What a week this had been for Abigail, the historical society had just received a large collection from the King estate, which had meant putting journal reviews on the back burner. Now though everything was well documented, labeled, and either set up for display or stored away carefully, and Abigail could return once more to reading Meinwen's journal, shifting the stack of files to the small table, Abigail was grateful that she'd thought to use the specialty cover after her last reading session. Despite the biting cold I wasn't in a hurry to head home. If I was to keep up with groceries, growing children, and my own insatiable appetite, I absolutely needed the extra cash that finding ore samples for the science center would bring in. Plus I was determined that neither myself, nor the children I'd had the misfortune to birth would sleep on a couch. The only thing that seemed to be going right for me was that the sitter didn't seem to mind when I stayed out past my work hours. Which made up for the dressing down I'd received for spilling soup on a batch of files I was relabeling. Naturally she'd made sure that my pay was doc'd for the cost of restoring the records. Oscar, something or other finally gave up on flirting with me. We'd met at some fancy party a few years earlier, before I'd had children. If I could have sex and not get pregnant, I'd have taken him up on his offer in a heart beat, but I had no intentions of ever risking a third pregnancy, based on my luck so far I'd end up with sextuplets or octuplets, for even just thinking about sex. Thank goodness mail order companies offered battery operated friends. Unfortunately for me they never lasted long and after the last one shorted in the tub leaving me feeling slightly singed down there, I'd had to swear off anything that used electricity to work. The book was boring, and I really wanted to take up Oscar on his offer to explore the upper stacks, but I'd been informed that I was being transferred to a position that required speaking with the public, and that it was on me to know the required terminology and city codes before starting my next shift. Ah, silence! Well sort of, if I tuned out the noise from the gym equipment which was so much easier than four screaming kids, I was so tired I didn't even care that I was sleeping on a couch, or that I hadn't really chewed that last bite of food before swallowing it. I was aware of the whispers and stares, and I wasn't really sure I gave a damn anymore. After all I wasn't the town's only unwed mother, nor was I the only working poor mother in town. In some ways I was grateful that my metabolism kept my rail thin frame from showing just how much food I consumed in a day. If some of the folks with their noses in the air saw me eating eight times what they considered a full days worth of food in just the first half of the day they'd probably have an aneurysm. The new sitter was just putting Terra into the crib when I got home. He said something about a package being delivered. Meinwen, I wish you'd reconsider. I still can't get our night in the hot tub out of my mind. Tatyana is getting old, and has said she would prefer if I took a mistress for my manly needs. Jaycen Well at least he was honest and up front about what he wanted. Pulling out my cell I gave him a call. I explained that while I liked the idea of being friends with benefits, I just really couldn't risk another pregnancy. I explained how that spermicide screw up had caused permanent fertility damage. Jaycen asked if I meant infertility, I laughed, and told him I wished that was the case. Instead it was an opposite situation as some of the other women had already learned the hard way. My body was now wired to always become pregnant from any intercourse, and to always produce multiples. Jaycen had the decency to sound sympathetic for me, and told me to keep the painting, it was just a replica of one he had seen in a museum in Le Champs earlier that year. He also admitted that being the father of two kids was two more than he had ever planned on fathering. Jaycen also said that when Regan was old enough he'd be willing to put in a good word for her at either the sports academy or the prep school, but I'd have to fund her myself. I supposed it was a good offer, and told him I'd consider it when the time came. I can't say that the idea of shipping Regan or her siblings off to a boarding school was repugnant, and who knows maybe she'd benefit from the experience. As we said our goodbyes I was already grabbing a plate of food from the fridge. These days it seemed as if I couldn't go more than 30 minutes without eating a full meal, yet I never felt full or satiated. What could I say, other than an igloo was not a bench or a couch, and I was exhausted, hungry and exhausted, but then I was always hungry even as I was swallowing a bite to eat. The sitter was home with the babies, I had more studying for work to do. I'd tried to botch the job and get myself fired and instead they were giving me more work. I was feeling screwed