scribal_goddess: (scribbles)
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The Elven Heritage Legacy
Chapter: 1.16
Cum Laude

<- Previous Chapters
College Shennanigans )
scribal_goddess: (scribbles)

A selection from the journals of Zaliander the Wise
Pride Goeth before a fall... )
scribal_goddess: (scribbles)

Aaaah cover art!

In which College happens, Lydia investigates, and Nymea demonstrates that she is just as awful as her parents.

WTF is an embed, Slideshare? Do you even know? Why are you so goddamn unfriendly? WTF is your fascination with linkedin why are you such a butt trying to make me give my location...

If you find any Slideshare problems, please point them out! This is honestly probably the last slideshared chapter, I can't be having with leaving for 9 months and then them overhauling the whole site...

scribal_goddess: (scribbles)

Someday, somehow, I will get the embed right on the first try. Of course, the fact that either Slideshare or Livejournal changes their interface between chapters tells me I need to start producing them faster...

Also, if my math is right, this is my sixth Legaversary! Approximately. I've forgotten the exact date I started playing (it was sometime in the summer after Junior Yea of High School) and I know my first upload to the Exchange was sometime in late August of 2008, but all records of that are, of course, gone. So I'm just going to say that my Legaversary is approximately twelve to sixteen days into August from now on.  Screw it, it's just the 13th. I can remember that.
scribal_goddess: (scribbles)
Yes, I'm certain this is chapter 12. I checked and everything... And I made it through this chapter in eleven (and some) months! Not that it wasn't 50% done in May and 80% done by August... I blame Thesis.

Ahem. Like I said, this is the first chapter of 2014, and the first college chapter. Who knows, I might even get through another one within a reasonable time frame.

In any case, do you like my new cover art? It was about time for something newer than the same 10 pictures of the burning tree tortured in GIMP so that they looked different. That up there is me learning to use the gradient and draw vectors tools... but not the color replace tools. *Shrugs*
scribal_goddess: (scribbles)
It's not much, but I decided to drop this with you sims-type people before I scuttle over the river and through the woods to my ridiculously sized extended family tomorrow. (We've got a few less in the house than the Elvensongs this Christmas, but more tykes. :D )

This is what would happen at a later Elven Heritage Legacy Christmas… assuming that the Elves even celebrate Christmas… actually, this is Viridia Elvensong and Chalimyra Elkthorn we’re talking about doing the planning here, they'll any excuse to bring their families together for any holiday, especially if they can get Eluisa to back them up. It’s set about five years in the future from my most recent EHL chapter, meaning that while Ara’s gang has graduated, nobody else has, and Ariadne has just turned seven.

Beware of: Sap, family bickering, characters you haven't seen in a while, Ana and Lydia say the V word enough to deeply annoy Orion, extra frosting, Aranel's in this and stressed so there's at least one swear, mild spoilers if you haven't got caught up to Graduand or have forgotten a few pairings I've already spoiled for you. Also, this is not the one specific thing that happened to the blender that took it out of commission, this is just the beginning of Aranel's routine blender abuse. Don't ask me about the sizing.

Once again, generation zero is too fogey to be in this fic. That and I did one clip for each of the generation one Elvensong kids, and three out of four were driving home.

*          *          *

“And yes, mom, we did bring cranberry relish and the potatoes,” Aranel said into her cell phone, rolling her eyes in the passenger’s side sun visor mirror so that Rean and Amadeus could see her and commiserate, “No, I didn’t forget. And there are oranges in the cranberry relish, I promise. No, I used real sugar, I know the powdered kind doesn’t work – okay, well I didn’t know, but it didn’t say powdered sugar in the recipie, so I assumed it meant regular. I am able to figure out a recipe on my own. Well, if you don’t think I can do it, why didn’t you make it yourself?”

Viridia’s response made Aranel wince and hold her hand over the phone.

“That does it,” she said to Rean, who had been ignoring the phone call while holding Amadeus’ hand in the backseat, “Call’s for you.”

Rean fielded the phone with his free hand. “Hello Mrs. Elvensong,” he said.

“Well, hello Rean dear,” Viridia said, sounding frazzled, “Can you just check that you have the fingerling potatoes, cranberry relish, and the paper plates?”

Rean kicked the cooler squished in the backseat of Bastian’s car between himself and Amadeus, who wiggled an eyebrow at him. “One bag of potatoes,” he said, “one very large bowl of cranberry relish according to recipe, one package of forty eight paper plates.”

“That’s good, I’m just putting the ham in the oven now,” Viridia replied, “Chalimyra is due any second now with the pies, and Midina and Makir are going to be just a little late with the wine and a salad.”

