tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24614201746621164972024-03-04T23:15:41.667-08:00Welcome to Tierra de LegadoThe Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.comBlogger190125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-35696302544149160442010-02-07T09:48:00.000-08:002010-02-07T12:18:39.271-08:00My favorite couplesSome you've seen and some you haven't. Inspired by Laura's <a href="http://lakesideheights.blogspot.com/2010/02/top-twenty-hottest-couples.html">awesome post</a> and encouraged by Carla's comments on that post, I figured I would bring you my favorite couples through the past couple of years.<br /><br />Since I am not nearly as organize as other players, I don't have any stats. All I have is the memory of some awesome sims that were too fun to play.<br /><br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >Couples you've probably never seen </span><span style="font-style: italic;">(But you know their children and grandchildren)</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Precious and Thomas Mellon</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v152/studyofme/Sims/snapshot_93565148_135f9c27.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 266px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v152/studyofme/Sims/snapshot_93565148_135f9c27.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>How you might know them: They're the parents of the City Mayor <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/search/label/Richard%20Mellon%20Jr.">Richard Mellon, Jr.</a>. Precious was instrumental to pulling the town together and making it what it would later on become. Always by her side was her husband Thomas, who understood the importance of her job and would take care of duties at home while she was out building up the commercial district of the original neighborhood.<br /><br />Unfortunately, Precious died from overuse of Rally Forth leaving her family with a great big gaping hole. But not before she had passed everything she knew onto her son, expecting him to become the first city mayor.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Thomas and Cherry Smith</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v152/studyofme/Sims/Wedding_cutting_cake.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 432px; height: 445px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v152/studyofme/Sims/Wedding_cutting_cake.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Cherry wooed Thomas after his wife had passed on. She lived as an NPC, perpetually blinking in and out of life, and she was one of the first to realize that she needed more than that. Thomas was already old by the time he finally agreed to marry her, bringing her fully to life. She gave him one child, <a href="http://legadoprofiles.blogspot.com/search/label/Jason%20Smith">Jason Smith</a>, an adorable freckle faced boy who is pretty much spoiled rotten.<br /><br />Thomas passed away when they reached the new hood unfortunately. And The City Mayor Richard wants nothing to do with Cherry, a woman he hadn't approved of in the first place.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Juan and Lydia Stratton</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v152/studyofme/Sims/trouble1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 492px; height: 408px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v152/studyofme/Sims/trouble1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>How you'd know them: They're the parents of <a href="http://legadoprofiles.blogspot.com/2009/03/sofia-stratton.html">Sofia</a> and Tristin (leader of the cult) Stratton. (In this picture, Juan in the surprised sim in the back. The man in the front in his brother, Isaac.)<br /><br />These two were my dramalicious couple. Oh did we have fun. And this was all before ACR. On again and off again, they couldn't stay away from each other and they couldn't just be friends.<br /><br />The breaking point was Isaac, who wandered in one day uninvited, got down on one knee and serenaded Lydia just as Juan was heading out the door to get the morning newspaper.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Isaac and Angie</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v152/studyofme/Sims/Angies_garden.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 305px; height: 290px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v152/studyofme/Sims/Angies_garden.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>How you know them: These two are <a href="http://legadoprofiles.blogspot.com/2009/03/katherine-stratton.html">Ily</a> and <a href="http://legadoprofiles.blogspot.com/2009/03/katherine-stratton.html">Kate</a>'s grandparents.<br /><br />Isaac happened to be a true romance sim. That got derailed by Angie. It was while he was out on a date with a hot college student that he realized he wanted to marry her. Their wedding was one of the worst weddings I have ever had, which you might think was an indicator of their future together. Surprisingly, it wasn't.<br /><br />Despite the random flirting with people like Lydia, his brother's wife, he remained more than faithful to her. In their old age, he enjoyed following her around, and they very often ended up in her garden by the side of the house just talking for hours. When she finally passed away, he passed away only moments after her.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >Couples you know</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Richard and Genesis Mellon</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfpWOvy8_9YVBTJgX2zXs2dazfI4CtIobyf9lYv7BcjUeNnr5Twl9TyLPbCUM8b1bPq-wGbZhk6ujiKCSyz1OnUKxQX_GFR-pfLE0RgwfnvgFZnqcJpiVt4u6l4jlxJYYIk76Vh2OE9aG/s1600-h/Richard_Genesis.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfpWOvy8_9YVBTJgX2zXs2dazfI4CtIobyf9lYv7BcjUeNnr5Twl9TyLPbCUM8b1bPq-wGbZhk6ujiKCSyz1OnUKxQX_GFR-pfLE0RgwfnvgFZnqcJpiVt4u6l4jlxJYYIk76Vh2OE9aG/s400/Richard_Genesis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435575280430879378" border="0" /></a>These two were childhood friends and first loves. He's never quite sure what she's doing with him, but he's not going to argue. He is the Mayor of course (he requires that I tell you that every time I mention his name) and she is the owner of the local magazine, Legacy Living. Together, these two have three children naturally (<a href="http://legadoprofiles.blogspot.com/2009/03/richard-mellon-iii.html">Richard the 3rd</a>, Gracie, and David), and have adopted one, <a href="http://legadoprofiles.blogspot.com/search/label/Gabriel%20Mellon">Gabriel</a>.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Water Mellon and Demi Love</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v152/studyofme/Sims/WaterAndDemi.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 497px; height: 311px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v152/studyofme/Sims/WaterAndDemi.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Of course these two! Game chemistry wise, they've only got one bolt between them. Demi was the cop who picked Water up when he was initiated into the Secret Society. Soon as he saw her, he knew he had to find her. Of course the search involved him calling the police out to his house until they fined him and refused to come out to his house any more. Oops. But it was well worth it.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gabe Mellon and Alberta Fergueson</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ks7umo0T1SZ6AcaG-YuRKjhaBkCsJCZfw6WBpUE1E0CrNkOuOyRLxd6kSu0W-OREwm2j7Mo1r-iPaFq1d2_6rAUeVSasvgv9nF0aXSUMZ8DC8fUbSa3CIyC7Fqj9aGh2BVHhTDrOW982/s1600-h/Of+course.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 361px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ks7umo0T1SZ6AcaG-YuRKjhaBkCsJCZfw6WBpUE1E0CrNkOuOyRLxd6kSu0W-OREwm2j7Mo1r-iPaFq1d2_6rAUeVSasvgv9nF0aXSUMZ8DC8fUbSa3CIyC7Fqj9aGh2BVHhTDrOW982/s400/Of+course.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435590011912255490" border="0" /></a>You saw them coming. One of my favorites. He's a shy romance sim who manages to pull it off as laid back and mysterious to the ladies and she's a shy, timid girl all around who is slowly stepping up and learning to have more confidence. (Oh is she ever. She'll get there one of these days.) Of course Gabe is due to go off to college in the fall, and he won't come back for a visit for a full year.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Henry And Sofia Stratton</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhorIMu5k70z2CEBjPClcojWxOru5suK1866ZBjbGwPkboW8WxTbDeDT5ZyLw-nAGs9bPx7aRxB3iiq_eEpjoVE6ktTpYyGSFtRAbbubZPbwwwvnVbkmGXrZWVQsGfkEYdw4fmFfV4i6DGq/s1600-h/Sofia+%26+Henry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 358px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhorIMu5k70z2CEBjPClcojWxOru5suK1866ZBjbGwPkboW8WxTbDeDT5ZyLw-nAGs9bPx7aRxB3iiq_eEpjoVE6ktTpYyGSFtRAbbubZPbwwwvnVbkmGXrZWVQsGfkEYdw4fmFfV4i6DGq/s400/Sofia+%26+Henry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435589349253372802" border="0" /></a>These two are all ACR's doing. I know that if they show up together on a lot, they are going to have a go at it where ever they can. Sofia seems to bring out the worst and darkest parts of Henry because he always looks a little evil when he's with her (or maybe it's all in my head). And if you remember, (which you might not) she is already carrying his love child who is due next season according to my mental records which are notoriously fallible.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Henry and Amberle</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnW9_UQuMPuX7HzASNsjNX2U3pOWz36de7w4zJG_ZHDpfeBpgBUdlyXggkvDtL6grzK_2JwM4f0eo5faKeggEnKaYJKZmrAC5-OqKGtIiwMLYgZqJNEi76Hel92PHYw0dUiPYhJdJEmGY6/s1600-h/Henry+%26+Amberle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 326px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnW9_UQuMPuX7HzASNsjNX2U3pOWz36de7w4zJG_ZHDpfeBpgBUdlyXggkvDtL6grzK_2JwM4f0eo5faKeggEnKaYJKZmrAC5-OqKGtIiwMLYgZqJNEi76Hel92PHYw0dUiPYhJdJEmGY6/s400/Henry+%26+Amberle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435589331899379346" border="0" /></a>An elf who loves life, plants, the color green, and the forest in love with a vampire that needs to suck life to live. No, she still hasn't asked him what he eats, and he's not telling her until she asks. Does he really love her or is he just using her?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >The More Unique Couples</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tristin Stratton and Jan Tellerman AND Marylena Hamilton</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKysgS8QZ9uhNQCytdLSplG84_OoJ2fq9IMdjxeLMbys10V543or8R4aFPx7zbx_73_rf1quFyWrGiwWwgdMoB3rqWLomoBhRE-vydk5RUp25MHi_jdGrrJsN7ME5QAAmkpnMAGv7gNYeD/s1600-h/More+than+two2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 354px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKysgS8QZ9uhNQCytdLSplG84_OoJ2fq9IMdjxeLMbys10V543or8R4aFPx7zbx_73_rf1quFyWrGiwWwgdMoB3rqWLomoBhRE-vydk5RUp25MHi_jdGrrJsN7ME5QAAmkpnMAGv7gNYeD/s400/More+than+two2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435589312374858722" border="0" /></a>From the Church for Wayward NPCs. Love in any form is perfectly acceptable even if it happens on one of the pews in the church. Of course, when there are three, there is always the possibility that one might be overlooked more often than the other, especially if one hasn't had a baby yet.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Water Mellon, Samantha Kerr, and Lore Aristaeus</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9K9CvFWdUxww7dkj8yONKxq-yCEocV9ZmP1G_k3t-Sq1U3Q8q0pEBnZW5398NYHXyUO9LoqdI91sVf333iRoc3B6eEHw-W66nJxGGIM_6hyD2AgsqjTjEuK5E0zgwbr9pFUhfygRM57Ui/s1600-h/More+than+two.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 337px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9K9CvFWdUxww7dkj8yONKxq-yCEocV9ZmP1G_k3t-Sq1U3Q8q0pEBnZW5398NYHXyUO9LoqdI91sVf333iRoc3B6eEHw-W66nJxGGIM_6hyD2AgsqjTjEuK5E0zgwbr9pFUhfygRM57Ui/s400/More+than+two.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435589320966626786" border="0" /></a>Yeah, you're probably going, "WHAT?" If you aren't, you should be. Even Samantha Bradshaw didn't get <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> story out of Sam.<br /><br />Remember that <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2010/01/down-that-road.html">awkward dinner</a> right before Samantha B. left? Yeah, Sam had a few things on her mind. I'll be sure to get to that sooner or later.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Couple that will never be...</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnxGLEu-4PMq8Us5YTRmf1pQsvoUpdCJ61M9HXnYr87ZCr3VdLJNkMByyMcQ0TTq1wzjQF7s5RdPzCos3-vCnoxWfdyPE_v9wTHmU4ga9_mxCQBH8wC9AT44FIt-ZVvKKVA1s_BZoH1SEa/s1600-h/Not+gonna+happen.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnxGLEu-4PMq8Us5YTRmf1pQsvoUpdCJ61M9HXnYr87ZCr3VdLJNkMByyMcQ0TTq1wzjQF7s5RdPzCos3-vCnoxWfdyPE_v9wTHmU4ga9_mxCQBH8wC9AT44FIt-ZVvKKVA1s_BZoH1SEa/s400/Not+gonna+happen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435589304294930162" border="0" /></a>...especially if her boyfriend is, like, <span style="font-style: italic;">right behind her</span>. I swear it's not because everyone is in love with Alberta, though she is kinda sweet. But Hobart was totally nervous his first day in high school and she was one of the first people to actually talk to him. Uhm, well one of the only people really. Still, dude, be careful. Gabe is one of my meaner sims!<br /></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-13374809148529678372010-01-30T16:11:00.001-08:002010-01-30T17:03:54.306-08:00Spilling Over<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-2dx8Qc4hAJK9bklbAta3vGPnOEkl-rpe6-tMhY7iDsgYP88YFumtSuR4MK50UZwpX3zY3h_h3NkAF6-INYRoXvuP6EmWys0DpUirnBbcZIHj45zpnnpG-pUxVpfKApP5Prxg0q1Cj5a/s1600-h/1+wake+up.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 332px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-2dx8Qc4hAJK9bklbAta3vGPnOEkl-rpe6-tMhY7iDsgYP88YFumtSuR4MK50UZwpX3zY3h_h3NkAF6-INYRoXvuP6EmWys0DpUirnBbcZIHj45zpnnpG-pUxVpfKApP5Prxg0q1Cj5a/s400/1+wake+up.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432690161104374530" border="0" /></a><br />She woke up thinking about her sister, Bella.<br /><br />Dragging herself to the edge of the bed, she sat up, planted her feet firmly on the ground and then stopped. Rain drops tapped at her window. She peeked out the window at the rest of the small city. The gray sky desaturated everything that had any hint of color.<br /><br />Perfect.<br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnQgMqsPYfYwUQ86lcC0-jxQCUsLMU0QZvVhTbYgC3uxXg8m4Eg8zu5g5qgaJwOVI55LUfYdZjJZKgHYSMq0vdEvTz7STndVqs01HnxiUQslOm86B4-_zPp-spEchhsJUDXiWlnKouM06f/s1600-h/2+Resting.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 382px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnQgMqsPYfYwUQ86lcC0-jxQCUsLMU0QZvVhTbYgC3uxXg8m4Eg8zu5g5qgaJwOVI55LUfYdZjJZKgHYSMq0vdEvTz7STndVqs01HnxiUQslOm86B4-_zPp-spEchhsJUDXiWlnKouM06f/s400/2+Resting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432690162239903778" border="0" /></a><br />Samantha finally stood, gathering the clothes that were spilling out of her suitcase which she had somehow managed to never unpack in three months. She took some over to the bed and started folding them, the events of last night heavy on her mind.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Things had started out normally last night. Water had taken a break and sat down at her counter with a smile. It was a different smile, a genuinely happy smile.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAzu5cejDMWmcr92AB5UjdyJRLXuMePyhVIBkugKeLjMds9_gzdO5zsc_1FBMjALz2DSAcGnMf38GMSo12IN3qI7k87SsmqdBvXWrDWrhZpXeZzA8LaDMlGp_Zv3d6HD7NWjqrn4rjN0I8/s1600-h/5+Happy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 362px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAzu5cejDMWmcr92AB5UjdyJRLXuMePyhVIBkugKeLjMds9_gzdO5zsc_1FBMjALz2DSAcGnMf38GMSo12IN3qI7k87SsmqdBvXWrDWrhZpXeZzA8LaDMlGp_Zv3d6HD7NWjqrn4rjN0I8/s400/5+Happy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432690176423346818" border="0" /></a><br />"The usual?" Samantha asked returning his smile, happy to see such sincerity on his face.<br /><br />"Please."<br /><br />He didn't even get a chance to take a sip. Samantha placed the drink in front of him. Over his head, she could see someone coming up to the counter, but she thought nothing of it. People often came up to Water. He was really the only celebrity in town. And they all wanted a small piece of him. Usually it was ladies who Water would often smile for and offer cooking tips. Samantha imagined that these ladies just wanted to be able to tell the headmaster that their Lobster Thermadore recipie had come from Water Mellon himself.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3MqyFgGJDPT0McRbDtI7f2upzQPwfU8hJpMAL0N5eN82yKkHULgG_nwkkA-iqagQp6WWoafExgN0gL1Hse6QsP3_ZjHgmVk_5PF2hGrZxCCU195NbiWXidPlwPC9rmBtReFNu_zqve2wF/s1600-h/6+surprise.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 386px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3MqyFgGJDPT0McRbDtI7f2upzQPwfU8hJpMAL0N5eN82yKkHULgG_nwkkA-iqagQp6WWoafExgN0gL1Hse6QsP3_ZjHgmVk_5PF2hGrZxCCU195NbiWXidPlwPC9rmBtReFNu_zqve2wF/s400/6+surprise.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432691039698080706" border="0" /></a><br />But this girl stopped right behind him placing a hand on her hip and a cooked smile on her little mouth. "You must have missed me."<br /><br />Water hopped up, his genuine smile replaced by surprise. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwDYML1fF9vP_7rjUfgQ7NilR7SXUAd2wqG9D96WZLYiQcG1LmRUPErywrFNZxTiRSIftrRuLVC0cTnncd-eqjQo1itU5N0fGkvjzlKLo5JfU_0afbiqb_mDhtNbuzPZ_zJAF4Ymakb-g/s1600-h/8+Ily.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 398px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwDYML1fF9vP_7rjUfgQ7NilR7SXUAd2wqG9D96WZLYiQcG1LmRUPErywrFNZxTiRSIftrRuLVC0cTnncd-eqjQo1itU5N0fGkvjzlKLo5JfU_0afbiqb_mDhtNbuzPZ_zJAF4Ymakb-g/s400/8+Ily.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432691042227054946" border="0" /></a><br />She could see it happening again. The girl was cute. Pretty. Bubbly. Nineteen. Blond. Everything she wasn't. The blond girl, with a smile and a twirl of her hair, was sneaking between the two of them and making her way straight to Water. Samantha could see his defenses going down, his sincere smile of only a second ago being replaced with a special smile just for this girl.<br /><br />Water left his drink on the counter to hop up and hug her. "It's good to see you. Aren't you visiting with your parents?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5rQW1LassCfyM1EdA59Q9epsqEYJV5J3Y5ZQWbftenqXbpn3hqgVuDCPqGvj0qf-FI81apQ76mUOcmhihK7Up-6ucBIwLR5t7LaTpau-KeDSZOKHMbNXEOlLhio2rc8c63dGcu85wb1S/s1600-h/9+Hug.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 373px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5rQW1LassCfyM1EdA59Q9epsqEYJV5J3Y5ZQWbftenqXbpn3hqgVuDCPqGvj0qf-FI81apQ76mUOcmhihK7Up-6ucBIwLR5t7LaTpau-KeDSZOKHMbNXEOlLhio2rc8c63dGcu85wb1S/s400/9+Hug.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432693916505000050" border="0" /></a><br />"I was but they went to sleep already. Can you believe it? They should be celebrating my return and instead they tell me good night and they'll see me in the morning."<br /><br />The smile on her face made it clear to Samantha that for these two people right now, there was no one else in the room.<br /><br />Samantha picked up the drink Water had left on the counter. She stepped away towards the end of the bar and took a good sip.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-GTZxlx1jY1LSLU0duKzDbfbBpQP7TgS_S2gasJwVa0GsPoET8lT-6DRkRPDOAk1Qg4cjNc09qSn0_By83LPRj70HWu7KN066JMtLNZGZt5-9rHXBqFbVcN-_cxR4ph-amFU0KqlasJT/s1600-h/10+Hey%21.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 364px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-GTZxlx1jY1LSLU0duKzDbfbBpQP7TgS_S2gasJwVa0GsPoET8lT-6DRkRPDOAk1Qg4cjNc09qSn0_By83LPRj70HWu7KN066JMtLNZGZt5-9rHXBqFbVcN-_cxR4ph-amFU0KqlasJT/s400/10+Hey%21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432691053215755234" border="0" /></a><br />"Hey!" A patron she hadn't previously noticed said from her seat at the counter. "You aren't supposed to be drinking. I'm supposed to be drinking."<br /><br />Samantha handed the woman the drink in her hand. "Here. On the house."<br /><br />"All right!"<br /><br /><br />She watched them sitting together the rest of the night, her insides quaking like jello as she moved up and down gathering glasses and ingredients to make drinks.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnx_jztK28iJA0oYtq8Lb1km2EC1a-Qgxm1vDomwiGoOuvYJKwDAENZS6inVlPJYj4wjvyzlNp-pJ0bm3puVlqs3c_loCv4IiFp8CgfQgO3d37c9eAGELTFlB2if71A8O5YH6MJ2Rbwver/s1600-h/11+watching.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 393px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnx_jztK28iJA0oYtq8Lb1km2EC1a-Qgxm1vDomwiGoOuvYJKwDAENZS6inVlPJYj4wjvyzlNp-pJ0bm3puVlqs3c_loCv4IiFp8CgfQgO3d37c9eAGELTFlB2if71A8O5YH6MJ2Rbwver/s400/11+watching.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432691062446314818" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-DylxgtgncvJqWrWte0QjbpYSwcvBE9eTHReNk7n3oiavRkyUgnHjaLe4JlquFzEkYho8s7s9IXNaYN9j2-1rIRzrwU3gkV8ry__wpYvKEBYGPCwFGmxQOsOteag6UbC3jRirRnBFxyv/s1600-h/12+the+two.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 392px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-DylxgtgncvJqWrWte0QjbpYSwcvBE9eTHReNk7n3oiavRkyUgnHjaLe4JlquFzEkYho8s7s9IXNaYN9j2-1rIRzrwU3gkV8ry__wpYvKEBYGPCwFGmxQOsOteag6UbC3jRirRnBFxyv/s400/12+the+two.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432691077949336274" border="0" /></a><br />What did Samantha care? She knew that easily from their first time in the photo booth that he was clearly too well practiced. It was a photo booth with only one stool that she and Samantha had nearly fallen off of to take their stupid little pictures. And he'd directed her easily, pulled her hips to where he needed her to be exactly as if he'd done it enough times before that he knew the trick.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYsEcD78xzq1yq9G7vK_FEzFsrvDnmYAfgi79pmvk95SLaQTGW1Py0E59D1dT0gy-3DYT9a3HEVwTOqZIZW2SY5tlydjX5EMtgCPbTxzFTiEzUh7vkOj1UkFTNoR79HU5ylaVhzF7M12I/s1600-h/3+folding.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 374px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYsEcD78xzq1yq9G7vK_FEzFsrvDnmYAfgi79pmvk95SLaQTGW1Py0E59D1dT0gy-3DYT9a3HEVwTOqZIZW2SY5tlydjX5EMtgCPbTxzFTiEzUh7vkOj1UkFTNoR79HU5ylaVhzF7M12I/s400/3+folding.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432690166401392082" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Samantha called Water first. It was 10am. She knew he'd still be asleep. She imagined that he'd be asleep with his arm around the young blond girl from last night. The girl had stayed until closing, sitting in a booth with Water when he wasn't needed in the kitchen. And then Water had driven her home.<br /><br />The answering machine picked up and she left a message saying that she had a family emergency. Something with her sister. She had to go. Samantha didn't feel too bad. Tonight was her night off for the next two nights, so he had time to find a replacement if he needed it.<br /><br />But she had the feeling he didn't. The time he spent at the bar chatting with her had probably been the time he'd spent at the bar making drinks and greeting patrons. For whatever reason he'd given the position to her, she knew it wasn't out of necessity.<br /><br />But she did feel guilty as she looked at the phone. Her suitcase repacked neatly, the photos from Samantha safely tucked away in a front pocket.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5Ddax8IJfKz5eODBoivEnl2kpX-nQMm8D4SvlRemHcrTxcKFllwAlLLoHZi0tRrKdFgX81AxLMW8zyP9UPMHkHM2TMgbf8g2a0lVf_Vr3xjWVcwa-rTfa8zrJKZSloNMt1E87AvDk3xE/s1600-h/13+hug.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 381px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5Ddax8IJfKz5eODBoivEnl2kpX-nQMm8D4SvlRemHcrTxcKFllwAlLLoHZi0tRrKdFgX81AxLMW8zyP9UPMHkHM2TMgbf8g2a0lVf_Vr3xjWVcwa-rTfa8zrJKZSloNMt1E87AvDk3xE/s400/13+hug.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432692136998581698" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"Samantha, what is going on?" Sam pulled her close. "Is everything all right?"<br /><br />They met at the corner market near the train tracks that lead out of the city. It was 1pm and the sky had finally cleared. There wasn't even a cloud in the sky. Samantha had her bag on the ground by her feet and her train ticket in her jacket pocket.<br /><br />"Yes. It's fine. Just an emergency at home. I have to leave, but I didn't want to leave without saying good bye first. And... thank you."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjM1WsRnOmuscecJVZKLi7dwyuVjNqO89p1UxKbswkf39fc9fcIwr8gbJZ_UFR25YtOF_B9lz0lLlk0HVhnRN5MAMDIo7WHblNGA9LxtVTDuE2GTaI0laZzlGdJajG47djhu74lgSJaD8/s1600-h/14+are+you.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 384px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjM1WsRnOmuscecJVZKLi7dwyuVjNqO89p1UxKbswkf39fc9fcIwr8gbJZ_UFR25YtOF_B9lz0lLlk0HVhnRN5MAMDIo7WHblNGA9LxtVTDuE2GTaI0laZzlGdJajG47djhu74lgSJaD8/s400/14+are+you.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432692143744718898" border="0" /></a><br />Sam smiled at her. "Oh you're not still on about that night with Bonnie, are you? We could have gotten into more trouble if you'd have moved in next door to me like I'd planned."