Author Topic: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty ("Complete")  (Read 84757 times)

Online Trip

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Guys, it's been way too long since I've posted a dynasty.



Y'all ready to start?

Word Count so far: 267,835
Average Chapter Length: 2,142.68





For the uninitiated, I'm Trip, and I've failed the immortal dynasty more times than I can bother to keep count of. Once, I even made it to generation five and then failed due to a stupid player mistake. After that, I made the decision to wait to write a story about an immortal dynasty, and wait until I got past generation five. And then a little further.

So I played far, far ahead, didn't fail, and present this to you now.



Added Rules and Quirks

- As anyone who has read my previous attempts know, original townie spouses only. I like unique features, I like unconventional-looking sims, and I won't get either unless I restrict my sims to marrying original townies and their descendents.

- Related to the previous point, any original townie descendent that appears is there entirely through my own efforts. Because vanilla story progression won't do that. I might never make this apparent in the story for some sims, but that's just for the sake of the story.

- While there is no family trait this time, no immortals can have overlapping traits. So I guess it's the opposite of a family trait?

- No Midas Touch elixirs, no Wish Enhancing elixirs. I will attempt to get every mortal the largest tombstone. Why yes, I'm practicing for a 4x4 dynasty. :P Doesn't mean I won't abuse other legal-if-cheaty things.

- No changing mortals' LTWs. Even if it's impossible. They just have to find other sources of happiness.

- I used to have a "no inbreeding" rule. Let's just say that I royally disregarded that one this time around.



Founder: Annette Waverly
Traits: Brave, Ambitious, Kleptomaniac, Inappropriate, Schmoozer + Green Thumb (Degree), Family-Oriented (Group Influence)
Spouse: Bill Racket
Supermax: Cooking
Career: Culinary
LTW: Living in the Lap of Luxury
LTRs: Motive Mobile, Food Replicator, Fireproof Homestead
Ops: Just Business, Super Stir-Fry, Chinese Stir-Fry, Spying on the Cuisine, Swim Into the Grill, Catfish for the Chef
Building: River Demons Diner (previously Brunton’s Boxcar Diner)
Property: Chapel Hill (previously Hollowlog Springs)
Best Friends: Bill Racket, Julienne Knack, Rosy Whelohff (fairy), Penny Pincher, Jenni Jones-Brown, Sinbad Rotter
Museum Pieces: Done!
Immortalized at 78 Days

Generation Two: Franco Waverly
Traits: Artistic, Grumpy, Snob, Perfectionist, Hopeless Romantic + Proper (Group Influence), Photographer’s Eye (Degree)
Spouse: Pansy Prudence, Hannah Carlton (daughter of Sofia and Harwood Clay)
Supermax: Painting
Career: Stylist
LTW: Fashion Phenomenon
LTRs: Opportunistic, Extra Creative, Fertility Treatment
Ops: Deliver a Painting to France, The Complete Circuit, Business of Decor, Interior Decor, Deliver a Painting to Egypt, Paparazzi!
Building: Franco’s Foot Massages (previously Sharma Day Spa)
Property: Grey Chiffon Lounge (previously Red Velvet Lounge)
Best Friends: Hannah Carlton, Carmen Kindle, Parker Castor, Emerald Greenwood, Mark Sargeant (half-brother), Robert Castor (fairy)
Museum Pieces: Done!
Immortalized at 75 Days

Generation Three: Lily Waverly
Traits: Excitable, Athletic, Hot-Headed, Savvy Sculptor, Avant-Garde + Friendly (Group Influence), Natural Born Performer (Degree)
Spouse: Bronson Curious (son of Bunny and Lincoln Baker)
Supermax: Sculpting
Career: Magician
LTW: Master Magician
LTRs: Artisan Crafter, Engaging, Entrepreneurial Mindset
Ops: Stinky Bugs, Magic in the Park, Library Magic, Muscle Showdown, A Charming Experiment, Magic Medicine
Building: Tigerlily Experimental Theatre (previously Wilsonhoff Community Theatre)
Property: Waterlilies! (previously Twinbrook Community Swim Center)
Best Friends: Loki Jones-Brown, Octavia Greenwood, Lilith Jones-Brown, Tristan Jones-Brown, Christopher Greenwood, Janelle Kindle (half-sister)
Museum Pieces: Done!
Immortalized at 78 Days

