6.10 No Sleep Till Brooklyn

Or rather, the new anthem of my life: “No Sleep Till 6.13.” But don’t ask me to rap; I don’t do that in public.

I didn’t want to jinx myself by mentioning this early on, but if I DO get through seven chapters by Wednesday, that may actually bring us to the end of Calamity’s generation. In other words, we could have an heir poll as early as THREE DAYS FROM NOW WTFBBQ.

That seems like a very short time for our heir hopefuls to develop personalities, hopes, dreams, quirks, flaws, and the kitchen sink, so let’s get cooking, guys!

Kip: I am twelve steps ahead of you.

Precisely twelve?

Kip: Do you want me to elaborate or do you want me to finish these muffins?

She may be the first child in Langurd history to figure her life out so early, and the first Langurd in Langurd history to get gud at cooking. Our little indoorsy slob is going to be a chef. It is known.

I’ll cut these two some slack given that they’re still crawling and babbling and all.

Siesta: Hey Trance, wanna have a tank fight?

Trance: So I can get my delicate fingers pinched in a wheel well? Please.

Siesta: That’s okay, I’ll pretend to be the other tank!

This one has been such a pleasant toddler, even bitter old Quinn can’t hate her.

Siesta: Like, I guess you can feed me if you want, but I’m not gonna die or anything.

Quinn: What an impertinent child.

Siesta: Oh boy, thanks! You’re the best daddy in the world!

Quinn: DON’T EVER CALL ME THAT AGAIN!

He’s still trying really hard, though.

Lucky Mama Cal is around to nurture her… unique personality.

Cal: So what’s your deal, Siesta? Are you going to be a baker like your sister?

Siesta: Nah.

Cal: A delusional powder puff like your brother?

Siesta: Don’t think so.

Cal: What, then?

Siesta: I wanna be a… a computer!

Cal: Did you just land on the first thing you saw in this room?

Siesta: Nope!

Cal: You so did.

Siesta: Nuh-uh!

Siesta: Wait, I wanna be a bookshelf!

Cal: The daughter of a gold digger and I couldn’t produce ONE aspiring business tycoon…

Kip: Make that thirteen steps ahead of you. Also, why am I on the roof?

No one has ever been up here before! I thought it would be fun!

Kip: But I hate weather.

Oh I’m so sorry, how could have forg— yeah nice try, get under the umbrella and shut up.

In the latest episode of “Things Could Be Worse” (it’s been a while), note that Rhapsody has been here at the park, playing her electric keyboard in the rain ALL NIGHT. That’s like six changes of sky colour without a break.

Rhapsody: What are fingers?

A necessary sacrifice toward her first maxed instrument! Funny, Level 10 and you still haven’t realized your piano doesn’t have a foot pedal?

Rhapsody: Shut up, my stomach is eating itself.

Rhapsody: Ooooh, but suddenly my soul can feel the music!

Ew no, I fucking hate these animations.

Rhapsody: But I—

Nope, you’re done. Go home.

Rhapsody: Rude.

Kip: Make way for better street entertainment!

Earth to businesswoman, shouldn’t you change out of your pyjamas? And put some products on the table???

Kip: No, silly. I have to create demand first.

…I hate when kids are smarter than me.

At this rate, Trance will be expected to have a Master’s degree and five years of job experience by the time he’s a child.

Quinn: That’s it, son! Chip off the old block!

Cal: Don’t listen to him, Trancey. You can be anything you want to be.

Quinn: Anything but a two-timing nutcase!

Cal: Anything but a sleazy slimy slug!

Really, guys?

Cal: Ugh, what are we doing? We’re ruining our son’s birthday!

Quinn: Maybe you are. I’m just being a helicopter parent.

When your dad’s jokes are so bad that you grow up mid-eye roll.

Trance: Will both of you stop already?

Quinn: NEVER!

Trance: I’m going upstairs. Forever.

Upstairs is where Trance will meet his destiny. His third trait is Daredevil—and for a man in this day and age, there’s one discipline that requires more balls than any other.

Trance: Perfection.

Trance: Oh, yes! Trance, my boy, this is what you are made for!

…

What have I created?

Downstairs, Trance’s warring parents are awkwardly left alone to discuss an armistice.