<br /><br />There wasn't much more to be said. In the middle of the grocery store they hugged like two lovers who were never going to see each other again. It garnered strange looks, but neither of them cared.<br /><br />Sam turned away at the sound of an approaching train. "That's probably your train, you know."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_B8Kx4RZDoxHXwbJ4sHIx80DD1rQOOF_Cf8rvVz1beYtl2LSIAa5J1mrqBKL__ApdOsAUI7hZ4_7oMvobKBVMF0FQi5oAz0ZyN3UbNdTK1N18cL59u_rKcoInoW24ksBMML_MfH_nLDWA/s1600-h/15+Sam%26Sam.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 356px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_B8Kx4RZDoxHXwbJ4sHIx80DD1rQOOF_Cf8rvVz1beYtl2LSIAa5J1mrqBKL__ApdOsAUI7hZ4_7oMvobKBVMF0FQi5oAz0ZyN3UbNdTK1N18cL59u_rKcoInoW24ksBMML_MfH_nLDWA/s400/15+Sam%26Sam.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432692150932009474" border="0" /></a><br />"I know." Samantha bent down and picked up her suitcase and pulled her ticket from her pocket. "Take care, Sam."<br /><br />"You too Samantha."<br /><br /><br />Samantha knew exactly when she went wrong. It was not that night at the club down town. That was certainly a point of no return, but that hadn't been the mistake. It wasn't even really that night after work she actually went home with Water and took the "tour" of his home that she was sure he had given to other girls.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbmlB-7eGEasfK2vmK5WENZtlgCE3COyVis06mI2HGB6Tpn5Up1VmK79V2ft6yDiOO4BCYrGQeNYKabhf2AbUIrGXBqamFK5_xK00hqLsFv4MvQC8wBnsSQb_2qlcv6EKMkpMVmZyte_Wn/s1600-h/Mistake.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 355px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbmlB-7eGEasfK2vmK5WENZtlgCE3COyVis06mI2HGB6Tpn5Up1VmK79V2ft6yDiOO4BCYrGQeNYKabhf2AbUIrGXBqamFK5_xK00hqLsFv4MvQC8wBnsSQb_2qlcv6EKMkpMVmZyte_Wn/s400/Mistake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432692160671680370" border="0" /></a><br />It was the moment that she had mistakenly leaned in for the kiss. It had surprised her and him both. They'd had an unspoken understanding that they were no more than the physical support group for loneliness. So what had possessed her in that one instant to lean forward and kiss him? And why had he kissed her back? Why had he even offered her a job for a position that he didn't even need to be filled in the first place?<br /><br />Expectations and obligations were suffocating. They pressed on her, cutting off her freedom, dragging her back to that place from months ago. People never acted the way you wanted them to. Things always unexpectedly stepped into the picture, distorting it or changing it completely.<br /><br />And in that moment, when Samantha had watched that little blond girl with Water, she'd felt it, a wound recently sutured being ripped apart to bleed on her insides.<br /><br />She had to go. She had no other choice. She'd made a mistake, and she'd have to hope that in the next place she didn't make the same mistake again.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***********************<br /></div><br /><i>*sniff* Bye Samantha! Oh the trouble you could have caused with Sam if only you'd been ready to settle. But of course, she's not ready to settle yet.<br /><br />So I'll just link to the <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2010/01/down-that-road.html">last post</a> to make it easy to find the pictures I made as a gift for poor Samantha. (Gift is at the bottom of the post.) I hope someone uses that, lol. It will probably be the only mention we get is in the background because I imagine that Samantha is going to want to forget this whole thing completely. Because ouch. I know I would if I were her.<br /><br /><br />As for Ily, for those who don't know her, <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/12/what-he-doesnt-know.html">here</a> is her last entry. She worked for Water in high school as a hostess, and I always imagined that she had a huge crush on him. She keeps in constant contact with him, emailing him and calling him sometimes. And sometimes he actually calls her.<br /><br /></i></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-5216855268967987022010-01-24T10:08:00.000-08:002010-01-24T11:40:45.948-08:00Down that Road<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">A reminder:</span> "Sam" refers to my Samantha, "Samantha" will refer to Ms. Bradshaw.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUEHMNJ0_iiuyK5MIfbIlatE18qJzWUz8l1XW98QMw6nIhMLLI5vy9XaMBfNUCGchOIUSr9Eis6tpLZQXl1aLSL8q7CuehGuebh_CBKeoDwNWMcg9wPM5jq02cieVk4AEqqmIe3PSJ9ojH/s1600-h/1+What.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 391px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUEHMNJ0_iiuyK5MIfbIlatE18qJzWUz8l1XW98QMw6nIhMLLI5vy9XaMBfNUCGchOIUSr9Eis6tpLZQXl1aLSL8q7CuehGuebh_CBKeoDwNWMcg9wPM5jq02cieVk4AEqqmIe3PSJ9ojH/s400/1+What.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430370164456327330" border="0" /></a><br />"What are you doing?"<br /><br />The green spray went wide as Samantha jumped at Sam's voice.<br /><br />"Uh, spraying the roaches."<br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqhv2jd-7Z-VflO67EButEwabJdnZw6loYMyolCmpCtM_aOh1Gl-C60mvk_6gOmj8HLNaqMtH06KKYsSbHh9sqgrxw7Xsdab6yR5eCgSb7jA3vxR9mgQAIbIlp4ZANaxVXA38QluNAGZd/s1600-h/1b+really.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 384px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqhv2jd-7Z-VflO67EButEwabJdnZw6loYMyolCmpCtM_aOh1Gl-C60mvk_6gOmj8HLNaqMtH06KKYsSbHh9sqgrxw7Xsdab6yR5eCgSb7jA3vxR9mgQAIbIlp4ZANaxVXA38QluNAGZd/s400/1b+really.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430370166723930402" border="0" /></a><br />"You're kidding! Isn't your landlord supposed to do that?"<br /><br />Samantha stood up and replaced the can by the front door. The can was always there, so she pretty much assumed that was the landlord's doing. That was his preventative measure.<br /><br />"No, nevermind, I don't think I want to know. Why are you still living here any way? It's been over two months. Surely there are other apartments in the city."<br /><br />Samantha couldn't really explain it to someone as put together as Sam. Especially when she couldn't explain it to herself. Every day she glanced at the "For Rent!" ads with the intent to look closely when she got home from work. She always told herself "later." But after seven "later"s, a week had passed. After four weeks, an entire month. Time seemed to go so quickly when you had things you intended to do later.<br /><br />Sam's face suddenly softened in guilt as if she realized her words sounded harsher than she meant them to. "Ah, sorry. Well, we should head out." She seemed to attempt a smile, but it was a limping half smile that hardly covered whatever she it was she was trying to cover.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA6Oghh6hgoZjjJhFp4byU9zmriCA66P9-b2F7rbdJxo0rsTB_n1TouNBz93fxkOWM1WOmFqzZvaMzhRro8Ch0LFb05YWd5lPhywGMYzvmxUNto1ESBaOFg6pDmE_G5k3zaw5Twa_zxGTS/s1600-h/3+studying+menu.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 387px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA6Oghh6hgoZjjJhFp4byU9zmriCA66P9-b2F7rbdJxo0rsTB_n1TouNBz93fxkOWM1WOmFqzZvaMzhRro8Ch0LFb05YWd5lPhywGMYzvmxUNto1ESBaOFg6pDmE_G5k3zaw5Twa_zxGTS/s400/3+studying+menu.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430373278488156434" border="0" /></a><br />Sam's eyes hardly met hers. Samantha knew there was something wrong with her friend. Something had definitely changed. They weren't close enough to swap stories about their periods, but Samantha had thought that they were at least close enough to be honest with each other.<br /><br />"Swanky place, isn't it?" Samantha looked around at all the sketchy patrons that made their big appearance at night. For once she wished she'd see one of those plant people she'd been noticing at the restaurant. She'd always found them to be weird and a little disconcerting, but she'd take a strange plant person over this crowd any day.<br /><br />Sam shrugged, "It's really the only place we've got downtown." She glanced around at the crowd too, but she did it with confidence. Samantha felt a little overdressed for this crowd, but Sam looked beautiful and elegant, classy even among the questionable elements present. "The woman who runs this place is a strange one. Haven't seen her in a while, but I'm sure she makes a killing with this place."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwEWBvArKNHfjtbMEr2ygwSB_P_Udmz4FytRxNfsnDKmr8jEHb9wJfqH825F7rlgxc0pXMN2qlhN_UHFsLtod5_WuFYEeXqYXMNFa-ASjadwHDT9c-v_thxzwGd87mEGSZO0IDGiJBVXt1/s1600-h/5+Looks+away.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 390px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwEWBvArKNHfjtbMEr2ygwSB_P_Udmz4FytRxNfsnDKmr8jEHb9wJfqH825F7rlgxc0pXMN2qlhN_UHFsLtod5_WuFYEeXqYXMNFa-ASjadwHDT9c-v_thxzwGd87mEGSZO0IDGiJBVXt1/s400/5+Looks+away.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430375761520970514" border="0" /></a><br />There was an awkward silence between the two of them. Samantha wasn't quite sure what to say. In her past experience, she'd learned that calling a girl out on strange behavior usually lead to them playing it off and leaving her looking like a fool.<br /><br />She looked away out over the crowd gathering to dance as she debated whether she should just flat out ask and risk looking like a fool.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU2mKTNQkY2c3Uf9eokY8gaSzfneoUe7S1y8dJ2eSNhJggBUIfQ_wb2v76VTJtdO8vDpPaPdzohoBZb1Pwz3aDk7luKlN8FmvYi_w5kqllmFUlCFDcZuBhbMgdXokwpf0keCsABZU4Qgx8/s1600-h/2+dinner.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 396px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU2mKTNQkY2c3Uf9eokY8gaSzfneoUe7S1y8dJ2eSNhJggBUIfQ_wb2v76VTJtdO8vDpPaPdzohoBZb1Pwz3aDk7luKlN8FmvYi_w5kqllmFUlCFDcZuBhbMgdXokwpf0keCsABZU4Qgx8/s400/2+dinner.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430375671248087010" border="0" /></a><br />Then Sam looked up at her. "Are you okay?"<br /><br />That stopped her in mid scoop. Samantha looked up at Sam, her eyebrows lifting involuntarily. She was sure the disbelief was written all over her face and she knew she couldn't keep quiet any more. "Am I okay? Are you serious? You've been out of it all night."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo93_YlHATaQXIXhgDFVMi2SEVS6ISe2p3KStYEsoO6a1YIqMhpeehV_FW4G9tmgbXUIWiRjuNdVFA1_hXNGVblv8AM5hQCmNimF_N9QGubemPZKxpzftVVTmTCuHv-ObPemtwXP_DROm_/s1600-h/7+loss+of+words.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 365px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo93_YlHATaQXIXhgDFVMi2SEVS6ISe2p3KStYEsoO6a1YIqMhpeehV_FW4G9tmgbXUIWiRjuNdVFA1_hXNGVblv8AM5hQCmNimF_N9QGubemPZKxpzftVVTmTCuHv-ObPemtwXP_DROm_/s400/7+loss+of+words.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430376782756028450" border="0" /></a>Sam shrugged, her eyes suddenly becoming much too shiny, a hand rising in the air almost helplessly. "I know."<br /><br />She didn't offer more. There were no explanations, and Samantha wouldn't press. Something had indeed happened, that was definitely clear, but Sam didn't seem fit to talk about it.<br /><br />Dinner was an awkward and quiet affair. Afterwards, they stood up after paying the bill. Sam looked away from her.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS0rupqZePRsxVA2d3yKBM4JrQRM7Zn6oOJdoY7jCuo6M0_ro6b9n7kLmUCXcxwlS2_C9-KTg3YpAwoWld8uP5FKRY34uexqwYCNRHGyZDd9kkN18CZAuiEV6NsuwypEP7OBwpm_4gdPIa/s1600-h/8+going+home.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 398px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS0rupqZePRsxVA2d3yKBM4JrQRM7Zn6oOJdoY7jCuo6M0_ro6b9n7kLmUCXcxwlS2_C9-KTg3YpAwoWld8uP5FKRY34uexqwYCNRHGyZDd9kkN18CZAuiEV6NsuwypEP7OBwpm_4gdPIa/s400/8+going+home.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430378261327213922" border="0" /></a>"I think I'm going to head home." The corners of her lips pulled back in a sad smile. "I'm sorry. I'll call you later." Sam turned quickly and walked towards the door leaving Samantha dumb founded. What was going on with her? Sam was her first friend here, and someone she liked despite their obvious differences. At their core they were both the same. Two hurt souls bonding over shared pains and bad luck.<br /><br />Samantha walked slowly after her hoping they could share a taxi though she wasn't sure if she wanted to. When she got outside, she was completely alone. Sam was no where to be seen. She couldn't have called a taxi that fast, and it made Samantha worry that the woman had walked off into the dark.<br /><br />Samantha picked up the phone to call a taxi for herself hoping that if Sam had started walking, she'd run across her and offer to pay her fare for the taxi ride back into the city proper.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBEI7_sFUG1vMGxhYTTmgs5HWHgxGZfUo94FzCPao4x5sV_8lA3BqMjLEHkLh-ImLa0MntkWdJq5Rxui8xid2BfG1O6q0lF9kORcN2ZuZyKkt8q0VdPtXzLK5J__g0eXv88OC66lzypC5/s1600-h/9+Hey.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 394px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBEI7_sFUG1vMGxhYTTmgs5HWHgxGZfUo94FzCPao4x5sV_8lA3BqMjLEHkLh-ImLa0MntkWdJq5Rxui8xid2BfG1O6q0lF9kORcN2ZuZyKkt8q0VdPtXzLK5J__g0eXv88OC66lzypC5/s400/9+Hey.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430380049301839970" border="0" /></a><br />"Sam, hey. You're out late."<br /><br />She turned around at the friendly voice calling out to Sam. At first she thought he was talking to the other Sam, but when she turned his smile was on her. Water had taken to calling her "Sam" at work which did not usually confuse her; it was just a very confusing type of night.<br /><br />"Fancy meeting you here," she said with a smile, the phone still in her hand. "What're you doing here?" She said as she hung the receiver back on its hook.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcK4CZhOekPLAo1RnV84g-FORpDKv17SoJCQNPToahHrfGKwSZv2EQtFuMg1iR2Rgti1_t9hyphenhyphenXJYBPBKaJJR-QK2y0jN4CyfVTGOYJJTQ45Ma8O5oP4J_bEoiLgCK84UfwuI9o8kj3MmCb/s1600-h/10+hug.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 375px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcK4CZhOekPLAo1RnV84g-FORpDKv17SoJCQNPToahHrfGKwSZv2EQtFuMg1iR2Rgti1_t9hyphenhyphenXJYBPBKaJJR-QK2y0jN4CyfVTGOYJJTQ45Ma8O5oP4J_bEoiLgCK84UfwuI9o8kj3MmCb/s400/10+hug.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430380057157914914" border="0" /></a>Water reached over to hug her. "Same thing as you I'd guess. Unwinding after work. Funny that we both come to a restaurant to unwind."<br /><br />"Not like there's much else out here," Samantha said with a smirk.<br /><br />Sometimes there's a point of no return. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtkCf92DG3U6HRkfT2RrneIhk2xpdbrqwWV4JAkRqzqcNzsI8FVodeak1yyoF8Q4ngSo_Z2p3ZN0s92709go3MIlvQjIBeP7jVRgGn0Q2w-iiO2ZRCMjuQozIoNhW7itBtevKmWZGQcrjv/s1600-h/11+lonely.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 359px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtkCf92DG3U6HRkfT2RrneIhk2xpdbrqwWV4JAkRqzqcNzsI8FVodeak1yyoF8Q4ngSo_Z2p3ZN0s92709go3MIlvQjIBeP7jVRgGn0Q2w-iiO2ZRCMjuQozIoNhW7itBtevKmWZGQcrjv/s400/11+lonely.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430380058379625410" border="0" /></a>Water's hand on her waist was that point. She knew it was a bad idea. He was her boss after all. But he was warm, he smelled good, he was friendly, and frankly, she was lonely. Yes, she was still smarting, but she was ready to move forward now, ready to take another chance. Even a ridiculously stupid chance.<br /><br />So when he offered to buy her drinks to help her unwind, she saw it coming. Not love, she wasn't an idiot. She was heading down that one way road, rolling down hill quickly.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPNhKqOZI8y58EXsAFqK9nz4ROxIlN2qiZo1i_q2hf4YzvcnMcpEz-_T-Hl6KqL4a4x05I8HKz9gl6WiXtRWaOsbf5RdFj8-uuNpn95-v0bT_kNWhpCfyzVoYM-6WPAtYxoPcBOzXKGp5h/s1600-h/14+mess.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPNhKqOZI8y58EXsAFqK9nz4ROxIlN2qiZo1i_q2hf4YzvcnMcpEz-_T-Hl6KqL4a4x05I8HKz9gl6WiXtRWaOsbf5RdFj8-uuNpn95-v0bT_kNWhpCfyzVoYM-6WPAtYxoPcBOzXKGp5h/s400/14+mess.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430382818672196306" border="0" /></a><br />She knew, even after a few drinks, that when he suggested the photo booth, he wasn't exactly interested in taking pictures.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEe82VOj474pqEptMjfWCpFQ1zuPWwEQNuPd5ICCCKqujans3J06nIh2B-vc5KhesGBKww4tIlBs00mt5fvwrCG1oHTASIIMPiyphpD-gObzND9cp8yHV6ssTZsDy9NP45_VcXMLmi23Ai/s1600-h/15+slipped+in.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 355px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEe82VOj474pqEptMjfWCpFQ1zuPWwEQNuPd5ICCCKqujans3J06nIh2B-vc5KhesGBKww4tIlBs00mt5fvwrCG1oHTASIIMPiyphpD-gObzND9cp8yHV6ssTZsDy9NP45_VcXMLmi23Ai/s400/15+slipped+in.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430382823881650594" border="0" /></a><br />She couldn't blame the booze. They hadn't had nearly enough. Her heart pounded hard against his hand softly cupping her breast through her dress. He slipped her dress up; it didn't have far to go. Her undies only had to be pushed so far, and then right there. She stifled a moan at the excitement of it, the danger of being caught.<br /><br />She knew him, yet she didn't know him this way. She didn't know his hands, and she hadn't seen his body. No strings attached. If she couldn't have love, at least she could have excitement. She could be one of those girls. At least for this night knowing he wouldn't go home to his family or his young ones because he was also as lonely as she was and just as distrusting of love.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_trk_SckaPoDqgkxzDoUC67fyHb4A9op76_b6g_bodB_pPQxillFjTkXTJotRVkugBJ2t-v_i4c7wKeTceWgqi0WcAKMm7d-zLrE7cAa89WkdbIoHDvNsbO_T62k1ZYZTkXe9jFs4FvX7/s1600-h/getting+ready.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 397px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_trk_SckaPoDqgkxzDoUC67fyHb4A9op76_b6g_bodB_pPQxillFjTkXTJotRVkugBJ2t-v_i4c7wKeTceWgqi0WcAKMm7d-zLrE7cAa89WkdbIoHDvNsbO_T62k1ZYZTkXe9jFs4FvX7/s400/getting+ready.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430385802955708562" border="0" /></a><br />The pictures she and Sam had taken in that same photo booth lay on her plain white desk in the room as she took a late shower before bed. She had the next day off thankfully, so she could sleep in and not have to worry about facing Water until the memories faded. Her skin still tingled, the hot water from her body only heightening the strange sensation. It wasn't him, she wasn't in love with him. And though it had been fun, and nerve wracking, she was sure she couldn't do it again. Hopefully he'd wouldn't bother asking her again.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***********************************<br /></div><br /><i>Well well well. This worked out better than I had planned, personally. All of this was pretty autonomous. Samantha B got an invite by Water to go downtown. In the group were Sam K and his young daughter Melanie (who saw some stuff she really shouldn't have seen).<br /><br />So I just recreated it for this entry. I don't do pose boxes- poopoo on you pose boxes. (Unless I really need them, of course.)<br /><br /><br />I calculate only one more entry and then she's off to Bbop's <a href="http://billybop428.wordpress.com/">Kayton Times</a>. (Why does that feel like a spoiler? I think we all know that she's not sticking around.)<br /><br /><br />Anyway, last night I got the *brilliant* idea that I would somehow like to create a gift, a memento of this night for Samantha for those who enjoy personal touches and might like a small nod to where she's been.<br /><br />So I bring you Sam & Sam:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebWowpwhYsy8zWizQj0rMa4Q7cRxbVouhZwv5oSJ9Q7HvSwUy5bIVfZa4TOl1tFss1SSiT7TWUoHWObDbyhtxAtpjTUJkjedappvhf6amoZHMmQoQsuWBfOqd6UiPC1gq2pPUJwNI6jYS/s1600-h/Preview+bad.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 366px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebWowpwhYsy8zWizQj0rMa4Q7cRxbVouhZwv5oSJ9Q7HvSwUy5bIVfZa4TOl1tFss1SSiT7TWUoHWObDbyhtxAtpjTUJkjedappvhf6amoZHMmQoQsuWBfOqd6UiPC1gq2pPUJwNI6jYS/s400/Preview+bad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430389852589571682" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sam&Sam Serious:</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZEzQNmICU-m0S_UNVsLWHL3QANso-a62KO1i-DFkpQPdiqcVHUYUyvmG-VxC7lEoniF4UAjyTQAdwJWIHz71cqwCu5CcbkKqgNiF-M9rsaDtnYLoFiYe2SgihLar2ODrdS0ur9PmwB-M2/s1600-h/Preview+Serious.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 366px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZEzQNmICU-m0S_UNVsLWHL3QANso-a62KO1i-DFkpQPdiqcVHUYUyvmG-VxC7lEoniF4UAjyTQAdwJWIHz71cqwCu5CcbkKqgNiF-M9rsaDtnYLoFiYe2SgihLar2ODrdS0ur9PmwB-M2/s400/Preview+Serious.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430389859855651762" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Sam&Sam Goofy:</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDmOba-k9lHDDD-RThFaz_9YNcFPlVSycJ54l18GCaHcikaCeJHcP-LmE7Z80jrgEUgH4coQ7JBgwK7hTDA7mJzx7lttzF8_t998xMIBKsazAAUiwZH7QKSWRCrMAByWP2jVhuyrOIkkY/s1600-h/Preview+Goofy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDmOba-k9lHDDD-RThFaz_9YNcFPlVSycJ54l18GCaHcikaCeJHcP-LmE7Z80jrgEUgH4coQ7JBgwK7hTDA7mJzx7lttzF8_t998xMIBKsazAAUiwZH7QKSWRCrMAByWP2jVhuyrOIkkY/s400/Preview+Goofy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430389857583767154" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I extracted the pictures from their photos (semi-easy if you'd like to know how to do it, let me know, I got a link) and then fixed them up and used them to recolor the Inverted Vertigo, Cover art poster which is $60 in the catalog.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?32imwmy0mmj">Download Sam & Sam Goofy</a><br /><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?lzoimr5mjet">Download Sam & Sam Serious</a><br /><br /><br /></i></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-1769052966995599382010-01-18T08:43:00.000-08:002010-01-19T22:55:16.973-08:00Conflict<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Warning</span><span style="font-style: italic;">: One slightly graphic picture cut to make it slightly less graphic though still highly suggestive. Consider yourselves warned in a round-about kind of way.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeTQgqacmNGzCOaJ5hinKyfF54PcZhGVZ2jMn5hntWHQKHRr4eAivn-9qB04WUIQLoQYPFWocRjUQ5jnUEG7Jt28DQxpOOMuI20eX-sVlt40AholRO5ApoIUnBwsb7-Nn2gVwYOnAe53tN/s1600-h/Anger.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 334px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeTQgqacmNGzCOaJ5hinKyfF54PcZhGVZ2jMn5hntWHQKHRr4eAivn-9qB04WUIQLoQYPFWocRjUQ5jnUEG7Jt28DQxpOOMuI20eX-sVlt40AholRO5ApoIUnBwsb7-Nn2gVwYOnAe53tN/s400/Anger.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428123607535705954" border="0" /></a><br />Water thinks about it constantly. It's almost been a year since it happened, but that doesn't take away the anger or the hurt he felt when Demi left and took their two children with her to that creepy cult that lived far outside town. (<span style="font-style: italic;">Author's note: For the curious:<a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/07/goodbye.html">Part 1</a>, <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/07/kaylynn.html">Part 2</a>, <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/07/home.html">Part 3</a>)</span><br /><br /><span class="fullpost">He wasn't ever the sort of man who wanted to settle down and have children. From an early age, he'd pretty much said it wasn't for him. Never mind the fact that between high school and college, he'd had more serious relationship sex than he had meaningless sex.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1JkzsLiO3zN1bn0_V2UPI3clrgnUNoQU1wDtORNQezvtBCJc2kcpfFmjjYU8viAn22teG2UlwJtJbn77IYHNB7zW3KgqPwoe9_2GVk7m_0QueRsdLl4eJEpCMYPMe0ZU9VVURD8bx2r9Z/s1600-h/Shower.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 354px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1JkzsLiO3zN1bn0_V2UPI3clrgnUNoQU1wDtORNQezvtBCJc2kcpfFmjjYU8viAn22teG2UlwJtJbn77IYHNB7zW3KgqPwoe9_2GVk7m_0QueRsdLl4eJEpCMYPMe0ZU9VVURD8bx2r9Z/s400/Shower.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428695019904164866" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But now he finds himself childless, technically, and in a new large and spacious apartment. Now when he can lead the life he always said he'd meant to, he finds himself decorating a room all in pink and carrying their toys left from their hasty departure to his new apartment. The hope is that they'll know that he was thinking about them always during their separation.<br /><br />One room is already prepared for the day he gets his daughters back. But it's almost been a year already and he's no closer now than he was before at getting his daughters back. That's almost a year he's missed in their lives. Who's showing Shannen how to walk? Who's helping Melanie with her homework? The thought makes him queasy with anger.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM7ohk8K6uTHfNQFmRN5_RiBAjEHK1gEB_2nQerlrBngcRTOuxEKSyHURq2Vqc799rKF2-lOkT0FU4NwsW6kkEcatICv-Cxu9eC7M1cPhFpunJp767yasRQweAiM5IAP5k3ViAAi_10qYN/s1600-h/floor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 353px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM7ohk8K6uTHfNQFmRN5_RiBAjEHK1gEB_2nQerlrBngcRTOuxEKSyHURq2Vqc799rKF2-lOkT0FU4NwsW6kkEcatICv-Cxu9eC7M1cPhFpunJp767yasRQweAiM5IAP5k3ViAAi_10qYN/s400/floor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428695026772458786" border="0" /></a><br />So he just doesn't think about it. He keeps himself busy with work and the restaurant and meeting new people. It helps him not think.