Day Twelve

Before I set those sims in motion, it's time to build the music room I promised in the previous post.



Here we go, a full band's complement with a sofa, some wall speakers, a groovy little minibar, and plenty of space for dancing! I rather like the psychedelic wallpaper too.

And it's supported by pillars! Lots and lots of pillars!













Truly, this is the house that Jack built. I can't wait to see what the Crombies think of the new extension and its contents! Already, I can see Jack and Pyke making their way up the stairs.



Pyke ignores the new room completely and instead bitches about the towel rack I put next to the pool yesterday. I didn't include it in Day Eleven. Why? Because it's a FUCKING TOWEL RACK. There's a new phone in the recreation room in case no one's near the one downstairs too. God, I hope Jack appreciates all the hard work I went to.



Jack is so disgusted by the towel rack that he nearly loses his breakfast. Fuck you too, Jack, you elitist asshole.



Catriona goes off to work. New uniform! Woo! I always feel like these guys have achieved something when their uniform changes (I'm not sure there's any helping Pyke now, she's hit the glass ceiling despite being completely supine, if you get my drift).



Mere seconds after Catriona's carpool leaves, the phone rings and everyone's favourite amputation fetishist is calling on Catriona. What was the point of that?



'I know your game, Nathen, you'd better watch your step.'



Huckleberry's journal:

I feel... so cold... a black shade is creeping across my vision and my belly is just a pit of unending pain... when then end comes I welcome it. Goodbye, cruel world. This little womrat couldn't defy your punishment of this collection of fur and bones. Goodbye...

Huckleberry Womrat

Not even ONE FRICKIN' DAY.



'Something happened here... there were two men, one about six feet tall with a limp, a harelip, and a twitch in the left eye... the other was smaller, red-haired... likes opal fruits and at some point in his past he...' *lick* 'Yes! He spilled jasmine tea on his shoe!'



Everybody dance now!

DUM! DUM dum DUM!



OK, OK... focus... I can't get ANOTHER of these damn 'do or die' questions wrong. The sherpa obviously brought the llama here because the llama is ill. The obvious thing to do would be to examine the llama and then move them on to the nearest vet. If you examine the sherpa they'll just keep screaming the whole hospital down. That sounds logical.



GRRRRRAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!



Nooreen returns, in tears over her demotion. Back to a life of watching ill people die in stretchers than in hospital beds.

I try to get rid of the womrat cage, but it won't let me delete it with Huckleberry's sad little corpse still inside it. Since Jack's not doing anything, I direct him to clean it up.



Goddamn it Jack, you can't remove a dead womrat from its cage by scrubbing it with a sponge.



After suffering artist's block for the last week, Jack finally returns to his masterpiece in progress.



Pyke does have a habit of losing vital body parts when playing the piano.



Its beauty transcends time and space. If there were ever a piece of art that could squeeze a tear from the most bitter and emotionless of men, then this would be it.



Another one for the gallery.



That doesn't look good. I may have to force one of the Crombies to clear that up at some point or we'll be infested with cockroaches.



Nooreen starts on the blueprints for some sort of anti-cockroach bunker to hide in before the terrible creatures bring down society and the government.

Hmm, I think it's time we threw a party! Jack, again, isn't doing anything, so I get him to pick up the phone and call all the friends our family have acquired over the last week and a half. I can either have a house party or a sports party... I don't know what a sports party is, I'll maybe investigate that later.



Granny-fucker, Limb-lover, Pyke-stalker, and Presumed Dead. All are welcome to come and have a wonderful evening.

I position the camera outside the house so I'm ready to screenshot the guests as they arrive.



...

Where is everyone? Is no one coming? Don't tell me no one's coming!

No one's coming. A quick glance at Jack's relationship list reveals why: he hasn't got a single relationship point with anyone who doesn't already live inside Rainbow Cottage. Everyone else at least has a friend outside of the Crombies, Jack has zip, nada. Not even the slightest taste of an acquaintance. I'll have to get one of the more socially successful sims to host a party.