Generation Four: Tegan Waverly
Traits: Eccentric, Good, Technophobe, Childish, Socially Awkward
Spouse: Hephaestus (Carlton) Waverly (son of Hannah and Tay Bayless)
Supermax: Inventing
Career: Ghost Hunter
LTW: Paranormal Profiteer
LTRs: Efficient Inventor, Teleportation Pad, Climatron Control Unit, Best. Haunted. House. Ever.
Ops: The Boiler Room, Teching up the Spa, Best. Haunted. House. Ever.
Building:
Property:
Best Friends: Anderson Whelohff, Keon Whelohff, Marco Swenson, Cole Cary, Cole Chen, Kaz Nazri
Museum Pieces: Toddler/Child/Teen/Young Adult/Adult

[Family Tree in progress...]

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty
« Reply #1 on: January 25, 2014, 10:34:02 PM »




1. Red and Green
2. Dynasty Girl

3. TBK
4. Black and Blue
5. Keys to Your Car
6. Kisses and Shark Bites
7. Down in the Drywall
8. Baking Buns
9. Griffin
10. Talk of the Town
11. Simoleons Down the Drain
12. However Much Time
13. Fields of Expertise
14. Hannah
15. Biological
16. Sister, Sister
17. Gothic Sanctuary
18. A Multitude of Wrinkles
19. Bon Voyage
20. Head of the Table

21. Prance Through the Pansies
22. Hannah Again
23. Remembering Uncle Bill
24. Sparks
25. Don't Be Eileen
26. Milk Pitchers and Law Textbooks
27. Sticky Like Peanut Butter
28. Widow and a Divorcé
29. Broken Bottle
30. Good Night, Sweet Divorcé
31. Scholarship for the Fine Arts
32. Julian at the Podium
33. Future Starts Slow
34. Just the Ugly
35. With Your Eyes Closed
36. Names the Same
37. Boys' Town/Better Phone Stone
38. Buttered Butterfly
39. Fashion Phenomenon
40. A Just-In-Time Surprise
41. What Happened?
42. Phoenix

43. Can't See It
44. Code Teal
45. Two or More Ways to Regret
46. Slip, Shark, Surprise
47. Who's Your Daddy?
48. One Witness

49. Adorable and Horrible
50. Ch-Ch-Chainsaw
51. Gentle Prod in the Right Direction
52. Pseudo-Heroine
53: Your Face
54: Facing Faces
55. A Curious Betrothal
56. The Not-So-Curious New Curious
57: Orange Stage Lights & Lilac Lunacy
58: Old Bones
59. Egg Salad
60. Stoneham
61. Binding Bridge
62. You're Old
63. Bugged
64. Pastille
65. Philip Makes Three
66. Guardian Angel
67. French Kiss
68. Manhattan Project
69. Destroyer of Worlds
70. Blue Bow Battlefield
71. Trauma Conga Line
72. The Bass
73. Think Pink
74. Trilby and Top-Hat, Ready to Hang Up
75. Lentils on the Floor

76. Have One on Me
77. Bull Market
78. The New Blue and White
79. Cancer Man
80. Things that Crawl at Night
81. Trash
82. Piper
83. The Three Suitors
84. The Gentleman
85. My Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Aunt
86. The Waverly Files
87. Freebird
88. Shrapnel Snow
89. Stupid and Scared
90. The Hideaway
91. Gutterball
92. The Other Side
93. Gold and Rubies
94. Spring Break
95. Loose Like Juice
96. Jock with a GPA
97. Tegan's Relapse
98. Hello Armageddon
99. The Magic Winter
100. Selfie
101. Goode Work
102. Starry-Eyed
103. Like an Onion
104. Still Sane
105. Icarus
106. Bronson's Game
107. Friday the 13th
108. A Strange Love

109. Just Two Waverlys in Love
110. Tokophobia
111. Closet Doors
112. Androids, Automatons, and Nihilists
113. Dōmo Arigatō, Mr. Roboto
114. Sharp Teeth, Sharp Heels
115. A Cold Embrace
116. The Doctor's Note
117. Zacharie
118. The King of Kings
119. Those Monsters
120. Two Good-Byes
121. Clean to Eileen
122. Baroness
123. The Secret Garden
124. Sneaking Suspicion
125. What's Yours

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 1, 1/25)
« Reply #2 on: January 25, 2014, 10:42:55 PM »
Chapter 1: Red and Green





I read the newspaper every morning, and while many articles are worth reading, the best-seller list matters the most to me. This morning, I read it as I always do; after solving the daily sudoku and my favorite comics. D. Clay’s Pots and Pans sits comfortably in the top five, while a few older books of hers are lower on the list.

