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The things which are in this world are finite. Perhaps something essential, an inner fire, was removed as the fruits came through your envelope? Or maybe I do not have eyes that can see the thin sheen of beauty over the mechanical surface of the universe anymore.

Or maybe what I have done has leached the world of color, just as it has smothered the house.

All that I had gained, all that I had built, it’s… gone.

The futile cardboard skins of instant dinners have returned to the refrigerator, replacing the variety of foodstuffs and persistent salami. The stacks of books have given way to shelves of emptiness, a neat and orderly shelving of tome after tome of blank pages. The smug yellowness of the house, the oily beigeness of its air, is no longer a part of the knowing emptiness. It is simply silent.

The windows do not look out on the same gardens, or any gardens at all. There is no flickering change in the corner of my eye, no gleam of other sunlight, and in fact no weather at all.

I suspect that I may have killed the house. )
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One of the major things that's always been great about the sims is the ability to play sims of every sexual orientation. The other great thing is the thousands of hours of work that many glorious modders have put into various hacks that can make gameplay fully customizeable and micro-manageable, or run almost on it's own.

However, I had a little trouble making my simself because one of these hacks, ACR, has a minor drawback if you're asexual: it leads to about 90% more woohooing for everyone. Autonomously, which is the entire point of the hack Though this is a definite feature for about 95% of my sim population (unexpected children! Sims hooking up when my back is turned! Drama!) it’s a bug when it comes to sims who I want to be Ace, especially Aro-Ace sims like my simself, who in the interest of complete accuracy should have no desire at all to run amok romantically among my sims. So here’s a quick tutorial on the correct ACR and game settings for a variety of sims on the Ace spectrum, to keep them from the same rabbit-like woohooing that the rest of your sims probably participate in due to ACR.

I’m using ACR version 2. In ACR version 1 I’d simply remove sim’s tokens, which would allow only player-directed base game interactions, but that’s not an option in ACR v 2… even though I otherwise like it better due to the friendzoning and other adjustabilities.

Onwards to the Instructions! )
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There are things I dare not write, and send to be seen and known and judged. Not yet. 

Hello House. I hear you. Perhaps – this is hard to say, with a voice that sounds unlike my thoughts – perhaps you can do me another favor? I know I live within you like a clownfish in an anemone, and that without your help I would not have lasted this long. Do houses even do that weird, guilt-tripping thing about giving and receiving help? Do you resent me rattling between your walls and leaving the doors open all the time?

Are you a shiny oyster shell, doomed to crack? And am I the smear of slime and muscle inside, or a pearl formed around an irritating grain of sand?

I have to go to the Night Garden again. It will not be pleasant, but I need to know. To breathe the watchful air and to sift the silence through my fingers. I must pin myself in place and be without this fear, this watching, never able to close a door behind me for fear of what it might become. The night garden could change that, if the words burned in the back of my brain are true.

If I am right –

I can’t be wrong.

* * *

This interlude is part of The Pen Pal Project. Anya's two pen pals are Kiana Moss and Seth Morrigan. The masterpost for Instant Messages In A Bottle is here

Sun Gravy

Mar. 5th, 2017 04:45 pm
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I am here.

At least – I think what I did has worked. Perhaps.

The letter appeared when my back was turned, tossed on the floor, in the tangled sunlight of the windows in the greasy beige afternoon.

This is not a reflection on the quality of your letter )

Author's Note: This is a response to Kiana's Letter. These letters are part of the Pen Pal Project, so they won't make sense if you don't read both halves! A convenient masterpost of my letters and their recipients' responses is here.
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Instant Messages in a Bottle
Anya is being kept by a yellow house with a smug porch. The people on the other side of the computer screen are real. Probably. At least she’s determined to proceed with that assumption, because it is good to not be alone… especially since she’s not certain what the house wants from her, or what is going on outside the windows.

There aren’t any birds here.

Anya’s Profile: Instant Messages In A Bottle

First match: Seth’s Profile
Letter One (to Seth): The Tuesday Garden

Seth: Inside the Walls
Letter Two (to Seth): Gaps in the Web

Seth: Caramel Centers
Letter Three (to Seth): Anechoic

Second Match: Kiana Moss
Kiana: A Letter to Anya
Letter Four (to Kiana): Sun Gravy

Kiana: Gathering Flowers
Letter Five (to Kiana): The Persistence of Salami 

Kiana: Planting Seeds
Letter Six (to Kiana): Saponification

Seth: Uncracked
Letter Seven (to Seth): Corona of Teeth

Kiana: Glow Garden
Letter Eight (to Kiana): Telephone Whispers

Interlude: Into the Night Garden
Letter eight (to Seth, unprompted): Unshelled

Kiana: Chess
Letter Nine (to Kiana): People I Have Been


Headquarters of The Pen Pal Project

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Hello Seth,
The computer showed me your letter, and I assume this means we have been matched as pen pals. What’s it like, living with another person? I mean, I’ve done it before, in another life, but the past is thinner than the present.