but without the fun parts, and I didn't like it. The only plus side to the extra work load was the ten extra dollars a day it brought in. Which was so needed, because the trip's had just entered the crawling phase, and I'd still only gotten one extra crib. Two cribs just wasn't enough for four children, yet somehow I was still stuck raising them. When the social worker had stopped by, she'd just grunted at me, and gave me the same tired line about there not being any cots available for any of the kids. She also commended me keeping my small home in decent condition. I didn't bother telling her that that was mostly due to the sitter and me mostly not being home. All she seemed to care was that the kids were free of bruises, food in the fridge, and that they seemed well cared for. Terra had my blue-green eyes, but decidedly took after her father Lennon in just about every other way. Vincent, like Regan, almost seemed like a miniature of me. Yet somehow he never really seemed like he was completely my child. Guinevere on the other hand, felt like my child in every aspect, right down to how she nervously chewed on her fingers. I still hated children, but somehow I knew that no matter what, Guinevere was my child which meant that even if I had the money for it, she wouldn't go off to boarding school like the others would, if I could earn enough money. That I suspected was a pipe dream, my salary didn't allow me the luxury of new anything let alone sending the children to fancy boarding schools. Although if I could find some more of those fancy gemstones then it might be a possibility. I wasn't going to hold my breath on that score though. Besides I had other plans I wanted to make happen first, like once these kids were old enough for school or I had beds for them all, I wanted to work at the greasy spoon. I hated city hall and was only staying because of her and the money. She'd made it clear she'd get my house foreclosed on, if I quit the job at city hall. Abigail stared again and again at the names of the four children. Hand shaking she wrote down "could they be?"
Swiveling in her chair she reached around for the Guinness Record book, a quick thumbing through the index helped her find what she was after. There'd been an athlete named Regan who'd played for the local AAA club, who'd gotten into the records for having the worst series of games on record for an entire season. A Terra, who'd been more famous for the plant's she accidentally killed through a sewage spill while trying to clean up a radioactive site, than the animal's she'd saved. Lastly there he was Vincent, the artist who was famous for bad tacky art. Art so bad that the dogs playing poker on felt were practically Monet's by comparison. Yet as much as she thumbed through the index she couldn't find a Guinevere mentioned, which was maybe a good thing, or was it. The next note Abigail wrote down was "Did Meinwen murder her daughter?" A knock on her office door indicated that the question would have to wait to be answered.
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Abigail was secretly thrilled that Mr. Clark had brushed her off with a "Wait until you've gone through all of the boxes to give me your report." when she'd brought up the topic of the journals at the staff meeting that morning. It meant that she was free to read, with no expectations of reporting on progress for at least a month. She'd taken some time to flip through a few other journals that morning before returning her attention to the Meinwen Melltith journal that was absorbing the bulk of her time. She'd been able to send three quarters of a crate worth of primary student journals to the recycling facility, books with nothing but sloppy writing prompts and math problems weren't all that important in the terms of history. There'd been a few that she'd reserved aside, where the students had talked about something from the news in their response or written poems and the like, those had been worth saving, for like Meinwen's coarsely written journal they had given insight into the everyday of the average person. With a small sense of guilty pleasure, Abigail returned her attention to where she'd left off the week before, the great baby boom of '25. Of all the fucked up luck! Yes I was pregnant again, no the clinic couldn't help me terminate, it seemed that pregnancies caused by the fertility drug anchored into the uterus in a way that couldn't be removed without a full hysterectomy, which state insurance wouldn't cover since it wasn't life threatening. I told the social worker I wanted to place the baby up for adoption. She looked flustered, and said she wasn't sure anything could be done. I actually yelled "I hate kids!" in the crowded lobby at her, she looked frustrated and pulled me aside. Her words "I am sorry ... it's just with the screw up at the factory not being discovered until almost two years after product release, everyone's full up." She had held something back, I could feel it in my bones, the way she kept skirting her eyes around at the