“Well, we’re only twenty minutes away now, so I’ll leave you and your oven alone,” Rean replied.

“Thank you, and if you see those college kids on the highway, honk at them for me! They haven’t called yet.” Viridia replied. “Ariadne! Those cookies are for after dinner, young lady! Tell Bastian to drive safely, Goodbye!”

“Goodbye.” Rean hung up, and steadfastly ignored Aranel attempting to headdesk against the dashboard.

“I swear you are her favorite child,” Aranel grumbled to him. “She should just adopt you and get it over with.”

“Are we really going to need forty eight paper plates?” Amadeus wondered out loud. “That seems a bit… excessive.”

“Well, there’s the four of us,” Bastian began, holding up his fingers against the steering wheel as he counted, “Everyone still living in the heritage house at college, which makes ten…”

“Six people at the heritage house?” Rean asked Aranel.

“Orion,” she explained, “Lydia’s little brother, a year younger, moved in when we graduated.”


“We’ve got Aranel’s parents and baby sister, which makes thirteen,” Bastian continued.

“The Elkthorns, who convinced my mom to have this monstrosity of a party, which makes fifteen,” Aranel added, “Which means sixteen, because Auntie Eluisa was in on it, so of course we can’t leave out Midina and Makir Shadeson and their daughter Delphina. There are going to be nineteen people in the house, so double that number because nobody is going to save their plates between food and pie, and we’ve got nearly forty plates, and ten pounds of cranberry relish.”

“That is not ten pounds of cranberry relish,” Bastian said.

Ara just sighed at him. “Feels like ten pounds,” she said, “clearly I didn’t inherit the cooking gene.”

“Or the ability to fix the blender gene,” Amadeus put in wryly, thinking of the shrieking, grating mess that they’d left sitting on the counter in the apartment that the four of them were living in like a pack of sardines.

“Look, I swear to you that once we have come back from the loony bin that is my family, I will fix the damn blender,” Aranel told him, “until then, shut up and enjoy my mom’s cooking, and Chalimyra’s, and… well, everybody but mine and Aunt Elu’s.  I think my mom put her on gingerbread-frosting duty with Ariadne, so she won’t have burnt anything in particular.”

“Your family’s not a loony bin,” Rean told her.

“At least you still have them,” Amadeus added.

“And they’re not on the far side of the country,” Bastian put in.

Aranel threw her hands up in surrender. “All right!” she said, “Merry Christmas to all, and welcome by default to my nutty family! I am The Grinch, because I am the only one who gets annoyed with my perfect mother’s compulsive need to check Every. Single. Detail. And with the fact that she doesn’t trust me to open a can! I have never once burnt the house down while cooking!”

There was a moment of silence in the car as they all stared out at the snow that was drifting deceptively gently down on the road.

“I remember this being a lot less stressful when I was a kid,” Aranel admitted softly.
                                                *          *          *

“I swear to you, Lydia if she asks me if I’ve found Mr. or Mrs. Right yet, I will scream.”

Lydia was currently busy glaring at the snowflakes that were drifting across the road in front of her, mostly because she didn’t want to end up in a ditch. She had no idea how she’d ended up selected to drive the secondary car, except that Elirand, Calla and Achenar had all wanted to be in the same car, and Calla was the one with the map. Following a light grey Smoogo had sounded like a much better idea before she’d started driving in the snow.

In the meantime, Orion had coped with being relegated to the backseat by putting his enormous headphones on and becoming effectively dead to the world from the second they’d started out, while Anariel was, if Lydia was completely honest with herself, angsting.

“I just know it’s going to happen,” Ana continued, “I can just feel it. Ever since Achenar and Calla announced that they were engaged she’s been on the prowl like a shark waiting for someone else to get a ring so she can plan a wedding. She’s got wedding envy.”

“I think she just wants to know how things are,” Lydia said, not taking her eyes off the road. “I mean, you don’t see her asking Aranel -”

“Well, that’s because Aranel is the perfect political daughter whose career is important and who is actually, provably, too dense to realize that she and Bastian are the perfect couple. I mean, the perfect couple who isn’t mama’s darling boy and the lovely neighbor girl. Her best friend’s daughter, I should add.”

“Got something you want to tell Calla?” Lydia was all for airing family grievances – the green ones knew she’d vented plenty to Ana over the years – but she was going to have to wind Ana down a bit if she was going to be complaining about everyone in their house. As far as Lydia was concerned, Calla was great. Well, except for the fact that Lydia seemed to keep finding her lip-locked to Achenar all over the house, which was just one of those “really, guys?” situations that turned up out of the blue to annoy you when you lived in a heritage house with five other people.