<br /><br />Except those nights he goes to bed alone. His mind wears a trail looping over thoughts he'd prefer to not think about. His daughters sleeping at that creepy cult place probably being told that he didn't love them and wasn't looking for them. Demi falling for the words of Tristin Stratton who was even less worthy of trust than his sister Sofia.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRo7b0CWw8CfLUcBM7xCqsElSyxxTDBZO7Pn-CKhlMAr5XSXb8cwUXT30tW3E9hz2dLwQkLeSWsFRIRcF0tVEOjqQSsGboNXvsxES6HHoPtUI1vItS0BzA73Db-qLljMtYrPZ58zLbC4c/s1600-h/Mysterious+lady.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 378px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRo7b0CWw8CfLUcBM7xCqsElSyxxTDBZO7Pn-CKhlMAr5XSXb8cwUXT30tW3E9hz2dLwQkLeSWsFRIRcF0tVEOjqQSsGboNXvsxES6HHoPtUI1vItS0BzA73Db-qLljMtYrPZ58zLbC4c/s400/Mysterious+lady.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428695022139557442" border="0" /></a><br />If he looks like he's enjoying himself, it's just for show. To be polite, really. She called him. He doesn't really want to spread the pain. He doesn't want to talk about it anymore because all the talking he's done has done absolutely nothing to help him. And he doesn't really know what to do anymore.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI1-CTYU0z5AGqToPKA3Zo8jTd3LfBgJz_smwzRfg3IjjdBydjJK8A_YgPk1EkHZc1Ywx8Eln7A-BiDFOxS8A-3btEn_G4je_uM66-m-pooeGsjJ6QAf9ERv6HwOWigF-lRFyfx-w_aKRt/s1600-h/Mysterious+lady2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI1-CTYU0z5AGqToPKA3Zo8jTd3LfBgJz_smwzRfg3IjjdBydjJK8A_YgPk1EkHZc1Ywx8Eln7A-BiDFOxS8A-3btEn_G4je_uM66-m-pooeGsjJ6QAf9ERv6HwOWigF-lRFyfx-w_aKRt/s400/Mysterious+lady2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428695036449466850" border="0" /></a><br />It doesn't help, it doesn't make things better, but it is something. It stops the thinking letting his hand run along the crevice in her hip, fingering the delicate and rough lace of her underwear before it slides down her thigh. Feeling the strands of her hair brushing against his chest as she climbs on top of him, taking the lead and leading him away from those thoughts that fill his head when he is alone and goes to sleep.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBxuCtb2VY2_AdYzdJd-ZwOne9KzKv2kmQXuuweGCZPqy3aWcsVTvtfTihtpVfpS3uxt5pasEUxIg8AVWi_8L5uQVihzofqlXuLyNuJb7US3SArMty84BR0RmQMChKE0OrQGwOKM86oRPk/s1600-h/beautiful.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 374px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBxuCtb2VY2_AdYzdJd-ZwOne9KzKv2kmQXuuweGCZPqy3aWcsVTvtfTihtpVfpS3uxt5pasEUxIg8AVWi_8L5uQVihzofqlXuLyNuJb7US3SArMty84BR0RmQMChKE0OrQGwOKM86oRPk/s400/beautiful.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428695041569852098" border="0" /></a><br />She knows; he's sure she knows though he can't really find the words to say it again. Neither of them have discussed it. They've only carried on as if everything that had come before, their entire past hadn't happened. He's sure that he's being used as much as she's using him. Sometimes it feels ridiculous to find comfort in the silly repetitive ritual between two human adults. Sometimes he almost wants to laugh out loud about it.<br /><br />But he doesn't. Not in any way that would be unusual. Though she has remarked on his smiling more at times. But she doesn't know, and he doesn't want to tell her. It's the smile of a man who doesn't really have much more to lose, who doesn't want to gain more just to lose it again. She doesn't really know what it's like to believe you're truly in love enough to give up everything only to have the one you were willing to give your heart to give it back and walk out with the two most important girls in his life.<br /><br />If only there were a nice and neat way to end his story. You know, one of those beautifully poetic insights about life and love and maybe even the transient beauty of it all. But he's a realist, a pragmatist. It's almost been an entire damn year. What else can you really say?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9z6NBxGGP2QFlT8i11ne0SkU3FDieKbEIYfDU6yokNfJHadzo3Fo1PJOGZqdTK-tM2Dt16826_KWj63pRxazqHNpROv2HiPJRLeUIcbWkKzMM-jjvk3UM_u0jxt6zH_QvEo0-HsMSLci/s1600-h/good+bye.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 393px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9z6NBxGGP2QFlT8i11ne0SkU3FDieKbEIYfDU6yokNfJHadzo3Fo1PJOGZqdTK-tM2Dt16826_KWj63pRxazqHNpROv2HiPJRLeUIcbWkKzMM-jjvk3UM_u0jxt6zH_QvEo0-HsMSLci/s400/good+bye.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428705099397233010" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">********************************<br /></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">So the last time I left these two Sam was saying some </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/08/wild.html">brave things</a><span style="font-style: italic;">. The words he can't say? I hope it's clear. He's not ready for a serious relationship. He's still hurting. And I totally get that from game play, lol.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-style: italic;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38w40k0tPLUcI_34VAYz5TKaEwd-ne5YFzPysSJR6xIF0eyZ6Nm0ZzDWiaKvxDjE_fWTeBTYVDjC5zb8e1aTNlHej0-SPvFHhHCtumimuWJCCB0abjbHqB9mQvSeHUgnJmyjjvd1A0GaN/s1600-h/confliction.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 375px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38w40k0tPLUcI_34VAYz5TKaEwd-ne5YFzPysSJR6xIF0eyZ6Nm0ZzDWiaKvxDjE_fWTeBTYVDjC5zb8e1aTNlHej0-SPvFHhHCtumimuWJCCB0abjbHqB9mQvSeHUgnJmyjjvd1A0GaN/s400/confliction.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428709615679121874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Poor guy. Even though his chemistry with Sam is higher, I do believe that in his pixel soul he really loved Demi and he's really hurt by her leaving.<br /><br />And, for anyone who might have forgotten, he really has tried everything. He's talked to the Mayor, but of course there isn't a police force to speak of, not that they can do anything with people living on the margins of town. And Water made a <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/10/last-time-we-saw-cult-i-mean-church-for.html">personal appearance</a> over at the cult where he was promptly run off.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">As for Sam, well, she was the one to call him once and invite him on an outing. Probably I will mention that later on. In the case of this entry, the inspiration came when I left the game running while checking up something or reading someone's post. When I went back, these two were hanging out at his house-- though they didn't actually make it past the lobby. Those darn comfy looking lobby sofas.</span><br /></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-78279745476085771492010-01-14T21:08:00.000-08:002010-01-14T22:23:01.016-08:00Back where we started<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSlPnGQLg01XNZbU3UImCzBcUDAmTkiNa1wJ7YtRKWQUKV6unu-CrDCPff1J-fwW87yL7VM0QW4NP-TZzdRWHVWbjdQtLmR3GkPIcm3YB5XOH_eO2Yl1eKSrVGUOs96AgCsNOPjX3Is7e/s1600-h/drink.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 374px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSlPnGQLg01XNZbU3UImCzBcUDAmTkiNa1wJ7YtRKWQUKV6unu-CrDCPff1J-fwW87yL7VM0QW4NP-TZzdRWHVWbjdQtLmR3GkPIcm3YB5XOH_eO2Yl1eKSrVGUOs96AgCsNOPjX3Is7e/s400/drink.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426834647830166658" border="0" /></a><br />And here we are, right back where we started. She's not a lush. This is her first drink of the day and only her second drink since her arrival. And this time it wasn't even her idea.<br /><br /><span class="fullpost">It's been a week. Only a week, but it still seems like it's been longer than that. Days go by slowly when you aren't working. It's only been a week, but she hasn't really looked very hard, if she's being honest with herself. Which she usually isn't, honestly.<br /><br />"So how's the place?" Water asks as he pours himself a drink.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9i3cO-TA3o8_IgRReQdq_3XiCaWjZcOjhcQR0_h04LjbcvZI_FegC_hfouGRGtv4DsKTS_NZGji8IPNVKt9F7wx8A1NKV3nIsa9LH3kSiN3hsYHZgTkQ5hJTQP6kPKr2No7TTXfanl3N_/s1600-h/tending+bar.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 399px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9i3cO-TA3o8_IgRReQdq_3XiCaWjZcOjhcQR0_h04LjbcvZI_FegC_hfouGRGtv4DsKTS_NZGji8IPNVKt9F7wx8A1NKV3nIsa9LH3kSiN3hsYHZgTkQ5hJTQP6kPKr2No7TTXfanl3N_/s400/tending+bar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426836396666145026" border="0" /></a><br />It was just a fluke. They happened to bump into each other while she was walking past to the City Center to check for new job postings. It was only 11am, and Water's restaurant wasn't set to open for another two hours or so.<br /><br />"Well, I can't complain." She lies. She could. Easily.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidnfEILIBY8ufuuAj5ZfwqacpcK7P0cN0gv-N-MnlBCFHwtH-FGURoGyXVM7Kg6AjwyYiIV47qwMdrRSYmjre9Cfl1nHlG2WDbFLBoASMGCJ1s6zRFkGUJ5kqsh-kslIvguDOb55BE5H1R/s1600-h/1+the+house.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 328px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidnfEILIBY8ufuuAj5ZfwqacpcK7P0cN0gv-N-MnlBCFHwtH-FGURoGyXVM7Kg6AjwyYiIV47qwMdrRSYmjre9Cfl1nHlG2WDbFLBoASMGCJ1s6zRFkGUJ5kqsh-kslIvguDOb55BE5H1R/s400/1+the+house.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426835584096917186" border="0" /></a>Water told her about a little flop house, no questions asked, easy approval to rent a room. They provide you with three meals a day which is probably the best part about her stay. The elimination of her needing to cook or go in search of food.<br /><br />But it's only a room.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGQv69lUk9SoXEcG9N21xCItjKjAwxRQrAd4CwwilT-TM4pN8JXkxIu-yZ4KNrqC_Za6IA0MqUA1gWH9didxa50F5NvttJzZuLIT-rbmRXJNxn_EjXd3FPeBD8ChNwG7LmX91_t_tKUbM/s1600-h/2+her+bed.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 339px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGQv69lUk9SoXEcG9N21xCItjKjAwxRQrAd4CwwilT-TM4pN8JXkxIu-yZ4KNrqC_Za6IA0MqUA1gWH9didxa50F5NvttJzZuLIT-rbmRXJNxn_EjXd3FPeBD8ChNwG7LmX91_t_tKUbM/s400/2+her+bed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426835589447480002" border="0" /></a>A bare room at that. Her suitcase sits off in the corner. She hasn't even removed her clothes yet. The entire place suggests only a temporary living environment. Mostly because of the fact that bathrooms, showers, and even the damn TV is shared.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ibgEc8CPN-aCDIx-tU1857ll_y6AjODT1CD0rb3sfsHkoIf2J1hV3cS5QRTYUWfMAxe0GqOnvPrTCclQ3GUeIHQisdXerK1btPA6tmm5rZ3bbizIurPSYn5T3Ddh9PQ14_KlkbQuTvnc/s1600-h/ugh.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 397px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ibgEc8CPN-aCDIx-tU1857ll_y6AjODT1CD0rb3sfsHkoIf2J1hV3cS5QRTYUWfMAxe0GqOnvPrTCclQ3GUeIHQisdXerK1btPA6tmm5rZ3bbizIurPSYn5T3Ddh9PQ14_KlkbQuTvnc/s400/ugh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426839062304949138" border="0" /></a><br />"It is certainly different." She smiles even as she puts her hand to her forehead to stave off the headache she can feel just beginning to grow out of her own boredom and exhaustion.<br /><br />"How's the job search going?" He asks before he moves to step around the bar.<br /><br />"Ugh." It's almost involuntary. There don't seem to be many jobs in this little town though she had seen a posting for Bonnie's Clothing Shop. Sam had already told her that Bonnie needed a cashier. She'd suggested it with a smirk and a poorly hidden laugh.<br /><br />Samantha was not nearly desperate enough. "Well, you know, okay I guess. I don't have one yet, so that should tell you something."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGKRM1hYWTuJss4NzpWpg4yNUu_MTdevWYeuvGWlG2VvKeGI2sFwDiKla7oXQUPgF2zSClLRZX5sOrrar7Y3sDlMfNjqR2jU9r1cjnYXBABn-nf4MDakuc8UaGpjzGA97UY6S8PxZdShQ9/s1600-h/6+if+you+need.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 364px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGKRM1hYWTuJss4NzpWpg4yNUu_MTdevWYeuvGWlG2VvKeGI2sFwDiKla7oXQUPgF2zSClLRZX5sOrrar7Y3sDlMfNjqR2jU9r1cjnYXBABn-nf4MDakuc8UaGpjzGA97UY6S8PxZdShQ9/s400/6+if+you+need.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426839368682083746" border="0" /></a>Water chuckles. "That bad? Why don't you work here? I could use a bartender for the evening shift."<br /><br />"Really? I've never tended a bar before though."<br /><br />He slides into the seat near her. "I'd train you. Besides, a cute girl can't really go wrong."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAM6mq276UY4HhyFx217fzdtTW9Dvxbr84znC6h51s_tGmmQO-6y_hgWLMfOlzDTi5NaZcZ3xW2_f3jcsp9idqkRIJA_5OvTEvE6EzWlJ1iFr54dpEUgY5JWnDHZraAY8p9h0lBJz_bQiQ/s1600-h/7+cute+girl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 361px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAM6mq276UY4HhyFx217fzdtTW9Dvxbr84znC6h51s_tGmmQO-6y_hgWLMfOlzDTi5NaZcZ3xW2_f3jcsp9idqkRIJA_5OvTEvE6EzWlJ1iFr54dpEUgY5JWnDHZraAY8p9h0lBJz_bQiQ/s400/7+cute+girl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426841422928622290" border="0" /></a><br />Now Water was the one who suggested the flop house, so she's not exactly how sure she should be of his judgment. Really. But it did sound different, plus she stood no chance of having Sam suggest she should go work for Bonnie again.<br /><br />"Wait, I have to do something first though." Samantha hops up, steps around the bar, and picks up three clear and heavy glass tumblers. It was a trick she'd done plenty in college at parties usually using their little espresso cups.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiR__-WHw6GLkR_kG6DJKlPkR8oNhPEREQC4FDb3nxBtjG6A_Tz0-K-5NyvojkOi9cDuMCS6_GdvvQ8CiLz05X7GwRfK4sAaOSmG_OseCRlNCYQdyfOG_YNhyphenhyphenAew8dhIMgwzSXCpa_i6Np/s1600-h/9+juggle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 358px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiR__-WHw6GLkR_kG6DJKlPkR8oNhPEREQC4FDb3nxBtjG6A_Tz0-K-5NyvojkOi9cDuMCS6_GdvvQ8CiLz05X7GwRfK4sAaOSmG_OseCRlNCYQdyfOG_YNhyphenhyphenAew8dhIMgwzSXCpa_i6Np/s400/9+juggle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426843864187915042" border="0" /></a>Glass tumblers are definitely heavier than espresso cups, but it works. Clearly it's a sign that she can be a bartender. She smiles because that's pretty awesome to be able to just juggle glass tumblers. (Can <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> do that with hardly any practice?)<br /><br />Water isn't nearly so impressed it seems.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYMMgncpx-NQPw8hQN6PQw2mfYH72rHhmei4AXF8_yd5ny85nLlSJcExoF-pdZ1QjB3H7xy8dQnapX4x2SyJsH8o3Yw6C9qgXcgXFV3moXAKIERtVsm-2jtgPgPt03MFDjvKIEQ7yEgHB2/s1600-h/11+try+not+to.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 297px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYMMgncpx-NQPw8hQN6PQw2mfYH72rHhmei4AXF8_yd5ny85nLlSJcExoF-pdZ1QjB3H7xy8dQnapX4x2SyJsH8o3Yw6C9qgXcgXFV3moXAKIERtVsm-2jtgPgPt03MFDjvKIEQ7yEgHB2/s400/11+try+not+to.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426843868317641858" border="0" /></a><br />"Uh yeah, that's cool, but ah, try not to do that too often, okay?"<br /><br />It's okay, she still questions his judgment anyway.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-fBLFTbVsXMJsTptH8w8MJO1s2Qv1_ZcnFDmJicxeTvazsfhzoRbXx1VHrBkkCsNvJB7m1vWKFGLvsYIwi7u88HS1GCnv8G-aUMIdyq0Vo40gTep-tJegmycLsL2OkpLdFnRv6vp9j8H/s1600-h/13+see+you+soon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 388px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-fBLFTbVsXMJsTptH8w8MJO1s2Qv1_ZcnFDmJicxeTvazsfhzoRbXx1VHrBkkCsNvJB7m1vWKFGLvsYIwi7u88HS1GCnv8G-aUMIdyq0Vo40gTep-tJegmycLsL2OkpLdFnRv6vp9j8H/s400/13+see+you+soon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426845982247691298" border="0" /></a>They part after shaking hands on it. Water will personally train her starting as soon as tomorrow.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">*********************<br /></div><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Y'know, we put warnings when these things are long, should I put a warning when they're short?</span><br /></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-17737499889494015722010-01-08T19:53:00.000-08:002010-01-08T20:49:10.789-08:00I can't believe it!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksqX1hbLp5qeig2HZgtphsgUjLS1DDFUN1qfc97o5l3SbAIXUXmR-iIykDP5sGIkTgfo-SXOfnVEbQJZzc9MR7ZoGgj2EIOCw22tremoiqpoMWxmURDWm4Kvo_Jr2XnMH9skD4V2RonMj/s1600-h/Ama+%26+Hobart+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 359px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksqX1hbLp5qeig2HZgtphsgUjLS1DDFUN1qfc97o5l3SbAIXUXmR-iIykDP5sGIkTgfo-SXOfnVEbQJZzc9MR7ZoGgj2EIOCw22tremoiqpoMWxmURDWm4Kvo_Jr2XnMH9skD4V2RonMj/s400/Ama+%26+Hobart+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424592321720071698" border="0" /></a><br />But I remembered.<br /><br /><span class="fullpost">It's this blog's birthday today! Can you believe it's two years old? Two years! That's two years of playing steadily. Two years of actually writing about my playing steadily. Two years of actually writing steadily.<br /><br />There's something of a love hate relationship with this blog, to be honest. It's not always been my best writing, and I think somewhere, in the back of my head <a href="http://ruindestruction.blogspot.com/">Ruin</a> was always percolating because it's always been meant to get out (I just needed lots of time away from it), so the story in this blog might have crossed some streams with Ruin. (That's bad. You're not supposed to do that.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PXqyJNBot7L93Ce1Fj9IVe9uX2TwOqVffZm05sw0E_Tfh8zeA40z1eZMww_rASpxy8t56G0b80hS9Ln3lklDcYJ1BOnbAegD20eUXDSUoNbAx2HoOQ4PpCqXjXvf13Uw8NPy8kcYXuDb/s1600-h/him.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 389px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PXqyJNBot7L93Ce1Fj9IVe9uX2TwOqVffZm05sw0E_Tfh8zeA40z1eZMww_rASpxy8t56G0b80hS9Ln3lklDcYJ1BOnbAegD20eUXDSUoNbAx2HoOQ4PpCqXjXvf13Uw8NPy8kcYXuDb/s400/him.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424592330997114626" border="0" /></a><br />Even if it wasn't always my best, the point has always been to let go and just have fun. No worries or concerns, just writing for myself and learning to then <span style="font-style: italic;">share</span> it<br /><br />But the best thing to come out of this blog, of course, has been all the people I've been lucky enough to get to know. It's interesting the odd ways you all come up in normal everyday thoughts from time to time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz-nJv4u70zUwt4tDbUCYxEToM58GTdLRpFGN_W8wLeHC90i9MkqyerkrLV7BNXJug9NGmHzJUVkBZBWm99UiGS2IzDOjwjePuwHoYqOL1ILFkqdp5rnyQU0YfE43rFbSqpzEdydYECufd/s1600-h/Ama's+desk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz-nJv4u70zUwt4tDbUCYxEToM58GTdLRpFGN_W8wLeHC90i9MkqyerkrLV7BNXJug9NGmHzJUVkBZBWm99UiGS2IzDOjwjePuwHoYqOL1ILFkqdp5rnyQU0YfE43rFbSqpzEdydYECufd/s400/Ama's+desk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424592333943650194" border="0" /></a><br />So my first two posts on this blog two years ago: A <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2008/01/family-tree-in-text-form.html">text version</a> of the family tree (Don't know how up to date that it, but pretty much I've been playing the same sims for two years, so not a lot has changed. Yikes! And <a href="http://lakesideheights.blogspot.com/">Laura</a> thinks her sims age slow! :P) And <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2008/01/amberle-silverring-chapter-1.html">the beginning</a> of Amberle's story.<br /><br /><br />I guess that's enough celebrating. I should get back to "work." And by work, of course, I mean play. Big simming weekend for me. I've declared it. ^____^<br /></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-88021548717941474092010-01-04T21:07:00.000-08:002010-01-07T20:39:25.740-08:00Dinner and a show<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTarjNVsKtnCT8r8ihMB2kWEWplDyvTtJkVR15a9UyeExQxxsTTEU6-LomsxDIuh9HBBzKx_fmBaIoypCsEOTWcRXhVW5KhYDj1zqGw30jJtON1hdF2Rd7EM5CbkvBX1pSqYKgD23D7eIL/s1600-h/1+open.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 380px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTarjNVsKtnCT8r8ihMB2kWEWplDyvTtJkVR15a9UyeExQxxsTTEU6-LomsxDIuh9HBBzKx_fmBaIoypCsEOTWcRXhVW5KhYDj1zqGw30jJtON1hdF2Rd7EM5CbkvBX1pSqYKgD23D7eIL/s400/1+open.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423136774660431874" border="0" /></a><br />With a full and warmed belly, Samantha walked bravely into city hall, swinging the door open wide as she stepped inside trying to look around but without appearing completely lost.<br /><br /><span id="fullpost">And right away she jumped back, "Sorry!"<br /><br />A woman stood behind the door, stopped with her hands in front of her as she'd thrown them up to stop the door from hitting her. Samantha expected a woman almost hit by a door to be a bit more upset than a simple apology could sooth, but this woman only smiled at her.<br /><br />"Well, aren't we in a hurry?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4j3HBCqb4lK2V7q1Lb8uRtKVDbcQ1VNv3UWDhrD3LhzH-whGlZ52yqEcxtN7EPC9YUIdxkqqmBKMlkca_n2imP3MnWCpGO-Sb6oKeyC7-xtdzz6yFja7EoCjebQR2rvlcMd6J-GtQDBl/s1600-h/2+the+two+sams.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 366px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4j3HBCqb4lK2V7q1Lb8uRtKVDbcQ1VNv3UWDhrD3LhzH-whGlZ52yqEcxtN7EPC9YUIdxkqqmBKMlkca_n2imP3MnWCpGO-Sb6oKeyC7-xtdzz6yFja7EoCjebQR2rvlcMd6J-GtQDBl/s400/2+the+two+sams.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423136783499259250" border="0" /></a><br />"Sorry, I'm new here, and someone suggested I should check in here first."<br /><br />At the word "new," the woman perked up suddenly. "New? We don't get a lot of visitors. Welcome to town. I'm Samantha."<br /><br />The other Samantha reached out her hand, and Samantha took it. "Really? I'm Samantha also."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzq64XTsdBLQSXMsQxdJ8r0eDP56bPZxqMCZbDaJueufs3AlXcXvzapVTZObZf8K7cPL3EfUDwWe_dZLXyFY6BZJLTZACB92MpUAI6GH2_fK0jnmPLGxaEw_qhxLhZQLx1TmseDvKcK4bj/s1600-h/3+shake.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzq64XTsdBLQSXMsQxdJ8r0eDP56bPZxqMCZbDaJueufs3AlXcXvzapVTZObZf8K7cPL3EfUDwWe_dZLXyFY6BZJLTZACB92MpUAI6GH2_fK0jnmPLGxaEw_qhxLhZQLx1TmseDvKcK4bj/s400/3+shake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423136784971948178" border="0" /></a><br />For a moment it was like looking in a warped mirror. The other Samantha was nothing like her. She was clearly more of a dressy kind of girl, and her dark hair which was only in a bun still somehow had the appearance of being done in a salon.<br /><br />Once again, Samantha caught the other Samantha looking down at her shirt. Her boobs were not so amazing that people were prone to staring at them, so she was sure it was the shirt.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbduTPotPzPjVUoykN-LTQdHKdOazO7V_SD-Cie-dZWn3HDC_yu52BRTHSp7gg1n7P5tZr1J8azdzAR-Hgg8HpQme69s1HEaYvhFuZstT5-MX6HAy9j1hNAE4EHrrwcu9dCszUhiWBE1vm/s1600-h/7+shirt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 395px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbduTPotPzPjVUoykN-LTQdHKdOazO7V_SD-Cie-dZWn3HDC_yu52BRTHSp7gg1n7P5tZr1J8azdzAR-Hgg8HpQme69s1HEaYvhFuZstT5-MX6HAy9j1hNAE4EHrrwcu9dCszUhiWBE1vm/s400/7+shirt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423136793917944274" border="0" /></a><br />"It's the shirt, isn't it?"<br /><br />"Yeah, what is the deal with that? I know people get gag gifts, but they don't usually wear them."<br /><br />"It was free."<br /><br />The other Samantha looked at her with a smile, "Oh you are in need of some serious help. Come on. I know where we can go. It's close."<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVbBGgVs-IvDqd9PmTrKJY3oE-XvUhc2NULwkee9WnpDFqhm0_aQTj5DBKKHrYxmh9h6xdr3LgGXT-sZSVoYUE7b0YR9_DByRGL7SWbS0kBmWdj8OytRxxGISy6uVVO9LFztJQEtmYOSE/s1600-h/9+shopping.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVbBGgVs-IvDqd9PmTrKJY3oE-XvUhc2NULwkee9WnpDFqhm0_aQTj5DBKKHrYxmh9h6xdr3LgGXT-sZSVoYUE7b0YR9_DByRGL7SWbS0kBmWdj8OytRxxGISy6uVVO9LFztJQEtmYOSE/s400/9+shopping.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423137140189145842" border="0" /></a><br />The other Samantha hadn't even asked if she had a place to live. The first thing she'd done was drag her off to a clothing shop. Hanging around a group of women tossing around their troubles was one thing, but these women clearly had plans for her before she even had plans for herself.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyP-AFssHBTR-N2b_mv-EGiqJ-qrXoduktDY_wBuuHYWnSyUJvqmDCRENEHMrYrvAhhTBbcV3Nj7BtR6D7Qo1p7KomSjgXZwyvHycsKdg4tGhdOgn_au_guzjNECZ__3x4FQvtqQCfriY/s1600-h/lemme+see.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 384px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyP-AFssHBTR-N2b_mv-EGiqJ-qrXoduktDY_wBuuHYWnSyUJvqmDCRENEHMrYrvAhhTBbcV3Nj7BtR6D7Qo1p7KomSjgXZwyvHycsKdg4tGhdOgn_au_guzjNECZ__3x4FQvtqQCfriY/s400/lemme+see.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423138973421045106" border="0" /></a><br />"How about this one?"<br /><br />Bonnie seriously eyed the shirt as if it were a piece of art not just a shirt she were picking up so she could take off her free shirt that everyone seemed a little too interested in. "Hmm. Okay. But try it on."