swelling bellies of all the mom's and stressed "full up" made me feel like she was hiding something from me. She assured me that thanks to a federal suit wic would be fully funded for some time to help affected mother's cover the cost of feeding their unexpected children. I'm not sure if telling everything to Regan, who was figuring out how to mimic what I said was a good idea, but I didn't have anyone else to talk to. Dad had died, and mom wasn't really talking to me. She thought it was shameful that I had gotten pregnant outside of marriage. I wasn't sure if I was grateful or not to the admissions nurse for calling Lennon to the hospital for the delivery. I'm not sure who was more shocked when I delivered the triplets, him or me. What I didn't like was that the delivery staff had already had three cot's lined up in the delivery room, and another room down the hall had four cots lined up. What the hells, I've only got the one belly, and I'm human not some four legged critter that has litters, but that's exactly how I was feeling, like I'd just birthed a litter. Lennon had the decency to pass out and look ashamed afterwards. I knew one thing for sure, I felt as if my vag had just taken a beating and the idea of Lennon, Jaycen, or any other male of the species touching me again might lead to murder. As I looked at Lennon staring helplessly at the three squirming things I'd birthed I wondered if I would look good in orange, but then I'm a ginger so I'd look horrid in orange. I also like eating whenever I wanted to, so I opted to not commit homicide. Although from the rushing personnel in the hallway, someone else had decided that orange was their color. Bringing Lennon home with me turned out to be a big mistake. Then again given the fight we'd had in the hospital over the baby names, let alone who would care for them, I should have known better. Turns out that if it's possible for someone to hate kids more than me it's Lennon, yet he had no trouble grabbing a pop and settling in on the couch to watch Regan's kid program. Although his comment about the actress being hot in her tutu, clued me in real fast to why he was watching. For a lack of better option I placed baby Guinevere on the floor, Vincent was in my only crib, and Terra was still in the carrier. I was about to lose my shit, and didn't want to be holding a baby while I was tossing the piece of slime that was Lennon Sosa out of my house. I think eventually I'll have to worry about Regan clapping when I called him bastard, and punched him in the nut's, but for now I've got more pressing concerns, like needing a new job asap, because I'd just been fired. Staring at my phone, and the incredibly short list of contacts on it I knew I'd have to swallow my pride and ask her for help. My counter was filthy, and I'm not sure I cared. At this point I wasn't sure if I was eating to celebrate the new job that she'd gotten me, or to cover my feeling's up. I'd listened as she called me a loser, pathetic, and worthless while not once mentioning that neither she nor dad had ever fared any better than what I was faring right now. The plus to the conversation was that she had gotten me a junior junior aid job at city hall, on the condition that I didn't tell anyone I was her daughter. "It's embarrassing enough that I'm head of the celibacy league, and you went and had the one welp, but to turn around and have triplets and still not marry anyone at all, well it would just ruin me!" Was what she told me. I was under strict orders to maintain the lie that had been told while I was growing up, I wasn't hers, I was some orphan cousin that they'd taken in out of the goodness of their hearts. I think that's when it dawned on me, that I was very much my mother's daughter, right down to hating children. I saw the tears splash into the macaroni mix and didn't care, I didn't have to like children, let alone my own, but maybe I could do better at teaching them some of the basics, if for no other reason than to reduce the number of dirty nappies I was changing and make communication between us a little better. Food, I was so hungry. My first day at city hall had gone well, I think. I'd been relegated to the lower storage areas, with the task of updating the labels on all of the files. I think I'm okay with the fact that no one comes down to check on me at all, and other than the guard nodding at me as I entered and exited the building no one gave me much attention. I was working, the bills were getting paid, and I didn't have to interact with mummy dearest, the bonus was eight hours free of whining and crying babies that needed constant care. The sitter seemed a descent sort, and when I mentioned the library after work she just nodded her head in agreement. I for one wasn't going to disabuse her of the idea that it was needed for work if it meant I could stay away from home and babies longer. Abigail found herself wiping a tear from her cheek. Meinwen was so course and unrefined, yet here were glimpses that her upbringing hadn't been the best either.