“It’s not Calla that’s the problem, it’s that Achenar and Calla are going to go home next year and continue the legacy and have a huge fuss made over them all the time by my mom, and if I want a fuss, I’ve got to find somebody to give me a rock. And she never seems to think hey, what if I don’t want to get married? What if I just want to have a job, and have fun with willing partners, and don’t really want to have kids at all? Currently, I’m having too much fun with my vagina to consider shackling it to someone else for life, or pushing a baby through it.”

Lydia fake-gagged out of pure reflex, then compulsively tightened her grip on the steering wheel in case the motion had made the car slip. It hadn’t.

Really, Lyds? Real maturity you have there.” Ana was amused, at least.

“Too much information about your vagina.”

“You’ve got one too.”

“Yeah, I just ignore mine, though.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Anyway, done ranting?”

Ana thought for a minute. “I think so,” she said for a moment. “No, wait – where does my mom get off applying her outdated mores to my life? Why should I have to get married and have kids?”

“She’s pretty damn well adapted to modern life, all things said.”

“And yet she still makes that disappointed face because she thinks that I shouldn’t even try to figure things out, or have fun with people, and she thinks it’s wrong if I have sex and should just have a permanently off-limits vagina until marriage.”

That, Lydia didn’t have a good argument for. Her parental sex education had been a talk from Makir about why condoms were good, sex while drunk was bad, and that if anyone ever tried to push her into anything, she should aim below the belt, and a much later talk from her mother on always being safe and never, ever having a partner that didn’t respect her. With the technical aspects covered with the help of a rather elderly medical encyclopedia, she’d put it aside under the category of “worry about it when it comes up.”

“Look,” Lydia said slowly, “She’s your mom, and most moms are not at all like my mom, so probably it’s just the fact that she remembers you in diapers, so she’s determined to ignore the fact that you now want to use your vagina…”

In the back seat, Orion groaned. “For the love of the green ones, will you stop saying vagina already?”

Lydia watched as Ana turned tomato-colored. She’d probably forgotten that Orion was back there. Then, she grinned a wicked grin.

“Vagina,” she said to Orion.

“I hate you,” he replied, flipping her off in the rear-view mirror.

                                                *          *          *

“… And then you take ninety four in about five miles,” Achenar finished.

“Okay, Green Ridge to ninety four,” Calla replied. “Check and see that Lydia’s still behind us, would you?”

Achenar leaned over and saw Lydia’s car keeping pace some forty feet or so behind them. “Well, assuming that they haven’t been abducted by aliens right out of the car…”

Calla managed to hit him without looking.

“If you’re so nervous about driving, you could let me take over,” Elirand said from the backseat.

“No!” Calla and Achenar said in unison.

“Once you start doing doughnuts in the Student Union parking lot, you forfeit the keys,” Calla added.

“I was in complete control,” Elirand lied through his teeth.

“Of your finances, maybe. But not the car,” Calla said firmly. “In any case, we’ll be on the highway in about five minutes, and it will clear up there.”

Sure enough, the ramp onto the highway was clearer than the roads surrounding Sim State University. And due to the weather, there was less holiday traffic than there could have been.

Due to the fact that Calla had the steering wheel in a death grip as she ascended the ramp, there was near silence in the car, except for the radio turned down very low playing White Christmas.

“Hey Achenar, thought of a present for your little sister yet?” Elirand asked, once they’d successfully joined the stream of traffic on the freeway.

Achenar smacked himself in the forehead. “I forgot to ask Aranel what she was getting Ariadne,” he admitted, “or Ana, for that matter…”

“Well, you’ve got a couple of days left,” Elirand replied. “And hey, don’t sweat it – with you and Calla living with your parents after you get married, and therefore by default being authority figures for Ariadne during her teenage years, you’re never, ever going to be her favorite sibling. So if you get her a lame gift it’s not going to matter that much in the end.”

Somehow, without removing her focus from the road one bit, Calla managed to give her twin brother a Look.

Achenar, however, had had nearly fifteen years to get used to Elirand’s brand of teasing, and was currently occupied with something else: a sudden realization that he’d forgotten something.

“Crap, I forgot to call my mom and tell her we were on our way!” he said, and fumbled in his pockets for his phone.

                                                *          *          *

Ariadne was busy putting red hot buttons on her fifteenth gingerbread man: gingerbread elf, that is. She’d counted. And she’d finally found out that she could correct the cookies if she put pasta shells on either side of the cookie’s head and glued them on with frosting. The ears were too big, but at least everyone knew that she had not made gingerbread men, she had made gingerbread elves.
She was also busy telling her auntie Elu about all the things that she was going to do with her brothers and sisters now that they were home.

