7.10 Early Hints

Dude, how’d we get to Chapter 10 with no babies? The last time we dawdled this much was in Gen. 4, when the gang was still in university. “The gang” included Lev, which surely can’t be a coincidence. And remember how she graduated first but didn’t actually get a degree? And how she never completed her LTW either? Yeesh.

#LevLangurdIsOverParty amirite?

And then there was Gen.2, which was only 10 chapters long in total. A simpler time. D:

I sure hope we can come up with better candidates…

Anyway, I seem to be forgetting that I kept Kip and Trance around because I LIKED them, so I’ll try to give their remaining appearances less of a “gtfo already” vibe. Dustiesta’s offspring will flood grace the homestead soon enough.

Duke: Excuse me, what do you mean “no babies”? I am a baby!

Siesta: Me too! Feed me!

Trance: I thirst. Am gromp.

Delilah: Is this the Gen. 8 heir poll?

I sure hope we can come up with better candidates…

7.9 Checkpoint

Well well well, look what the cat dragged in.

Oh no, my friend. It is not.

It was already gonna be awkward coming back to this in a new year, in a new decade, after an atrociously unproductive 2019 – but there’s a cruel irony in the fact that I must now return to you in a WHOLE NEW WORLD, minus the magic of Aladdin because air travel is cancelled and carpets don’t lend themselves to social distancing or germ prevention.

A world where everything sucks but at the very least gamerkind should be thriving, right?

And now the Langurds, asleep for the better part of a year, must awaken to this strange place where handshakes will never exist again but murder hornets will take over and for some reason everyone is baking bread all the time?

Siesta: ADSGFJALEFIETJPOA;JEGHW239PFOWEJSDV

Same.

7.8 This is fine

‘Sup dudes? I just discovered a whole folder of Story Progression/UI screencaps I’ve been forgetting to use. Just think of all that peripheral information going to waste… What is going on in the wide world? Did I even tell you Jada, Delilah, Dusty, Riza, or Duke’s traits? Probably not.

I subsequently discovered that the folder STOPS about two chapters from now and I have NO idea where the rest of it is. Maybe still on my computer in Canada, which is unplugged and wrapped in a garbage bag. Maybe on the flash drive I left at orientation in the Korean boonies. And do I remember any of Siesta’s kids’ traits? LOL absolutely not.

However, I have a day of cancelled classes (lucky 5th graders just left for camp), I’m equipped with snacks, and the school network is down. That leaves me no choice but to ignore all crises and trudge blindly ahead.

Besides, how could I rain on Dustiesta’s parade?

Dusty: I did it! I stuck it to my parents!

Siesta: Really?

Dusty: Well, no. But I did ask Derrick for a divorce.

Siesta: Oh. Well, baby steps.

7.7 Blocked by Parental Controls

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.

7.6 Upgrade Required

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?

7.3 Switching Protocols

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.

7.2 Forbidden

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!

7.1 I’m a teapot

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.

6.14 Enter Sandman

We did it! We’re here! We can finally put Gen. 6 to sleep! Strangely, after all that talk about being burnt out, I woke up after 4.5 hours all fired up to write the next one. My PC has this weird habit of randomly booting on its own, usually in the middle of the night; at 5:30am I convinced myself that I did it with my mind, took it as a sign, and now here we are.

This one’s a short one and all about the kids, so pack your lunchboxes and brush up on the lingo, fam. It’s lit.

Rhapsody: Fine, bye.

I don’t think Siesta has slept once since becoming a teenager. When her energy turns red, she hits the coffee and just keeps a-rolling until she’s dying again 30 minutes later. This is exactly what Frieda was doing in her final days; needless to say, I’m a little concerned.

Siesta: I’m fiiiiiiiiine.

6.12 Beds Are Burning

Well, here we are at last on July 12th! Happy Birthday Langurds and R.I.P. Sam’s sanity!

I can smell the light at the end of the tunnel (not a typo; caffeine does strange things to your senses) so I’m going to give it my all for these last 13.5 hours. Hopefully without having to cut things in half and without wasting the potential of these screenshots. You are all lovely and supportive and I’m sure it’s only me cracking the whip at this point, but there is no whip more terrifying than the one in my own hands. (Cripes, a few cups of coffee and I’ve turned into Omen?)

Things have been moving pretty fast. Our eldest heir candidate is a teen, our youngest a child, our heiress a middle-aged underachiever, and her ex-husband a corpse.

Only Rhapsody has yet to get a kick in the pants from Father Time. Of course she’s busking in the park when it hits.

Rhapsody: Thanks for coming to celebrate my birthday with me!

Corren: I didn’t. Where’d your guitar go?