<br /><br />As she was in the fitting room, plans were being made already. Before she'd even stepped out of the fitting room, she had agreed to go to dinner after she'd made a stop and gotten herself a place to stay and finally changed her shirt.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKsXuTSd-lWuicF5znjSxe7Zhol97TaGCT_vwpM_fWtGYjP4wPXL9OB7_gR4k0y7_J2L2KKGV85WzNLRqSVVb2Suz0UdKObXvyaEXhuYrUV-zDHK-i__qeYJQ1vgNXzo5RCyHzcbS7lRia/s1600-h/10+greeting.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 394px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKsXuTSd-lWuicF5znjSxe7Zhol97TaGCT_vwpM_fWtGYjP4wPXL9OB7_gR4k0y7_J2L2KKGV85WzNLRqSVVb2Suz0UdKObXvyaEXhuYrUV-zDHK-i__qeYJQ1vgNXzo5RCyHzcbS7lRia/s400/10+greeting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423141088789821090" border="0" /></a><br />The house from the outside was small and plain. There was no perfect lawn and no landscaping, just the old newspaper on the porch which Bonnie kicked aside casually with a smile as she stepped out to greet them.<br /><br />"Welcome to our house," Bonnie said with a smile.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnj-PGMAeT6EVndcTOKM6h6udSDQ3RLUPDc57ovkdCey_Etz4rLcQN1uSG7P_f0UD1M2xzneUA2whIM0h5K0x8pLwFENR5T6Ntouz41ypY6UIWceWvWVMZvJkF5mwCTO0pSMSjRZC2sI6s/s1600-h/11+welcome.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 382px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnj-PGMAeT6EVndcTOKM6h6udSDQ3RLUPDc57ovkdCey_Etz4rLcQN1uSG7P_f0UD1M2xzneUA2whIM0h5K0x8pLwFENR5T6Ntouz41ypY6UIWceWvWVMZvJkF5mwCTO0pSMSjRZC2sI6s/s400/11+welcome.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423143069743552898" border="0" /></a><br />There was a charm to the place that Samantha couldn't exactly pick out. It was small and within walking distance of Bonnie's clothing shop so that they didn't even seem to have a car.<br /><br />"Thank you for inviting us, Bonnie," The other Samantha (who had agreed to be called "Sam" to avoid confusion) said politely.<br /><br />"No problem, I figure that I should probably get on your good side now since I worry we might see a lot of each other next year."<br /><br />Sam smiled at Bonnie, "I'll pretend that I have no clue what's coming or what you meant by that. I'd like to pretend to enjoy my summer."<br /><br />They laughed easily, it was slightly infectious. Even if Samantha was disoriented by how quickly things seemed to be moving. Had she really only arrived in town this morning?<br /><br />A man poked his head out of the door, "Okay, food ordered."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid9v457NMhSlPfkeYRF865f6ic9WOojdo8ybI3m2pur7b-_1JMoslR9jFiBACFYfiMKF6-BEI3KPCJ-hzN9yjEIH_PNOQFN9lQxIKpBVj5NtWH3d_FFWijBGJTn30hUtNy6hup5ivMPYA2/s1600-h/12+hug.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 393px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid9v457NMhSlPfkeYRF865f6ic9WOojdo8ybI3m2pur7b-_1JMoslR9jFiBACFYfiMKF6-BEI3KPCJ-hzN9yjEIH_PNOQFN9lQxIKpBVj5NtWH3d_FFWijBGJTn30hUtNy6hup5ivMPYA2/s400/12+hug.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423143073221244258" border="0" /></a><br />Bonnie, who had been sheepishly ready to tell them something hopped on him, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek as he gently patted her head. "Oh god, thank you. I didn't want to have to tell them about the burnt pizza."<br /><br />A pang attacked Samantha suddenly. Bonnie's move was casual, natural. The two fit together perfectly like puzzle pieces and it made Samantha's heart hurt. She glanced away and caught Sam's expression almost a mirror of her own. She was stone faced, almost stoic in an attempt to not react and she had also turned away to meet Samantha's gaze.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6k0HyadpzGrfFo4PKmCPV8JPuSQXkQTS5HuvE54k8h4MzmFgaIRzXGTeL-cv2ybbWb6iUCHG6uvB-WECXhaovfG8n55DoX8fvaGhI4b6Y_liEsaIE-lifMbHuGoKhvcedgQtxE1e1PwSF/s1600-h/Well.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 363px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6k0HyadpzGrfFo4PKmCPV8JPuSQXkQTS5HuvE54k8h4MzmFgaIRzXGTeL-cv2ybbWb6iUCHG6uvB-WECXhaovfG8n55DoX8fvaGhI4b6Y_liEsaIE-lifMbHuGoKhvcedgQtxE1e1PwSF/s400/Well.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423145252067578354" border="0" /></a><br />Sam, seeing her expression mirrored on Samantha's face, stepped forward with a smile at Samantha. "Well, while we're waiting for food, how about that haircut?"<br /><br />Bonnie jumped at that idea too quickly. She was something like those little dogs who pushed their larger owners around, only in her case she was all bite and very little bark. Samantha could already tell she was not the sort of person one could say no to easily. Adorable, boisterous and demanding, normally a combination that probably drew people to her, something about it pushed at Samantha and almost made her wish she hadn't agreed to come over for dinner.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8lW9mLY4_khW0YGDQHGVhjsb4USs1_jiOzEzWS_FHCcvc6KRi6Hr5jw8h7xX42nLk1xjPb5tewWRqG7ETzIdmrwBQ9FSQbsIVp6C5kiIFa1empBhJTpKNDrikP94MJqSYREntb7N4nB3Q/s1600-h/13+don%27t+worry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 362px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8lW9mLY4_khW0YGDQHGVhjsb4USs1_jiOzEzWS_FHCcvc6KRi6Hr5jw8h7xX42nLk1xjPb5tewWRqG7ETzIdmrwBQ9FSQbsIVp6C5kiIFa1empBhJTpKNDrikP94MJqSYREntb7N4nB3Q/s400/13+don%27t+worry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423145793889434802" border="0" /></a>Bonnie dragged her out to the backyard where an old and weather beaten barber shop chair sat exposed to the elements.<br /><br />"Now, I can tell you're a little nervous. Maybe a little dubious about my talents, so we'll start you off easy. I'll just do a little restyling and if you don't like it, well no harm done."<br /><br />Sam stood near by, a hand on her chin and a smirk across her face. Even though Samantha was sure she was pretty much the one to blame for this, she found herself drawn to this woman. This evil woman who had her spending money on clothes before she had a place to stay and drew her into some oddly girly adventure.<br /><br />This was something they'd laugh about later, she was sure. Hopefully over drinks.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqO5hpog0Vz1x_1Wbfq4s1cDlYrNMKGqCUQlMM210xKyh1lczPdev64WXPHp_hGBCgBUZ8qTc4ykE35agjyqQG45aQkMaFFTEsuZaq2Z71i_Od1_-xG0wha9vbcHFG3Wf-Z0wd6MPaYP5/s1600-h/14+see.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 387px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqO5hpog0Vz1x_1Wbfq4s1cDlYrNMKGqCUQlMM210xKyh1lczPdev64WXPHp_hGBCgBUZ8qTc4ykE35agjyqQG45aQkMaFFTEsuZaq2Z71i_Od1_-xG0wha9vbcHFG3Wf-Z0wd6MPaYP5/s400/14+see.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423145796336591458" border="0" /></a><br />"See? Not bad, huh?"<br /><br />Samantha was pleasantly surprised.<br /><br />Bonnie's husband, Orlando, stuck his head out the back door (not very far, Samantha noticed- she wondered if it was all the estrogen or if it was only his wife with the cutting shears). "Dinner's here."<br /><br />Inside they went. Sam threw Samantha one last smirk as if she could read Samantha's mind and did fully intend on laughing about this later. Hopefully over drinks.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">************<br /></div><br /><i>Bonnie and the pizza:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUGw1wPDEDVskpsvLsZJwOQ8KMIUvclIa3du8GT5Pp30I9eCyE-DKCpvYxHHOy4nnaR-q6MphFKziwjZ0bybg43p_AUjSTNA0dZpKJDPv1bxgtHPJg6XGjihuTIHCXp9g3MG8DEMxR2Fea/s1600-h/burnt+pizza.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 364px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUGw1wPDEDVskpsvLsZJwOQ8KMIUvclIa3du8GT5Pp30I9eCyE-DKCpvYxHHOy4nnaR-q6MphFKziwjZ0bybg43p_AUjSTNA0dZpKJDPv1bxgtHPJg6XGjihuTIHCXp9g3MG8DEMxR2Fea/s400/burnt+pizza.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423148512802448546" border="0" /></a><br />OMG, she looked so disappointed. And Ama is so not surprised. "We're having people over? And you cooked?"<br /><br /><br /></i></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-28461346550138978042010-01-01T15:29:00.001-08:002010-01-07T19:38:40.631-08:00Just arrived<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg9x10uAasOtmiWEil47c0RJglkPPsnFEvKfi7bKnK-d_Wo75SLDgpQVy0akNb8IRuCrT2kpf623481G-DsYodEKAgA4O4_66LOX7fQCJODo7n82GxCWtj13CQSm6b5jMRwhF0sw1VWyNe/s1600-h/1+Bit+early.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 369px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg9x10uAasOtmiWEil47c0RJglkPPsnFEvKfi7bKnK-d_Wo75SLDgpQVy0akNb8IRuCrT2kpf623481G-DsYodEKAgA4O4_66LOX7fQCJODo7n82GxCWtj13CQSm6b5jMRwhF0sw1VWyNe/s400/1+Bit+early.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421919233067734034" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"A little early for a drink, inn'it it?"<br /><br /><br /><span id="fullpost"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLeBUSbXaxw5kmzOjqIXmcbtKalA2aqi9YG8r78V9138f5XdAQPR_4qWR7_T1-3r0HVoqm9hnyxOQJtfVvwYCfEne4KCEg2gXuBmkhCqzQVIO5JWSBPhZLC6naKJACIhMKqUhSmP4-QgXM/s1600-h/2+driiink.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 373px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLeBUSbXaxw5kmzOjqIXmcbtKalA2aqi9YG8r78V9138f5XdAQPR_4qWR7_T1-3r0HVoqm9hnyxOQJtfVvwYCfEne4KCEg2gXuBmkhCqzQVIO5JWSBPhZLC6naKJACIhMKqUhSmP4-QgXM/s400/2+driiink.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421919227026183778" border="0" /></a><br />Samantha stared the woman down and took a large gulp of her drink before she placed her order for a T-bone steak. She was starving, but she didn't exactly have money to burn through. She had to be careful and make it last, and the T-bone steak happened to be the least expensive thing on the menu. If she was going to waste her money, let it be on something helpful, like a good stiff drink to start the day.<br /><br />She tried to take her time with her meal. Tried to not think about where in the world she was going or what she was doing because then she'd realize she didn't really know where she was going or what exactly she was doing. But it felt right. It was the right thing to do. There was something she was missing, a piece to her puzzle that had somehow managed to go missing over the course of her life when she'd been working on putting things together.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-4wVKchTUkodF-SwdAdCjSARGbWUcOb64Usb7y4hEpv7MIspFCP4EzBLUkfY_2WkLMXAeXaEo-Gfo8S7SJXrKnnCaR-AuIrQQ9bATm1Nkn6CrtpHAu6q94WSN-2jh7jp_HT5mnX3SZm3/s1600-h/3+felt+him.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 368px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-4wVKchTUkodF-SwdAdCjSARGbWUcOb64Usb7y4hEpv7MIspFCP4EzBLUkfY_2WkLMXAeXaEo-Gfo8S7SJXrKnnCaR-AuIrQQ9bATm1Nkn6CrtpHAu6q94WSN-2jh7jp_HT5mnX3SZm3/s400/3+felt+him.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421919122728694866" border="0" /></a><br />It was after she had finished her steak, sitting with a full stomach and trying to nurse her afternoon drink that she felt someone standing behind her. She did not turn around and she refused to curl up and let the little shiver roll down her back because she knew she was being watched.<br /><br />"You're new here," he said as she raised her glass to her lips for something to do.<br /><br />"Mmm hmm." His voice was smooth and gentle and it made her relax a little.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN3wkxaj_yjtLhjx-6_stz4I_b8WuBWhA4tJkoXzQ-LpqSvyvoxoW8jvSKFogVVttNPON1o58QrPRPXZRq011uGkhqTeu1JVkdVFBGv65j88DOiZWNywumlODB0tHJB7exiyGaAcssbJ_5/s1600-h/4+voice.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 383px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN3wkxaj_yjtLhjx-6_stz4I_b8WuBWhA4tJkoXzQ-LpqSvyvoxoW8jvSKFogVVttNPON1o58QrPRPXZRq011uGkhqTeu1JVkdVFBGv65j88DOiZWNywumlODB0tHJB7exiyGaAcssbJ_5/s400/4+voice.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421919121898147186" border="0" /></a><br />"I'm Water Mellon," he said with a smile as he stepped around to stand behind the bar. He was dressed well, in a suit that fit him perfectly and left both a lot and almost a little to the imagination.<br /><br />"Water Mellon?"<br /><br />"Yeah, my mom had a strange sense of humor. My brother's name is Green." His lips gently curved up in a pleasant manner. The way one does when they don't expect anything in return. He was relaxed and calm, and it made her feel relaxed and calm. "I own this restaurant."<br /><br />"Nice place."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiV_Me1Ffa5GR1wrFAbtNzEs_c6xfWS7MV8Uq4pTAh2_DH0rOPCXXfNH8KQGiCVYFGpLJcQvlvLPspMSHLC9mT2VfLLNjE1FMygEDWI-YHE49s61gm_aSt3fHjXes9vDmm2pZKb_iVvFaR/s1600-h/5+steps+around.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 386px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiV_Me1Ffa5GR1wrFAbtNzEs_c6xfWS7MV8Uq4pTAh2_DH0rOPCXXfNH8KQGiCVYFGpLJcQvlvLPspMSHLC9mT2VfLLNjE1FMygEDWI-YHE49s61gm_aSt3fHjXes9vDmm2pZKb_iVvFaR/s400/5+steps+around.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421919112305261858" border="0" /></a><br />"Thanks. I do try." He glanced down at her shirt, the free shirt they'd given her at the train station when she'd left. (She hadn't even known they had shirts to give away to people leaving Lakeside-- what was that some sort of promotional deal?-- but it'd been free and clean, and it was comfortable.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS1bX2asDzTDw5ifhiLe8Aij4F2n7gUlicumJn8yjHJOn2IgP7eGEylJAC5R6syxFE06a8715-4R5zTJUY4gM4tnxPyYdqFhWXaw4hxiPUaYd4hTtWCieftu_jOoqJrB8WII66DcoYpyV3/s1600-h/6+shirt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 385px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS1bX2asDzTDw5ifhiLe8Aij4F2n7gUlicumJn8yjHJOn2IgP7eGEylJAC5R6syxFE06a8715-4R5zTJUY4gM4tnxPyYdqFhWXaw4hxiPUaYd4hTtWCieftu_jOoqJrB8WII66DcoYpyV3/s400/6+shirt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421919107587426354" border="0" /></a><br />At least she hoped he was glancing at her shirt. He didn't say anything for a moment. She cleared her throat and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. "I just left from there. And yes, I got this t-shirt."<br /><br />"It says 'born' though. Does everyone born there get that shirt?"<br /><br />She glanced down. So it did say "born." She hadn't noticed that before. "Huh. Well, I don't know. I could just be special."<br /><br />He smiled at her. "Do you have a place to stay yet?"<br /><br />Hopefully he wasn't going to offer her one. "I was looking for a hotel or something, but there doesn't seem to be any here."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuw0h0RUdxbG3N_03gy207Y57cXADR8krvOQ_sWX4BZN0E-69-TM-WqoUuQyHDvQasWyTGwHWjUdwpHUM4Z1I-WX1fl4jetfE9fngaUB6yX_qr_moX1FqAHoKlWA3q-yr2jVIlWweJsgKu/s1600-h/7+help.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 390px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuw0h0RUdxbG3N_03gy207Y57cXADR8krvOQ_sWX4BZN0E-69-TM-WqoUuQyHDvQasWyTGwHWjUdwpHUM4Z1I-WX1fl4jetfE9fngaUB6yX_qr_moX1FqAHoKlWA3q-yr2jVIlWweJsgKu/s400/7+help.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421919102724685794" border="0" /></a><br />"We're pretty small, and we don't get a lot of visitors. But I know a place you can go."<br /><br />And he gave her directions to the city center and a special place that was "like" a hotel he said, but it really sounded more like one of those old flop houses for the poor. It was okay though, because technically without a job and on the go she <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> poor.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="fullpost">********************</span><br /></div><span class="fullpost"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">So just for reference, because I'm sure we all know, anyone reading this blog has to be reading Lakeside Heights too, but just in case: This is Samantha Bradshaw's first stop on the grand tour of the </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://lakesideheights.blogspot.com/2009/12/samantha-bradshaw-project.html">Samantha Bradshaw project</a><span style="font-style: italic;">.</span><br /><br /></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-77758856117760557802009-12-30T22:11:00.000-08:002009-12-30T23:30:52.892-08:00This is for the Southern Hemisphere<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2tEENrz7vlhKDte7nXgo35dSVX5gjhrWku1c6XvgpO9DSoOvCdqfO0lpQtt39WcU117v_9cDX5Hgd4_oZJKEfIJWE0APmG6DITGEal_enwkR4BkKafkMu1q1EUSM9q0tObZGeqPTc_Zt/s1600-h/Family2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2tEENrz7vlhKDte7nXgo35dSVX5gjhrWku1c6XvgpO9DSoOvCdqfO0lpQtt39WcU117v_9cDX5Hgd4_oZJKEfIJWE0APmG6DITGEal_enwkR4BkKafkMu1q1EUSM9q0tObZGeqPTc_Zt/s400/Family2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421280414308615122" border="0" /></a><br />Ama watched her father inhaling deeply the "fresh sea air" with more than a bit of annoyance.<br /><br />Back home it was snowing. Snowing! Snowmen, snow angels, and well thrown snowballs right at Hobart's head.<br /><br /><span class="fullpost">But Ama's parents had decided that a trip down south would be a better idea. It would be something different, and a learning experience she could share at school.<br /><br />A family vacation-- like for real. Trapped with her parents away from friends with nothing to do but play in the sand without snow. She could've played in sand at home. You know, once she scraped the snow out of the way and stuff.<br /><br />Really, Ama knew what this was about. Her father had lost his job. He'd been one of two policemen (Hobart's father being the other), and he'd lost his job. Luckily Ama's mom ran the only clothing shop in town, so they were doing great, but her father was at a loss for what to do.<br /><br />He'd gone more than once to see the mayor, but it couldn't have gone well.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06v1q6s4iuckvrgAI3QOb7KxagVTc-bOfZHpDk6XqgPJw1vyrdgm_iEEq5rdLBljG-Ph1sNu0hXg3pqiAI-qaQxpaa281ATdlXUmViOTiFUV3kNU2BjCfFW6TShh2Klz7eegPFQbQaDLY/s1600-h/Pre-vacation+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 386px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06v1q6s4iuckvrgAI3QOb7KxagVTc-bOfZHpDk6XqgPJw1vyrdgm_iEEq5rdLBljG-Ph1sNu0hXg3pqiAI-qaQxpaa281ATdlXUmViOTiFUV3kNU2BjCfFW6TShh2Klz7eegPFQbQaDLY/s400/Pre-vacation+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421280420025107970" border="0" /></a><br />He still didn't have his job back.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3IoiFKJWY3B9H5Y-5fou8ZQEnYFh1TDuawZTsceERSBLy3OPVxzo_LEYIORpU99Ub14U2_-XGHV1TzxLtZynJYTbV1Y4Pjclnft54x3bsH7aLc7pCJIBynlnlyarkLLtHM6hg6Uyt59b/s1600-h/Parents+are+so+embarrasing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 394px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3IoiFKJWY3B9H5Y-5fou8ZQEnYFh1TDuawZTsceERSBLy3OPVxzo_LEYIORpU99Ub14U2_-XGHV1TzxLtZynJYTbV1Y4Pjclnft54x3bsH7aLc7pCJIBynlnlyarkLLtHM6hg6Uyt59b/s400/Parents+are+so+embarrasing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421283538832812114" border="0" /></a>Ugh. This was going to be a long week!<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJO4FsDMLIv3uQ0WFJw3AUW-zn6ya1MwtPIvUVc4DNJ4O3jX9MzJf3yjtcI4zowDcKlkKpbnwQ3TXywCrs4H9W3fMNakVy6RYbSIrqAo0aUWMM_Obf4oc4xN-DJh3dmETrLnRhyphenhyphenM2FUPbv/s1600-h/Relaxing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 307px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJO4FsDMLIv3uQ0WFJw3AUW-zn6ya1MwtPIvUVc4DNJ4O3jX9MzJf3yjtcI4zowDcKlkKpbnwQ3TXywCrs4H9W3fMNakVy6RYbSIrqAo0aUWMM_Obf4oc4xN-DJh3dmETrLnRhyphenhyphenM2FUPbv/s400/Relaxing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421283551976478882" border="0" /></a><br />"Ama, what're you doing?"<br /><br />"I'm going to hunt for bugs."<br /><br />"Don't tell me you brought your entire bug collection."<br /><br />"What? It's not like it's large. And they're all in the case anyway."<br /><br />Ama's mom rolled her eyes. "Oh Ama. What if the glass breaks? You'll have dried bug parts everywhere."<br /><br />Not that the case would break. Ama was not a kid. She was almost a high schooler. She knew how to take care of stuff. But that might actually be kinda awesome to see dried bug parts and stuff-- like when she found old flies on the window sills that had been dried to dust by the sun.<br /><br />Her mother got her working on finding cool shells in the sand to turn into jewelry while she stood around being embarrassing with her father.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0VGAfu9Gc0-JHTdbPu2uWUhQy0DdBKw7txvW1PxkRQSSMD8MN3E6dhKZLZLBfSEoSyNS_7eNtc-1Slbwttu6alovIRGq69avuT9VrQBuGCM2purgkfbFcnzhgxTfl28Uj4qYq08tcKikG/s1600-h/Parents+are+really+embarrassing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 310px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0VGAfu9Gc0-JHTdbPu2uWUhQy0DdBKw7txvW1PxkRQSSMD8MN3E6dhKZLZLBfSEoSyNS_7eNtc-1Slbwttu6alovIRGq69avuT9VrQBuGCM2purgkfbFcnzhgxTfl28Uj4qYq08tcKikG/s400/Parents+are+really+embarrassing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421283553853568786" border="0" /></a><br />Really embarrassing.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbCfX12J4H4-J1FTI3c0RCbNiMPXXrMapXR-uTktJuu1KrFCX_E-ZtHLVR1QftSQ1vtoxNzqEz4_g_2nXqfP0XjIhqyFSSqvlRfDGf83gBp3Lr7EntUZeN6YLn6zrNwgsvyMrFPqA6x_4J/s1600-h/Really+Embarrassing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 385px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbCfX12J4H4-J1FTI3c0RCbNiMPXXrMapXR-uTktJuu1KrFCX_E-ZtHLVR1QftSQ1vtoxNzqEz4_g_2nXqfP0XjIhqyFSSqvlRfDGf83gBp3Lr7EntUZeN6YLn6zrNwgsvyMrFPqA6x_4J/s400/Really+Embarrassing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421283543438983826" border="0" /></a><br />Oh my god, so embarrassing!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAEO0oij_2ZzfLD_rcuz8QMccl6Cpnm7VUKdvMMc96xd7slgG8rVQQPQH7SBgfvHyxxGujEXhUu3z547JJ3ptjOPDqfp5UpuwSBIAC_YxMRtyMzeGoHwUmZhgARrWN-FkcmA2WY20_Jc3-/s1600-h/Really+Embarrassing+SEE.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 368px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAEO0oij_2ZzfLD_rcuz8QMccl6Cpnm7VUKdvMMc96xd7slgG8rVQQPQH7SBgfvHyxxGujEXhUu3z547JJ3ptjOPDqfp5UpuwSBIAC_YxMRtyMzeGoHwUmZhgARrWN-FkcmA2WY20_Jc3-/s400/Really+Embarrassing+SEE.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421283546842202530" border="0" /></a><br />Her parents acted like two kids who'd never grown up. Seriously. How old were they?<br /><br /><br /><br />When her parents were being less embarrassing, they were taking in the local sights and eating local food.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJ6EjQykZSYjzkmtCxTJ8TbsSprSX34Kvb42UU0Nh98ohYPCMY-dUBVyzwRrVriIG0rWkzTWvcLpfRSx_6ctHSFZd3fPdqKZpwIJmyNsf5TKWOpg2b_K4g6N-cXsKzBVPrCef8K15naZB/s1600-h/Family+together.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 396px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJ6EjQykZSYjzkmtCxTJ8TbsSprSX34Kvb42UU0Nh98ohYPCMY-dUBVyzwRrVriIG0rWkzTWvcLpfRSx_6ctHSFZd3fPdqKZpwIJmyNsf5TKWOpg2b_K4g6N-cXsKzBVPrCef8K15naZB/s400/Family+together.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421288608842399442" border="0" /></a>Ama was dying; it was so hot! It was like summer.<br /><br />"So, Mom, Dad, does this mean that for Summer we'll go to the mountains?"<br /><br />Both her parents laughed. They thought she was kidding!<br /><br /><br />When they weren't taking in the sights, Ama was being accosted by locals who were intent on showing her how to do this weird little move.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijtcQ1bHOwA-BqWoqqyZx0FJqmm_QrqjL4-xhtshMHRef6VmoKfHg9YcFOIydyGE6jEt5MPADO6AZU6s06_0HKCenOF0ksYGHVKcpqvIPAsygHy-m8MS3A9dpqIfZTa55_kCV5L3CtGbno/s1600-h/accosted.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 355px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijtcQ1bHOwA-BqWoqqyZx0FJqmm_QrqjL4-xhtshMHRef6VmoKfHg9YcFOIydyGE6jEt5MPADO6AZU6s06_0HKCenOF0ksYGHVKcpqvIPAsygHy-m8MS3A9dpqIfZTa55_kCV5L3CtGbno/s400/accosted.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421288596501117426" border="0" /></a>"Uh, yeah, like this?" Ama halfheartedly imitated her.<br /><br />"No dude, put your heart into it!" The woman's smile widened. "You have to mean it!"<br /><br />"Uh, okay. Maybe next time."<br /><br />"I'll keep an eye out for you!"<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rLjVk6b7mjz-t0qWFFqNcd-CAD9TcZfoWUbVf_hpYUPYT-1YTw5aEhXaeDBcHzxd9B4y7wCDUcMZpqhrJZOkxNC1g0OjcgqgIW33QKCFpy23fo_ejrXPCRkoyIdr5o6V6u0nrhBLa6OS/s1600-h/Ama+thinks.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 370px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rLjVk6b7mjz-t0qWFFqNcd-CAD9TcZfoWUbVf_hpYUPYT-1YTw5aEhXaeDBcHzxd9B4y7wCDUcMZpqhrJZOkxNC1g0OjcgqgIW33QKCFpy23fo_ejrXPCRkoyIdr5o6V6u0nrhBLa6OS/s400/Ama+thinks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421280428678986594" border="0" /></a><br />The plus side was that Ama totally had her own hotel room all to herself. This small taste of freedom was a lot like being a high schooler, she thought. It was kinda a cool and kinda scary. She could feel responsibility hanging around the corner.<br /><br />Hobart was already in high school. He'd told her all about it. It didn't sound too bad, but Hobart said it was a lot of work and some of the kids were a little scary. Course, he was really the only freshman, so everyone was older than him. And his fathers had seen fit to give him more responsibility on the farm.<br /><br />It kinda sounded sucky now that she thought about it. Responsibility and work and reading big books. Ama would be perfectly happy painting forever and having ice cream for dinner.<br /><br />She giggled at the sound of the official sounding knock on the door. The bellhop from downstairs presented her with a large bowl of ice cream sunday and asked if she'd like anything else. She smiled and handed him the money her mother gave her for his tip.