As that might show, D. Clay is making a mighty living for herself. I keep a close eye on her bank records, after all.

It is not to say that I am D. Clay in my entirety; I just use her name to publish my books. I assume that my average reader knows what a pseudonym is. Legally, Ms. Clay does not pay the mortgage, or sign checks, or vote in town elections when there is a less corrupt politician on the ballot. That job belongs to Josephine Waverly.



Like many pseudonyms, D. Clay is just a name that sits on bookshelves, and a figure with a short biography in dust jackets. She won't even tour the nation for book releases, let alone release any photos of herself to the public. A life with some sort of depth is reserved for Josephine Waverly. Josephine lives in solitude and takes runs on the beach at sunset, breathing in the salty ocean air.



Jo plays chess on the beach, too, as the sun disappears into an evening fog and the scent of impending rain and low tide wafts through the air.



Jo spends her evenings in further solitude, donning a comfortable nightgown. She plants her rear in a scarlet couch and watches television. And tonight, I do just that.



“Watch out!” I say in a quiet yell. It’s a horror movie, and everyone acts like a moron in a haunted forest by splitting up and exploring parts unknown. “Come on, don’t you even know the tropes?” It sucks to be a writer. I can't turn off my mind to this at all.

I talk to myself a tiny bit when I sit alone, because my life demands commentary, but I deny that I ever wrote down any commentary about it. I speak about depth in my real life, but right now, there is little of that too. My life in Sunset Valley is nestled in a crime-free, drama-free, perhaps lonely existence; not worth more than a few lines of commentary. Before then? I always answer with “never wrote it down,” and distract them with something else. Coffee? News? The answers to the daily sudoku? I have those ready to share.

For all they know, I lived a boring life in the more boring bayou down south. The plotline for that wouldn't even carry a short story in The Bridgeporter.



Of course, I am a dirty liar. Something just happened to knock that doorstopper from my bookshelf while I was out.

And while some teen in the horror movie gets tortured by the monster, my phone rings with my text-tone.



I groan a tiny bit when I read the number, and then louder when I read the text.

Police busted me again. Bail me out? - Dad



Over my dead body!



Oh dad, the self-proclaimed Emperor of Evil. He used to do his job better, spending fifteen years in jail out of a career spanning for two centuries. Perhaps the cops back then learned not to care. Something changed when we went back in time. Ever since I left for Sunset Valley, and he left for Bridgeport, he sends me a string of texts and calls. “The cops here are ruthless. Bail me out?” “I know you love your old man. Bail me out?” He cried crocodile tears over the purported lack of money in his bank account. However, his smile glowed brighter than his red aura whenever he saw D. Clay writing hit after hit. With that record, and with her modest living arrangements, he had a bottomless well of bail money and guilt trips.

Guilt trips got old after the first time he needed my help, and intolerable after the second. Oftentimes afterwards, I crossed my fingers and let mum deal with it, and tonight needs to follow that trend, royalty money be darned. I leave no response and put my phone down on the coffee table. The movie plods along, and I turn it off before I get tempted to give that schlock a second chance. The green book? It still sits on the floor, contrasting with the cherrywood floors.

I know my own story, and under usual circumstances, I have no reason to re-read it.

I always told myself that it was unpublishable on any scale bigger than that one copy, due to the downright unbelievable premise of eight sims living forever in some alternate timeline from this one. Worse yet, I presented it as autobiographical fact. It is just that. I really lived in a full house. I really lived well-beyond my years. I really had a life beyond my little beach house, beyond lonely nights of television and ice cream. And it all has no physical bearing on anyone but a handful now, because science gave me a way to find an alternate timeline. They are wonderful things.

And what I would give to relive it? Nothing, and payment will not work either. That's for the physical reliving, though. Would I read it again?



For free, I would. Tonight, or tomorrow, maybe I could start.



I settle in the blankets, with a soft rain pitter-pattering against the windows, and flip to a page in the middle.