“And ‘Enar and Calla and Elirand can take me ice skating,” she said, applying sprinkles to one crooked cookie, then staring at it with a critical eye, “but not until after I make a snow fort with Ara and Rean and Bastian and Amadeus, because there’s going to be lots of snow by tomorrow! Bastian designs houses,” she informed Eluisa, “so he should know how to make a really, really good one. Ana can take me to the mall the day after tomorrow when it’s supposed to be really cold, because that’s the last day to see Santa.” She grabbed the pink frosting and started doodling on another cookie’s feet. “Is Lydia going to be staying with us?” she asked.

“No, she’s going back with her parents,” Eluisa told her as she added hair and m&m eyes to her own gingerbread elf, “The only people staying at your house are your brother  and sisters, and Rean, Amadeus and Bastian.”

“Brothers,” Ariadne corrected her, “Ara says that she adopted Rean to be her brother, which makes him my brother too.”

“That’s not exactly how that works, sweetie,” Eluisa said.

“Well, it should,” Ariadne replied, grabbing a star out of the lineup and dousing it in blue icing. “I can get another sister because Calla’s marrying my brother, so why can’t I get another brother? I like having lots of brothers and sisters, and if Rean’s my brother, then when he gets married to Amadeus, I’ll have three brothers and three sisters. That’s more than anybody I know has, and I can ask to be the flower girl in their wedding like I’m going to be in my brother and Calla’s.”

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Eluisa told her, adding wobbly white swirls to a bell, “has your brother or Calla asked you to be the flower girl yet? They haven’t even picked a date for their wedding, after all.”

Ariadne pouted. “Well, I’ve got to be something,” she said, “and I’m too young to be a bridesmaid, daddy told me so. I might be big enough by the time Ara and Bastian get married, though!”

Eluisa blinked. “And who said anything about Ara and Bastian getting married?” she said.

In reply, she got an eyeroll from the first grader. “Everybody knows they’re going to get married eventually,” Ariadne said, “It’s just going to take them ages to figure it out, like in The Black Cauldron. And then Ana and Lydia are going to get married, and everyone’s going to officially be my brothers and sisters.”

Eluisa tried very hard not to laugh. “That sounds like a regular soap opera you’ve got going there,” she said. “And who are Orion, Elirand, and Delphina going to marry?”

Ariadne grinned. “Orion’s gonna marry a blue alien princess,” she said, grabbing an as-of-yet earless cookie to demonstrate, “she’s going to come in through space like whoooosh!” she nearly decapitated the cookie against the table, but managed not to break it before she started frosting it. “And Elirand’s going to marry a lady who sees ghosts. I don’t know who Delphina’s going to marry,” she said, looking thoughtful, “she still hasn’t met him yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

At that moment, the doorbell rang, and Ariadne ditched her cookie in a heartbeat. “They’re here, they’re here!” she yelled, “Come on, Aunt Elu, they’re here!”

Two fics

Feb. 28th, 2013 11:42 am
scribal_goddess: (scribbles)
One of these is spoilery and set in the next generation. One of these is not. And there seems to be an unintentional theme of bridges.