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSPYoNCVI9u2gq1a5AIa1DKVzGxDoLccRyV57XFdsvL3B7zDzp5ZX13eeZpXpTZUM-v8CJBxph9Eqv5fUQnA9Dbp8QcInCgxBGVx1Fqs9GhlHCYZRQiik91AWNRhRvNAztEaPTqNf-g4T/s1600-h/WHen+Ama+orders+dinner.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 340px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSPYoNCVI9u2gq1a5AIa1DKVzGxDoLccRyV57XFdsvL3B7zDzp5ZX13eeZpXpTZUM-v8CJBxph9Eqv5fUQnA9Dbp8QcInCgxBGVx1Fqs9GhlHCYZRQiik91AWNRhRvNAztEaPTqNf-g4T/s400/WHen+Ama+orders+dinner.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421288600742583570" border="0" /></a><br />Luckily, Ama's mother laughed when she saw what was for dinner. It was sort of the plus side of having young parents who acted like big kids. They were gnerally game so long as, you know, no one was hurt and she didn't do anything dangerous.<br /><br />Maybe her parents weren't so weird or embarrassing. Her mom did make some awesome sand castles that had all the kids on the beach envious.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZA08_0aiLXO7molb_6rBPlB9pRGeQQqW_jhIBZjn3nus_Z0np6LR3EUK9D5RfPgYsz22f_y9zrClZCncwrBa0bV63WhnZhJSHDyarrxhHC3NmoWRdK-mWqr0_T7E_2oUUbjPqx4nyaa6H/s1600-h/Sandcastle2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 313px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZA08_0aiLXO7molb_6rBPlB9pRGeQQqW_jhIBZjn3nus_Z0np6LR3EUK9D5RfPgYsz22f_y9zrClZCncwrBa0bV63WhnZhJSHDyarrxhHC3NmoWRdK-mWqr0_T7E_2oUUbjPqx4nyaa6H/s400/Sandcastle2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421288613327943906" border="0" /></a><br />And maybe it was a little gross that the possibility for a little sister or brother was always present. But well, it could be worse. Ama's own cousin Melanie had been taken recently by her own mother. Ama had heard her father telling her mother that one night when she wasn't supposed to be listening. (Okay, maybe she wasn't ever supposed to listen.)<br /><br />But her parents really seemed to love each other, and they did love her very much.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyV5m4UjW2yS_06jdi1NjygY8uFSVupIza6_Z0foGwp-R1tHhjophwdOb-Lgg-IEtG0dXSWBBcFhkYkp0C1njltGKv88Wj0StaemrRPxKP-f-x3_KYtz0X_LtEmvd9NoL_GMkBWuSB_huJ/s1600-h/Bonnie+and+Orlando.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 365px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyV5m4UjW2yS_06jdi1NjygY8uFSVupIza6_Z0foGwp-R1tHhjophwdOb-Lgg-IEtG0dXSWBBcFhkYkp0C1njltGKv88Wj0StaemrRPxKP-f-x3_KYtz0X_LtEmvd9NoL_GMkBWuSB_huJ/s400/Bonnie+and+Orlando.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421288606918889202" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">**************************<br /></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Uhm, whoa! I am quite rusty. Or maybe it's just that I am SO not good at writing stuff on the fly. I really need to take my time with it, but what the hell. *throws caution to the wind has it spray back in her face*</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I think I am finally ready to END winter! I only have a few more events, so I need to focus and finish so I'll be ready for </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://lakesideheights.blogspot.com/2009/12/samantha-bradshaw-project.html">The Samantha Bradshaw Project</a><span style="font-style: italic;">!</span></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-34440242515108175332009-12-21T09:42:00.000-08:002009-12-21T14:53:13.372-08:00What he doesn't know<span style="font-style: italic;">Still here and still have this story rattling around in my head. I know where I want it to go, but don't know if I have the energy or time to continue this and <a href="http://ruindestruction.blogspot.com/">Ruin</a>. But I still love TS2.<br /><br />So I played a bit this week as a break from "serious" writing, and as always can't resist sharing some of their stories. Especially some of the college kids. (And Ama, but that's for later.)<br /><br /><br />Let's see if I can remember approximate ages:<br /><br />Ily ~ 19<br />Rich ~ 18<br /><br />Ethan and Ashley ~ 21<br /></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqWL2K5WYyWnhdLWyA-LRHsJekMRu3F5WnIVi1eKMrrR03rjxqE-G7Wzr_eEAdxJr0SRPzReLSkMTkPw4lpvQvhNB_v2FuDyCizMaZQpKNhytKClg37ia5JITZZRprPpa9CllSNIMRQ6e4/s1600-h/Dinner+party.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 370px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqWL2K5WYyWnhdLWyA-LRHsJekMRu3F5WnIVi1eKMrrR03rjxqE-G7Wzr_eEAdxJr0SRPzReLSkMTkPw4lpvQvhNB_v2FuDyCizMaZQpKNhytKClg37ia5JITZZRprPpa9CllSNIMRQ6e4/s400/Dinner+party.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417747783469536162" border="0" /></a>Their very first dinner party together in their own little house. Rich hadn't exactly been for it. He'd tried to talk her out of it, but she'd been determined. And when she had that glint in her eye it was impossible to talk her out of anything.<br /><br /><span class="fullpost">She'd even tried practice cooking for their very first dinner party.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcHL4ftQXjsRZ5Gc25nr-Vy-W49bDO6n2xq1TkaDu0fEndBRlDG3ll_iDXsN46G9psuAjHo_erYZrRUKv9eSMdnCT8EeQq1WaLpx6M9rfgNFsDDwK4aRdENM4gdU3dUhaO0_hztfrIsuDf/s1600-h/Why+she+doesn%27t+cook.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 398px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcHL4ftQXjsRZ5Gc25nr-Vy-W49bDO6n2xq1TkaDu0fEndBRlDG3ll_iDXsN46G9psuAjHo_erYZrRUKv9eSMdnCT8EeQq1WaLpx6M9rfgNFsDDwK4aRdENM4gdU3dUhaO0_hztfrIsuDf/s400/Why+she+doesn%27t+cook.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417755658225537666" border="0" /></a>There's a reason she doesn't usually cook. But if she was that determined, then how could he say no?<br /><br />Over all it went well. Ily's brother, Ethan, came and brought his girlfriend. Ashley was cute, but a little boring. Rich really had nothing to talk to her about.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeiitwYAU19z_gxnXaspilOxEK0TAYaq2_yDLgPbe_kHHJXLGylULpPd6DntHsYJeoz2K30ROQph5JUGqz-_KPvNoERksNTTkP5VM6lW2rMXLu_pOBCjHjhhQG_lwkN7w7bV36gBgF6H_a/s1600-h/Dinner+Ashley.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 388px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeiitwYAU19z_gxnXaspilOxEK0TAYaq2_yDLgPbe_kHHJXLGylULpPd6DntHsYJeoz2K30ROQph5JUGqz-_KPvNoERksNTTkP5VM6lW2rMXLu_pOBCjHjhhQG_lwkN7w7bV36gBgF6H_a/s400/Dinner+Ashley.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417751368146188530" border="0" /></a><br />Honestly, he tried. Giving Ily and her brother some quiet time to catch up, he followed Ashley to the living room and started chatting with her, but all she wanted was to work on her assignment for class.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBc6HNyiEyLQME9edLk3yWQ6Yotba6NRPj7NtC5DefnWrsGc2mxa1x-yQ11ho0MvTQnRXpCW1F_0NPMmJoWuAWegG_qLGR3I5JqaWCZvyGWRksSVUnsSwp_Cb5UT7icmNsj7Mp0dzVe9en/s1600-h/Dinner+party+Ugh.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 386px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBc6HNyiEyLQME9edLk3yWQ6Yotba6NRPj7NtC5DefnWrsGc2mxa1x-yQ11ho0MvTQnRXpCW1F_0NPMmJoWuAWegG_qLGR3I5JqaWCZvyGWRksSVUnsSwp_Cb5UT7icmNsj7Mp0dzVe9en/s400/Dinner+party+Ugh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417756580251814306" border="0" /></a>Cute, but not the sort of girl he liked. Of that he was sure. Too bookish and shy. It was only a small get together, and she apparently couldn't handle being social for those two hours.<br /><br />To top off the weird night, Alberta called.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPrrZmjCUHRTVfMtLvTPf-wKpdUscMIJ8eKn4fDHTz0X0dAGynt5Ek4tDVsGIAK6CF1JJeTBWm-OyIZwfd_6RZ9iPmsRyfc8R7eFk22T1oJeDZ8fiJeth1-DqSGYDIW9dw-NJcxOmRbu8l/s1600-h/Alberta+called.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPrrZmjCUHRTVfMtLvTPf-wKpdUscMIJ8eKn4fDHTz0X0dAGynt5Ek4tDVsGIAK6CF1JJeTBWm-OyIZwfd_6RZ9iPmsRyfc8R7eFk22T1oJeDZ8fiJeth1-DqSGYDIW9dw-NJcxOmRbu8l/s400/Alberta+called.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417757292275939858" border="0" /></a>"Ily? She's talking with her brother in the other room. Did you want to leave a message? You need to ask her opinion on something? Maybe I can help. Okay, okay, calm down. I'll tell her you called."<br /><br />That was another one that mystified him. Gabe and Alberta made no sense to him. He'd told Gabe so more than once. She was young and shy and timid. Who wants to deal with all that? Gabe of course then shot back with his own thoughts on Ily. Definitely drew a stalemate and an agreement to not talk about it.<br /><br /><br />Ily was having the most fun of the two of them, especially considering the brotherly advice she received from Ethan.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtnkR3AHC3_vfHwYdv8rJmptxAEuw5WGocbIBpyk5IsFxgPAexlLkz3oCM-7Zos1G8Musq2bIpJaV-exH4jJqKNnMU7sKaK65vPQ9f3e8XoO4HvYeUP4SkoDYZSaHHWK02e0wlvRjVwgB/s1600-h/Dinner+party+Suggestion.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 380px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtnkR3AHC3_vfHwYdv8rJmptxAEuw5WGocbIBpyk5IsFxgPAexlLkz3oCM-7Zos1G8Musq2bIpJaV-exH4jJqKNnMU7sKaK65vPQ9f3e8XoO4HvYeUP4SkoDYZSaHHWK02e0wlvRjVwgB/s400/Dinner+party+Suggestion.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417756584800622450" border="0" /></a>"I'll tell you what you need..."<br /><br />Ily wondered if Ashley, future librarian, had actually gone along with this plan for excitement. Ily herself hadn't allowed for much more than their messing around in the fitting room.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixPF9L4Che0baEw-9bZKrN21qtEaYxJQNLkIj-SlVOH7Fd97UfMThWhNBt95jp6j32xb0H84haRJV6dWM2IfpJ2ooBMe8BOvPsZTKyuNgipK9FCETNV35QktBVk5oyOB2-VH63b8IYguR1/s1600-h/Daring.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 376px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixPF9L4Che0baEw-9bZKrN21qtEaYxJQNLkIj-SlVOH7Fd97UfMThWhNBt95jp6j32xb0H84haRJV6dWM2IfpJ2ooBMe8BOvPsZTKyuNgipK9FCETNV35QktBVk5oyOB2-VH63b8IYguR1/s400/Daring.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417760300905865122" border="0" /></a>The furthest they got to doing anything really really naughty in a public place was the couch. And that was after much cajoling on Rich's part. She wasn't going to tell Ethan that though. Not if she wanted him to sit there later.<br /><br /><br />After having spent a semester with Rich, she still didn't feel it. Whatever it was. She just knew she wasn't feeling it. Rich was cute and had a bright future, and he seemed so into her, stealing glances like they were still sitting near each other in school and hadn't been sleeping together all semester.<br /><br />It could be the day to day life stuff and how boring it really was. Eat, sleep, do homework, and have sex. Like it was on a list of things to do. She wasn't passive, by all means, though she generally let him make the first move. She went along with it usually hoping she'd get better. That she would love him back.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSHHJ5fFtLqiWKL0mNrCS4oGSUdwbEzdP0dOl7SpvoZakuma4HHtMQkO2t-gt5uv99choE70MnmawibZGk4foDn2RIU7TjUIHL1gixQETpDjIczSfzB-H61H2ErhcwENm6V1AZK1KQ06oD/s1600-h/Out+at+class.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 366px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSHHJ5fFtLqiWKL0mNrCS4oGSUdwbEzdP0dOl7SpvoZakuma4HHtMQkO2t-gt5uv99choE70MnmawibZGk4foDn2RIU7TjUIHL1gixQETpDjIczSfzB-H61H2ErhcwENm6V1AZK1KQ06oD/s400/Out+at+class.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417760306112665618" border="0" /></a>When he was out at class, she would take time to call one person a day. Her mother and father. Kate. And Water Mellon, her old boss.<br /><br />It was stupid. Just a crush really. Still, he seemed happy to hear from her and hear about college. Their conversation lasted longer than her phone conversations usually did. In most cases, people just wanted to know she was alive. Water actually wanted to hear how she was doing.<br /><br />And it made her stomach flip.<br /><br /><br />There was a very small list of valid candidates as far as Ily was concerned. They had to have a bright future, they had to love her, and they had to be good at taking orders. Rich was all of that. He seemed to generally strive to make her happy.<br /><br />Did it really matter? Love wasn't something Ily was prone to believe in anyway. It was all about compatibility. And they were compatible. Better than most. Where there was passion, there was a chance for failure. With love came hate.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6F3GHJD_eFdzddX2g9iocIrmIUywJNbBNVty7bw75k7HoZuCNe8KId-n3m1KG3k8wFzmNFnd3p9exAKO4KoVpMYDJC5vOJhvA5sGOiyqguJyvB6xWZJ5fbF4rfP07mzRsMS44PBF1TGHW/s1600-h/Out+in+the+rain+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6F3GHJD_eFdzddX2g9iocIrmIUywJNbBNVty7bw75k7HoZuCNe8KId-n3m1KG3k8wFzmNFnd3p9exAKO4KoVpMYDJC5vOJhvA5sGOiyqguJyvB6xWZJ5fbF4rfP07mzRsMS44PBF1TGHW/s400/Out+in+the+rain+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417761820162113026" border="0" /></a><br />"Ily, why are you looking at me like that?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32Rysw9ITICMECJSFyDsrK02DnuWlWXUXIMeV1tbCIVsuGpn-kNKBqfj77tweoe-EqsrSX7u4uzSI1sK7RjMdLKNcn4kRcya0GL4i_KcSSFj7bMut3S9Sh1m9FrPJyk-fgr-_7xm7XBOx/s1600-h/Out+in+the+rain+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 372px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32Rysw9ITICMECJSFyDsrK02DnuWlWXUXIMeV1tbCIVsuGpn-kNKBqfj77tweoe-EqsrSX7u4uzSI1sK7RjMdLKNcn4kRcya0GL4i_KcSSFj7bMut3S9Sh1m9FrPJyk-fgr-_7xm7XBOx/s400/Out+in+the+rain+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417761813849406642" border="0" /></a>"Just admiring the view. How do you cook so well and stay so skinny?"<br /><br />"Don't overeat? You're weird, Ily."<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">****************************<br /></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I have too much fun with these two. I played through a semester, and Ily only has a crush on him. One bolt of chemistry</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I think these two will cause me trouble when they discover other people.</span><br /></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-86504353514249635892009-10-13T18:24:00.000-07:002009-10-13T20:16:38.787-07:00Late Night Meeting<i><a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/07/home.html">Last time</a> we saw the cult-- I mean the Church for Wayward NPCs, Demi Love, partner to Water Mellon and mother of his two daughters, joined.<br /><br />The <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/03/church-for-wayward-npcs.html">last time</a> we saw Joseph (AKA Mr. Big), he was on the run from Sofia Stratton, and so he went to the last place she'd think to look-- her own brother's church. (This update also includes information on the Church as well, for those just starting to read along with me.)</i><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr5hRtasDerZlqaV2EkV0KLZptiEeN-I5mVBURVcyk8wtSEzBlD4HMJAGlKHGwEhZpLdU19oNBZM3BzqyzglQIuj45QEQXhjfvtdehmolgl4cIm6BFJu2mGjOfVzoa5fxkPXj91MAeNQ20/s1600-h/Joe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 380px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr5hRtasDerZlqaV2EkV0KLZptiEeN-I5mVBURVcyk8wtSEzBlD4HMJAGlKHGwEhZpLdU19oNBZM3BzqyzglQIuj45QEQXhjfvtdehmolgl4cIm6BFJu2mGjOfVzoa5fxkPXj91MAeNQ20/s400/Joe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392284561225486178" border="0" /></a><br />Quiet finally fell over the compound once everyone was in bed at their enforced bedtime.<br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><br />Joseph couldn't sleep. He never could when they went to bed so damn early. Instead, he lay in bed looking to the ceiling, still half dressed in an undershirt and boxers. Nearby lay a pair of pants he left out and his old overcoat which Tristin had asked him to get rid of.<br /><br />Joseph was no idiot. He's already gotten rid of his cell phone. Get rid of his clothes and then Tristin would ask him to get rid of his name. Joe was no sad little sim looking to fit in.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC8KH6HRafCG8M5udIfBFYbxJQKilJhJ0NIZMCho42A_wMu8bfWlztrWgfwwnTSt9T1-Sdx6_1frfq5LYvOFJlh6okQM8ZR2xex1FctHazZXUr6TGq524pf2W9IriW6WEniUU6Nou-dduh/s1600-h/Marylena.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 359px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC8KH6HRafCG8M5udIfBFYbxJQKilJhJ0NIZMCho42A_wMu8bfWlztrWgfwwnTSt9T1-Sdx6_1frfq5LYvOFJlh6okQM8ZR2xex1FctHazZXUr6TGq524pf2W9IriW6WEniUU6Nou-dduh/s400/Marylena.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392283396592862978" border="0" /></a><br />Near-by, he heard the girl in the bed next to him softly breathing rhythmically. One of the few plus sides of living out here was that at least Tristin was free with the women. For the most part. It was pretty clear that the one who'd given birth to his child was off limits though he never expressly said that. That only left the two others. And one of those two had a man who was coming around looking for his children.<br /><br />He's been out just that morning. Tristin had asked Joe to stand near-by as he ran the man off again.<br /><br />It'd been pretty tense. "Where are my daughters?"<br /><br />Joe had to give it to Tristin; he could be as cold as Sofia. "They want nothing to do with you. Leave, Water."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgoHFI13og4dbzRbUHshkmoN1Z3JRX5XWayadZLZPziSHikyqItRI77jsdSlSNuLupEl0Tr_1d64mAa6-wN9sVHA_hZfNDhRqXKc84oOT1lhPc9-k_NcKz6M9cMjNUXyBUhwB4e1sJTiZj/s1600-h/Not+welcome.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 350px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgoHFI13og4dbzRbUHshkmoN1Z3JRX5XWayadZLZPziSHikyqItRI77jsdSlSNuLupEl0Tr_1d64mAa6-wN9sVHA_hZfNDhRqXKc84oOT1lhPc9-k_NcKz6M9cMjNUXyBUhwB4e1sJTiZj/s400/Not+welcome.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392283402842419666" border="0" /></a><br />Luckily a fight didn't break out because Joe wasn't sure what he'd have done. The man had a right to his kids, and frankly, Joe would prefer it if he took the older whiny one who was constantly yelling or crying over everything and anything.<br /><br />The man left, though he was clearly not happy about it. Joe almost felt bad enough to help (and desperate enough to get the whiny kid out), but he couldn't risk pissing Tristin off. This was the last place Sofia would look for him with the last person Sofia would expect him to be with.<br /><br />Anyway, it didn't matter. None of it did unless he couldn't get control of the business from Sofia. Right now, he was powerless and moneyless, and without even a damn cell phone. Joe only had his friends left.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGPinFvS_UjAPNRX9GZrKlFmaYIu-dZU8XuG5ne4UdhtbwXZuGWo98Gx5KTaIn-NigJNUg4EtvC8K5Vu0xKxUGuRraNfunRKEcQUhR9euN_Jf91Cd02uuGKERCECbCy7EQitvA5kFdgSfU/s1600-h/Joe1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 354px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGPinFvS_UjAPNRX9GZrKlFmaYIu-dZU8XuG5ne4UdhtbwXZuGWo98Gx5KTaIn-NigJNUg4EtvC8K5Vu0xKxUGuRraNfunRKEcQUhR9euN_Jf91Cd02uuGKERCECbCy7EQitvA5kFdgSfU/s400/Joe1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392283407499383810" border="0" /></a><br />Joe sat up carefully, the springs of his mattress squeaking just barely and still sounding too loud in the quiet of the room. He slipped his pants on and threw the coat on over. He'd only have to be outside for a moment. The tricky part was getting downstairs and outside.<br /><br />The cold air burned the sensitive skin on his cheeks as soon as he stepped outside. A boy stood on the sidewalk waiting close to the doors of the church. He had to be freezing. All he had on was a long sleeved shirt. No one expected it to be so cold so far inland.<br /><br />"'ey," Joe said casually. Teen boys didn't normally stand out front of churches in the middle of nowhere to pick up girls.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIiTH3anODpS6iRTqborgoFaPTjcav-vyDev0-9hjv6kF-XhtXIGZdeXJE0-MGn5vSSHTKGR1Et-w-vDoT9Duf4p9gwG6R5wzkmkQuc26AEjl1GH7UaCRfjhE4eH1HecnsgnLBCpozx1aY/s1600-h/2a+phone.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 395px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIiTH3anODpS6iRTqborgoFaPTjcav-vyDev0-9hjv6kF-XhtXIGZdeXJE0-MGn5vSSHTKGR1Et-w-vDoT9Duf4p9gwG6R5wzkmkQuc26AEjl1GH7UaCRfjhE4eH1HecnsgnLBCpozx1aY/s400/2a+phone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392284575934243234" border="0" /></a><br />The boy reached out to shake his hand, slipping the tiny cell phone into his palm in one smooth move. Armando had said something about a new boy-- one no one would expect. Something about a boy of pedigree, the mayor's son or something like that. Said he would be useful or was it helpful?<br /><br />"Thanks kid."<br /><br />The kid did look pretty sharp. He didn't stick around long enough to chat, and he hardly seemed impressed with Joe. Just gave a nod and walked off down the road casually with out even a quip about the weather.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipOoSWRE6PPJ9Rm15MyPokbNKEjOnJp_qs9zjCtTkMCWNy4mGsS43gLy07PTt22XDNVl4ZauYOdtE6oA_nriZHwF2XfZ3LEsKp8kL1iQ_cglf0Y4BHvvBbWUbWkodI3M5cl1jjh-hR7eE/s1600-h/3a+tell+them.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 330px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipOoSWRE6PPJ9Rm15MyPokbNKEjOnJp_qs9zjCtTkMCWNy4mGsS43gLy07PTt22XDNVl4ZauYOdtE6oA_nriZHwF2XfZ3LEsKp8kL1iQ_cglf0Y4BHvvBbWUbWkodI3M5cl1jjh-hR7eE/s400/3a+tell+them.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392284584424663138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">**********************<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><i>Woo, sorry, it's been a while. I swear I haven't completely defected to TS3. Mostly, I'm using TS3 to illustrate very old stories, so it's rather easy to get sucked into those again.<br /><br />But I still have plans for this story! So I'm going to shoot for an update every week or so on this blog.<br /><br />I'd also like to take this time to invite those of you who enjoy writing to <a href="http://valleysunsims.proboards.com/index.cgi">Valley Sun Sims</a> forum. I've already mentioned it to a few people who I knew enjoy writing. It's a nice way to meet people, and find new stories. Plenty of us are using TS3 for stories, but plenty of TS2 people have been joining as well.</i></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-48456833369968238232009-10-01T01:32:00.000-07:002009-10-01T01:44:49.013-07:00Smoke and Chairs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-cbMMiyFNRYJ7e31lM4TsLCM5rzlDagcZpJsFANoU-c9Hd70qAgL6uUpQOcFIDqNwqumvbNj-aydL-mg2ez15RE1i6t-MOl1C6PAi2HQzQGWVXV-SXuhdenBZlDj_Uf-ThrWQWr_NWpCb/s1600-h/1+Chair.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 380px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-cbMMiyFNRYJ7e31lM4TsLCM5rzlDagcZpJsFANoU-c9Hd70qAgL6uUpQOcFIDqNwqumvbNj-aydL-mg2ez15RE1i6t-MOl1C6PAi2HQzQGWVXV-SXuhdenBZlDj_Uf-ThrWQWr_NWpCb/s400/1+Chair.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387548448483802162" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><br /><br />"It's a chair."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSItHYdSujK0q160mjslxLDUs-dZhXKx_wipHVDPHfwrgEecXZcaIT9f1lnH0Gi_17to0uT2KP-ePwlCH3_zTweWGOuzrkMoxjSazPVMCy98EpJK4pE_N0lgAIzuGcwS4VPfBNtiepnto9/s1600-h/2+it+is+a+chair.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 361px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSItHYdSujK0q160mjslxLDUs-dZhXKx_wipHVDPHfwrgEecXZcaIT9f1lnH0Gi_17to0uT2KP-ePwlCH3_zTweWGOuzrkMoxjSazPVMCy98EpJK4pE_N0lgAIzuGcwS4VPfBNtiepnto9/s400/2+it+is+a+chair.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387548453107236098" border="0" /></a><br />Alberta couldn't think of anything clever to say. It was indeed a painting of a chair. "Maybe it has some extra meaning? Something about carrying something until you become an inatimate object."<br /><br />Gabe examined the painting for a moment before coming to the same conclusion as Kate. "Pretty sure its just a chair, Alberta."<br /><br />"Now you know its serious. He agrees with me."<br /><br />The three stood around the painting staring at it quietly as if they were waiting for it to speak and explain itself. Alberta was sure that she was the only one giving the artist the benefit of the doubt. It could have meaning. It was completely possible that even the fact that a painting of a chair got into the museum is itself a statement of something.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9LR-L52SwrP-fYtUrA48XwbGMk3CiV7_-W-Q7f9vUFtBxGGj6ZRD31T_aUD9mmB8jaEe4VB6EDm_6k3t_AKycvJCj_XUrMIhNfEw5Mj9G933IOWNo-BCvORm-MX6DSHeTCkq1GdB7XOT/s1600-h/3+Girl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9LR-L52SwrP-fYtUrA48XwbGMk3CiV7_-W-Q7f9vUFtBxGGj6ZRD31T_aUD9mmB8jaEe4VB6EDm_6k3t_AKycvJCj_XUrMIhNfEw5Mj9G933IOWNo-BCvORm-MX6DSHeTCkq1GdB7XOT/s400/3+Girl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387548461043823394" border="0" /></a><br />"Chairs," a strange woman said while walking over to them, "are a statement of our own classification and subjegation. Chairs do all the work for us, holding us up at dinner and in front of the TV while we get older and our asses get larger. But no one gives thanks to the chair for just doing its job. No one ever really looks at a chair."<br /><br />Alberta wrapped an arm across her stomach, gripping her other arm tightly. Both Gabe and Kate were oddly silent watching the girl in surprise.<br /><br />"Uhm, wow." Kate finally managed to say. "How do you get that from..."