Philip took me to The Verdelet, but every type of juice on tap at the bar downstairs, and the poker table fifteen feet away, none of that could tear him away from me. At the slightest fuss, dad snuggled me, pressing me close to his crisp cotton blazer until I relaxed and contently gurgled instead.



Those are not the bad moments. I'm almost convinced that this will be a smooth ride, as long as I skip past my own chapters and convince myself that I wrote a happy ending. And to think, a scene with my dad sounds like a sweet enough incentive to read this.

It's so sweet that I might even publish those, and for once, be Josephine Waverly to the entire world.

I could also drag the other Waverlys through the mud with this, tarnishing their reputation through ambiguous portrayals.

Regardless of my motives, I need guaranteed royalties and an understanding publisher, because I'm no longer a multi-millionaire. The first is in the bag. A million simoleons are gone, but a hundred thousand or more sit pretty in the bank's vaults. The second, well, I will see in the morning.

I do like that publisher of mine, after all.



Word Count for chapter: 1,235
Word Count in total: 1,235

Revised on 1-31-2015

Offline RaiaDraconis

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 1, 1/25)
« Reply #3 on: January 25, 2014, 10:46:47 PM »
<is giddy> This is just awesome. I can't wait to see how this goes!

Offline Ausette

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 1, 1/25)
« Reply #4 on: January 25, 2014, 11:00:42 PM »
It's heeeere! Oh, I'm so excited! I've loved following the Waverlys on your Simpage from the beginning and I can't wait to get to know them properly. Josephine turned out gorgeous (love the red on her) and she's clearly a very gifted writer. ;)

Offline Beezy

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 1, 1/25)
« Reply #5 on: January 25, 2014, 11:05:43 PM »
Your writing is wonderful! I'm looking foward to this dynasty!  :)

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 2, 1/26)
« Reply #6 on: January 26, 2014, 01:18:33 AM »
<is giddy> This is just awesome. I can't wait to see how this goes!

It's heeeere! Oh, I'm so excited! I've loved following the Waverlys on your Simpage from the beginning and I can't wait to get to know them properly. Josephine turned out gorgeous (love the red on her) and she's clearly a very gifted writer. ;)

Your writing is wonderful! I'm looking foward to this dynasty!  :)

Just a general thanks to all of you for the nice comments! It's past my bedtime, but I have another update ready. :)



Chapter 2: Dynasty Girl



For someone who once lived forever, there are so many things I never learned, such as cooking. I burn toast every time I try to make it, so breakfast is always simple.



Today, I eat a bowl of yoghurt with strawberries, and the rain still falls. Its anger increased overnight, and the gentle pitter-patter turned louder. Lightning strikes a few houses over as I scrape the last of the yoghurt from the sides. This is just how I like it.

After I throw on my jacket and pull my hat over my head, I turn my head towards the desk in my room. My laptop is charging, but right next to it is Eight Ways, right where I placed it last night before falling asleep to the sound of rain.



I haven't changed my mind about publishing this behemoth of an autobiography. Thankfully, I have my feet sunk in the mud of professional writing, and therefore a publisher to put this tome on the market.



I leave it there while I make a phone call in the kitchen, where I get the best reception.

“Hello, Agnes? Are you free this morning? Great! Will 10 work? See you then.”



Instead of putting the book back in its proper place on my bookshelf, I tuck the monster under my arm and walk out into the heavy rain. So I hold it in place under my jacket instead, hope that it's waterproof, and run in the direction of the center of town. Doo Peas Corporate Towers stands there with its reflective windows, and my publisher's office on the fifth floor.



I run and run in my heels, my ankles aching from the abuse. My shoes kick up water in the puddles, and eventually the soles are waterlogged. My jacket feels heavy on my shoulders, and the water soaks through my cloche and through to my hair. Today is a perfect day to remind me of my hometown.





When I reach Doo Peas, I still run, entering through the doors frantic and soaked. After years on this contract, I know my way to her office, thanks to experience. Fifth floor, on the right, and two doors down, with “A. Crumplebottom, CB Publishing” attached to the door on a card.



Agnes sits at her desk with her back perfectly straight and not a paper out of place. The establishment of her publishing company mercifully coincided with the moment I put down my bags in Sunset Valley. Between her endless old money and ability to advertise, she turned quality authors into quality, financially successful authors. It is a true marvel to behold.



Flustered, I sit down with closed eyes and a gentle smile.

“So you come to me with good news, Ms. Clay?” she asks.



