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.
Round of applause for Gryffindork tanking her self-imposed mission in less than 48 hours. It’s not my fault, guys. Failure radiates from my very being. My friend asked me to look after her betta fish this week, and he literally died on my watch.
But in the words of a misguided Death Eater (and a really dated reference), IT’S NOT OVER YET! This seven-posts-in-a-week thing can still be a thing. I’ll just have to double up one day, which is totally doable. /delusion
Last time, a trilogy of Ghost Crises caused all sorts of rule breaking and left me wishing for several plates of ambrosia, which I then remembered is also against the rules. Basically, things are going great and everyone is really happy.
A fine time to check in with the one who started it all.
Quinn: Inspector Flanagan reporting for duty, sir.
Tewl: Well well well. So dis is da new man of da house.
Well, I just finished a six-month temp contract at an office, wrapped up my first quidditch season as a coach, and filed my tax return. That’s enough adulting for a while, thanks.
Nobody illustrates my feelings quite like Skydancer.
Sky: I’m not even adulting. I’m literally living in this library, reading books on how to talk to people and never actually talking to people.
Welcome to the formal education system!
Sky: I don’t want it.
Yes, this one is still working on her Charisma. Quite frankly, after witnessing Galadriel Evans the Skilling Machine, I’m embarrassed for her. She’s supposed to be a Genius.
^ ^ Hopefully this post doesn’t do anything of the sort.
But hey, just in case, I take no responsibility for any drool damage to your keyboards.
Last time, Death struck the Langurd house twice in as many hours, leaving Boa and Weston wifeless. It was a rough blow for both of the men, but apparently I’m starting this chapter with Lira because I have no sympathy.
Lira: Rockabye baby, in the spaceship…
Nice try — there’s no wind in space.
Gumby: Heehee, you said “wind”!
And you’d best enjoy it while you can, little buddy…
Howdy, partner! No, actually, I refuse to start a chapter that way even in jest. Instead, let me start it by saying I BOUGHT THE SIMS 4! It was on for half price, and—having over-budgeted for groceries for the year—I thought I would treat myself. You know, to make up for those nights when I had a microwaved potato and some vanilla frosting for dinner. I made one sim, put her in a lot, then got bored and quit. But that’s okay, because my attention span right now is about as broad as a WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME, I have to go watch Game of Thrones.
In the Land of Langurds, Dax’s death reminded me that Katana is no spring chicken herself—nor, for that matter, is she a seasoned chicken traveler as she set out to become so long ago. For shame. You might say that Old Peabrain gave us the little push we needed to seek greatness. However, he also gave us a bunch of shitty moodlets to hinder the pursuit of said greatness.
But you know, sometimes the first stage of grief is “press a button and magically get over it.”
Katana: Wow, I’m not sad anymore. Oh wait… I never was.
Can I publish two chapters in one day? Probably not. No, definitely not. But this site is nearing its second birthday, and TS4 is slated to come out way too soon, and look at how not-far we’ve come.
So I’m setting a goal for myself as of right now. The Langurds are going to birth their 6th generation before the year is out. Is that even remotely possible? Probably not. No, definitely not. But it should at least spur me into action.
How many “lonely Razor in a lonely bed” pictures can I get away with posting? The answer is many, because it never gets less sad. This one, however, comes with a different sentiment. After a quick trip to the Sim Bin and back, the Langurds can sleep in their beds again! Hallelujah, and good riddance to Glitchhilda.
“Progress will continue” <— Hahaha. I love shooting myself in the foot, don’t I?
Has it been long enough for a recap? Oh, probably, but I’m too lazy to open a browser, so here’s my best estimate: after an underwhelming trip out of the country, Katana was sarcastic, Dax was a doormat, Azula was aggravatingly picturesque, Razabella were invisible (until one of them died), and the chapter culminated in the birth of a child. Come to think of it, that’s pretty much the formula for Chapters 7-9. Are you excited??
Oh, come on. I send you to France to get married and this is how you react?
Katana: The open air. It hurts my lungs.
And Dax over there?
Katana: I think he’s choking on a piece of cobblestone.
Brilliant. Also, I’m loving how Katana’s shadow is just a walking pair of pants.