<br /><br />"I painted it," The girl smiled at Kate as the Gabe and Alberta suddenly had to glance away. No one had noticed her standing on the floor before. Was it possible she'd heard them talking? How embarrassing!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTziHenNMWlIxmD6BfcOOmOO02K5mss1mUu7fnmz_gH8G_gPYib02-6q5peBup03ZQ6sAAYRcts3-xXcefPcule77yGh6tlkOF-P0kEMzqtBH25uJ-1s59-2QzJaOTMK7ye5WLPCrXONt7/s1600-h/4+Hours+and+Hours.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 376px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTziHenNMWlIxmD6BfcOOmOO02K5mss1mUu7fnmz_gH8G_gPYib02-6q5peBup03ZQ6sAAYRcts3-xXcefPcule77yGh6tlkOF-P0kEMzqtBH25uJ-1s59-2QzJaOTMK7ye5WLPCrXONt7/s400/4+Hours+and+Hours.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387548466730404978" border="0" /></a><br />The girl looked at the painting allowing Kate to glance away. "Yep. Put a lot of work into it too. Hours and hours."<br /><br />Kate sucked in a breath which Alberta could swear would have (probably should have) been a curse. "You heard us?"<br /><br />The girl winked at her. "We're the only ones on this floor you know."<br /><br />"Crap. Sorry. Music's more my thing." Kate waved at Gabe. "He's got no excuse though."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IlYwlTCWZ3iLW4OiM2wOLh_NllE1-nnWkDCLjuUIiOCFXA1Kx5iFAxjuijzVpIUJL6BV8xb86EVXPvC1eZgiUkPxypyMOXQLF5fPEfgYYrf2H9h8GAyaThNlgjOA_QRhqPH3L0YdF9RM/s1600-h/5+smoke.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 338px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IlYwlTCWZ3iLW4OiM2wOLh_NllE1-nnWkDCLjuUIiOCFXA1Kx5iFAxjuijzVpIUJL6BV8xb86EVXPvC1eZgiUkPxypyMOXQLF5fPEfgYYrf2H9h8GAyaThNlgjOA_QRhqPH3L0YdF9RM/s400/5+smoke.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387548476415194834" border="0" /></a><br />The girl laughed. "It's alright. I'm partially jerking your chain anyway. I mean, c'mon-- it's a friggen chair in a museum. I had to make something up." She turned to them. "I'm Regina. Wanna go outside for a smoke?"<br /><br />Alberta could see Gabe was ready to politely refuse. Kate was faster though. "Sure."<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCDis1uooD8ktGdFuqXCbtq48kBhvUazzZpF9Unsw06DyrrvS1xiuB_Eb2IRqZHwRCUVF3fIR3dXceWS6NJNMwGSs7CzkyUL1q5U14koSHufiEI8liSGxp0RY4EyoVwydvPxOhBPpdc-9/s1600-h/6+good.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 378px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCDis1uooD8ktGdFuqXCbtq48kBhvUazzZpF9Unsw06DyrrvS1xiuB_Eb2IRqZHwRCUVF3fIR3dXceWS6NJNMwGSs7CzkyUL1q5U14koSHufiEI8liSGxp0RY4EyoVwydvPxOhBPpdc-9/s400/6+good.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387549009793492306" border="0" /></a><br />"Oh god, that's so good. The woman who runs the place wants me to be here to present my paintings. Told me to look nice. I think I look nice. She didn't think boots and a sun dress were appropriately 'nice.' Bitch."<br /><br />Alberta really couldn't see the problem. "I think you look nice."<br /><br />"Oh you're sweet. A bit innocent though, aren't you? Hopefully someone's watching out for you. Oh geeze," Regina held out her carton of cigarettes. "Did either of you want one? I'm going to guess that Innocence here doesn't smoke."<br /><br />"Sure." Kate bravely reached out and took a cigarette from the carton. Alberta hadn't known that Kate smoked. Yet there was Kate, taking a cigarette like she had always known Regina and lighting it without stopping to think about it.<br /><br />There were so many things she felt she didn't know and hadn't experienced yet; it almost made her feel a little out of place until Kate took her first drag and started coughing as if she would die.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHPNF5pLcx6gHzDlopWxHhSDPmAcvbc0qFphoykAMbI2Y4yN-ufKV2tLDEadMgIU1nbNMGPA_fbJjlgzUiSF5_cSXSuTZMfRvZo83I6aMCLoAEJdri-dXUWPglTjPFPMgNofW86OfaRRr1/s1600-h/7+cough.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 352px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHPNF5pLcx6gHzDlopWxHhSDPmAcvbc0qFphoykAMbI2Y4yN-ufKV2tLDEadMgIU1nbNMGPA_fbJjlgzUiSF5_cSXSuTZMfRvZo83I6aMCLoAEJdri-dXUWPglTjPFPMgNofW86OfaRRr1/s400/7+cough.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387549018684764146" border="0" /></a><br />"Kate, are you okay?" Alberta could see Gabe out of the corner of her eye crossing his arms over his chest and laughing.<br /><br />Kate held up her first finger in response to Alberta's question as she fought the coughs, her eyes a tiny bit teary. She then shoved her lit cigarette at Gabe, "Here tough guy. You take it then."<br /><br />"Your lips have been on that. I'm not taking it."<br /><br />Regina held out her carton to Gabe. With a tiny roll of his eyes, he grabbed one cigarette, deftly lit it with Regina's lighter, and took a puff on it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnakAV0D64nyTW1cItPj6RTildQK3S-pvpRqpvoQsUkULSl4VeDh73rTHxrsPu4CPmX5v9BhFkAWakPhrty9pIWo0DKOJSDYw1vI4zegpffSWAvpE38h1avTu0moB47NjeACmJq7nGhfO_/s1600-h/8+pro.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 383px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnakAV0D64nyTW1cItPj6RTildQK3S-pvpRqpvoQsUkULSl4VeDh73rTHxrsPu4CPmX5v9BhFkAWakPhrty9pIWo0DKOJSDYw1vI4zegpffSWAvpE38h1avTu0moB47NjeACmJq7nGhfO_/s400/8+pro.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387549021731602082" border="0" /></a><br />"Crap. Stop showing what a burn out you are."<br /><br />"Do you want me to teach you?"<br /><br />"No." Under her breath, Kate mummbled, "Jerk."<br /><br />"Are they always like this?" Regina asked.<br /><br />"Generally. This is them being nice, if you can believe it."<br /><br />Regina laughed. "I can bet what you put up with."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKe-Igi9258OtGptakTH-7nbl41RgeTOna2mjYD9kfxeZRc0qy_c83tdts9Ep2mMMiPSshDAixuBN-ttSCvV5HBRvczc2oxtZ9nWCx2gjfZRMhLYR7N4RmEsn7ruq0-Z6wh7vdU91s0PcL/s1600-h/9+laugh.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 335px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKe-Igi9258OtGptakTH-7nbl41RgeTOna2mjYD9kfxeZRc0qy_c83tdts9Ep2mMMiPSshDAixuBN-ttSCvV5HBRvczc2oxtZ9nWCx2gjfZRMhLYR7N4RmEsn7ruq0-Z6wh7vdU91s0PcL/s400/9+laugh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387549031938750226" border="0" /></a><br />Alberta didn't want to pepper Regina with a ton of questions, but there was so much she was curious about. Kate appeared interested too. Once she'd decided to just ignore Gabe and his teasing, she turned back to talk with Regina. Kate didn't worry about peppering Regina with questions; she asked the questions in the same way she'd acted as if she could smoke.<br /><br />"Look, I will tell you this much. I'm eighteen and I have my own house. If you wanna know more, you'll just have to come over some time." Regina winked at Kate. "I better be heading back. See you all later."</span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-77886811364333755792009-09-17T20:21:00.000-07:002009-09-17T20:22:38.544-07:00Live!Chapter 1 for the other story is up. <a href="http://ruindestruction.blogspot.com/">Oh nerve wracking</a>!The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-45541140562140435062009-09-14T09:27:00.001-07:002009-09-14T09:47:16.810-07:00Sims 2 hiatus?I sort of hate to say that, but I didn't play this weekend at all like I had planned.<br /><br />Lately, I've been writing a lot. About a year or so ago, I ran across my old 3.5 floppy disks (circa 1995-- that's way longer ago than I remember it) which were all neatly organized in an interestingly surreal way that would only make any sense to me. The stories on the disks were boring. Very snooze worthy, but the world and the characters were different. (I think that's a good term for it.)<br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><br />So I've been doing a lot of work, rethinking old ideas lately. And after a bit of inspiration, I decided that I would give Sims 3 a shot as a story telling vehicle since I wasn't playing it as a game very well. So boom, the two ideas crashed together and I thought I would use Sims 3 to try and tell at least one re-worked story from this world I create so long ago.<br /><br />This project has totally consumed me. Now I could have tried using Sims 2 to tell the story, but there are certain advantages to using Sims 3. For one, the body shapes. It's horrible that I can't adjust the heights, but I think body shapes are a little more important right now. And two is that the facial expressions are actually very complex at times. They're also very very creepy at times. But over all, they are complex as I can sometimes read multiple emotions in their faces. Their traits affect the ways they express themselves during interactions, so it's actually really fascinating...<br /><br />Ahem... anyway. Nerdy gets the better of me at times.<br /><br />This story will have an ending (it's looking like it's going to be about 12 or 13 chapters right now), so once I finish writing the chapters, my boyfriend is going to take me out to get a delicious burger at my place of choosing because I don't finish stories. Ever.<br /><br /><a href="http://simsintesting.blogspot.com/">My sims 3 blog</a> which I am using to document the trials and tribulations of working with Sims 3 as a story telling vehicle.<br /><br />From my test shots:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v152/studyofme/Sims/SIMS%203/Youremean.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 358px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v152/studyofme/Sims/SIMS%203/Youremean.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Edy says, "You're mean!"<br /><br />Poor Michael can only shrug, "What do you want me to do about it?"<br /><br /><br />I will give it a journal of it's own and put up a mature warning. Genre? Science Fiction Fantasy Horror. I mean, if you want to label it. XD</span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-53613475806722648782009-09-08T19:12:00.001-07:002009-09-08T19:18:18.324-07:00Amberle says Hello<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGW3gF3lM2q5afmLIUX1zisQmvwna-Xsx6Ha7-oBzlgoMHsBVi3NqeMeyr27slpYUrq7m5vLw0YQ3shDWO3qp2oGV37p0TKlgLFxNZjpfpmdEmihlhLxB3g0rnHRbjgCGd__5XAdouwRs/s1600-h/Observation2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 344px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGW3gF3lM2q5afmLIUX1zisQmvwna-Xsx6Ha7-oBzlgoMHsBVi3NqeMeyr27slpYUrq7m5vLw0YQ3shDWO3qp2oGV37p0TKlgLFxNZjpfpmdEmihlhLxB3g0rnHRbjgCGd__5XAdouwRs/s400/Observation2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379283345237932194" border="0" /></a><br />Samantha walked around the classroom, her heels clicking on the linoleum. She scanned the back of heads and peeked over shoulders checking their work.<br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Sam passed by Gabe. He wasn't very far along. Clearly something was on his mind. Samantha had watched him closely these past few years that he had been her student. These years before a sim became an adult were an amazing period where a child grew into an adult. Each year after summer, she was surprised at the change they had each taken.<br /><br />When Gabe had been a freshman, he had been so quiet and introverted. By the end of that year he discovered girls. The next year, after summer, he had turned his quiet introvert nature into a mysterious cool that even Glenda Stratton had noticed. She was sure that he'd spent that year quietly not getting caught causing trouble with Rich who was an entire year older than him.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNnLilxiArPKMlyLd_LrYdCb8rVXL7j8_MmdbVG0Zxp0rEDmVsIcQFr3iEnwEYP8WHfiMHAUM_Z1k2MsXmcLOwr-GeVwRkpDqNvhY6x6p5nfDnV_UXktwTjGEVZuwl4N_nPtoWBLyrs-4/s1600-h/Observation3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 327px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNnLilxiArPKMlyLd_LrYdCb8rVXL7j8_MmdbVG0Zxp0rEDmVsIcQFr3iEnwEYP8WHfiMHAUM_Z1k2MsXmcLOwr-GeVwRkpDqNvhY6x6p5nfDnV_UXktwTjGEVZuwl4N_nPtoWBLyrs-4/s400/Observation3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379283487346950002" border="0" /></a><br />This year, without Rich and with Alberta, his girlfriend (Sam would dare even say his first real love), there seemed to be something off about him. His mysterious cool was gone, but he was no longer a quiet introvert. There was something almost angry about him. When he fell into his own thoughts during the lessons, his eyebrows often knitted together folding the skin between them. It was a remarkable change after only one summer.<br /><br />Sam was sure that he knew. Water had told her that he'd just found out, and that he knew exactly who was Gabe's mother. Gabe had to know.<br /><br />It was five minutes until class was over. All of the students were becoming distracted. "All right, turn in your workbooks everyone. I think you all deserve to start the weekend early. Just remember! I want to see you all at the opening of the Museum this weekend. It's an assignment!"<br /><br />Kate groaned loudly and Aaron laughed at her over-reaction.<br /><br />As the children piled out of the room, Sam softly called out to Gabe. "Gabe, can I speak with you a moment?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpxocCRB9FNlxMydD5PSoCaar6YRiGLjpqb7CHEqcnzEWmxcUFb9pQeWPy7TOfx4lUI_dwAXMWBswpTxcOhY_xJhii2HAjPfCdM2TH5Es9t4HzhW9VFiv8QI7hlbnjkKCEeK-Tg-P7A8/s1600-h/Wait.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 361px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpxocCRB9FNlxMydD5PSoCaar6YRiGLjpqb7CHEqcnzEWmxcUFb9pQeWPy7TOfx4lUI_dwAXMWBswpTxcOhY_xJhii2HAjPfCdM2TH5Es9t4HzhW9VFiv8QI7hlbnjkKCEeK-Tg-P7A8/s400/Wait.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379283686537863778" border="0" /></a><br />He glanced at Alberta and even Kate as both girls stood looking at the two curiously. "Oooo," Kate softly murmured.<br /><br />Alberta poked Kate softly, "We'll be outside."<br /><br />Gabe stood as tall as she did now. She would never get over the change a sim took in the four years they came to visit her. "Yeah?"<br /><br />She hadn't fully thought out what she could possibly say to him. She wanted him to know that someone was there for him, but she wasn't sure that he would open up to her. "I saw Amberle over the weekend. I'm supposed to tell you that she says hello."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnD2z-cb0NBiqwOXVuywYvkwbgSbqkVKrYfB7V8HfWLQYm1LFVZ1zt2IMlP5O6Ycc0VyYYyIeY-XZY5XNr-rKjKKObDyNlupoIWcSOGZtX-aX8RRGjVEa1giGtHgR5LlEMKw3_IdUMPLs/s1600-h/Confused.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 371px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnD2z-cb0NBiqwOXVuywYvkwbgSbqkVKrYfB7V8HfWLQYm1LFVZ1zt2IMlP5O6Ycc0VyYYyIeY-XZY5XNr-rKjKKObDyNlupoIWcSOGZtX-aX8RRGjVEa1giGtHgR5LlEMKw3_IdUMPLs/s400/Confused.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379283886794064114" border="0" /></a><br />"Oh, well, uh, tell her I say hi back." Gabe looked at Sam in slight confusion. She was sure that he would let Alberta and Kate know that their teacher was crazy.<br /><br />"Well, that wasn't all. She said that she hasn't seen you in a while. She'd like you to come visit her one of these days, you know."<br /><br />"Um, sure. Okay. Bye, Ms. Kerr."<br /><br />"Bye, Gabe." She was sure he'd think her weird now for sure. As for Amberle, she hadn't exactly said any of that, but she would have if Sam had told her that Gabe seemed a little off and her own thoughts on why. Though Amberle hadn't really heard from Gabe since he was a very young boy, she still at least cared.<br /><br />Sam would have to be sure to tell Amberle to expect a visit from Gabe. Not that Sam was sure he would even take up the offer, but she did hope.<br /></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-90866608283122665612009-09-06T01:00:00.000-07:002009-09-06T01:42:51.437-07:00Thoughtful<a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/08/dinner.html">He had seen her in the flesh</a>. She hardly looked older than Gabe. The image that came to him when he heard the word "mother" was not some woman in a slinky dress working in a night club ordering around men who almost seemed to fear her.<br /><br />His other biological parent was hardly any better. Water Mellon was just as much of a mess as his mother was. The tabloids reported frequently on his activity since he was the biggest name in town. The man seemed to shrug off losing his "love" and his family like it was no big deal. He'd moved into a penthouse apartment on the fancy side of town where "numerous" women were seen entering and exiting. Some hardly older than Gabe.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-njeYjk7Hf4CbF_5MTS5qkJR94rvW7Y4s47EvAXJbxanhsPWtfyfTKGEGDulFcDx5kKE1Qt6jVpT6C86ClcEI8dz-M7xnKkRShuY1r0ZTpswL9xY8DSlnAwsvvvBrPM-mKSBkMSBFTOA/s1600-h/Water+Gossip.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 371px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-njeYjk7Hf4CbF_5MTS5qkJR94rvW7Y4s47EvAXJbxanhsPWtfyfTKGEGDulFcDx5kKE1Qt6jVpT6C86ClcEI8dz-M7xnKkRShuY1r0ZTpswL9xY8DSlnAwsvvvBrPM-mKSBkMSBFTOA/s400/Water+Gossip.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378262898679809506" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Gabe rolled his eyes at the thought. Was he doomed to become like his biological parents? It was possible that he was heading down the same path as one of his parents now. Did that mean that at some point he'd do the same to Alberta as Water had done to his wife?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfa2kn2kaQdaK28jNSHAVM15GZfVxdi7Qs_isAHkkAwE55z48l3x656r7cSMOvKE9Vd9hoyfRIUp-2oYjq3vd4peFcijS9gl_ZGIIZrOPXd-XqP2Rdnmt_RqBkJrcrBK_hgX2oShpCb8fp/s1600-h/Alberta.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 390px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfa2kn2kaQdaK28jNSHAVM15GZfVxdi7Qs_isAHkkAwE55z48l3x656r7cSMOvKE9Vd9hoyfRIUp-2oYjq3vd4peFcijS9gl_ZGIIZrOPXd-XqP2Rdnmt_RqBkJrcrBK_hgX2oShpCb8fp/s400/Alberta.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378263034019130850" border="0" /></a><br />He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. It was weird the way he felt about her. He found himself thinking about her at the oddest times wishing she was there with him or wondering what she was doing. Sometimes he found himself worrying about her, but he stopped himself when he noticed himself doing it since it was the last thing she had wanted. If he worried about her and she knew it, then she wouldn't tell him when she had other problems.<br /><br />The more he knew about himself, the more he felt less worthy of her. Even with her experiences, she wasn't bitter or depressed. If anyone had the right to be, it would be Alberta.<br /><br />He had just learned of his heritage, and he couldn't help feeling bitter about it. Of course knowing that your own mother hadn't wanted you in the first place (and your father probably wouldn't have wanted you, nor would his family) sort of had that effect.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCeA1UQy6F5o3nGh6X6bjxV2leECeeHgnSvd6W36Spo4Za5Uvb7UBkxCgq7Ony73sF4rm4RzCUH2nUij5hhuXtXXLjzLjnkd7-73LD40uZBGhbx_FQ301RiIDgtseVAzfcWF987lZtuJXj/s1600-h/Gabe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 341px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCeA1UQy6F5o3nGh6X6bjxV2leECeeHgnSvd6W36Spo4Za5Uvb7UBkxCgq7Ony73sF4rm4RzCUH2nUij5hhuXtXXLjzLjnkd7-73LD40uZBGhbx_FQ301RiIDgtseVAzfcWF987lZtuJXj/s400/Gabe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378262686769516722" border="0" /></a><br />"All right, turn in your workbooks everyone. I think you all deserve to start the weekend early..." Gabe didn't hear much more than that. He packed his books quickly into his back pack as Kate groaned from the other side of Alberta.<br /><br />Then Ms. Kerr softly called to him. "Gabe, can I speak with you a moment?"<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">****************************<br /></div><i>As a refresher, I'll throw up <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/03/society-of-tierra-de-legado.html">this link</a> about the society of my little hood. We know that Water Mellon is his dad, but what may easily be forgotten (because he never thinks about it so it would rarely be mentioned) is that he was in the running for Legacy Heir which I'm holding onto as a tradition of their old life in the old land. Gabe is pretty sure that he would not have been wanted in that family because of the woman who gave birth to him.<br /><br />And Alberta would be seen closer to a townie by any sim snotty enough to care about such things. Not that Gabe cares, but he's sure that there are sims who have probably mistreated her for it.<br /><br />And before I forget, let me share another blog I've found that's really awesome and is using Sims 3 to tell a really good story. <a href="http://marooned-on-tuesday.blogspot.com/">Marooned on Tuesday</a> She's not too far in yet, and I think some of you might like it.<br /></i></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-62850194114725135042009-09-02T21:27:00.000-07:002009-09-02T22:11:20.415-07:00How I select couplesLately, I have just noticed a lot of bloggers noting ACR scores for their couples, and so I started to think about that myself.<br /><br />I am mostly going to blame <a href="http://legadoprofiles.blogspot.com/search/label/Water%20Mellon">Water Mellon</a> (And by proxy <a href="http://legadoprofiles.blogspot.com/search/label/Samantha%20Kerr">Samantha</a> and <a href="http://legadoprofiles.blogspot.com/search/label/Demi%20Love">Demi</a>) for this post because I was sitting and thinking about those three characters in particular. They are the perfect example of how I hook up sims.<br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><br />Water was in college, being the Big Man on Campus, when he got fake arrested for the Secret Society. The police officer who arrested him was none other than Demi.<br /><br />As soon as I saw her, I simply wanted her in my game. It was love at first sight-- for me. I didn't really care what Water or Demi felt chemistry wise. (It was a plus when I saw they did have at least one lightening bolt, but that wasn't until a bit later when they actually got to know each other.)<br /><br />I could see Water being absolutely fascinated by her. They'd shared a car ride and a fake arrest. A girl who'd fake arrest somebody as a side job would have to be interesting, right?<br /><br />The fun part came when it was time to find her. I really did have him call the police station hoping she'd show up. When they stopped showing, I had to reload the lot and try some more. But no, we didn't find her that way. He actually ran into her again one day and that's how we got her.<br /><br />Well, after that sort of chase, how could he not fall in love with her and give her some life? (referring to my poor restriction on the NPCs of course-- in game they live forever unless one of the playables "marry" them to bring them to life) Their chemistry wasn't the best, but I imagine that he really did/does love her.<br /><br />For the most part, this is exactly how I pick out sim couples. It's like a whisper from a sim muse in my ear (or possibly from the sims themselves while I'm playing).<br /><br />It sort of makes for interesting relationships. Like Water's mother, Ann Mellon, and his father, Alec. They had no bolts (though they didn't have negative bolts either), so I imagine that they were best friends throughout their lives. They just happened to get lucky that they never found the kind of chemistry that Ann's brother <a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v152/studyofme/Sims/snapshot_f60e77e2_b73aed84.jpg">Walter has with Lucy</a>.<br /><br /><br />Anyway, just thought I'd share because I'm thinking about it now and I always find it interesting to see how other people play their games. Ever have couples where you just feel they must belong together in each other's lives despite the chemistry?<br /></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-25695462337966362292009-08-31T21:17:00.001-07:002009-09-01T14:22:16.940-07:00Autumn Extra- Haphazard<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2eM4RFODkpEK97j-Fz_7prYOlQcNVxjZieYb2EdUowZRR3mn88Jf-VFmNRXukTHZXhFy4kEFqiv-oUPHvy-KQho1uk7niVHuzzLqRXM7mgcWHgIOjI2vVhiU188ao5rIE7cxZRHcgp0wt/s1600-h/1+shopping.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 377px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2eM4RFODkpEK97j-Fz_7prYOlQcNVxjZieYb2EdUowZRR3mn88Jf-VFmNRXukTHZXhFy4kEFqiv-oUPHvy-KQho1uk7niVHuzzLqRXM7mgcWHgIOjI2vVhiU188ao5rIE7cxZRHcgp0wt/s400/1+shopping.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376348614513338082" border="0" /></a><br />"How did I let you talk me into this again?"<br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Ily let her new adult woman laugh bubble up from her throat softly as she handed him the hanger with the outfit she wanted him to try. "I said it would be fun."<br /><br />"Right... clothes shopping." Rich looked at the outfit dubiously. "I get to pick out an outfit for you too, right?"<br /><br />"Of course." She shone her most charming smile at him, making silent promises that swore it would all be worth it later. Maybe.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxqlErBJRx4IOhiFAAnzhuPO_gbqUzsktsOsAWcaLae-qw8xWs3mJA6uvB1jp1CpWblCZ4jzldOFb9G_jI7s08_ErpSWmZ63GecVABuHAd4jw593BvdqbgNocmm5Wyz6zP2dH-o6XaPnzg/s1600-h/2+serious.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 381px; height: 398px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxqlErBJRx4IOhiFAAnzhuPO_gbqUzsktsOsAWcaLae-qw8xWs3mJA6uvB1jp1CpWblCZ4jzldOFb9G_jI7s08_ErpSWmZ63GecVABuHAd4jw593BvdqbgNocmm5Wyz6zP2dH-o6XaPnzg/s400/2+serious.