Jack turns to chapter two of How To Cope With Rejection.

He's putting a brave face on, but he's crying on the inside.



'We'll have several chainsaws on the outside... and a cauldron of boiling oil.'



You're not kidding.



I know, Jack... I know.



She's been playing jazz for several hours now and is showing no signs of slowing down.

'Fucking A-flats, always trippin' me up!'



Memory, all alone in the moonlight,
I can smile at the old days...



Play piano for too long and this could happen to your arm too.



I'll... I'll keep that in mind.



Vermin! Damn it, do I have to do everything around here? Dirty toilets is one thing, but if there are cockroaches crawling everywhere suddenly the only thing the sims want to do is stomp on them which does FUCK ALL. It's really boring, so I'm simply going to have to intervene at this point.



Step one is call the exterminator to deal with the cockroaches.



'You must help us! We've got cockroaches and they stole my freedoms!'

'Your freedoms?'

'They're mind controlling cockroaches! One minute I was stomping away at their bulbous, squashy bodies with my bare feet, as is my wont, when suddenly here I was! Talking to you about extermination!'

'Those sound serious.'

'Right! You've got to do something!'



'[expletive deleted]!'



... BEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIGE... BEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGE...



See? Jack's woken up only so he can wander through here and stomp on the cockroaches.

I do like how the perspective makes Jack look like some sort of vagrant munchkin though.



'Aah... Aaaaaaah... AAAAAAAAH... Ah, ah, ah, ah...! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH-'





Uh oh, looks like he survived Nooreen's slaughter the other day. Probably wants to give her a piece of his mind.



'Nooreen, there is a phone call for you.'

'Thank you, Catriona, that is good to know. May I please access the phone.'

'No, I am not finished giving you a long, drawn out, unsettling stare.'

'Catriona, I very much wish to use the phone.'

'I AM SORRY, NOOREEN, BUT PLEASE REFER YOURSELF TO THE PREVIOUS ANSWER.'



Nooreen decides to have a 'cup o' ramen' instead. Whatever that is.

Nooreen eschews such devices as microwave ovens and cookers. All she needs is her gas mark five freaky eyeballing.



'Hey, Nooreen, I heard about what you did yesterday.'

'I- I didn't do anything yesterday.'



'I saw you dancing with that sumo wrestler. The one with seven chins.'

'That- that's not true!'

'He butt-bumped you right across the house!'



'I'll bet you all the money in Chad you gave him your phone number. I've seen that calendar you keep under the sofa. Sumo Wrestlers in Erotic Poses 2008?'



'The one with, like, two hundred months! Ah ha ha ha ha!'

'It's... study... material for my... nursing...'

'... I'M GOING TO TELL EVERYONE!'

'You're a right bitch sometimes, you know that?'



More rock, paper, scissors. At least these guys have a tried-and-tested method for resolving disputes.



Nooreen celebrates the guaranteed silence over her secret shame.



'Don't ask me what the fuck is with the paintings! You encouraged him with all that glitter-glue and macaroni!'



Nooreen continues with the obsessive concern for the cleanliness of the bath whilst leaving the toilet to become the major plot point of the next Stephen King novel.



I really don't like the dead expression the Crombies put on every time they go into the jacuzzi. It's not just creepy, I keep expecting them to suddenly start convulsing and screech obscenities.

I'm glad the house has no crucifixes in it.



Before throwing her bowl, Nooreen checks the lay of the land. It's flat.



'MOTHERFUCKING SKITTLES. IF I DON'T KNOCK THEM ALL DOWN I'M GOING TO KILL MYSELF!'



Nooreen, noooooooooo!



Nah, she's alright.



Catriona takes a more hands-on approach to the vermin problem.



And as Day Thirteen approaches, Nooreen fills in the Pit of Despair. I reckon she's superstitious.

Tomorrow, we're going to get someone with actual social skills to throw a party. Here's hoping people actually show up!