Glancing over at the clock, Abigail saw that she'd have to wait until tomorrow to find out anything more, it was already after six pm and the historical society refused to pay over time. Grabbing the holder and cover meant for ancient manuscripts, Abigail carefully marked her place and covered the journal so that nothing could damage it while she was out of office. Abigail Taylor settled her coat onto the hook by the door, wondering if it was really worth her time to continue reading the Meinwen Melltith journal. Yet, she wasn't sure if there was another way of solving the old rumor, DNA testing only showed that just about everyone in Lucky Palms was related somehow, but not through who so far back. Just like the DNA showed who most likely to have immigrated from Sunset Valley or Shang Sim LA based on regional markers, but didn't give you names or personal histories. Settling into her chair, she stared at the worn journal and wondered again how it had survived all these decades. Abigail double checked her notes from what she'd read the day before. Who is Grandma Tilly? Baby is? She was sure she'd find the answers to any questions about the baby in this day's reading, but the Grandma Tilly question she wasn't sure she'd find an answer without going to the apothecary shop. One doesn't just walk up to witches or fairies and accuse them of being hundreds or thousands of years old, unless one likes being cursed. Shaking her head to clear silly notions of ancient fairies or witches gifting families money, Abigail found the spot where she'd left off ... "hospital, now." I couldn't believe it the admitting nurse called Jaycen. I guess I should count myself lucky that she did, he covered the hospital bill and got me home after the baby's delivery. He still won't take the baby to raise, so I'm stuck with her. I was out of it after the delivery and he named her Regan after some great something or other. All of the nurses coo'd over her and Jaycen equally, probably a good thing the head nurse is an old battle axe type, or half the nurses will be on maternity leave in eight months time. For all that Jaycen won't support me or baby Regan with money, he's willing to support me by watching the baby for a few hours while I get some more sleep. I'm still torn between wanting to drag Jaycen to my bed and riding him until we're both exhausted, and hating his guts, but he is good with Regan. We're probably to much alike in that neither of us can stand the idea of being tied to one person or place for to long. I suppose for Regan's sake, I'll try to stay at least friends with Jaycen. After all not once has he put down my home and it's second hand furnishings. The new sous chef, Lennon Sosa, showed up, talk about easy on the eyes. Lennon wanted to know when I'd be back to work. I guessed he didn't know why I was off, so I just said it would be a little while yet. I'm not sure how he did it but he makes food sound sexy. He winked when I said I couldn't wait to work under him, when I realized how it had come out I could feel heat rushing to my cheeks. Lennon brushed a finger against my cheek, tracing a light line in my freckles and said I was even cuter when I blushed. How I kept from pinning him to the house is beyond me, but we did share a kiss and oh what a delicious kiss it was. I didn't have much in the cupboards, somehow I'd eaten almost all my food. Was this normal post pregnancy to be constantly hungry. I had tried asking the wic counselor at Regan's well baby appointment, but all she seemed to care about was Regan's weight and muttered something about nursing making mom's need more food. I didn't bother telling her I was bottle feeding, I really didn't want yet another lecture, from yet another stranger on how breast was best, or how it would help me bond better with my baby. How was I supposed to get them to understand I hated having kids, being around kids, and that holding