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376350985518006866" border="0" /></a>"Ily, you can't be serious. I look like a teacher."<br /><br />"Or a future mayor."<br /><br />"I'll definitely be outlawing outfits like this not wearing them."<br /><br />When it was Ily's turn, she took her time in the fitting room slowly peeling off her dress. The one he picked out was something she wouldn't be caught dead wearing, but she was sure he didn't really pick it out for her to try on. She'd been working all her charms on him all morning until she was sure she'd driven him mad enough that he'd do anything to get her.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu10PIxv8DbtWGl5GuQLEk0x60pZLi2Xu-WsAsN3QeaZUAZHwbFuvX0GB-CAGHmwBA7WY5bcl24zkwZDSPMszqGeVre38_ij-dgOLtb1f3E7zcMOlDDcnnzO6UNM2oPFz3WDSXpKSNCiXP/s1600-h/3+sneaks+in.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 324px; height: 391px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu10PIxv8DbtWGl5GuQLEk0x60pZLi2Xu-WsAsN3QeaZUAZHwbFuvX0GB-CAGHmwBA7WY5bcl24zkwZDSPMszqGeVre38_ij-dgOLtb1f3E7zcMOlDDcnnzO6UNM2oPFz3WDSXpKSNCiXP/s400/3+sneaks+in.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376351802584061986" border="0" /></a>She was right. Rich wasn't horrible, but he wasn't the best lover. Not that she had anyone to compare him to. He was her first after all and her only so far. People could call her anything they wanted, but slut was definitely not one that they could use against her.<br /><br />It was only their second week of college. So technically, she'd only been not a virgin for about a month. Right before they left for school, Rich had invited her over one last time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOU91C2d5EPuFsaxN60lQz121fr2oVJUFA7Ed8B6dlIY1gPgPbVqS_8tiYe6ZLY2UjKVK4DrgS4ul-tlREnQ59-npj4J1v8Cs2kcTeWoTlBo5ABfTLbWOZqFgNuX3b5yrp6SEuyQzS1at/s1600-h/Go+for+it.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 381px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOU91C2d5EPuFsaxN60lQz121fr2oVJUFA7Ed8B6dlIY1gPgPbVqS_8tiYe6ZLY2UjKVK4DrgS4ul-tlREnQ59-npj4J1v8Cs2kcTeWoTlBo5ABfTLbWOZqFgNuX3b5yrp6SEuyQzS1at/s400/Go+for+it.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376352905320554322" border="0" /></a>Ily had been the one to make the first move for once. Well, physically anyway. Rich had been the one to call her and he had been the one prepared.<br /><br />What ever experience he had was all high school girls who were also inexperienced. Ily would honestly have preferred someone older and wiser with more <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/07/be-little-bad.html">experience</a> than her, but she needed some experience of her own first. She would not play the helpless maiden in bed.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMj070SjPUhGnJZXCHl4VqchxABBSwC0Oep_Lapy83toNebWP7-93bHqWcUexpq0uV6UvKm-H4Elm3cc6cm7Dnnu5YS5g_9YPl8zqxZ6TyHsxTdoUNNNl8uOOByQ6CwVr-o3aqe3TpsED1/s1600-h/4b+lesson.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 344px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMj070SjPUhGnJZXCHl4VqchxABBSwC0Oep_Lapy83toNebWP7-93bHqWcUexpq0uV6UvKm-H4Elm3cc6cm7Dnnu5YS5g_9YPl8zqxZ6TyHsxTdoUNNNl8uOOByQ6CwVr-o3aqe3TpsED1/s400/4b+lesson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376356143880971986" border="0" /></a>Maybe her charms worked too well. Sometimes she felt like a tool Rich used for his own pleasure. His hands worked so haphazardly running along her curves and her breasts that she sometimes has to stop him to explain what she would like.<br /><br />But mmm... it is a nice fantasy that older man who's had a few woman who would touch her in ways she can only dream about right now.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">*****************<br /></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Time line wise, this was of course towards the beginning of Autumn, but I just played them last night. These two are actually WAY more fun to play than the other three students I have who are a year ahead of them.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Right before they were to leave for college, Rich made a booty call. It was a very clear, "Why the hell not?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">As for the last picture, it's been a while since I've seen someone reject the make out interaction. But he's in love with her, she's not in love with him at the moment because they had recently aged up. I thought it was fitting and totally confirmed the voice I heard in my head.</span><br /></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-85187425552371797542009-08-26T19:19:00.000-07:002009-08-26T20:27:16.251-07:00End of Autum 3: BastardThe <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/03/deal.html">last time</a> we saw Sofia (Quite a while ago!)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMFb0PQiTmA0ECIB9NnsZgSJRevfpKb9Ihiyh9bdrVviacqv_CoBLLzHBVxQ1nduZ2xwnxfLmlhz2TUXvTFUtv3xIulx3JM0dpyzJuNgf17g2tN7EVDtd_LUJu8DoK-rvWpqKEk76Coir_/s1600-h/fight2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 336px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMFb0PQiTmA0ECIB9NnsZgSJRevfpKb9Ihiyh9bdrVviacqv_CoBLLzHBVxQ1nduZ2xwnxfLmlhz2TUXvTFUtv3xIulx3JM0dpyzJuNgf17g2tN7EVDtd_LUJu8DoK-rvWpqKEk76Coir_/s400/fight2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374473767617393090" border="0" /></a><br />"You bastard!" Sofia stood tense before him, ready to spring. She wanted to rip his throat out, to feel his stolen blood gushing out and pouring onto her own body. But something kept her back. Her body refused to move towards him despite her wishes.<br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br />He stood calmly before the fire. "That is no way to speak to the one who gave you second life. In fact, you shouldn't be able to speak that way. You are stronger than I gave you credit for."<br /><br />"I'm pregnant. How the hell am I pregnant?"<br /><br />He didn't seem shocked. Sofia took another step closer in her desire to rip out his throat. "Are you sure?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCemY4PqCivY6uRXRCC7qnVNlV3BkwhHgAVuNJZevhWId2nCYxOtQzgYItRC-3VzNA6CuutjbE-javGiJCKvWUW5Stqnsujs9uuPTzKe0PJacpxGtwXyONmkhkj82Oadaqq9KvKMTs4HyZ/s1600-h/fight+sofia.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 342px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCemY4PqCivY6uRXRCC7qnVNlV3BkwhHgAVuNJZevhWId2nCYxOtQzgYItRC-3VzNA6CuutjbE-javGiJCKvWUW5Stqnsujs9uuPTzKe0PJacpxGtwXyONmkhkj82Oadaqq9KvKMTs4HyZ/s400/fight+sofia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374474326867147058" border="0" /></a><br />"I know when I'm pregnant, asshole. How the hell am I pregnant?"<br /><br />Henry barely looked up as if a thought had occurred to him. "Is it mine?"<br /><br />Sofia growled as she tried to take another step towards him. Her body refused to step forward. Since she had turned, her body had been like a stranger to her. Her reflexes were better, faster, and she could run all night without getting tired. But as she had found out the night she tried to kill him, her body would not let her harm him.<br /><br />"It has to be yours." Her strange body tensed and her arms became glued to her side with a tightened fist at the end. Were she still able to feel pain, she would have felt her nails cutting into her hands.<br /><br />She had last seen him at the beginning of summer. They would spend time teaching her how to live her new life and deal with her new body.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd2B3Mc1zQcopdKYJH0FRgi2cZXAt2-BLHPRDGGCCUTFwglX6PiCVCujPe_FRvm9m-6pJWX10l-IDLoSkugozKrgD3YTFwV_GTVuVKjCY0KnK-WCEGdwXvjv0FhmNNXCprzLrFYXqD2ym3/s1600-h/2+greetings+resized.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 344px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd2B3Mc1zQcopdKYJH0FRgi2cZXAt2-BLHPRDGGCCUTFwglX6PiCVCujPe_FRvm9m-6pJWX10l-IDLoSkugozKrgD3YTFwV_GTVuVKjCY0KnK-WCEGdwXvjv0FhmNNXCprzLrFYXqD2ym3/s400/2+greetings+resized.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374479592539893170" border="0" /></a><br />Like a fool, she assumed that being a living dead creature meant she could let go of all the precautions she had learned early in her life. She had been an utter fool. It was another mistake she would never make again.<br /><br />"I'm not keeping it."<br /><br />Henry laughed at her. "Are you going to go into the doctor with your condition? Do you think a normal doctor can get rid of a full vampire child?"<br /><br />"I will kill it."<br /><br />"You will not." Henry gazed into her eyes as he issued the comand which buzzed around in her head. "If you do not want it, there will be alternatives."<br /><br />"Ah, but you won't be the one taking it, I see." Just like a man. Personal experience had taught her enough to know to never count on anyone else and never believe a word said.<br /><br />"I have my own part to play."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUUiQoNfO5PUkqoV6MmNIFT1hRHORGfyrIEnCqHFd1MZUEBG4ekhf8KyXhlysD4IZQoiHXIMkjMoYDkODXB2qzTYvHUYG6imxq6xtkwLx5Q9F_OUmDoKfjOgXJ9JaW8lNOVF1egObgLav/s1600-h/Part+to+play.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 351px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUUiQoNfO5PUkqoV6MmNIFT1hRHORGfyrIEnCqHFd1MZUEBG4ekhf8KyXhlysD4IZQoiHXIMkjMoYDkODXB2qzTYvHUYG6imxq6xtkwLx5Q9F_OUmDoKfjOgXJ9JaW8lNOVF1egObgLav/s400/Part+to+play.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374476393529413378" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">******************<br /></div><br /><br /><i>The plot thickens! lol, I'm seriously making a lot of this up as I go along. It's really a lot of fun. I generally have an idea of where I want to go ahead of time, but until I get to the point I can see I my head, I don't know what's going to happen.<br /><br />Mostly, what I want to tell you is that this storyline is sort of a ground work for possible upcoming stories. I've tried to hide a few clues, but it's hard to gauge just how effective they are right now. Mostly because I am not well practiced at these sort of things.<br /><br />At some point, I will point back to some of these entries and go, "See, that's why he--".<br /><br />As for the how, I am going with the idea that once a sim is turned into a vampire, females still have eggs that get turned as well. Sofia assumed that once she was turned she became barren. But she still has eggs to work through. Once those are gone though, she won't be able to have children.<br /><br /><br /></i></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-21146308132595607872009-08-22T00:53:00.000-07:002009-08-22T02:46:26.413-07:00DinnerAlberta watched Gabe order for the both of them.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaKcTTel6vbFruqwKZ_T4j8qPsrNn1YLJGRW0N-C63kAUZeWrYrJVr529i-V6sp_OIDWNDpGknl33FaPmX1aOkXCFHbG79ssEal4AO9XRYLpbZgznRHAdQMYlm7apTH5iJtIfT2mNYP6Xp/s1600-h/Order.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 328px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaKcTTel6vbFruqwKZ_T4j8qPsrNn1YLJGRW0N-C63kAUZeWrYrJVr529i-V6sp_OIDWNDpGknl33FaPmX1aOkXCFHbG79ssEal4AO9XRYLpbZgznRHAdQMYlm7apTH5iJtIfT2mNYP6Xp/s400/Order.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372706822388905026" border="0" /></a><br />There was definitely something different about him tonight. Maybe it was the fact that he was only a year away from joining his brother and Ily at college. Or maybe it was that Alberta felt so out of place in a place as fancy as this. Night clubs, even if they had a restaurant attached, were still night clubs.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />The air sat heavily with the stream from dance floor. Alberta could feel the air on her nose and cheek bones settling. She resisted the urge to wipe her face since she wasn't sure she'd be able to make it across the dance floor comfortably to the rest room to check her make up.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGC0_5F0NsIP5fy6YnbN9TFYoCD7y20eVPCdWt1DYbtRUzJp6vOKq8CJ86xaaDSmMsIRhApDlQTjW63_Iy1ghkXkJ7gvCSNsoa_S4iLnyeG-1kM5gvMUp3oo91Vp21jEJDKB9JHas4Z8yF/s1600-h/Fitting+in.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 391px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGC0_5F0NsIP5fy6YnbN9TFYoCD7y20eVPCdWt1DYbtRUzJp6vOKq8CJ86xaaDSmMsIRhApDlQTjW63_Iy1ghkXkJ7gvCSNsoa_S4iLnyeG-1kM5gvMUp3oo91Vp21jEJDKB9JHas4Z8yF/s400/Fitting+in.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372711399281871938" border="0" /></a><br />"Uhm, Gabe, am I even old enough to be here?"<br /><br />He smiled at her as the server put their plates in front of them. "You are; you just can't drink."<br /><br />He had a point, and it wasn't like she was going to order a drink any way even if she could. "So, why are we here? This seems a little fancy for us." She was quick to add, "I mean, not that it isn't nice once in a while." There were plenty of girls who would kill to have their loved one take them out to a fancy dinner. She didn't want Gabe to think she didn't appreciate it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9PZEQGK6qhGRx8upNAg3-9YpUJ97ch8RFJ0RzQXY5rrtHNKTkLqCbmQN7LbBP8aij9W4QGaopSUIwvRTbqfLGIUGXRGejPx7ePqs_i-uhth1psKEY3naMj0JwDdUhfuR7FadkLG9T6FnO/s1600-h/Gabe's+glance.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 376px; height: 361px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9PZEQGK6qhGRx8upNAg3-9YpUJ97ch8RFJ0RzQXY5rrtHNKTkLqCbmQN7LbBP8aij9W4QGaopSUIwvRTbqfLGIUGXRGejPx7ePqs_i-uhth1psKEY3naMj0JwDdUhfuR7FadkLG9T6FnO/s400/Gabe's+glance.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372714436476817010" border="0" /></a>There was a quick movement from the corner of Alberta's eye as someone in a tight dress passed. Gabe watched the woman walk past with little expression on his face.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBxU-bt3nurvJB7tXKa2eYsiplBhdbykOHZ2-hBkIrYnmQqStR4xL_p_4ITOGDZSXcNhXzwo8pfV_DN35qZFV1LBujy5B7-oYGOFd3YBZDkez92B3tlOWPly0CvFrdVp-CmNjcL9tKXp1S/s1600-h/Alberta+looks.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 396px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBxU-bt3nurvJB7tXKa2eYsiplBhdbykOHZ2-hBkIrYnmQqStR4xL_p_4ITOGDZSXcNhXzwo8pfV_DN35qZFV1LBujy5B7-oYGOFd3YBZDkez92B3tlOWPly0CvFrdVp-CmNjcL9tKXp1S/s400/Alberta+looks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372714985384364898" border="0" /></a>Alberta glanced over her shoulder quickly. The entire transaction took only a second, and in that second her heart faltered. The woman was beautiful, older, and in a tight dress. She was the sort of woman Gabe would most likely meet when he was in college. She was probably the sort of woman that Gabe should be having dinner with.<br /><br />Alberta turned back quickly to take a bite of her futo-maki and swallow that horrible feeling bubbling up from her chest.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZoLF74iWiYImjdBV5H2qOzdk-7eo0imJMGyqfHl5KG9iOAB34hJXtxSbZUGnzVNeEzYa82oX3yTTFQQETHcb-qZF490_ovmaxgKSjQdW_HQfjM1xUZGs9KW0_kCCtfHtYsdr5RUJs6wLF/s1600-h/thinking.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 380px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZoLF74iWiYImjdBV5H2qOzdk-7eo0imJMGyqfHl5KG9iOAB34hJXtxSbZUGnzVNeEzYa82oX3yTTFQQETHcb-qZF490_ovmaxgKSjQdW_HQfjM1xUZGs9KW0_kCCtfHtYsdr5RUJs6wLF/s400/thinking.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372715786693896258" border="0" /></a>"I've been thinking," Gabe said as he slid an envelope across the table to her.<br /><br />She put her sushi down and wiped her hands on the napkin under the table. "What's this?" Carefully, she opened the envelope frightened at what she would find.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYJQ0OIFnsWIXpOQHb4k2F_FRxkQa7Cj-dl8bY5ZBUgeNzMPSFmh-AuwX2E5pwxDywkrNACzAul3Wpml2iU7_K3EqWzG15qh1MVadNJDOMoKsGLVqiqrb6uLJp7vyUw0ayrXQ51z_CwOd/s1600-h/I+can%27t.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 380px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYJQ0OIFnsWIXpOQHb4k2F_FRxkQa7Cj-dl8bY5ZBUgeNzMPSFmh-AuwX2E5pwxDywkrNACzAul3Wpml2iU7_K3EqWzG15qh1MVadNJDOMoKsGLVqiqrb6uLJp7vyUw0ayrXQ51z_CwOd/s400/I+can%27t.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372716938752417346" border="0" /></a>She looked at him imploringly. "I can't take this!"<br /><br />Alberta tried to push the envelope full of simoleans back to Gabe, but he crossed his arms and smiled at her in a way that wasn't entirely joyful. "Think of it as a promise. Some day we will live together, and I'll be able to take care of you properly. But until then, will you let me do this?"<br /><br />"But where'd you get this from?"<br /><br />"It doesn't matter. Will you let me do this?"<br /><br />Alberta wanted to say no, but the look on his face told her that saying no to this would be the same as rejecting him out right. She would agree to it if it would make him happy, but she wouldn't use it. She'd save it instead for when they were together, and if for some reason it didn't work out, and he wanted it back, she would hand him all the money and any interest she had earned on it.<br /><br />"All right."<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">*************<br /></div><br /><br /><i>Seems I keep having issues posting. XD This time, my number #1 issue was that I noticed just how bad the compression has gotten for some of my pics when I upload them to blogger/picasa. So I did some finagling to get the pics to be small in the way I want not in the arbitrary way that blogger will do automatically.<br /><br />My other issue was while playing to get pictures. The kittens (who have both grown a good bit in the past month) decided to do some wresling near the power strip and turned the computer off. Oooh! Were they in trouble, LOL. But I hold a grude as well as they do. (Which is not at all. Seriously, for cats they're both very forgiving and forgetful thankfully.)<br /></i></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-87033085745276124412009-08-15T22:58:00.000-07:002009-08-16T00:18:30.851-07:00Wild<span style="font-style: italic;">Approximate ages: Water- 34, Samantha- 36</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__SpyrOue0_-AwZDOkOZ2ahbvdu6n1DQCrM9fRCeuW6KnYgfspFZDMjSfXlVraICDdEH-uzwJJ0auLUAL3ya0Ai4ByygGU23tznbXIiV3zwYLwnl0N6qC7HJ_lcb24AdJ6O98A84mzEsr/s1600-h/1+door.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__SpyrOue0_-AwZDOkOZ2ahbvdu6n1DQCrM9fRCeuW6KnYgfspFZDMjSfXlVraICDdEH-uzwJJ0auLUAL3ya0Ai4ByygGU23tznbXIiV3zwYLwnl0N6qC7HJ_lcb24AdJ6O98A84mzEsr/s400/1+door.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370437155579008930" border="0" /></a><br />"Water, what're you doing here?"<br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br />She hadn't seen him since the old days when they lived in the land across the sea. It felt as if she had been so young then, and so much more foolish.<br /><br />"I didn't want to be alone." His voice and breath came quickly, almost gruffly, in a manner not at all usual for the calm and collected lover she knew.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ttIPitAPaB-gHDDP_TYHQUVceCwb7oMiskXszGlrdQnGdsZ107DdQIRC9LBuckUV5l-V0Aj8KJsQTAx9FO1jBNgBZ0TJnJhsSpUHa6O2Ze3rBuCbEmkgdiDpvnROLYwsdbzntzkjG7Nf/s1600-h/2+no+talking.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 335px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ttIPitAPaB-gHDDP_TYHQUVceCwb7oMiskXszGlrdQnGdsZ107DdQIRC9LBuckUV5l-V0Aj8KJsQTAx9FO1jBNgBZ0TJnJhsSpUHa6O2Ze3rBuCbEmkgdiDpvnROLYwsdbzntzkjG7Nf/s400/2+no+talking.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370442567473984466" border="0" /></a><br />She could still remember what he said that last day she saw him. "I can't do this anymore to Demi-- or Mel," he had said as he stood on her doorstep. Then he left with not even a last kiss. It had been like losing someone unexpectedly. Since that day, eating food had become a chore like cleaning the house. Food in particular reminded her of him, but she could find his absence in almost anything if she looked hard enough.<br /><br />"I don't want to talk."<br /><br />"What then did you come here for?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjusQpSbKwjltVwKz4M4ZZYityWOUGobEl7iO09J_2BQuobY7EUeWsWVA7CkUyN9mGGI3LYMUCB0jYmcyg6jG9O-t78GGmyBFyQ_xI03j_S1zlFeS7KklFUttbkOPl5tHp10gaCPfabT4l0/s1600-h/3+swoop.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 352px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjusQpSbKwjltVwKz4M4ZZYityWOUGobEl7iO09J_2BQuobY7EUeWsWVA7CkUyN9mGGI3LYMUCB0jYmcyg6jG9O-t78GGmyBFyQ_xI03j_S1zlFeS7KklFUttbkOPl5tHp10gaCPfabT4l0/s400/3+swoop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370447804478116642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixwZR8WvL9yt49729Hqm2C7UVx5hW5yOLOimGvcabgNiSgw1KEsKD8ovZk-Qs0sY2wF849nhAGV29MEcs918lF5GSPPL3mn9dOo9Oxa1xWoQT_ru07wLI2q_-lK9Gi5MIdhUz8js1O8LdU/s1600-h/4+afterwards.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 352px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixwZR8WvL9yt49729Hqm2C7UVx5hW5yOLOimGvcabgNiSgw1KEsKD8ovZk-Qs0sY2wF849nhAGV29MEcs918lF5GSPPL3mn9dOo9Oxa1xWoQT_ru07wLI2q_-lK9Gi5MIdhUz8js1O8LdU/s400/4+afterwards.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370449807140618418" border="0" /></a>"Demi left me."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7R8hFjUn2CFUjMpAq3j4GfHuLol95k9VB7dQjUUTRZ3l36X5dqdTNZL1rDc56E9siStplLv9cAVbNiQHbJ0w7zEV4lpCuRP6qNo6WM0s8T2WCOU0UybPZwTswNoF7bqNEs0uBZaaWJ9P1/s1600-h/5+what+about.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 324px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7R8hFjUn2CFUjMpAq3j4GfHuLol95k9VB7dQjUUTRZ3l36X5dqdTNZL1rDc56E9siStplLv9cAVbNiQHbJ0w7zEV4lpCuRP6qNo6WM0s8T2WCOU0UybPZwTswNoF7bqNEs0uBZaaWJ9P1/s400/5+what+about.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370449814525200066" border="0" /></a>"What?" Samantha turned to him, but it was clear he was not going to say more. Did Samantha really need to know any more than that? She sighed and leaned back on her pillow.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhsTuSUj99ncG8IH83D7mBJTyQSeMWVl2pKXrm11ZjRag_oXTI122pSNkymVNLGfSe3l4_Q6sRrtel5TULbN8VuNrWUCesIWKS24KH2Ak8aP1NM1AjanCy8OGB2pGj_-z1RDGngs5l9O2w/s1600-h/gaze.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 324px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhsTuSUj99ncG8IH83D7mBJTyQSeMWVl2pKXrm11ZjRag_oXTI122pSNkymVNLGfSe3l4_Q6sRrtel5TULbN8VuNrWUCesIWKS24KH2Ak8aP1NM1AjanCy8OGB2pGj_-z1RDGngs5l9O2w/s400/gaze.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370449826676446306" border="0" /></a>"And I just found out I have a son."<br /><br />"Gabe Mellon?"<br /><br />"How did you know?"<br /><br />Only half her mouth could muster the engery for a smile. "I'm his teacher."<br /><br />"Oh."<br /><br />Words had never been a barrier between the two of them before. Their attraction had been so basic that words were never needed. He would strut in and carry her to the bed where they would do anything that came to mind without fear or judgment.<br /><br />Perhaps it had simply been unrealistic. The two had been free to play because their lives at the time were so set in rituals and responsibilities that when they met, it was an unspoken agreement that they would allow each other the freedom they couldn't have in normal life.<br /><br />Had she loved him or just that feeling of freedom? Had he loved her or had he only wanted that feeling of being a teenager, again, doing something he knew he shouldn't do?<br /><br />Samantha looked at him and a resolve formed. "I won't do this again, Water. I want something serious. I want someone who will really be there for me, not someone who'll just show up to cart me off to the bedroom when his wife is out of town."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihl04kvW4hHqys9l9SscTeCsodQXhPg-K3WEA_gEfGB88Nd9a859v5Tn_ul1KLhBUw04U9ZDzzNx5ES2WdGJEcS6h2hHOK7Wzg9XZ_b5yxRNiQrUnSKY13ndKhhKyVAUMeRuYrlqiXygUp/s1600-h/7+deal.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 331px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihl04kvW4hHqys9l9SscTeCsodQXhPg-K3WEA_gEfGB88Nd9a859v5Tn_ul1KLhBUw04U9ZDzzNx5ES2WdGJEcS6h2hHOK7Wzg9XZ_b5yxRNiQrUnSKY13ndKhhKyVAUMeRuYrlqiXygUp/s400/7+deal.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370449827699974994" border="0" /></a>Water looked surprised. "I'm not ready for anything serious, Sam. Not right now."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi99HtumbFTQvBt99ms_kfYplk9N-vPgUVl1PVZd-jtywfGKxx3BDWee8vvBQDzXxk3f2txX8xREx143t03qWrPKSuS9qaX_L9iI2Yxq5dOK-uEzrZwARdDIXfSZFcVM2u0m_GxZPNYMC8/s1600-h/8+well+then.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 331px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi99HtumbFTQvBt99ms_kfYplk9N-vPgUVl1PVZd-jtywfGKxx3BDWee8vvBQDzXxk3f2txX8xREx143t03qWrPKSuS9qaX_L9iI2Yxq5dOK-uEzrZwARdDIXfSZFcVM2u0m_GxZPNYMC8/s400/8+well+then.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370449836458438962" border="0" /></a>"Then I'm not ready to get back into this. I think it would be best if you left now."<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">*************************<br /></div><br /><i><br />One for the bloopers:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWUY0wbjGjUF-TUlCKLBxWPuvJiMvI1nTVMUZHFtkAvZLxz4aqUWFYDeOsCAYhiHLffsPHtuRrJZuFJQgYVaoMAM7-2ljnY518S9h3s5PeL20sLy2tCgeHy3qkM14_WmVpGaNhKya1oT1t/s1600-h/Blooper.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 322px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWUY0wbjGjUF-TUlCKLBxWPuvJiMvI1nTVMUZHFtkAvZLxz4aqUWFYDeOsCAYhiHLffsPHtuRrJZuFJQgYVaoMAM7-2ljnY518S9h3s5PeL20sLy2tCgeHy3qkM14_WmVpGaNhKya1oT1t/s400/Blooper.