Not spoilery, but very long.
Catching Fireflies
The darkness surrounded her.
Oh, it wasn’t really, truly dark – she could see her bare feet sunk into the soft long grass beyond the bridge, the grass that they almost never bothered to mow, which would come up to her waist by the end of the summer – but it was dark enough. The yard looked different in the dark, not just washed of color and secretive, but with shapes she wasn’t certain she remembered. Of course, that could be the fact that she was standing in the middle of the clearing, watching for the yellow to green fade of the fireflies, with a plastic jar in one hand, squinting to make out the position of the tiny bugs in the dark. Whenever she sprinted after one, she found that she’d missed its position, closing her hands on air and watching as the black soft speck like a large grain of rice drifted away against the night, lighting its tail lazily behind it.
Some of them flew and some of them lived in the grass. Her big sister-in-law told her that they were looking for each other, which was why they had the lanterns. Her big brother told her that the chemicals in lightning bugs were very important, and were being used in all sorts of research. Her mom told her that they had been born from sparks that fell from the first shooting stars, and auntie Elu told her to wish on them – it couldn’t hurt.
She needed a big jar of them for all her wishes, but she only had a couple in her jar so far. For something that flew so lazily, they were certainly too fast for her. And she didn’t want to go charging off into the inky darkness beneath the pine trees, in case she stepped on the ones that flared in the grass, first the yellow light and then the green fade. The three that she had caught had felt soft and chalky against her palms, not at all hard and shiny like ladybugs or feathery and shaking, like moths.
There – near her beneath the pine trees, she saw the flare, and she jumped after it, her feet suddenly crunching against the needles as she held her hand up in the way of that fading speck. The bug blundered against her and she closed her fingers around it, feeling it stop and then start poking it’s feelers against her palm. It started searching purposefully for a way out, and she had to sit down and brace her jar between her knees so that she could get the lid off and pop the insect in. She shook it out of her fist and snapped the red lid back on as fast as she could, to keep the others, already crawling up the sides, from escaping.
            Once she looked up, there was another, and then another, and one by one her hand was filled with the chalky softness and the heatless light, and the insects in her jar crawled over each other, flaring and fading, searching. Then, she sat down with one of the still-warm rocks of the clearing against her back and stared at her captured wishes.
            She saw the back door open out of the corner of her eyes and pretended that she hadn’t.
            “Ariadne!” called her big sister-in-law, Calla. She wasn’t going much further than the porch, though, because Ariadne was going to have a nephew in a couple of months, and Calla had started to find it hard to walk around all day at her job. They weren’t really serious about it being time to come in until they sent someone who could catch her.
            After a minute of standing in the doorway, Calla turned and went back in, just like Ariadne had thought. Absently, Ariadne slapped away one of the first mosquitoes of the year, smearing her own blood across her knee, and stared deeper into the jar of fireflies.
            If she had ten fireflies, she had ten wishes. Or perhaps she had ten chances at the same wish. She had the darkness and the summer night on her side, but not for much longer, because bedtime was so close after sunset when the days were longer. It was only because it was the weekend and school would be over soon that she’d been allowed to stay up late enough for it to get this dark. So she was going to use as much time as she possibly could to make certain that she had the right wish.
            She knew what she wanted – she wanted the mysterious dark and the captured pieces of stars. She wanted it all to be true, to see all the intricate connections of the world in the flare and fade of fireflies, to taste the north wind on her tongue, and to live in the world that she knew existed beyond the routines of school and homework and bath time and bedtime, the world where the fireflies really were born of stars or of wandering souls. It was exciting there, in the world that her parents had once known and left behind, the world where magicians lived and knights and maidens went adventuring, and where the white cities on the spines of mountains rose out of the clouds for no reason other than that they could. She couldn’t understand why they’d left, because it seemed like a world worth keeping, a place where it was easy to set things right, so different from here.
They always treated her like a little kid, but she knew how hard it could be to set things right here – there were bad laws that her oldest sister was fighting, laws that wouldn’t let her not-really-brother get married, laws which weren’t fair – and she knew that on the days when her daddy came home and didn’t talk, he’d tried to help someone and failed. She could wish for her daddy to be the best surgeon in the world and her sister to win all her arguments, her mom and Calla to not be sad anymore when they believed in one of their students more than their own parents did, and she could wish for everyone to be able to fix all their problems – but she didn’t know if things would stay fixed. They thought she didn’t know that things were wrong, but she could hear all the same. Sometimes they forgot, because her sisters and her brother were so much older than her, that there was a kid in the house at all.
            In a few months she’d be an aunt and responsible for a little baby. Soon enough after that, she’d be an aunt to a lot of babies, because her oldest sister was going to have her twins soon after Calla had her first nephew. Ariadne already knew the babies’ names, and she was practicing saying them in her head. Saelen would be the oldest, the twins would be Lysander and Tanith. She wouldn’t be the only kid any more – but she’d be in charge of things, once she was an aunt, and that much closer to being an adult.
            She only had ten wishes and she didn’t know who to spend them on. It was going to be a hard choice, because wishing for everything to be fixed and everything to be all right seemed like an unreasonably big job for the little bugs in her jar, even if lost souls did hitch a ride on them from time to time. She wanted life to be exciting and new, but she also wanted to fix everything that was wrong, that made her family sad in ways they thought she couldn’t see.
            The screen door swung open and shut and she heard footsteps on the stone path, then the wooden bridge (hollow underneath, her daddy had gone down there with a flashlight himself to show her that there was no troll and never could be,) and finally the soft crunch of the pine needles on the way to the clearing. Her daddy had come to fetch her.
            “Time to go inside, Ariadne,” he said from above.
            “I’m wishing,” she explained, knowing that he’d understand. She had to get it just right.
            Her daddy looked at the jar full of fireflies and the frown on her face.
            “What are you wishing for?”
            “Can’t tell you,” she replied, because didn’t he know that you couldn’t ever tell a wish to another living soul or it would never come true?
Her daddy knelt down in the dirt beside her. “I bet it’s for Rocky Road ice cream.”
            “It is not!” she protested, indignantly. “It’s very important.”
            Since her daddy simply sat there in silence and let her re-gather her thoughts, it seemed like he agreed. The crickets and the little frogs in the creek started chirping as Ariadne screwed up her face in thought.
            “Ready, princess?” her daddy asked, and she nodded. She was – that is, she knew what to wish for. After a second’s hesitation, she unscrewed the lid.
            The fireflies, which had been so eager to escape before, had a hard time finding their way up and out of the jar.  Finally, the first one crawled up onto the lip of the jar, waved it’s antennas, and then launched up, a blur of wings, signaling yellow and green once it had risen high enough. Then the next rose from the jar, and after that a third, until all ten fireflies had risen into the night and disappeared.
            Ariadne and her empty bug jar rode piggyback across the bridge to wash up for bed, but the fireflies and wishes kept on rising until they were swallowed up by the night.