my child made my skin crawl. Regan was healthy and doing fine with formula, despite the temptation I hadn't smothered her with a pillow when she woke me in the middle of the night. I'm possibly the worst parent on the planet, and I don't care, because all I want to do is stuff my face with food. I was trying to do my best to hide my disgust for Regan when I cared for her, but somehow I think she was picking up on it. I had even tried calling the adoption agency, but they told me that there was no space for an infant, and the best they could do was place her with a rotation of foster parents. As sucky as I'd thought my life was growing up, I'd always felt bad for the unplaced orphans and foster kids, who had to sleep at juvie every night because no one would give them a home. I hated kids with every ounce of my being, but there was no way I'd put a child in that situation. But of course! My favorite cooking show host Alton Brown was intro'ing a new cooking show, and the tv died. Wiping the crumb's from my recent snack from my apron I was going to fix myself another plate of food before turning in for the night when my phone rang. It was Lennon, he must have just gotten off of work. He asked if I wanted to go for a late night swim, boy did I ever I needed out of this house and without the baby. I had just enough for a sitter so I said I'd be happy to meet him at the local pool. Maybe I should stay away from hot tubs, or guys, but then skinny dipping had been my idea and I did not regret it one bit. Lennon's body wasn't the same firm sculpted form as Jaycen's athletic form, but for someone who spent his entire time around food he wasn't soft and pudgy like the lead chef at the Bistro. I'm not sure what possessed me to invite Lennon back to the house after our midnight escapades, other than I was hungry and wanted to show off my cooking skills, but I did. As we ate Lennon made it clear that he had enjoyed our skinny dip, but he wasn't looking for an instant family, which was why he'd used the condoms with spermicide. I winked, told him no worries and asked if he had anymore. He chuckled and commented that he liked my appetite, but sadly he'd need to run to the drug store before we could consider any more activities. Regan started fussing, and Lennon took that as his cue to leave. It'd been nice to get out, and I had a little more saved up that I could probably hire a sitter again before returning to work if I wanted. My trip to the abandoned mine had paid off, as had selling the oranges from my tree out front. I was able to get a playpen and a walker for Regan. I really didn't know what else to do with an active toddler. I'm sure the "What to Expect the Second Year" book that the wic worker had given me covered stuff but I was using it to keep the table from wobbling. I was just turning on Regan's favorite kids program, some stupid singing dinosaur, when a news bulletin flashed across the screen at the same time my stomach gave an unforgettable lurch. Shit! "This just in Gladiator Condoms is recalling all condoms with spermicide agent z. It was discovered that a mix up at pharmaceutical company Phishner had caused agent z to be replaced with a new fertility drug that was being researched." Shit! Shit! Shit! I called the sitter, and scheduled myself for an appointment at the clinic, I was pretty sure what the test would read. Then I found myself packing half my food just for the short trip across town, would I ever not be hungry. Abigail started to close the journal, how could she recommend this for keeping. Meinwen Melltith was not a polished delicate writer like the historical society liked to have on display. Yet somehow as offensive, as this Meinwen was with her no holds bared language and attitude, Abigail was finding the journal fascinating, for here in these pages was the answer to the great '25 baby boom that no other historian had been able to explain.