“If you wanted to hear that I’m a big liar, then for sure I do.” Any other day, I'd be joking, but Agnes is the first woman I trust to come clean to about this. I don't know if it's our strong professional relationship, or me putting way too much trust in hips that make me swoon.

“I’m glad we have some casual alone-time. It’s a shame that we meet only about business or at crowded charity dinners, and I never knew anything personal about you. I always hoped that you were lying about having such a quiet life.”

“I’ll warn you, you won’t believe me,” I say.



“It’s obvious. You’re a dynasty girl!”

Holy crap, how does she know?

“You, you know about dynasties?”

“We’re in the information age,” says Agnes, “A lot of good books are published about dynasties from every timeline and universe you can imagine. I try to get my hands on all of them. They’re good reads.”



So do I have a guaranteed good read, protected by a knitted blazer? This meeting started so well! I stand up and turn my back to her, releasing Eight Ways from the confines of my jacket. The pages stayed dry.

“Glad to see you love a good read,” I say, my voice subdued and an octave lower.

“Is that it?” she asks.

“I hope it's a good read! But it's yet another story about a dynasty. I wrote down for my own enjoyment." This next part is a lie. "I didn’t want to forget about my old life. I pressed one copy for myself and that’s it, but I’m having second thoughts now.” I'll admit, the prospect of ruining the lives of those that helped ruin mine makes my heart skip a beat. I should be too good for this, but I can always blame dad for whatever residual evil I'm harboring.

“It shouldn’t be an issue, then. I’ll publish it."

"But it's long," I say.

"We can always release it serialized." She chuckles a bit. "I'm not in the weapons industry, and for both of our benefits, imagine the compounded royalties!"

“Sure, sure." I'm almost ready to hand it to her as an oddly-prepared manuscript, but something stops me. Memories of sweet moments? Christ. However, they make this story work. I padded out every betrayal and tragic death with silly excerpts about my karaoke singing, heartwarming weddings, and nooboo pictures of all of us that had them.

"But I need to proof-read!" I blurt out. "And that will take loads of time away from writing. I flip through actual thousands of pages to make my point.

Agnes, a trained professional (I guess), doesn't react strongly. “Ms. Clay, why don’t you come closer?” she asks. I obey and step closer to her desk.



“Don't sweat it because you're still selling thousands," she says, in a low voice, leaning closer to me. “We can make this work, Ms. Clay. Take as much time as you need to perfect your story, and I’ll make it top the charts worldwide. Just like with everything else you've written for us."

“You’re really being that easy?”



“Listen, I’m not one to give out compliments,” Agnes says, “But you’re the most successful author I’ve signed, and the entirety of Simnation can’t put your books down. You’ve proven yourself to me.” One single, joyous tear rolls down my left cheek. “I do want to get to know you a bit, though. What is your real name?”



I look deeply into her grey eyes, and how her face surrenders to a slight smile.

“Josephine Waverly, but everyone called me Jo. I prefer that you do too.”

We depart with a professional handshake and a "call me any time, Jo," and I take a taxi home this time, so I can have a chance to dry off. A clap of thunder roars as we drive away from Doo Peas, and away from the first woman in this universe that I trusted my name with.

The rest of the morning could go in its usual course. The daily newspaper sits near my front door, tightly tied into a plastic, waterproof bag. I take it in and shake off the droplets over the kitchen sink, and leave Eight Ways on the coffee table.

I check my phone for the time, but I also notice that there are no new messages. No new missed calls. I could smartly assume that my dad found someone else to bail him out and will leave me alone until he messes up again. Considering that I rediscovered Eight Ways, I could remind myself that my father is a bad, bad person. The evidence is printed in an 8pt font, and further imprinted in whatever memories are made of.

On the contrary, I also have plans to uncover his whole past life of crime and more crime, and being a jerk to us all. He knows that we have a strained relationship, but probably still thinks that I wrote him as a sympathetic villain at worst. That I was too scared to write my truthful thoughts about Philip Athol Waverly, a ruthless kingpin. I could ruin his life with the written word, and I plan to. Is this the least I can do before that happens?

I pick up the phone and dial his number.



“Hey dad, do you still need the money? Okay, I’ll wire that to you tomorrow. Once you’re out, maybe you can visit? I know things are rough between us, but it’s been a while.”

My dad will visit in a week, once he makes the correct arrangements at work. I hope he likes sleeping on the couch, though.