Quinn: Should we put this bad blood behind us? For the kids’ sake?

Cal: Thermometers have mercury in them, not blood.

Quinn: Can’t we have a real conversation anymore?

Cal: Why is yawning contagious, anyway?

And in the other room, an unlikely partnership is about to be formed.

Kip: Hey Auntie Rhapsody, I’m sorry I upstaged your concert at the park.

Rhapsody: What do you want, kid?

Kip: I think I have a way we could work together.

Kip: You know what goes really great with live music? Gooseberry-rhubarb friands!

Conor: What in the bleeding hell is a friand?

Kip is irrationally pleased with herself for knowing the answer to that.

Kip: I am the cutest vendor of obscure baked goods.

Kip: And how ingenious of me to bring an umbrella for shelter!

Rhapsody (playing a waterlogged guitar): Let’s save the gloating for when we get a real customer, okay?

It would seem we’ve picked a bad day for business (ya think?) because several hours pass without any takers. Then who should show up but Dusty, the Mithrilen baby Cal rescued from gnomes!

Dusty: Hey, how much for the—

Dusty: —just kidding, I’m not spending my money on Easy Bake Oven crap.

Kip: You did not just call my cardamom biscotti “Easy Bake Oven crap.”

Dusty: Wow, your aunt also sucks at guitar.

Kip: Why I ought to—

Alright, Kip, stand down.

For the record, Rhapsody does not actually suck at guitar. Evidence: she strikes stupid poses while playing that as well. Also, the sky would suggest I left her out here for upwards of 12 hours again…

Rhapsody: Oh, don’t worry. You did.

Since I started captioning these chapters, I’ve done a lot of fist shaking at Past Sam for daring to stray from Quinn. I mean, look at the diversity he produced in just two children. Imagine if he’d had a third! #sorrySiesta

Kip: Eugh, do you have hairspray in your hair?

Trance: Why yes, I do.

Kip: Weirdo.

Trance: Are you aware you have egg yolk in yours?

Kip: Uh, duh.

Yes, Kip has some habits of her own that are open to judgment.

Cal: Surprise room inspection!

Uh-oh, someone’s gonna get it.

Cal: …Everything looks great! My kids are perfect!

Oh right, I forgot they have the least judgy mother of all time.

Mind you, she has been getting some dangerous ideas. (Clearly, she saw what it did for Rhapsody.)

Friedumby’s youngest has indeed become a dutiful, disciplined young slave lady. And thanks to her, Calamity’s only human child gets to experience the wonders of walking through walls!

Rhapsody: You know, I wasn’t sure that would work.

So what, you were just gonna let her clunk to the ground on the other side?

Rhapsody: All in the name of science.

Siesta: Again! Again!

The kids’ bathroom isn’t always such a fun experience.

Calamity: What? What do you all want from me?!

She’s in a mighty convenient place to be scared shitless, at least.

On that note, Calamity’s off maternity leave and heading back to work. So far she’s climbing the ranks like a boss (note: she’s not officially the boss yet) but hasn’t actually rescued anyone on the job, which is the part of all this that counts for her LTW. So technically, she’s at zero progress after ten chapters.

Sofia: Oh great, you’re back.

Cal: Hello to you too.

On top of that, the entire crew still despises her.

It’s a quiet day with no emergencies rolling in, so our 6th level firefighter has to keep herself busy with maintenance.

Cal: Huh, something doesn’t seem right here…

Emily: Guys, guys, she’s fixing the alarm. Guys, what do we do???

Cal: Hey everyone, I fixed it! It was just switched off this whole time!

Emily: Why? Why would you do that?

Sofia: Great, now we actually have to do stuff!

Other Guy: And it’s all HER fault!

Turns out Cal’s absence has not made any hearts grow fonder.

Emily: We liked you better when you were on mat leave, you know.

Cal: But you never sent me a gift basket or anything!

Emily: Yeah I lied, we didn’t like you ever.

Very much autonomously, Cal stands her ground for once.

Cal: I’ll have you know I’ve made a real lasting impression on some of the people I’ve saved!

Emily: What people?

Baby Dusty, of course. You can always count on him for a good review.

Cal gets home from that terrible, no good, very bad day, only to find out…

And what a lovely way to celebrate it.