Hand hovering, Abigail finally admitted that somehow reading this was like finding an old dime novel to read. You didn't necessarily admit to enjoying the read if you were caught with a trashy novel, yet it was a guilty pleasure to read all the same. Staring at the pages, and her brief notes on the desk, Abigail made up her mind to continue reading, and then figure out a way to convince Mr. Clark and Ms. Jones that having something so unrefined would be good for the historical society, if for no other reason than documentation behind the boom of '25. Abigail Taylor stared at the mountain of books on her desk. Most of the books were thin composition journals, others were thicker fancy moleskin journals. Mr. Clark from the Lucky Palms historical society had tasked her with weeding through the dozens of boxes for journals worth keeping in the societies archives. As Abigail reached for a ribbon bound stack labeled Lancaster, she knocked a small thin journal to the floor. Picking up the journal Abigail wondered how it had survived so long the book was thin, battered and clearly had pages missing. All set to toss the book without glancing inside, she looked at the name “Meinwen Melltith”, a small gasp escaped her as she realized who's journal she was holding. There was a family rumor that before they were Taylor's, they'd been Melltith's and the unluckiest family to ever live in the Lucky Palms valley. Abigail could feel her curiosity getting the better of her, surely it wouldn't take that long to read through the dog eared, smudged, and stained thin book. She gently placed the book on the viewing easel, and gingerly opened it to the first page. Summer I'm thrilled that the choice of what to do with Grandma Tilly's trust was left up to me. Not sure I understand the cryptic message that went with it “Choose carefully, the fate of the 9 after is in your hands.” What nine after? Grandma Tilly was an odd one, Mom was always crossing herself when Grandma had been around to visit. Mom and dad both urged me to consider college or at least a vocational program, and a small house. That wasn't what I wanted, I wanted big, grand, and spacious. So I used almost the entire trust to buy an empty lot at the edge of the rich part of town, just down the hill from the Blooming Cactus Bistro, were I'd landed a job as a dishwasher. Depending on who you asked my address was either Overlook way, some route number, or Golf View Road. What it wasn't was 120 Lakeside Drive, don't get me wrong my parent's home is fine, but somehow they never managed to add on an extra room, so I grew up sleeping on the couch. They both worked yet, money was always tight. Well I'd show them, I was going to have the biggest and fanciest house in town, and be the world's greatest chef ever. I was trying to sweet talk a building contractor, when a university mascot showed up. Despite the costume, the guy was kind of cute. We ended up talking about the best places around town to pick fresh produce for cooking with. Despite not having a fridge or counter yet for my to be dream kitchen I planted a tomato that I'd harvested. Despite the hard work to harvest produce at the community garden, given what the store had paid me it seemed like a good idea to try and grow my own produce. Hungry after my long day I headed over to the new Bistro that was competing with, my bosses restaurant. OMG!!!! Jaycen Hendrix, he was a senior my freshman year, and man do I ever still have a crush on him. Thank goodness he didn't remember me, or what I looked like as a skinny freshman in patched up third hand clothes from the consignment stores penny bin. I do wish I hadn't been wearing the apron, Jaycen thought I was staff and asked for a slice of pumpkin pie. After Jaycen and I shared pie, and phone numbers at the bistro, I headed to the library. I had two goals firmly in mind. One I wanted to be able to cook Jaycen any dish he wanted, two if I was going to grow my own tomatoes I should probably learn a thing or two about gardening in a desert climate. When I got tired I slipped out to the benches in the courtyard and napped, despite my attempts at sweet talking the contractor had refused to build more than what I'd had the cash for. So I had a few walls up, but no furniture or fixtures of any kind. I'd managed to get some additional seeds for a slightly bigger garden. The produce, if any of the plants mature in time, will boost my small salary for washing dishes. I suppose my salary would be bigger if I'd stop breaking dishes during my shift. Despite being stung by bee's harvesting honey at the specialty store earned me enough money for a few more walls, a bed, and enough money to invite Jaycen out to eat at the diner. Which hadn't gone as smoothly as I'd have liked. I was all set to order dessert when the waiter informed me my bank card had been declined. Jaycen grinned, and said not to worry about it and handed the waiter a crisp 100, and asked him to not press charges against me. I was so embarrassed that I mumbled a hurried thanks and good night before bolting for home. That is if you can call 3 walls and a futon mattress a home. So far nothing was going according to my grand plan. Oh gods! I had though Jaycen was hot in his suit, he's even hotter in