            This is semi-spoilery, but very not specific.Preparing for a funeral
  Tanith usually didn’t care if she wore black. She liked black jeans and skull t-shirts and highlighter colors – anything that was distracting, anything that stuck out from the herd. Today, standing in the mirror next to her mother, who was fussing over her black dress and Lysander’s black jacket, she thought it was the bleakest color that ever existed.
  They hadn’t even reached the funeral parlor yet, the casket that would be empty, unlike the deep bottom of the river, the things they couldn’t find and could never find and wouldn’t be real. The long file of cousins wearing black. The crossing over that bridge, was it the same bridge, the long row of grey headstones, they all couldn’t be real. Of course they weren’t.
  Tanith hated the color black.
scribal_goddess: (scribbles)
Thank you to mzyra, for bringing it to my attention that I should probably make sure that people can actually find my sims when they want to borrow them. For now, it's just the founding generation: I'll be working on getting decent headshots later when I start putting up members of generation one as they head to college. 

Oh, and for future reference: Everybody has CC eyes and skin. Deal with it. Vanilla game equivalents are listed if you hate the CC.

Haldir Elvensong, Elven Heritage Legacy founder: A Family/Knowledge Aquarius, with stats of 4/6/5/5/5
Black Hair, green eyes, s2 ish.
Recessive genes: blonde hair
Viridia Elvensong (nee Fairfeild) A Family/Pop sim, Aries, with 5/7/6/3/4 stats.
Red hair, green eyes, closer to s1 than s2.
Recessive genes: none

Note: Sims do not come with the clothing pictured above. In fact, they look completely different now and come with their current (probably final) CC in regards to skin, eyes and hair. 

Note: There does not appear to be even a semi-current picture of Talon without Chalimyra glued to him at the lips. Make of that what you will. 
Talon Elkthorn Fortune/Romance Taurus, 5/6/4/6/4
Brown hair, brown eyes, S2
Recessive Genes: None

Chalimyra Elkthorn: nee Oziras) Popularity/Fortune Cancer, 6/4/6/4/5
Black hair, light blue eyes, S4 or darker
Recessive genes: None

Couldn't find any non-dark pictures of Makir, sorry. He doesn't show up well in the dark.

Makir Shadeson: Pleasure/Family Cancer, 5/6/6/5/7
Blonde hair, Dark Blue (custom) eyes, grey CC skin. (It's not alien, and it's not s4. It's grey.)
Recessive Genes: None

Midina Shadeson: omance/Pleasure Leo, 4/10/3/6/3
Blonde hair, teal (maxis-matchers might as well make them dark blue) eyes, S1 ish.
Recessive Genes: None

Eluisa Fairmaiden: Popularity/Knowledge Aquarius, 4/4/4/7/6
Brown hair, light blue eyes, S2 ish. 
Recessive genes: Blonde hair.

I'll fix up this page when I have more current pictures
scribal_goddess: (scribbles)
New Chapter's up. 

I will mess with the embed some other time. Maybe when the internet becomes a reasonable place and slideshare stops changing the embed on me.

Hmmm... I think I owe someone cookies for guessing what happened last time. 
scribal_goddess: (Default)

If this doesn't embed I will be a very, very angry camper. Folks; I am home for Thanksgiving Break. School has presumably finished kicking my ass. Life is good and some of you were right (and others were far wrong,) about the outcomes of prom.

Is the embed showing up for anybody? Argh.

Have at ye.
scribal_goddess: (scribbles)
Because, when girls talk about other people, in my experience, it's mostly other girls.

Name: Girls' Night In. (Prompt: Junk Food, by[ profile] peasant007)
Rating: Everyone. (If people haven't been spoiled as to Achenar, Rean, Ara and Calla's future spouses by now... then they haven't  been here long.) Also, it's Canon. I'll reorganize and add to the fics page at some point...
Characters: Ara, Lydia, Calla
Summary: Friday night has become even more sparsely populated than usual. The girls have the junk food all to themselves for once.

