Category Archives: Generashun 7
Oh, how I’ve fallen in the world. There was a time when I wrote these posts from an actual desk, a queen-sized bed, or occasionally even a hammock. I’m typing this one from a floor mattress, sprawled on my stomach in that awkward position that strains your shoulders and kinks your neck no matter how you rearrange yourself. There’s laundry drying just above my butt, approximately three inches of Korean dust on my laptop screen, and bread pizza with hot dogs in the toaster oven I scored for free with my phone contract.
Huh, it doesn’t sound so bad when I phrase it that way. I actually love my Seoul apartment, and I do have a real-ish bed balanced on two mold-combative plastic pallets. I just wasn’t feeling the inspiration over there.
Also, compared to the Langurds’ house it’s a downright port-a-potty so I think I have full license to complain.
Seriously. Just look at that golden glow on the wallpaper. Look at it and weep.
Delilah: Welcome to your new room, Duke! And good news, as the oldest you get it aaaalll to yourse— wait, who is that?
Riza: Just the disappointing child of a doomed relationship. Don’t mind me.
Happy New Year! And a joyous farewell to 2018, the most desolate year on the Blog of Langurd: home to nine posts, only two-thirds of which were actual updates. Oh my.
This is the year 3019, and revolution is upon us. Fingers will fly across keyboards, updates will churn, comments will be replied to, and babies will be born.
I may just end up half-assing my way to the good stuff because these screenshots are stale enough to break a tooth on.
And Trelilah’s relationship is growing seven kinds of toxic mold, but that doesn’t stop me trying to salvage it.
Delilah: Let me just get this straight. You, Trance Langurd, are admitting your idiotic mistakes and begging for forgiveness.
Trance: Indeed… I think I am.
Delilah: Could you say it one more time so I know I’m not losing it?
Trance: I, Trance Langurd, have behaved like human trash. Can you find it in your heart to take back an unworthy imbecile?
Delilah: Depends. Can I get that in writing?
BREAKING NEWS: Gryffindork utterly tanks SimNoWriMo for a third year running, much to the surprise of no one
To be fair, I did NOT see October coming. The other day my poor coworker had to convince me that it’s not “almost fall” anymore, it actually is fall. Who knew?
THIS JUST IN: Actually publishing post in mid-December, has nothing to say for self
So anyway, here’s what was going to be Update #2, and is now just a plain old chapter in the middle of all the other ones. With a two month gap to boot.
Hello, and welcome to the part of this generation where I get far too invested in my spares and lose sight of the legacy’s ultimate goal!
Why? Because if Story Progression had its way, it would only have them become sad, celibate mimes.
It’s only fair that Kip and Trance get their day in the sun, so I took them and their other halves to the sunniest place I could think of!
Let’s appreciate how the newcomers are like “WOW A VACATION WE ARE SO BLESSED” while my actual legacy kids couldn’t give a shit.
Kip: I would feel more blessed if you hadn’t done this 3000 times before.
And how would YOU know that?
Trance: I’ve seen our basement. Is there anything left in the tombs?
IT IS TIME
To make like Smaug and start hoarding posts for SimNoWriMo! It’s only the middle of August, but I’m awkwardly motivated and we all know that won’t last long. So let’s find out just how much gas is left in the inspiration machine!
Rhapsody: What is inspiration?
What a terrible place to start. Rhapsody is the slowest skiller ever, and even she’s over it.
I’m doing my darnedest to keep this momentum going, so let’s get straight into the next act of the shitshow!
Here we see a typical morning at the Langurd Lodge for Futuristic Wayfarers. After arriving with a crash of thunder that ruins my screenshots and wakes the baby, a guest makes himself at home in the nursery.
Colby: Ah, what a quaint little transport vessel! I believe this is what they called a bort.
It’s precisely at this point that I rage-delete the time portal and leave Colby forever stranded. I hope he learns how to sail that bort the fuck outta here.
Well. I just laid out the screenshots for several more chapters and let me tell you, Siesta’s generation is going to be a saga. Today’s update is coming to you in a smaller package so I will feel less daunted by the task ahead.
We find the family in much the state we left them, i.e. total disarray after our resident knight turned out to be robotophile, and our resident robot turned out to be a bitch. Who knew?
The latest trend is that Siri keeps asking Breandan to “train” her on the ballet bar, which is as unsubtle as it is stupid.
Breandan: Work that plié, you arousing slab of tin!
Siri: This is all I ever wanted!
Hello, and welcome back to the Langurds! For real this time – no more filler bullshit. If you don’t believe me, take a moment to breathe in the scent of decaying tofu dogs and evaporating brain cells.
Oh yeah, we’re back alright.
Turns out I remember zero things from last generation, but I do know that there was a terrible, awful, very no good heir poll and y’all panic-voted this box-headed fool into leadership. I think we will regret this soon, but for now it’s full steam ahead!
Commence the celebratory tea! (I hope she showed up on time)
Siesta: Hey Prototype, I’ve been thinking.
Prototype: God help us all.
Siesta: Since I’m in charge and stuff, I’m going to rename you Siri.
Prototype: Pray tell why?
Siesta: Don’t be silly, Siri. You answer my questions, not the other way around!
Prototype: You poor dense soul.
You guys voted for this star-crossed lovers business, and honour compels me to deliver on my promises in the fullest way possible. Which means—you guessed it—the Langurds are about to enter that shadowy, foreboding territory we call PLOT.
Don’t worry—Siesta’s generation will be played and written as much by the seat of my pants as the others have been. It’s just that after playing detective so many times in Gen. 6, I felt it would be helpful to put all of my “COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT” moments in one place.
So please humour me as I don my Halloween-store trench coat and cap, and attempt to mash together disjointed happenings into a wad that can conceivably be called “evidence.”
Without further ado, let us open the case!