a swimsuit. How had I forgotten that he used to be on the school polo team. Okay so maybe I got carried away with Jaycen, and he with me. I didn't know the party was supposed to be an engagement announcement party for Jaycen and Lola Lancaster, and Jaycen was so hot in his swimsuit and one thing led to another. Jaycen and I had been talking for ages now and not once did he mention being involved with Lola. Pregnant, crap. I was tempted to go to the free clinic, but this kid just kept me from getting fired outright after accidentally knocking the champagne fountain onto Mr. & Mrs. King. There was also the factor that maybe Jaycen would move me in with him, not get married, but you know just let me live there with his kid, then I could quit this stupid job and not worry about stuff like electric bills. Well crap! That didn't go as I thought it would. Jaycen thanked me for helping him get out of a shotgun wedding to Lola, just because he'd fathered her son, and he was free to date Yolanda Shaw. When I told him I was pregnant, all he said was cool beans and that we could have all the sex we wanted with out worries. I might have lost my cool and started yelling at him, to which he responded he'd look me up once the hormones had mellowed and that pregnant women just weren't rational. I'd fallen asleep with the tv on. Not really sure what I was dreaming, but I could have sworn I heard my Grandma Tilly's voice saying "Poorly you have chosen, a loser for ever more you gluttonous child, hungering after more than you aught, but unwilling to work for what you hunger. You and the nine to follow shall wander in loss, with the 11th the curse can lift but only if the right choices are made." I'm not sure what woke me, but I do know that it took a minute for me to realize that the pangs I was feeling weren't hunger pains, rather I'd gone into labor. To cement that reality I found myself standing in a puddle of fluid that had gushed out of me after the tightening of my abdomen. The only coherent thought I could gather was hospital, now. A sharp knock on the office door startled Abigail Taylor. It was Mr. Clark letting her know he was heading home for the night. A quick glance at the clock showed Abigail that it was after 7, how the time had flown, she hadn't expected to find the journal that engrossing, yet here she'd lost an entire day carefully turning brittle pages and deciphering the cramped cursive.
Abigail called out for Mr. Clark to wait for her. He asked if she'd found anything of interest, to which she replied that she might have. The rules for the loser legacy created by simmer MiaAngelina can be found at MTS. The rest of the regular legacy rules can be found at the site maintained by Pinstar & his wife ImaginingMystic. A note about my founder & family. I have learned that by creating parent clones of my founders it helps lock in special dna traits such as eye/hair color, along with other visual features, this is handy when you start a sim with a unique eye or hair color. So after plopping my sim onto the legacy lot in addition to tce'ing funds if needed I tce age transition the elderly parents of the founder and then move their graves to the mausoleum. All of this is usually background stuff that I might not include in notes or story. Speaking of story I haven't decided yet if there will be a story or just notes for this legacy, it depends on if the sim(s) or game play speak to me and suggest a story line. I've borrowed from the Welsh language this go round for naming; Melltith means cursed and Meinwen means "slender and white" from Welsh main "slender" and gwen "white, fair, blessed". Which also means my founding sim will be loosely based appearance wise on the Welsh people, and naturally a red head. ;) (Yes, I have a love of red hair, and red heads, I suspect my dna is coded for it.) Yes there is deliberate irony in my founders name given she has rolled the fatal flaw of glutton. "Glutton - the sim must eat at least 8 full plates of food every day (you can make a family meal and reserve it for that sim for easier tracking). Quick meals count too. Glutton and a sim with Poor appetite will dislike each other and always be enemies." Her traits are: Loser (required), couch potato, easily impressed, commitment issues, dislikes children. I will be rolling a six sided die to determine how many children she will be having, and I will have her in a food related career. Lucky sim rolled a two, hopefully genetics will be on my side, as I like either hair or eye color to carry forward through as many generations as possible. For this legacy, given a possible fatal flaw is gambler, I've chosen Lucky Palms for my world. Mini update:
This time I chose to move my founders parents out of the house day one instead of tce'ing them. This served two purposes, only the founder at home lot, adjusted the funds under the $1,300 simolean budget, set it to $1,210 to be exact. None of the large 60/64 lots in lucky palms have the nice view moodlet, so they only cost a little over 8 thousand. |
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Meinwen Melltith
Generation: Founder/Gen 1 Fatal Flaw: Glutton Traits: Loser, couch potato, easily impressed, commitment issues, dislikes children. ArchivesCategories |