It wasn’t so much that Aranel didn’t generally get along with other girls. It was just that she spent a lot of time with the guys, and she had become fluent in dude-speak over the years.

It was a useful skill: after all, her two best friends were dudes. She had a younger brother – might as well have had two, what with Elirand always around – and ever since high school, she’d sworn off large, girls-only groups of friends. She didn’t really care about fashion or celebrities anyway, and the only other subject of conversation among those large groups of girls seemed to be other people.

Which, dude, not cool. )

scribal_goddess: (Default)
And this sees me much of the way through prom... I make no estimates as to the arrival of the new chapters, but I have only one lab write up this week...

Oh, yeah: prompt me for myshuno here. Especially if you see something in here that you like. :) I already have 33 prompts!

Not really spoilers, I promise )

scribal_goddess: (Default)
So... because I leak plot points like a sieve, and because I jump firmly up and down on Jess' bandwagon when I can... this is that thread. The thread where anyone who reads can tell me what they already know about the future of my legacy, and what they're guessing based on the clues. Yup, there are clues. 

I want to do this because I want to know how much you lot have put together about the great, big, legacy-shaping thing, (hopefully you're all right about which plot point that is... yes, I know I'm evil,) but there's a heck of a lot of small sideplots which I'm fairly certain that you can guess, too. 

Credit for the meme goes to [ profile] mzyra and to [ profile] lilycobalt. I've done nothing but steal it and hide it under my pillow, as per usual.  Post away, people, and don't be afraid to be ludicrous! I'll give you cookies when the plot point comes around if you turn out to be right. 


Sep. 3rd, 2012 02:21 pm
scribal_goddess: (Default)
All moved in, now to purchase books and work on the new chapter! Hopefully I'll get a lot more written now. Time for a sneak peek. 
*  *  *

“And this… Sheldon boy,” Yvette said, cutting her pancakes delicately, making every statement a velvet cloth draped over a razor as she interrogated her youngest daughter, “He comes from a good family?”
Idalese attempted a smile. “Well, his parents own a cabin up in Three Lakes,” she said.

“A landed family.” If she didn’t know any better, she might have thought she detected a trace of pride in her mother’s statement. That was the danger.

“The cabin was passed down from Sheldon’s Great Grandfather.”

“At this rate, we shall have to stall your wedding: it won’t do for the youngest daughter to be married off before the oldest.” Yvette dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

Idalese wilted in relief even as Nymea shot her a supremely dirty look across the table. She’d claim to be sick to get out of these morning interrogations, especially when her mother was analyzing prom for any possible trace of wedding bells, except for the fact that it would bring her parent’s attention to her even more. And Nymea would, no doubt, do something nasty to get it back.

“The only thing those girls are good for is marrying off,” Antoin said, putting down his fork, “Not a brain in their skulls or the sense the green ones gave a rabbit. We should have been getting offers for Nymea for years now.” He wiped his mouth, and Idalese automatically served him another pancake. “And the boy’s lazy,” he added as an afterthought, having run out of complaints early.

“Rean!” he bellowed at the door, “You’d better be out here when I’ve got the paper, boy!”

As if she had never been interrupted – though she wouldn’t dare speak while her husband was speaking – Yvette fixed her attention on Nymea.

“Did you meet any young gentlemen at the dance?” she asked, as if daring her oldest daughter to disappoint her.

Nymea scowled and stabbed at her plate – discreetly, as infringements of table etiquette were hardly the way to get Yvette off her daughters’ backs – and Idalese could hear her voice dripping with dark resentment and hatred when she replied.

“No,” Nymea admitted, “but Rean did.”

Idalese kicked her under the table, but Nymea only smiled a vicious smile. She supposed that she should be happy that she had stopped being the target of her sister’s wrath, but… life was just so difficult with Nymea in the house, and she had no illusions that it would improve once both her older siblings left for college. Once she was the only person under her mother’s watchful eye, she’d fall even further short of expectations than she did now.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nymea,” Yvette said with a stern sniff, “Unnatural, immoral behavior like that is not a joking matter, especially when you are making such crude comments about your own brother. If this is how you speak with your peers, it’s no wonder that you never have any young gentlemen interested in you, just opportunistic young cads.” She took a delicate sip of orange juice. “Your brother attended the ball with that Elvensong girl, and that, to my mind is the right way to go about this. He is courting a lovely girl – an elven girl, whose family is very respectable, and whose father holds a prominent position in the community. If you hadn’t burned bridges with her, you might be keeping equally respectable company, Nymea.”

Nymea scoffed, “Ara? Her parents are peasants.”

Yvette’s gracious smile shrank a few milimeteres and grew brittle for a moment. “We must make every effort to be gracious to the noveaux riche.”

