In an alternate slice of reality, your sims live on the edge. Once you upload them to the gallery, they are no longer safely in your hands. They are in the hands of others. Others who may not share your vision…
Background:
The "pic of your sim-self" thread went a little off the rails. This was mainly due to the color yellow and had nothing at all to do with me. Honest.
@Captain_NXR7 was naturally involved, much to no one’s surprise.
The situation quickly escalated when @Simminggal donned "Kill Bill" yellow instead of the mustard yellow suggested. (Vlad was not amused.) When it was said that mustard yellow might have made a difference, Simmingal pointed out that it was strange there was any yellow in her closet at all. It was at this point that I had to set the record straight –
In an alternate slice of reality, Simmingal did indeed have more yellow in her closet that anyone could have ever imagined. Even so, those shades of yellow paled before her ebullient nature. Yellow. Yards and yards of yellow. And not just any yellow, she had Dior, https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52999128665_e4be59820f_z.jpg and silks, https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52998159742_1d742d2a15_z.jpg and a radiance that shamed even the sun. https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52998907454_9585240fa4_z.jpg Yes, in this little slice of an alternate reality, she was, unexpectedly, the banisher of the night.
Your sims aren’t safe in the alternate slices of reality. You never really know what might happen. Does it ever cross your mind? Or do you toss them to the gallery and never consider it again?
ofcourse I managed to even fail that task, turns out its just the list of forbidden dinosaurs dang it Simmingal
it would appear I am in need of hibernation
? You did not fail. There needs to be better button choices in my opinion, and I have thought that for a long time.
Your dinosaurs were a splendid choice. And I laughed greatly at the fact that it seems like a giraffe has joined the group. Whether it is a giraffe or not doesn't matter. It looks like one to me. And that it exactly what makes your dinosaurs great. They are unconventional and unexpected. And I loved them. You are amazingly good at cheering people up considering how gloomy you are.
But please don't feel burdened to cheer me up. I am more cheerful now than I have been in the past few days. (I can be annoyingly happy like a sim, sometimes.) I had a chat with a friend who had some very good reasoning as to why I did not mourn properly to begin with. And that made me feel much better. I do not feel guilty about the not mourning properly anymore. And that was a very important thing for me.
Anyway, the happier part of the story is that, afterwards, I gave up seeking medical treatments from doctors who told me that I would never be able to have a baby, and I went instead to seek G-d. Controversial, perhaps, to some. And to some, it will be a cause to mock me and laugh at my foolishness. I have no bad feelings or judgement towards anyone who thinks that was a weird or wrong choice. And though it may cause some alarm with some people, I became pregnant after that, even though it was medically impossible, according to the fertility doctors. I had a little baby girl ... who was a miracle. And that is a happy thing.
Also happily, I know a very kind and gloomy person who lives across a very big ocean, and that ocean is almost as big as their heart. ? Thank you.
I hope today to check in on Henford on Bagley and see what is going on. I will let you know once I find out. ?
In that shadow, in that fog, there was a sound that slipped into the water. I almost didn’t hear it. Almost. But there was an uneasiness gathering in the water. A slow and deliberate churning. An uneasiness squeezing my heart.
What do you do? When you don’t know what to do? When you can’t breathe because there’s some new fear squeezing the water? This little lake of empty things, growing tighter and tighter around you. Like a glass noose, cutting and squeezing. And you’ve been bleeding out into the water until you’ve nothing left to bleed. And that blood has brought the shark. And all that blood is churning in the water and all you want is to be free of it all, but it’s far, far too late for that.
Because you were alone in this water. And now you are not. https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53047697186_00cccb2deb_c.jpg I heard a sound of something else in the water.
I heard a sound. Some women would look back to see what it was. Some women would turn and see. All I have ever seen when I look back is regret, or a blank canvas that I am afraid to think about. So, I stopped looking back a long time ago.
That's a lie. said the lake. You only ever look back. Because, well, you're just that kind of girl. The kind who carries the weight of regret around, but never considers what might be the cause. The kind who enjoys drowning. Because it takes away your responsibility. The kind who never thinks because thinking leads to conclusions. The kind who lies in a heartbeat and between the heartbeats too. I lie too. I'm just better at it than you.
