—it’s a total nuisance. I even took this screenshot, and yet I didn’t put the pieces together until Dawnstar informed me of its ghost-summoning abilities. How am I still so bad at this game??

Ghostie: Rise, minions! The dead will rule this city!

Zenyatta: Not if the horses do first!

Gramps: Not if the huma—

Zenyatta: Get outta here, you’re irrelevant.

A fair representation of the state of things.

Calamity! What are you doing out in the rain?

Calamity: Thought I’d take out the trash.

That was five hours ago!

Calamity: Floating is hard, okay?

Then stop wasting all your energy on meaningless tasks!

Naptime again, naturally.

Calamity: Fiasco, come out from there! I didn’t mean it, you’re not really adopted!

These kids wish they were adopted.

Frieda: Two babies fed and sleeping. I am a supermom! *thunderclap*

*babies wake up*

Frieda: Dammit.

And that goes without mentioning…

Gumby: Look at us, a couple of alien geniuses doing geniusy things!

Omen: Dad, you’re not a genius.

Gumby: Says who?

Omen: Your traits.

Gumby: Oh.

Omen: Seriously, get out. My IQ drops just looking at you.

Gumby: Why you little—

Omen: At least one of my parents is a successful intellectual.

Frieda: Yes. I am much the smart.

That would explain how she’s gotten this far in the Science track on toddler-level Logic.

But maybe I don’t have a leg to stand on here, because I forgot whether the gender-swaying fruit happens pre- or post-bump. I was too lazy to Google it, so I did both just in case.

Again, note the watermelon. Note that she ate THREE OF THEM.

Calamity: Yeehaw, a baby sister!

Well, Dollhouse, we had a good run. But your routing hath finally failed me. Meet the Ghost Trap: three or four units of counter that suck in any phantom who tries to round the corner from the kitchen to the stairs.

Calamity: I had big plans for today, but now I’m too tired.

I know, I know. FLOATING IS HARD.

Gumby: So is aging.

Gumby’s adultified! Frieda will be pleased. 😀

Wtf, Sky? Where do you think you’re—

Oh, this again.

Don’t: Yussss, I knew she’d come back begging!

Sky: Actually, Don’t, I came to say we should stick to being friends.

Don’t: You don’t came to say we should just be friends?

Sky: Nice try, but that’s not how grammar works.

Don’t: How can you do this to me? I left the love of my life for you!

Sky: You’ll thank me someday. Or not.

With that issue cleared up, Skydancer went to work on that other, more integral but far more neglected portion of Magic Makeover: her fairy spells.

Deanna: Someone’s a little rusty.

Cut her some slack—we can’t all have the Queen of the Fae for a mother.

(LeffJeff make cute kids, huh? They just had their third one, Molly, around the time Manny moved out.)

The next victim was thoroughly got.

Girl: I— This isn’t what I wear to bed, I swear!

Guy: Niiiiiice!

Sky: Your turn, perv.

Girl: Niiiiiice.

Old Lady: Niiiiiiiiiiice.

On the way home, I scrolled past the saddest—and clearly the most sanitary—community pool of all time.

They must all be flocking to the one at the Fool’s Goldmine.

Fiasco: Um, excuse me, if you’d like to document my birthday, I’m having it now. If not I completely understand.

Middle Child Syndrome: adjusting expectations is the key to survival.

Forgive me the gaudy colours—he was asking for them, alright? I have to say I’m quite the fan of this little fella.

Fiasco: It’s okay, you don’t have to say that.

But I am!

I mean, look at that genetic recombination. Can you even tell where the pieces come from? (I hope you can’t, because I sure as hell can’t and that would make me look stupid.)

Fiasco: I’m a human platypus, aren’t I?

Yes… and don’t get me started on my love of platypuses. (12-year-old Sam had 10 stuffed platypuses, knew everything down to the size of the burrows they laid their eggs in, and forced her parents to back an RV up a muddy, twisty hill in Queensland so we could see one in the wild. Worth it.)

Fiasco developed Neurotic to join Genius and Easily Impressed.

Oh look, it’s someone else’s birthday, too!

Frieda: I have expectations. Great expectations.

So do I…

And he MEETS THEM! It’s not a lot, but I’ll take it. Is he not the cutest??

Crash: Hehehehe.

Still has not regained the power of speech, however.

And Calamity has not recovered from her strenuous foray into the kitchen cupboards.

This is her life, and I may be kind of jealous of it.

Calamity: I’m up now! I think I’ll take each of these to the trash, one at a time.

Calamity: I’M ON AN ADVENTURE! *whistles a little tune*

Fiasco’s life is equally low-key, because somehow his “Easily Impressed” trait translates to “Has No Expectations.”

Fiasco: I’m not saying I need a bedtime story, but I wouldn’t mind one. I realize my parents are very busy people.

That, they clearly are.

Gumby: What are you doing?

Frieda: Going upstairs.

Gumby: I don’t think that’s how it works.

Frieda: Uh-oh.

Gumby: Please don’t have our baby in the trash compactor!!

Alas, no trash baby for Friedumby (I must have grown a conscience). To the hospital we go!

Gumby: But I’m hungry.

Frieda: Must be so uncomfortable for you.

And the clock starts ticking as we anxiously await the birth of their baby daugh—

Gumby: Yay, another Gumby Jr.!

Frieda: Yeah, not so fast. Brb.

One quick gender reassignment later, we have ghost baby Rhapsody, an Athletic Outdoors hater who loves Hot Pink, Vegetarian Grilled Salmon, and Classical music.