You say that the sun is trying to eat you. I crawled out the window into the Tuesday garden, where the sun was shining brightly, just this morning to see if I could tell if my sun was hungry. I stood for a long time with my eyes closed, every part of me floating up but my feet stuck on the earth, all my weight pinned against the soles, bare and cool in the crying grass, while the rest of me soaked up warmth like a sponge. But the sun did not eat me. My weight returned, and I sat and listened to a tree’s heartbeat for a while.

Every door in the house was where it should be )


Author's note: This second entry in the Pen Pal Project is a direct response to Seth's profile, which can be found here. Anya's profile is here.

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Welcome to the Pen Pal Project! We are dedicated to fostering communication and connectivity between all people, using modern technology to create a sense of community. Please answer the following questions in detail, to ensure that we are best able to match you with your new correspondent or correspondents.

: Anya

Select your age bracket: Unsure

Profession: I am being kept by a house with yellow walls and a smug porch. It is a tidy house, and I do not believe it means me harm, even if there are poisonous mushrooms in the cellar. I did not choose to be here, but I came in through the attic door and the crater walls are high around me.

I believe the house is lonely.

How many pen pals are you interested in acquiring? )


Author's note: In a fit of sanity (blame [ profile] medleymisty) I joined the Pen Pal Project! Anya is already partnered up with Seth Morrigan, whose entries you can read here.

If you would like to step through a door and be someone else, or maybe just be kept by a house for a while, stay tuned!

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The Elven Heritage Legacy
Chapter: 1.16
Cum Laude

<- Previous Chapters
College Shennanigans )
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A selection from the journals of Zaliander the Wise
Pride Goeth before a fall... )
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Starts October 31st.
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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...

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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.
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Title: Cinderella Syndrome
Author: Scribal Goddess
Rating: G
Prompt(s) Used: Vanity’s a business built to fleece the unique
Summary: Nymea writes an essay, for once in her college career. Despite being a Lit major, she has a very tentative grasp on irony.
Warnings: None.

The walls of Nymea’s room at the Tri-Var house were covered in cheap stick-on mirrors and pages ripped from magazines.

Your insecurities are concealed by your pride )
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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*


Jan. 2nd, 2014 11:41 am
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Because this is more interesting than real college.

"This is your chicken."

Hey, I'm on break still, and I've ordered my books, so there. I have to say, sims sororities and fraternities are much more interesting than their real-life counterparts. Maybe that's because I'm in charge of the traditions for this one.

As always, cookies for the detail-oriented... Who is getting inducted? (It's the blonde... who is not Meadow Thayer. Second hint: this character has dyed her hair since starting college.) 
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Somehow I got into the habit of doing these things, but today I feel quite lazy.

Last Year's highlights:
January: I put out one chapter (yes, I know... all the blame is mine,) of The Elven Heritage Legacy last year. For those of you who showed up to the journal at some point since last January, The Elven Heritage Legacy is a serial Sims 2 machinomic in a Legacy format, wherein we follow the descendants of a single family... or in this case, because I hate following the rules, four families of Elves who have emigrated from the vaguely medival-ish world of Elphemera to areas in and surrounding the modern, mildly rural community of Riverblossom Hills.

Since I have no clue when I started the EHL anymore (I think it was some time in the summer of 2010 or even earlier... my notes say that the first post was in late August of 2009,) I'm counting this year as the official fifth year of my legacy. New readers be warned - I didn't take the first five or so chapters seriously beyond editing for grammar and consistency. The quality has increased exponentially since then, so it might be best to hop in at The Three Musketeers part two or three. Or if you want the quick version, start with Memoria. Either way, the EHL is by no means required reading, and definitely not dead, despite my extremely awful updating schedule. The next chapter, Sophomoric, will be chapter twelve on my official counter and out soonish. Emphasis on the ish.

June: I went to Israel. I also dug up some stuff. I saw every single Corinthian column in the country, it seems like. I then came home and spent the rest of the summer working on the Thesis which shall not be named, which went badly enough that I had to start over.

August - December: I worked on Thesis, take two. I also researched and wrote Poor Unfortunate Souls, the forty-thousand-odd word novella length spitefic that was born after I got so mad that Fifty Shades of Grey existed that I decided to research the crimes that were actually committed in the book and end it as civilization, human decency, and common sense intended: with Christian Grey's arrest. The fic was primarily intended for members of [ profile] das_sporking, and anyone else who likes mysteries, hates Fifty Shades, or blunders by my journal. As of the new year, I'm cross-posting what chapters I haven't already shamelessly promoted to [ profile] twispitefic.