I could hear everything. And that brought a very cold realization.
I could hear it breathing.
I am going to die.
No. I'm sure you will survive. I'm sure you will eat him alive. Like the good little shark that you are.
Tallulah La Rue wears a hat, and when you meet her for an appointment, so will you. It is part of the contract you sign when you ask for an interview. A non-negotiable demand that must be agreed upon before you are even allowed to read the second page of the contract.
The second page of the contract simply says that you will meet her at her convenience, at her place of choosing, and for the length of time she decides. No exceptions. Her assistant will pick you up, with your packed bag, and you will be off for an adventure who knows where and for however long she decides.
It’s not that Tallulah is demanding. Far from it. She has the happiest of attitudes. She’s fashionable, she’s charming, and she’s a completely engaging, positive ray of sunshine. It is her way of life. It's just that she has multiple stalkers, fans, and enemies who are boiling over with jealousy of her great success. Tallulah is the 3rd wealthiest person in all of this slice of reality. And she is the only person to be on the list due to a reason other than "inherited" status. Tallulah has earned her wealth.
She is the queen of the Gothic Romance. She is in love with life itself, the very essence of her being is to awaken others to the passion of simply being alive. The fact that she does it using romance novels was a business decision. She's actually got a degree in physics. A lot of people spend a lot of money looking for what is missing in their lives. Tallulah believes that most people just need to embrace the passionate expression of life - To look for passion everywhere. Even in the most mundane and commonplace things. This sounds like psychological mumbo-jumbo and it would never sell. So, Tallulah wrapped it up in a big book of heaving bosoms and made a fortune.
I wore my hat, as per contract, and took smelling salts just in case. Tallulah had rented a cottage in Henford on Bagley. She was in search of a new muse for a tender tale of falling in love-The first time that one's eyes opened to see the poetry of moving through life with abandoned relish. Tallulah was aglow with possibilities for a new story. The pent-up nature of the small town and very reserved people living there had aroused her curiosity. She was looking ever so gently at the fabric of small-town life and all its secret underpinnings with a great care.
She said we’d have tea later, but she was inspired right now and didn’t want to lose the moment. She requested that I simply enjoy the clouds while she continued her painting. She didn’t want me to intrude upon her creative space. So, I lay still and pondered the clouds while she painted, humming ever so gently, over the canvas, while talking to me about her physics degree, which was largely wasted in her current career.
The interview, once started, went splendidly. She openly and giddily described her visit to Moonwood Mill. I told her that I was unable to find Moonwood on a map and asked her for directions. She laughed and asked if I knew any werewolves as only werewolves can get into Moonwood Mill. I told her that I found werewolves to be not so interesting as well, say, pirates, and had never bothered looking for one. She laughed and said that the werewolves she knew made for very good pirates indeed. It was all, she assured me, about passion. And life, she said, was only worth living if there was plenty of passion and there is passion found in everything. Even between things normally kept apart by a very great distance.
I found this thought rather distressing, and after I was revived by use of smelling salts, she took me around the deep dark forest surrounding Henford. She was positively delightful and talked about the flora and fauna and the passion pulsating throughout the galaxy, and throughout the various places in this alternate reality. She asked me if I knew of quantum entanglement. "I'm sorry, what?" was my reply. "Quantum entanglement," she said, with a laugh, "you know, spooky action at a distance". "I'm sorry, spooky action at a distance?" "It's Einstein. Look it up." I told her I was a little confused by the turn of our conversation.
"Everything follows rules," she said. "Nothing can occupy the same space, and that includes in time. But small things follow strange rules and when things are entangled, they react to one another regardless of the distance between them. For example, you are currently here with me, in Henford on Bagley. But let us imagine that there is someone who owes you money, and that person is in Granite Falls." "Yes...", I said unsteadily, not sure where this was going. "And let's imagine that person found a secret treasure of herbs and became wealthy. Well, you might, without knowing of this person's luck, suddenly become extremely happy for no known reason. But because of "spooky action at a distance", you actually do know, at the smallest level, that this person now has the money to pay you."