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370454501715361106" border="0" /></a>In the middle of her hookup, Alberta called. Doesn't Sam look thrilled? (In case you can't tell, she's yawning, LOL.) Alberta is either really lonely or cares about her grades more than I suspected, because she calls Sam a lot. It's kinda cute.<br /><br />Also-- PHEW. This entry was a long time coming. I had this horrible "DEBUG- Super Duper Hug" thing that I decided I needed to get rid of, so for the past two days, I was going through my hacks to find out the culprit. Finally, after I became suspicious, I took everything out and still had the DEBUG options! Turns out that it might possibly have had something to do with the Control This Sim hack by Dolphin over at MTS. It was making random debug options show and multiply, and even once taken out, the options still showed.<br /><br />Either way, the way to fix it is to installed the updated version, then visit infected houses and save. The DEBUG options will disappear.<br /></i></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-80991641622879881892009-08-10T21:52:00.001-07:002009-08-10T22:04:11.854-07:00DisgustIt was kind of disgusting when Gabe thought about it. Childbirth was one of those things that people didn't think about because everyone was born the same way. There was really no other way to be born unless someone came up with some new technology that allowed for Servos to carry sims to term.<br /><br />To think that he, already old enough to stick his own dick into a girl's vagina, came out of some other woman's vagina. Gabe, as a baby, had passed through the same canal that his father had stuck his own dick into. It really was a disgusting cycle.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7RXB6v8Gbm48iF-69S3GpQCNloKBljkdAbqFpKmuJgSYv9MTriqRr4m7Apwukq5eIxKk9-Qtal6JPiUmx3TRthbsDdaaJ_AODwZmG-JKJc1dqXBj42KzJ4ZftPjZHTSj5mx4bx75jlFY/s1600-h/1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 372px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7RXB6v8Gbm48iF-69S3GpQCNloKBljkdAbqFpKmuJgSYv9MTriqRr4m7Apwukq5eIxKk9-Qtal6JPiUmx3TRthbsDdaaJ_AODwZmG-JKJc1dqXBj42KzJ4ZftPjZHTSj5mx4bx75jlFY/s400/1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368564883039814594" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Especially considering whose vagina it had been. It all seemed to make some sense now. He had never been an over acheiver. It just wasn't in his blood. But he had tried very hard to be good. It had always felt like he was fighting his own nature trying not to embarrass his upstanding adopted parents.<br /><br />It also finally made sense why he was dropped off on Amberle's door step. She was a complete stranger. He had always wondered the reasoning behind it. How could his mother leave him with a complete stranger? There had always been a possibility that she had simply had no time. Maybe she had been in trouble and had to act quickly and selected the one sim that seemed the nicest?<br /><br />Now he knew the truth. The truth was that he hadn't been wanted. Perhaps he should simply be happy to be here at all. She could have simply aborted him and he wouldn't be here to think these thoughts.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgACL5k_-taDX68MPe5C-X6wcovKqE0HU_3T8ZmBSwtkuYDDHpWgSJ9S6NBZ5XA8Y4eAA5EKRkWUyZ_mk8W6zEY2JU5c0SOGb_RAOIavNTEvKO7Orn7Z-IFzIeBW_O_YVJI-vTO9aOP7YWd/s1600-h/glass.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 327px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgACL5k_-taDX68MPe5C-X6wcovKqE0HU_3T8ZmBSwtkuYDDHpWgSJ9S6NBZ5XA8Y4eAA5EKRkWUyZ_mk8W6zEY2JU5c0SOGb_RAOIavNTEvKO7Orn7Z-IFzIeBW_O_YVJI-vTO9aOP7YWd/s400/glass.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368564894200118290" border="0" /></a><br />Gabe took a large gulp from his glass. The burning ball of liquid pressed against the sides of his esophogus on its way down to his stomach. It was a sensation he could easily focus his thoughts on, and so he took another gulp. Alberta sprang to his mind for a moment before he quickly pushed her out of his thoughts. He couldn't go to her with this information. He needed time, first off, to let it sink in. And second off, he couldn't burden her with his stupid "adopted rich boy" problem when she was trying to deal with actual problems herself.<br /><br />Water hadn't known of his existence. He was as surprised as anyone. But he had known right away who Gabe's mother was.<br /><br />"Hey, kid," The bartender hardly turned his head towards the spot Gabe sat. Gabe had noticed the bartender watching him for a while even though the bartender seemed to have done his best not to make it obvious. "You look like you're having a hell of a night."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-cpzkUIWXPLV2sKdHpmVp8_sQiem04dLe7wPOA4Bf-94MOW7bVEUKHoB29NIakXSWouB5fmCFry_S5AVUsmRPVbmw1JB-VQ9fufoMy_VCMBTbAVo5NCvvoy1NMISfgKiQoYb7hCt8Vbh/s1600-h/chatting.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 357px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-cpzkUIWXPLV2sKdHpmVp8_sQiem04dLe7wPOA4Bf-94MOW7bVEUKHoB29NIakXSWouB5fmCFry_S5AVUsmRPVbmw1JB-VQ9fufoMy_VCMBTbAVo5NCvvoy1NMISfgKiQoYb7hCt8Vbh/s400/chatting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368564898438748114" border="0" /></a><br />Gabe glanced up from his drink at the bartender with the dark glasses. He was always at this bar serving drinks. Did he ever take a day off?<br /><br />"Listen, I got a proposition for you. You seem like a bright kid. I've seen you a couple'a times come through. Maybe you could do me a favor." The bartender glanced over at one of the poker tables. "We're running a game on that Townie there. But we're short one man."<br /><br />Gabe kept a hard glare on the bartender. "What would I have to do?"<br /><br />"Just win. We'll give you the chips. Anything you win, we'll give you 10%. Even if you don't win, you'll get something."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikm4OLF0deWBaM48YES_jjxFXUk-OvCBx6JKukm843xry8zfdNpaKXhwhAyS5PL3_WfaUR1gQ9e3n1CJPUyM6b3iKWq2t01NyWV80DThlrKpzpTtFODecUba3k7raumAyBMUjZKwX3lSEQ/s1600-h/The+game.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 322px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikm4OLF0deWBaM48YES_jjxFXUk-OvCBx6JKukm843xry8zfdNpaKXhwhAyS5PL3_WfaUR1gQ9e3n1CJPUyM6b3iKWq2t01NyWV80DThlrKpzpTtFODecUba3k7raumAyBMUjZKwX3lSEQ/s400/The+game.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368565727143010866" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***********************<br /></div><br /><i>I need the bar to earn some good money. Armando, the bartender, is technically the owner, but being a crime syndicate, there is, of course, someone above him who he has to pay his dues to.<br /><br />But bars don't make too much money. So, I'm using Squinge's higher stakes poker table. Armando has some "employees" that work for him (actually, they live with him, so he doesn't pay them and he's sure to get their winnings). Two workers can sit down and play to up the chances of the house winning. And that's basically all they do each night. Since they mostly play townies, no one would notice that they're there every night. This is what we call a racket!<br /><br />Another thing going on the side is that there will be a bookie. The bookie just hangs around waiting for someone to greet him or her. Once greeted, that means that someone is placing a bet. The bookie has to talk to the sim long enough to gift him the special key to the betting room. (Here, I'd have to take control of the sim and direct him into the betting room.) In the room, there is one of Monique's computers. Sims can put up a bet (haven't yet decided how much a bet will be or how to determine how much they're betting). Since this is a racket, no one ever wins, of course. Except for sims they've pre-selected. Every so often, a townie will have to win of course. I think this is where Hook's ROS program would help me. I can set it to have it heavily weighted for certain sims to win. That way there is a small chance a townie might win.<br /></i></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-19949383045502563482009-08-05T21:53:00.001-07:002009-08-05T22:13:44.276-07:00Searching<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixCxhsAkf-TDtIFHMObjJ_6pb9uNEhPowK_VIimLuOEftHjFo2q60xVc4Y9l8Iw-TOImaopl-vhEUGsunthycNPdITTHhXRCAHw9Zp_bBb20MFqtSOXdyFeM_PX4yUdCOQU8N6mdA7Hp54/s1600-h/No+reason.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 379px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixCxhsAkf-TDtIFHMObjJ_6pb9uNEhPowK_VIimLuOEftHjFo2q60xVc4Y9l8Iw-TOImaopl-vhEUGsunthycNPdITTHhXRCAHw9Zp_bBb20MFqtSOXdyFeM_PX4yUdCOQU8N6mdA7Hp54/s400/No+reason.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366709709389629026" border="0" /></a><br />"Richard, you know I wouldn't bother you without reason. She has my kids at that creepy <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/03/church-for-wayward-npcs.html">cult</a> place. I haven't seen them since <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/07/home.html">she left</a>."<br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br />Water was clearly agitated. When it came to Water's daughters-- well there were few things that Water Melon cared about more than his daughters. It would take a calm from deep within Richard to explain to Water the predicament that Richard was currently in. And it would be a miracle if Water didn't reach over Richard's desk and grab him by the collar (or worse, his ribbon that was always so neatly pinned on his suit).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5VI8bhu3-j9UHbxviq1KDvmOsJHOz-ePjYK0-obEuLQytDWYi3d7I_o18q6m8GOXSzocOL3NF0nixXUieAKkSkde6dKlD5Cq3VagvoNV81ONaR6psgQPkbgsJLRV9fj7ARKvcx_xN2_dw/s1600-h/I+understand.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 369px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5VI8bhu3-j9UHbxviq1KDvmOsJHOz-ePjYK0-obEuLQytDWYi3d7I_o18q6m8GOXSzocOL3NF0nixXUieAKkSkde6dKlD5Cq3VagvoNV81ONaR6psgQPkbgsJLRV9fj7ARKvcx_xN2_dw/s400/I+understand.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366709697574420290" border="0" /></a><br />"Water, listen, I understand--"<br /><br />"Has Genesis run off with your kids?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhts3bjdgKuciMgoZ6IDmn_s8vDFKJdmOkASTmhQeSfGgQcYfPKuzTiMCnZi2g-ChlaVe4ilZoi0B3oMmPGeoU1IniT23th_RjXt4LLyYoBs4mE0cCG080c6WztfNsBTAtZ4GO5VkYjfYk_/s1600-h/Did+Genesis.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhts3bjdgKuciMgoZ6IDmn_s8vDFKJdmOkASTmhQeSfGgQcYfPKuzTiMCnZi2g-ChlaVe4ilZoi0B3oMmPGeoU1IniT23th_RjXt4LLyYoBs4mE0cCG080c6WztfNsBTAtZ4GO5VkYjfYk_/s400/Did+Genesis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366709703401706242" border="0" /></a><br />Richard sighed. "There is not much that I can do. Tristin lives outside of town. We have no jurisdiction there. Even if we did, the police force is going through some, uh, growing pains at the moment."<br /><br />Water crossed his arms. "Meaning you won't help me. Your political hands are tied. You know, my mother has gone missing too, and nothing has been done about that either."<br /><br />Richard cleared his throat, trying to find the words to explain, when there was a soft knock he recognized right away. "Not now," he thought. The timing couldn't be worse. This was not how he had intended to explain things to Water.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVVK-E0FDWLhzQ3uICrnROf6lChXY-SV7tVW40K2uI5IGIrO-yYkh-XfhBUH_0NNRtAVjjids5IR6rGtwszxtCww2sgKIZLGG56IXsB77gFVDUIt2sqwLFKh1m24N7gQdxS3rExY_W9gs/s1600-h/Gabe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 369px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVVK-E0FDWLhzQ3uICrnROf6lChXY-SV7tVW40K2uI5IGIrO-yYkh-XfhBUH_0NNRtAVjjids5IR6rGtwszxtCww2sgKIZLGG56IXsB77gFVDUIt2sqwLFKh1m24N7gQdxS3rExY_W9gs/s400/Gabe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366711699889671154" border="0" /></a><br />"Dad, Mom wanted me to--" Gabriel walked in too quickly. He was halfway to the desk when he realized there was company. The greeting smile quickly dropped at the sight of Water.<br /><br />Richard cleared his throat nervously. Backed between a rock and a hard place, he could preform. It was what made him a great politician.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga9rT-hYvqwANNLhZxSjv3OT7YKlRo1dpS2S97SYNOgg__dYF0DMQ1ntC9WnmMGEqkR2YW_i2ZcWaQRV3vBbpQqBu_u3Pye5GYsJjcqY1fvlxv_HlRG62t_eAr613zyRooKdCqomtiajXv/s1600-h/surprise.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 393px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga9rT-hYvqwANNLhZxSjv3OT7YKlRo1dpS2S97SYNOgg__dYF0DMQ1ntC9WnmMGEqkR2YW_i2ZcWaQRV3vBbpQqBu_u3Pye5GYsJjcqY1fvlxv_HlRG62t_eAr613zyRooKdCqomtiajXv/s400/surprise.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366709712065756258" border="0" /></a><br />Water sat with his jaw partially open in surprise. There was no way to deny it. The two did look alike, even with Gabriel's awful haircut.<br /><br />"Uh, Water, I would like you to meet Gabriel."<br /><br /></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-38758718822678803572009-07-29T21:04:00.001-07:002009-07-29T21:30:42.267-07:00Accused<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg364py8s0gKp310HshWNCNzTUl6VUvJTzOybDBy_5-z4zojeTAJn4t9Yy9FbmOp7G_ZEUmKQRn660QkQ6Y2oznwWr6JAdceKjQphatETOG5FLOVWORNFj1R33Asw5rr24dBOPTTZWQrJnC/s1600-h/1+Natalie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 387px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg364py8s0gKp310HshWNCNzTUl6VUvJTzOybDBy_5-z4zojeTAJn4t9Yy9FbmOp7G_ZEUmKQRn660QkQ6Y2oznwWr6JAdceKjQphatETOG5FLOVWORNFj1R33Asw5rr24dBOPTTZWQrJnC/s400/1+Natalie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364100366684507410" border="0" /></a>Natalie took a deep breath. Captain Hero was in the examining room with a bloody criminal. This had not been a part of her contract.<br /><br />She clutched her clipboard. There was only one way to attack this problem. An examination needed to be done, and there was only one doctor in the city. Natalie would make it clear that she could take out a criminal with one shot of sedative. She would put up with no bull.<br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><br /><br />"Hold still and shut up please!" Natalie tried her best to stop herself from shaking. The criminal fidgeted before her, yelling curse words at her as she tried to put disinfectant on the cuts on her face.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5aenQVVzgNg3fUwuHY7tSd_J4NJ3VD7A9dp2IyR986eqaPl2cHi4wziMTTPl0VmspOdTzJ7PSCoDBEQNiAc3qt_s5GWueV8knLrwhYmgeH89wtFSLwHCo08vIuy9E2lalWE61qoQcHwyG/s1600-h/2+Grrrrr.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 338px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5aenQVVzgNg3fUwuHY7tSd_J4NJ3VD7A9dp2IyR986eqaPl2cHi4wziMTTPl0VmspOdTzJ7PSCoDBEQNiAc3qt_s5GWueV8knLrwhYmgeH89wtFSLwHCo08vIuy9E2lalWE61qoQcHwyG/s400/2+Grrrrr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364100367651434610" border="0" /></a><br />"That shit hurts!" The criminal pulled away again. Natalie briefly contemplated giving her a shot of sedative.<br /><br />Natalie ignored her as she cleaned and examined the cuts. "So," she asked Captain Hero, "You say that you found her like this in the morning when you went to check on her?"<br /><br />He stood behind the prisoner with a surprisingly serious look on his face. (Yeah, she'd see those pictures in <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/07/legacy-living-heros-life.html">Legacy Living</a>-- cringe worthy!) There was something about seeing him in person that Natalie didn't like but she couldn't exactly put her finger on it. "Yeah. I don't know how this happened. Orlando was watching her last night."<br /><br />"He fucking beat me; that's what fucking happened." The criminal pulled away again. "OW, fuck!"<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaTtT2bH-gn_4TGCNfYg5jyZ_aiLI8kcow1IDNdU91pNPG40KcmgEX6mEoBzIQGZAdGLrx8yMrbfGdlzxBV71NviacFupDcq2T6tRhRD_IinkzB5iOg9gDOt-vBVgTQ2RulrZCZLiFUE27/s1600-h/3+Capt+Hero.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 367px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaTtT2bH-gn_4TGCNfYg5jyZ_aiLI8kcow1IDNdU91pNPG40KcmgEX6mEoBzIQGZAdGLrx8yMrbfGdlzxBV71NviacFupDcq2T6tRhRD_IinkzB5iOg9gDOt-vBVgTQ2RulrZCZLiFUE27/s400/3+Capt+Hero.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364100378306705650" border="0" /></a><br />Natalie scoffed. "You're saying that Orlando Mellon beat you?" She glanced over at Captain Hero to see his reaction. He stood still which gave Natalie the impression that he might actually be taking this criminal's accusations seriously.<br /><br />The cuts were pretty bad, and most were centered around her face. Natalie could see no purpose to a beating that only scratched her face and didn't seriously wound her. "Why did he beat you? And how do you know it was him? Didn't you say this happened after lights went out for the night?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1wCooLGMgzKiQrGafY_9K-nITUdDI9H44z_M-_7i8pl07M7W1fcx0y1G_os8ie1GH7tZyoqQC76OcflwLnVZCecov8up1Wzh95diFYyLzF9cRcTlaoJekMwafQ7qhriZ5Be9dH7Qpyl1C/s1600-h/Wounded.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 374px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1wCooLGMgzKiQrGafY_9K-nITUdDI9H44z_M-_7i8pl07M7W1fcx0y1G_os8ie1GH7tZyoqQC76OcflwLnVZCecov8up1Wzh95diFYyLzF9cRcTlaoJekMwafQ7qhriZ5Be9dH7Qpyl1C/s400/Wounded.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364100382995495026" border="0" /></a><br />"Who the fuck else could have done this? And I don't know why."<br /><br />Natalie rolled her eyes and picked up her clipboard again. "Well, you're fine. Only a few cuts, no stitches needed, and no extra brain damage. I'll talk to Richard."<br /><br /><br /><br />"So it's true?" Richard seemed as surprised as Captain Hero should have been.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfxa0s0KHHvg0P8v4BU21jha8L9qKEszcWT6dxNDoMRdH6bNpO-qTLwiizjGiMp0tKC373N62uCuYxukAFiW8MxdQuixuyg3iOuciGRWQa4pyIUWWrBPxwy8sZCiXILpN0gr6KDSZtSCxG/s1600-h/5+I%27d+believe.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 370px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfxa0s0KHHvg0P8v4BU21jha8L9qKEszcWT6dxNDoMRdH6bNpO-qTLwiizjGiMp0tKC373N62uCuYxukAFiW8MxdQuixuyg3iOuciGRWQa4pyIUWWrBPxwy8sZCiXILpN0gr6KDSZtSCxG/s400/5+I%27d+believe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364101696724440114" border="0" /></a><br />"Well, it's true she has scratches on her face. But it wasn't anything very serious. Honestly, I would believe she did it to herself before I'd believe that either of the Orlandos did this to her."<br /><br />"Still, you must understand that there must be an investigation now." Richard sighed. "I'll have to suspend them until they are cleared."<br /><br />"What? But what about those three murders?"*<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYh6znTmOJCm8v3r9vKWpkn-_vz4T-LbwDHzYJTfTDxeZVV5dGIjVlEJ71mtMJX5Rkp_F5DYFMvsd9iZVtzYjn7eej0-pO2MpjtfHlQD_QV0cJMh4-4Y7SBObpdMYjR7zd9Hcejx2ZPhuO/s1600-h/6+Still.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 363px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYh6znTmOJCm8v3r9vKWpkn-_vz4T-LbwDHzYJTfTDxeZVV5dGIjVlEJ71mtMJX5Rkp_F5DYFMvsd9iZVtzYjn7eej0-pO2MpjtfHlQD_QV0cJMh4-4Y7SBObpdMYjR7zd9Hcejx2ZPhuO/s400/6+Still.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364101704354299762" border="0" /></a><br />Richard instinctually shushed her as he did everytime she asked him about that case. "We still have Captain Hero. And we can recruit other sims for the police force."<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">*************************<br /></div>* For anyone just joining, the first murder occurs <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/01/dream.html">here</a>, and the second and third murders are mentioned <a href="http://thelegacyvillage.blogspot.com/2009/03/when-sun-came-up.html">here</a>. They're all rather suspicious due to lack of blood at the crime scene (and in the bodies), but they have no suspects as of yet.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">So, no more bothering with a posting schedule. I don't have any posts ready to go ahead of time right now, so I'll just post when I play.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Otherwise, I am actually going through a phase where I just don't like what I've done. I started this blog with the idea that I would get better as I went along. So the important thing for me now is to push forward while trying new things. If I were just writing, I would probably put this down and just walk away. But since it's wrapped up in a game, it's much easier to return to it and work on it. (Even with the cats, I am still horribly attached to my Sims 2 sims in a way that I can't bond with my Sims 3 sims.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">So off I go, pushing forward against that looming self doubt and self criticisms that pop up. I'm flexing a muscle I probably haven't used in years (since high school or early college). Ow!</span></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2461420174662116497.post-18087053757511780052009-07-25T23:32:00.000-07:002009-07-25T23:49:19.239-07:00Legacy Living-- A Hero's Life<span style="font-style: italic;">By Genesis Mellon</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvkj-HbA-x6Lwvz9qhmkVdamv0LVYHwcRdAPkPUJBnJyW5DSC488zod2XXtcwGe6rrdQJtTFoh2V4UCaguysqsPDVGYmpprsI79O_gZXd0qaQa8Ezss6xEgtOjQCKBm0XorXmw8m4DUS-/s1600-h/Cap.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 372px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvkj-HbA-x6Lwvz9qhmkVdamv0LVYHwcRdAPkPUJBnJyW5DSC488zod2XXtcwGe6rrdQJtTFoh2V4UCaguysqsPDVGYmpprsI79O_gZXd0qaQa8Ezss6xEgtOjQCKBm0XorXmw8m4DUS-/s400/Cap.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362653150618213218" border="0" /></a>Captain Hero serves me a cup of “joe” with a warm smile. “That’s what keeps us going around here,” he tells me in a low husky voice. “Here” is our local little police station which has lately had to deal with larger problems than one would face in such a small community.<br /><span class="fullpost"><br />“You rely on coffee? You’re a superhero aren’t you?”<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcGyodUxXl7KI4GkpZl3l2dnebfEMmeH-TYsy5hC_t0A1J-yeJU8nZ_gwVHzLQBqpMWNn-4vEFsULNb3u61XJUQBkAtA0faEEJerDmJCjvByxWYy_PxllWrlvNNnA0HVqcsSmFjDluwCti/s1600-h/Cap2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcGyodUxXl7KI4GkpZl3l2dnebfEMmeH-TYsy5hC_t0A1J-yeJU8nZ_gwVHzLQBqpMWNn-4vEFsULNb3u61XJUQBkAtA0faEEJerDmJCjvByxWYy_PxllWrlvNNnA0HVqcsSmFjDluwCti/s320/Cap2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362653678967715730" border="0" /></a><br /><br />“There is no ‘I’ in hero, ma'am. And I couldn't do it without those guys there." He motions towards the front office where Orlando Centowski sits working on the latest paperwork from the latest catch.<br /><br />Roxanne Prema, a known player in the Boot Trade, was captured with the help of Captain Hero. When asked he is quick to add in that it "couldn't have been done without the Orlandos."<br /><br />Prema is currently in a holding cell that was made to hold sims for offenses such as kicking over trash cans or littering. But the boot trade has necessitated a change in the way our small police force operates.<br /><br />"It's becoming a big issue," Captain Hero says. "Right now it seems to only be a few who are using, but all we need is for it to spread to the children. Stuff like that can ruin a whole generation."<br /><br />The Mayor and the police are scrambling to scrape together a judicial system for the worst offenders. "The most important thing," the mayor said recently at a speech at the City Center, "is that the public knows we are doing our best. The last thing we want is for an innocent sim to </span><span class="fullpost"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wcEovV0m1Bn7fWvFN3g09JBDCsfPBBpr7YUcQfPKgweZp0fh_r_-dJSI9BY4b4XxmCNjIR1OMoBbiV45A9YxMrVOcFbXlhoWsGQYkjZIGkN7NBGekVFmsh3eEySCSB-X88PpffzBFn4R/s1600-h/Prisoner+Roxanne.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 191px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wcEovV0m1Bn7fWvFN3g09JBDCsfPBBpr7YUcQfPKgweZp0fh_r_-dJSI9BY4b4XxmCNjIR1OMoBbiV45A9YxMrVOcFbXlhoWsGQYkjZIGkN7NBGekVFmsh3eEySCSB-X88PpffzBFn4R/s200/Prisoner+Roxanne.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362653962484808786" border="0" /></a></span><span class="fullpost">be locked up. So it is important that we are transparent so that the public may decide the guilt of the accused."</span><br /><span class="fullpost"><br />There is currently no trial date set for Prema. Until the new system is in place, Prema is being held in the standard loc</span><span class="fullpost">k up.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Roxanne Prema</span></span></span><span class="fullpost"><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><br />*********<br /></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You'll have to humor me on the boot trade. I don't have it up and running yet, though I've been thinking about it. But the major player in the boot trade is still in school and can't own a community lot in the city. (He's supposed to be far away at college. Can't just drive in.) Does anyone know of a hack to own a community lot on Uni property?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">So what is the boot trade? Well, you know those boots that sims fish out and can turn into juice? Yup. That's The Boot. Highly addictive since the effects last for such a short while. I'm sure it's easy to loose oneself to it. Much stronger than the bubble blower.</span></span>The Lunar Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00300943457749354465noreply@blogger.com6