The rest of the morning can go its usual course. I read the paper and solve the daily sudoku, and D. Clay still tops the best-seller list. She expects another big royalty check by the end of the week.

I can afford to do this.

The newspaper is thrown into the recycling. Eight Ways, however, still demands a re-read, starting from the very beginning. The siren call of its thin pages and hundreds of thousands of words calls for me to proofread. I told Agnes that I needed to proofread the book, but I did that seven times before pressing it. Eight Ways is already a publishable novel. Surely I haven't forgotten a thing in it. No pasts are ambiguous or omitted.



Why do I re-read it? I don't want to forget this myself.



Annette Waverly came to Twinbrook with enough money for two meals at the diner in her pocket, the clothes on her back, a hound at her heels, a name on her lips, and a mission on her mind. That much I know. Her origins, however, are lost to history.

Well, I need to backpedal on declaring that nothing is omitted. I indeed forgot about that gap in the story, but there's nothing I know about that can fill it in.

We'll have to do without that.



Word Count for this chapter: 1,627
Word Count so far: 2,862

Revised on 1-31-2015

It isn't a dynasty without Agnes. I surrendered!

I wanted an original townie to be Jo's publisher, and Agnes was the best candidate in my mine because she's rich enough to fund a publishing company, loves books, and knows about dynasties.

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Offline Trident

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 2, 1/26)
« Reply #7 on: January 26, 2014, 09:00:46 AM »
Traaaaacking! Can't wait for more!  ;D

Offline MarianT

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 2, 1/26)
« Reply #8 on: January 26, 2014, 10:19:38 AM »
This looks intriguing. I can't wait to read more!
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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 3, 1/27)
« Reply #9 on: January 27, 2014, 12:46:06 AM »
Traaaaacking! Can't wait for more!  ;D

This looks intriguing. I can't wait to read more!

Thank you!

Bookmarked! I can't wait to see all the unconventionally beautiful Sims to come!

I hope I satisfy in that regard. :)



Chapter 3: TBK





Well, there’s another thing I know. An hour before she stood in front of her new lot and took a look around, Annette Waverly stood in front of a mirror instead, at a train station, and she snapped a photo of herself. And she took the train from God-knows-where into the swamps. While it isn’t the first 23 years of her life, it is context, I guess.

She spent all night sitting upright in a train, with a smelly dog curled up on her lap and the both of them sleeping soundly to the rumble of the train’s engine. Her ticket was affixed to the top of her seat, with a hole punched at “TBK” and another at “One Way.” Annette and the dog had permanence in mind, and TBK marked on the map. Yes, beyond the "Welcome to Twinbrook" and "Warning: Contamination Ahead" signs lay a permanent home for them. No one warned them about what lay ahead.

They arrived at their new property by 8AM, with Annette running at twice her usual energy-levels. Caffeine-addled, she was ready to start life anew from whatever the old life was. In spite of the crushing poverty, she had high spirits, clean clothes, and her hair still tied back into a neat ponytail.



“Look, Sagebear, it’s been a long trip, but we gotta go hunting.” She leaned down towards the hound, a beautiful Catahoula Leopard Dog who ran off the same adrenaline rush when the hunt was mentioned. “And I don’t care what they trained you to do. We’re looking for a sculptor.” When Sagebear cocked her head with a curious look on her face instead of running in the direction of a sculptor, Annette needed a new plan. She called a taxi and began to make history.

It's funny what one man can do. In fact, I attribute most of my existence to this man she sought after. I could even seal the bad blood away in a bottle for a minute to thank Annette for finding him. From his spot high in my family tree to that surname that I chose to hide under for most of my books (besides this one), there is so much I wish I could thank this humble sculptor for.

“Are you familiar with Harwood Clay?” she asked the cab driver, once she boarded.

“That’s a weird question.”

“I don’t need your judgment, but I need to meet him.”

The driver drove Annette to the other side of town, past the center and all of its willow trees. All she knew was his name and that he was still alive (unless the taxi took a turn towards the cemetery) and a gifted sculptor. The rest of his story, such as his age, marital status, wealth, looks, race, criminal background, personality, tastes, profession? They were as unknown to Annette as much as her backstory is still unknown to me.