By this time, we had entered the town and came to sit down to enjoy some tea. I was rather surprised to find that Tallulah’s idea of tea was not the same as mine. But the drink was a lovely apricot flavor. She continued her discourse. "Do you know that it is possible, because of "spooky action at a distance", to actually feel someone else's passion coursing through your body even if that person is very, very far away?" No, I did not know that. "That is why, you can't find Moonwood Mill. There is no passion connecting you there. If you empty yourself of banality, and fill yourself up with passion, it will be very easy to find." https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53051593425_2792c49816_c.jpg
After her assistant revived me with the smelling salts, Tallulah gave me a warm hug and a signed copy of her physics research paper: Passion and Spooky Action: Love Makes the World Go Around. At this point, my head hurt, and I could no longer remember as to why I had even needed to know this information. But Tallulah assured me that the information would prove useful on a psychological level and that she would see what she could do to help push me along the path I had started.
News clipping from Oasis Springs Centennial Newspaper:
The body of the notorious plot contrivance known as The Baroness was discovered today floating in the pool of her hilltop residence in Strangerville. We use the term 'floating' lightly. We also use the term 'body' lightly. Ok. You got us. There were bits and pieces in the now discolored water, and there was part of a red wig which had been blown onto a cactus. The local sheriff shot the cactus 12 times before determining it was not a woman.
There will be no mourning period scheduled, but every Friday for the next two months the local library will offer free pork and beans with every book checked out. Come Celebrate the Madness! will be the library's theme.
In other non-related news, there was a striking blonde in stiletto heels seen dancing in the desert beneath the pale moonlight before the remains of the Baroness were discovered. The reason this is news is because all of the women in Strangerville are known to not have any dancing ability whatsoever. That means there was a stranger in Strangerville. The ville is very suspicious about it all and wants an investigation. Immediately.
There is a portal to despair halfway up the mountain I attempt to ascend. Stop. https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53060871487_e2fcd7a1ac_c.jpg Took it by accident in a dark night and am now suffering delay. Stop. https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53061942363_be1ab63643_c.jpg Have encountered a woman. Devastatingly cruel. Stop. https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53061942253_5469deb493_c.jpg She attacked me unprovoked. Stop. https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53061451791_eac9d5d45d_c.jpg I am bitterness she said, and the way has been shut. https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53061451776_f5a70e5b2d_c.jpg
Oh dear. Seems the scoundrel was on the journey the whole time. Whoever then is that man I have imprisoned provided housing for in Magnolia Springs? Oh dear, dear. And I have trapped him there with that dreadful, dreadful excuse for a woman. However will I fix this?
https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53042122802_ff5c4494d0_n.jpg At night, I sleep with my eyes open. I don’t talk about it. Who would believe such a thing? And you see the thing about dreaming, is you don’t know if it is really a dream, or if it is some alternate reality.
The visions blur. The sounds collide. The worlds tilt and become one. A dangerous singularity. I slide in and out of realities like a baby breathing. I’m just that kind of girl. The kind of girl who sees things she doesn’t always understand, and just rushes headlong in before thinking on how to act, or whether to act at all.
I have never panicked before. But I am panicked now. I have seen many things that would make men cry in terror. Demons in the folded space of sky. Giants on the asteroids. Angels walking through the walls. I dream in languages long forgotten by men and spoken long before I hit something in the road and stopped to change a tire.
I consider this place. And this is what I see, while sleeping with my eyes open:
What is truth? Here are the people walking down the paths of life, people walking with dead eyes. Headed for the lake. https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53061616006_38906f8238_c.jpg Black or white, black or white, black or white. It’s always black or white. Grey is an illusion that tricks you into believing you can walk the line of both. You can’t. https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53061032727_a0b0fcb5c5_c.jpg Black or white. Black or white. Dead or alive. Dead or alive, dead or alive. Open or shut, Open or shut, Open or shut.
We live our lives open or shut.