In the kitchen, the sink dripped.

scribal_goddess: (scribbles)
Finally I got this out... after next chapter I swear I will never pose in the school cafeteria again.

Oh yeah, and De, when you read this, you officially win. I've been referring to Lydia and Ana as "Lydiana" for the last half of the chapter in my notes. :)

Previously on The Elven Heritage Legacy: 1.9 Bad Company
Continue to 1.11 Graduand (Part 1)


Jun. 3rd, 2012 09:49 pm
scribal_goddess: (Default)

This had better be the last teaser, I batch-edited like crazy today. And that's after I built a set... Damn those roads, pretend you can't see them in this one, okay? I've got to fix that...
ETA is still sometime this week. Hopefully. Though, I'm just crossing my fingers that slideshare will be okay with this beast, because it's already over 180 slides, and I have two large, unwritten scenes to put in.


Jun. 1st, 2012 03:50 pm
scribal_goddess: (Default)
Serious writing happened today. Number of unwritten scenes is now about 3. Number of unfilmed scenes is still 5 or so.
Number of slides will exceed 150, holy cow. Not counting interludes, this is technically the tenth chapter, and only one more until college stuff starts, so I suppose stuff got stuffed in here... I don't get it though, I cut or combined five scenes over the course of writing this!

Oh well. I also finished a book review today, so that's fun. I have read most of the books I planned to review (I think there's only two left on the pile...) but now I've got to read the papers I've been putting off which pertain to my actual research. I've just been making myself busy cramming in nights with the girls at home before I go back to campus, I guess.

Chapter 10 ETA: sometime next week.
scribal_goddess: (Default)
So, back from memorial day with the grandparents, and I've got a progress report for you all.

EHL Chapter 12, Tremors:
Six scenes left to film (More like 5.5, a couple will be shot en masse. And I get to use the school! If I have, in fact, managed to retain it's decorated version...)
Scenes left to write: Also about 5-6, I need to check on where I left off with writing them up seperately
Photos left to edit: None, unless I have another instance in which my heavily-posed-on-a-community-lot shot turns out to have the sim equivalent of a two inch gap between Anariel and her hair.
Sets left to Build: Just the one. Really huge, though... and extras in a new neighborhood are needed for that one. However, I will need it multiple times, because...

I am redoing Chapter One. Call me crazy, but I'm doing it. I think, actually, that it will be shorter than the original, (which has only about 100 slides, once you get rid of authors' notes and title page.) And it should go much faster, as there will not be a lot of new pictures, if any, being taken. The writing quality, however, which is what I have hated about that chapter for several years now, will definitely improve. (My excuse: I was going to observe a quick, half-length legacy, take maybe three or four chapters to do a generation, send kids off to college after they'd been teens for a little under a week, and make some fun stuff on the exchange that I would be done with in a year and a half, tops. Clearly, that didn't work out.)

Other than that, I will be doing the Newson/Greenman stories, probably as fics with a couple pictures apiece, in a sort of loose progression of stories that cross over with the legacy people by way of Orion Fairmaiden - not that he won't have any focus in the main legacy, but I've noticed that he's not a large part of any main story conflict currently, so he might as well have a foot in both worlds. Oh, and one chapter left until college, are you as relieved as I am?

Meanwhile, my other writing project for the upcoming couple weeks is a series of book reviews at the other blog, [ profile] calli_scribbles, where I will review an assortment of books that I've managed to read since finals. Most of them have been quite good, others... well, tune in to find out!
scribal_goddess: (Default)
I seriously have no idea where this came from (I was meant to be working on the chapter tonight...) but hey, have a fic that isn't about any of the usual suspects.

Name: A Goddess' Wrath
Setting: About four years in the future of the Legacy.
Rating: PG, because dirty mouthed teens.
Characters: Orion, Gallagher
Summary: Dude, you did kinda deserve it.
Classification: Totally Canon.
"... And then Artemis friend-zoned him with a scorpion to the face." )

scribal_goddess: (Default)

And the wedding colors appear to be white and green.
Everybody has new formals, and... oh yeah. You haven't seen little miss stands-on-the-left at this age stage yet.

Yup, it's Lydia. That should tell you whose wedding it is...
Also, she really looks like Eluisa here. Has something to do with the matching colors (possibly the way she's wearing her hair - she has a different everyday hair, because I liked this one but it's out of character for everyday,) or possibly the fact that every single elf in my game has blue or green eyes. Exceptions are Orion (and his grey definitely has blue undertones) and Rean and Nymea's father, Antoin Greenleaf, who you probably don't care about because I have trouble stirring myself to care about him at all.  


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