I realize this makes me a big cheater. But choosing her gender at birth is only as cheaty as choosing it during pregnancy, right? RIGHT? It’s not my fault the game hates me. D:

Omen: Mother, why do you keep bringing these things home when you got it right the first time?

Frieda: Your father and I have an… agreement.

Gee, Omen, for a Genius you sure seem to be struggling a lot with your homework…

…like everywhere, all the time.

Omen: It’s not homework, it’s my confirmation speech for the Church of Molark. It has to be perfect. I’m being inducted to the 3rd Tier.

Well then, don’t let me interrupt you.

These kids have big dreams. Fiasco sat down to sing to Peanut, and the next minute he rolled “Vocal Legend” as his LTW.

Of course, in his mind, being a Vocal Legend probably requires singing in the bathtub for a rubber ducky.

Fiasco: Right?! How impressive would that be?

I locked it in for kicks, fully prepared to change it with reward points if/when he gets a better personality.

Let’s not forget that Fiasco is also a Genius, and despite his doe-eyed glory could probably give Omen a run for his money.

Omen: You’re good, brother, but not good enough.

Fiasco: That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

Fiasco: Have you seen that bloodstone on the mantel downstairs? I heard it was a relic from our uncle’s drug plantation.

Omen: Get your head in the game.

Fiasco: My head’s in the game, but my heart’s in the song.

Omen: Stop your jabbering.

It’s no wonder Sky’s so unproductive when I keep sending her on random missions. This time I tasked her with scoping out the other resorts in town, a.k.a. our competition. Okay, so our ramshackle baby can’t really compete with these places, but we can dream.

This is Sparkling Sands, the flashiest resort in Isla Paradiso. It’s rated at 4.5 stars, but so far I can’t see why. Skydancer waited three hours for someone to show up at the desk.

Sky: Deadbeat receptionist, check.

Receptionist: Oh, I’m sorry, were you waiting long?

Sky: Only the average length of a Lord of the Rings film.

Receptionist: Apologies, I’ll see about an upgrade.

Sky: Don’t bother. I won’t be staying long.

Server: Here, Miss, try our award-winning perfect cheesesteak.

Skydancer: Fine, but just warning you, I’m not going to like it.

Skydancer: I’m not going to like this perfect sushi either, no siree.

Skydancer: I can literally slide into the pool from my dining chair. That seems like a health code violation.

Skydancer: A poolside bar? Pffft, I could find one of these anywhere.

Bartender: Just wait, I’m gonna make you the best drink of your life.

Skydancer: My grandma could do that.

Bartender: Hey, what’s your deal?

Skydancer: Nnnggh. Tastes like stomach acid.

Bartender: Listen, lady. I am the best mixologist in the west. If you don’t like my drinks, you’d better take it up with the National Board of Mixology.

Skydancer: That’s a great idea! I’ll write them a strongly worded letter.

I think Omen’s ascension to the 3rd Tier went well. He now recharges his brainpower in the shape of a heart.

Gumby’s is still a jumbled blob.

Gumby: Aww come on, you’re using tricksy camera angles.

Nah, you just suck.

Is this the first school bus shot of the generation? How is that possible? Also, why does this game assume that all bus drivers look like something out of an N*SYNC video?

Omen: Try not to fall asleep in class, Cal. It looks bad on your report card.

Calamity: Fight the system.

Looks like we’re edumacationing all over the place today. Although I doubt there’s much value in a lesson from Gumby.

Gumby: Hey Crash, how many fingers am I holding up?

Crash: Durrr.

Gumby: Are you ever gonna talk to me?

Crash: Hyamnamnam!

Gumby: That’s cool.

The pegbox popup was a wake-up call for Frieda, and she finally decided all that boating and floating to work was just too much effort.

Frieda: Yes, I’d like to quit. Frieda. Frieda Langurd. I’ve been on maternity leave for twelve years.

Skydancer: But if you quit your job, we may be unable to afford the coffee table!

Too late. I guess you’ll have to forsake the finer things in life.

Skydancer: Mmm-mmm, Eau de Garbage!

I don’t even remember which elixir that is.

Gumby and Axorn—always majestic as fuck.

Gumby: We’re gonna crush this International Jumping Comp.

Axorn: YES MASTER. CRUSH ALL THE JUMPS.

Gumby: Well, don’t actually crush them. I think we lose points for that.

Houseboat: *Pink Panther theme song*

These things really creep me out sometimes.

And while Gumby was out crushing stuff with Axorn, Pokey became a sagely steed.

Pokey: That stupid clayboy missed my birthday. I’m throwing the next race.

Understandable.

Finally, behold a Valentine’s miracle—Fiasco finally got his bedtime story.

Fiasco: Wow. That was such a mind-blowing story, I don’t think I can sleep now!

Frieda: I read him a freaking recipe card.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Okay, so this post would have been much more appropriate if I’d gotten it out a week ago. But just so you know how much I love you guys, this is what my screen has looked like in every snippet of spare time I’ve had this week:

Note to self: Live Writer hates side-by-side mode. Don’t do this again.

Sim Salad 4 is still sitting around the halfway mark, but I’m aiming to have it up tomorrow. Keep an eye on that blog for an exciting plot twist in the next few days, and some even better stuff as we near the finale and start gearing up for Season 2. 😉

As for the Langurds, I counted wrong—NOW we have four chapters ‘til the heir poll. My bad! I’ll try to pick up the pace.

As always, if you miss me, come find me on Boolprop!

Happy Simming!

-Sam

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