The way has been shut. And I see the closed door. But I do not know who has closed it. Nor do I know why. The way has been shut and the Queen is coming. The mad, mad Queen is coming.
They lay in the water, unmoving, people in the water, unmoved.
Floating on their backs like dead logs. Within reach but unreachable. Their eyes are open, but dead. Their mouths speak but they say nothing. Endlessly, mindlessly, unconnected to one another. Cogs in wheels. Sheeps in pens.
They don’t move but remain tethered to the past, like floating on the water.
Dream or nightmare. Dream or nightmare. Awake or asleep, awake or asleep. Living or dead. Living or dead. They just lay there. Floating in desolation. Floating in isolation. People who lived their lives every day, thinking that they are still alive. People who had died from sorrow or regret. People who had choices but never made them. The living dead. Never escaping their past and long past trying.
https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53042619215_85f28546a6_c.jpg And I had almost become one of them.
And this is the happening, after the running. After the fear of the unknown drove her from the lake. After the presence of something she had not expected swept over her in the darkness.
She ran until she fell, and she fell upon the cold, hard ground. No covering at all for it had all been left behind. No shoes for the journey. No pants for the anguish. No shirt for the wound. Just a heart, bleeding everywhere in terror. A cold, hard heart. Now bleeding in multiple realities.
In the torment of the running. In the pain of the fear. She did the one thing that the lake never expected. She remembered.
She remembered and she could see. And she knew the Queen was coming. And the King was ready to dine. And she with open eyes considered many things, and then set in motion a plan to open the way. https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/53042592100_7639cfdc0f_c.jpg
And now there would be two sharks, circling in the waters. but only one would live. And the Lake would be the one to die.
*Absurdity abounds. But if you went to Mt. Komorebi with me, you should know that about me by now.
The bit where author Monet11 starts weaving portions of the Alternate Realities together. An admittedly unwieldy endeavor considering that she no longer has control over a sizable portion of the characters involved, plot threads, or poetic musings that color what is going on.
Excerpt from a phone conversation between the character of the scoundrel and Monet11, who has been drinking chocolate milk with her bagel and is feeling very saucy.
Hello, scoundrel. I’d like to buy an argument please.
Are you familiar with Monty Python?
Yes. Comedy Troupe. One of the greatest skits ever.
And you would still like to buy an argument?
Yes. Special terms apply.
What terms?
I am a Southern woman. The set-in stone term is this: you can’t ever at any time know what is going on or what I am arguing about. But you must only engage in the argument that I am having. No changing of the subject. All other terms change at my whim, at any time during the argument.
Why would I ever want to get involved in that hot mess?
Revelation. I am going to connect you to another reality and show how the stories are tied together.
Been drinking chocolate milk again, then?
Quarts of it.
So, basically, I sit there and be confused while you yell at me. And then at the end, I agree with you.
Yes. That’s the argument.
What about the T for Teen rating?
I am the author, I can edit the naughty bits out.
Hmm. How much?
I’ll give you the code that will allow you to always be rich.
Not enough. I’ve been sitting here in Magnolia Promenade in a house with no stove, no bath, and no toilet, living with a hairy-legged bald woman who wants me to call her “Shnookums”. And to top that off, she’s vapid and boring. Plus, mind you, I am having to wear the single most hideous outfit ever created for a man in this game ever. What level of Dante’s Inferno is this? And where did you get the idea for this level of torment?
@Nate_Whiplash1 I wrote a limerick about him earlier in the thread. You might want to check it for reference. Jester of pain, that one. Created a bar scene in another thread that broke my cold hard heart. When I complimented how heart breaking it was, he suggested that I should eat there to make myself feel better. I am tagging him in this thread as revenge. He will be utterly confused about it all, and I will laugh. Like an evil maniac. Serves him right. He put toddlers on stairs with no railings in that thread. No railings! What else would it take beyond the cheat code?
I would like to try American style biscuits and gravy, cooked properly by a Southern woman. I hear that they are fantastic.
I don’t cook.
Those are my terms. You want an argument? it’s going to cost you.
This comment is rated T for teen. Alright you win. I’ll cook.