Trance is now a permanent fixture at the ballet barre. He can often be found practising his turnout until he smells as bad as Kip.

Trance: This? This is not body odour. This is vaporized elegance.

I think I might love him.

Poor guy tuckers himself out so badly he can’t even partake in Homework Club.

Kip: What did you get for number six? It’s either 3,975 or 8, but I can’t read my writing.

Trance: Maybe ask someone who’s not asleep?

Kip: You’re right, sorry. WAKE UP TRANCE, WHAT DID YOU GET FOR NUMBER SIX?

Being a light sleeper in this household is not a good time. At 3am, you’ve got your sister talking math in your ear, your mother blowing off steam…

Cal: Dusty is my only friend!

Let’s not exaggerate.

…and your mother again, prodding electronics with a screwdriver.

Cal: Come yell at me for fixing THIS!

Ah, the beautiful synchrony of a finished upgrade and a maxed skill.

Cal: I still feel empty inside.

Trance: Mom, the day is over. Go to bed.

Clever Kip has finally figured out a shortcut to the school bus. It involves existing in a dimension not known to man.

Kip: I am no man.

Kip: Heheheh, you don’t get to drive away from me this time!

A life of sprinting for unapologetic city busses has given me a lot of sympathy for this stuff.

Her brother, on the other hand, has much to learn.

Trance: Just wait five minutes, please. I need to finish my homework.

#shitoutofluck

The official truth is that Calamity has ditched parenting for work. The kinda-believable facade is that the two rejected babies of the family have taken a liking to one another.

Rhapsody: You are so cute.

Siesta: I’m a disco light!

Rhapsody: Well, if you marry rich you won’t need smarts anyway. I learned that from my mother.

Rhapsody: You know, you do kind of look like her…

Trance: You can’t be Grandma Frieda’s second coming! That’s my job!!

Guys, guys, there’s no need to argue! If what I’ve read about playable ghosts is true, you won’t ever meet her because her spirit is stuck in the Netherworld forever. 😀

Kip: Hello, I’m about to experience the miracle of puberty!

No you’re not, you’ve been a kid for like one chapter??

Kip: What can I say? I guess I’ve just accomplished a lot really fast.

Not so convinced by the “miracle of puberty”? Hold onto your hats…

Kip: Take that, Emma Watson.

And what of her teenage trait? Something like Natural Cook or Irresistible would make my job really easy, thanks.

Kip: Photographer’s Eye, obvs.

Dammit. We’ll deal.

With that, and with the PILES OF MOULDY FOOD SHE’S BEEN HOARDING ON HER PERSON holy shit Kip.

Okay, who hung up the horse butt again?

Pokey: This is so degrading.

But it certainly gives new meaning to the words “nether portal.” 😉

And now for a brief check-in with SP as this post tapers off into nothingness. In case you missed it at the end of last chapter (and you probably did, because I threw it in 10 hours later) Crash fell prey to Florin-Fiasco Syndrome and wound up in the worst possible career for a guy in his, uh, predicament.

After his first live performance went south, he fell off the tracks and turned to a life of crime.

No word on babies yet. 😦

Not from Crash and Sophie, anyway—Sky, however, has kicked Donte to the curb and procreated with another unpleasant man. You go, girl!

And for one last surprise…

Frieda: Oh wow, I wonder who painted all these masterpieces.

Guess who’s not chained to the Netherworld after all! 😀

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The level of tired I am right now is wonderfully appropriate to this chapter’s title. I’m literally going to hit “Publish” with one foot on my bed and one hand on the light switch. (Okay, on second thought, this probably requires more acrobatics than I think it does.) I’ve also reluctantly decided that I will abandon this mission if (and only if) the quality of the funnies starts slipping, or—gods forbid—I start spelling things wrong. I don’t think we’re there yet (do tell me if we are)* so it’s onwards and upwards for now!

A note to Emily: I apologize for making your simself the bad guy (and for that minor hair hiccup XD). I swear all her interactions with Cal are autonomous – and I wouldn’t include them if they weren’t so entertaining!

Goodnight and Happy Simming!

-Sam

*Considering I just edited a line that read “talking through walls,” we may be closer to that point than I thought.

Advertisement