Longtime browsers over here might sort of recognize the two detectives starring in Poor Unfortunate Souls, probably from snippets of my past attempts at Nanowrimo. Allie Veldon, mage (not wizard or magician, thank you!) and Lindsay Pilot, detective, are in fact part of their own original series, which brings us to my plans for 2014: I'm having a go at writing their first novel, Switchpoint, during spring semester. So I'll probably babble about that at some point without giving you guys anything much to read for it, as I intend at some point to try and get them published. :D

New Year's Resolutions:

1) Finish Thesis and then forget it ever happened. I have to defend the sucker in March. After March, assuming I pass, I can cheerfully kick the monstrosity to the curb, secure in the knowledge that I will never have to do it again and that I hate academia anyway.

2) Graduate. I've been at my college four years - longer than I've known most people who actually come to this blog. While I'm terrified to leave, it's high time for me to go, and Roommate has already expressed her desire to move to the city with me, where we will hopefully have accomplished resolution 3.

3) Get a Job. I'm looking at a lot of chemistry/practical microbiology/water and food safety type of jobs for now. I've been told conflicting things about the job market. I keep hearing of places that supposedly will hire graduates right out of school  because they're so focused that they don't care if you have higher education, they'd have to train you on their instruments regardless of how many degrees you have.

The dream job is one at the state water and food safety lab. The c-string backup option is water management... for those of you not in the know, that's often water reclamation, as in purification of wastewater.


4) Move out. Insofar as I live anywhere, since I am a college gypsy, I live above my parents' garage in a room stacked full of boxes, because the damn things follow me from school to home like needy puppies. Assuming I get a job, somewhere, I'd prefer my own place by this time next year, and I'm sure my parents would prefer it too. (I know this because my mother keeps giving me secondhand furniture and dishes.) I'd prefer to get it with Roommate, and potentially some of the other girls from college, but that all depends on who gets jobs and grad schools where. We've located a suitable rental as a best-case-scenario, and for me the worst case scenario continues to be waking up whenever the garage door opens or closes.

5) Write Switchpoint. It's high time for me to finish something geared towards actual publication. I've had Allie and Lindsay as characters for nearly the same amount of time that I've had everyone from the Elven Heritage Legacy. This won't be appearing on Live Journal (undoubtedly, yelling about the research process will, because there's always something you haven't yet researched,) but it's a major goal nonetheless. I've been writing more or less continuously since I was seven, and though college has done it's best to throw a monkey wrench into that fifteen-year streak, I think I've done my ten thousand words by now.

Switchpoint is a dieselpunk science-fantasy mystery (with a cherry on top) involving smuggling, the mob, sarcastic detectives, take-no-shit police officers, a railway timetable (or several), magic, and lots and lots of trains. You will not believe how many trains there are.

6) Put out the yearly two chapters of The Elven Heritage Legacy. In theory, doing this will keep me more or less sane through research, job hunting, graduation, and the mysterious world of actual adulthood.
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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!”


Aug. 19th, 2013 04:23 pm
scribal_goddess: (scribbles)
Hey, I've been trying for an hour or so to make a split-level cabin, and I just want to ask: does anybody else's game crash on them when they use boolprop constrain floor elevation false too much? It's not an overheating thing, I think it might be a memory thing, though I thought I'd gotten rid of it, because my game hasn't crashed upon trying to save an empty lot in a long, long time. :(

Blargh Sims. Why is it so hard to do this? *Grumbles off into the distance.*


Apr. 25th, 2013 07:37 pm
scribal_goddess: (scribbles)
This is all of the crap in the debug object spawing games box (that monstrosity, top right,) that is labeled "scythe."
Except for the money, which got eaten by the floor, and the disappearing invisible accordion. (I shit you not, it's an accordion. Where it came from, I don't know.)
Notice: Only one of them is a scythe. None of them is the groceries basket on the delivery NPC, even though it is totally an interactable spawned object, and somehow the cell phone is in here. What the hell, game creators. What the actual hell.

Plan B: find something else that looks like a basket! And stop stalling, this chapter's been on the wait list long enough. (Oh, and because you can't recognize the lot because I dumped this crap on the roof; it's the Riverblossom Hills Grocery store.

Here, have a not-really-a-spoiler for your troubles.
scribal_goddess: (Default)

Not much for a teaser, but hey look! The Newson and Greenman tots are all grown up. I'm thinking of doing some tiny side-stories for the Newsons and Greenmans - projects that I'll actually be able to update during this fall when the lab schedule from hell hits me. The legacy will obviously be following the key players to college, and Greenman and Newson people are likely to be shortchanged when they're no longer in the vicinity of the main lines, even though I'm still invested in what happens to them all.


scribal_goddess: (Default)

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