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?
If that title doesn’t tell you we’re getting to the good stuff, then let me tell you right now—we’re getting to the good stuff!
Last time, Gumby finally died but Frieda’s Gold Digger LTW still registered as incomplete. Shit was lost; tables were very nearly flipped. Now we take deep breaths and try to figure out the meaning of this.
Frieda: Yes hello, I’d like to request a refund on my life.
Another chapter so soon?! (You ask in distress.) I’m sorry. I should probably leave a courtesy buffer or something but sometimes the words just keep flowing, y’know?
Last time, Gumby fell in love with Frieda Salas, an evil ghost who wants to kill him and steal his money. Lira had tea with her SimBots and lamented the curse of aging. Mandrake broke my game, and Boa tried in vain to die by jelly bean. I know now that that can’t happen, but for the sake of continuity and my pride I’m going to pretend I am none the wiser.
(Pretend not to be wise? How ever shall I do that?)
Gumby’s second date with Frieda was a raging and unreasonable success. I know the shot I gave you last chapter was a little stingy, so here’s a better look at her face.
Frieda: So hypothetically, what colour would you want your ghost to be?
Gumby: I don’t know. Why?
Frieda: Oh, no reason.
For anyone wondering, this is her real, EA-given colouring. All of the Midnight Hollow ghosts seem to look like this underneath, i.e. so white they must have been genetically engineered by Hitler himself.
Hello again! Seems like all I do these days is blog. Just as it should be, since I checked the archives and apparently this generation alone has taken me over a year to write. How? HOW? That’s 1/3 of the time this blog has been alive. What is it about Katana’s children that have made things so difficult?
Don’t answer that.
Thanks again to everyone who read the birthday posts. I know it was a lot to get through, but the party isn’t over! Oh no, keep your dancing feet warm because it’s Christmas in July! This post would have made sense if I’d stuck to the schedule dammit
Teqeq: Do you like what I’ve done with my hair? I hear chicks dig the flow.
And since Snowflake Day is a time for family, we invited all the relatives we could think of. Birth certificates/paternity tests required at the door.
Twist it! Pull it! Flick it!
But hey, now that I’ve ruined that for you, let me… ruin lots of other things as well. Welcome back to the Langurds!
Lira: I am Mrs. Nesbitt!
We already did that.
Lira: But the readers liked it!
That doesn’t mean we get to repeat stuff.
Lira: Uh, yeah. It’s called a SEQUEL.
Okay, fine. Presenting: “Lira Drinks Tea 2: This Time with Wings.”
Are you ready for a good old-fashioned game of whodunnit?
Well too bad, ‘cause there’s very little mystery here. It’s been clear for a few chapters that there’s no love lost between Lira and Weston, and clear for Lira’s whole life that she’s up to no good.
Weston: For heaven’s sake, where are we going?
Lira: Isn’t this wonderful? The snow is blowing so white on the mountain tonight!
Welcome back! I had planned to get this post out earlier, but you know. Plans. Who needs ‘em? Instead of writing, I spent a fantabulous weekend in Ottawa playing quidditch, sweating sunscreen into my eyes, and sitting on top of a refrigerator. Sorry not sorry.
We left off just as Razor, Lord of the Second Generation, was passing into the great beyond. Razor, who spent his life sparring against China’s fiercest, died on a perilous quest to pick flowers. I should have kept it to one screenshot, but the whole thing was such a clusterfuck that I had to draw it out, all slow and painful.
Great, now I’m thinking about Italian food. Garlic and tomato and cheese and pasta and ooooooh, isn’t this pretty?
I love love love World Adventures for its scenery. I often get distracted by it and go roaming over the hills, pretending to be a nature photographer while the Langurds starve to death and get in trouble with the locals.
Unfortunately, it’s all wasted on certain people.