However, worrying about such things is something I do. Annette spent the entire ride twiddling her thumbs and giving Sagebear a belly rub, until the taxi screeched to a halt at the end of a little island on Twinbrook’s expansive lake. Seven modest houses dotted the street and looked over the water, all with white siding and pale wooden decks.

“It’s the one on the end,” the driver said, “Also, 6.50.”

Annette shoved a pile of cash and change into the driver’s hand and ran up Harwood’s driveway, looking inside a large window and at the sculpting station inside. The taxi driver did his job. As it turned out, Harwood himself was outside at the same time, but for the newspaper that was thrown on his deck earlier that morning, and not so much for the young woman with pale blue skin.

“Hey you! Forget about the newspaper and give me handshake!” Annette yelled, with the intention of saving her schmoozing and scraps of politeness for when she needed it.



As odd as Annette was, with her pointed ears and a smile full of fangs, he shrugged it off and extended his hand to Annette. As for her, she shrugged off his old age and drab appearance with the same quickness. “Well, hello," he said, in a rough, aged baritone. "Do you want some coffee?” he asked.

“I’d rather look inside that art studio of yours, you know, to see where all those works of genius are born,” she said with a wink. Annette stepped to the side to open the sliding door into the studio. A thin veneer of white clay dust settled on the pale wooden floors, from a recent project of his. She had a whole minute to process the extent of Harwood’s talent, as he came through the door slowly, hunched over with a shuffling gait. “It puts a smile on my face to see a young lady like you so interested in the arts,” he said.

“I don’t care for it.”

He sternly furrowed his brow, ready to throw Annette and her unappreciative, uncultured rear out the door. But then, a text message distracted him.



“Yes! I do love being reminded about Election Day,” Harwood exclaimed, with his awaited text just being an automatic reminder.

“Lonely, huh?” Annette asked.

“Perhaps, but it’s nice being alone on the lake. Gives me time to think, but I really like visitors.”

“Sorry about the whole quip about not liking art. I mean, I like it, but I’m not talented…”



“...But you, you have to be one of the best!” Her eyes widened with admiration. “Did I butter you up enough? I’m only here for a commission.”

“Well then,” Harwood said with a chuckle, “do you pay well?”

“Uh, it’s room and board, plus access to my entire life’s savings. Look, I think I might have to explain this one.” Blood rushed to Annette’s cheeks, but she kept her feet planted on the ground and began her story.

Oh no, Harwood did not learn about the mysterious-yet-true background of Annette Waverly that day, or ever. The story she had was one she readily admitted to being a lie told on the spot when she retold the story to me. However, something had to come out of her mouth.

According to Annette, she sold her soul to the Grim Reaper in return for wealth, and ended up losing her money, possessions, and profession. The Reaper held it all for ransom unless she completed a weird mission of his. It involved her living forever, and Harwood sculpting her to prove that she actually aged over time until he died of whatever natural causes took him.



As for Harwood, he was all ears, even through every bit of skepticism within him, and through growing curiosity too.

“It’s an odd story, Annette,” he said, “But I don’t think I can say no to living on an empty lawn. It’s as environmentally-friendly as it gets.”

“So you’re in?”

“I’m in.”

“I knew you’d jump right in, old man,” she said while drawing him in for a bear hug, “Everything you need should be on the lawn.”



“I knew you’d jump right in, old man,” she said while drawing him in for a bear hug, “Everything you need should be on the lawn.”

She saved her intentions to build a proper house for later, once Harwood tired of sculpting in the sticky summer heat and napping to the buzz of cicadas. However, it had to be for later. Harwood’s small lake house didn’t sell immediately, and it stood stagnant for a long time afterwards. Between the rest of his savings and his old guitar, the two still qualified for living in poverty. But it is not to say that Annette lacked a resource.



“Hunting begins now,” she told Sagebear, “Find me some tiberium!" The hound ran and ran, all the way to the back of city hall. She sprinted back with a large hunk of iron ore clenched between her teeth. The drool alone would make that rust overnight.



“It’s a learning process,” Annette sighed, “Time for round two?” Annette ended up throwing her collection of cheap ores in the dumpster behind the grocery store. She also bought some apples for later, because a young woman on an mission and a tireless sculptor needed something for later.



With her roommate hopefully carving into his first block of ice, Annette had the night to herself. She had lofty plans too, but she sighed when she missed the Bistro’s last cooking class of the night by five minutes. So much for those lofty plans. Her tummy growled slightly, but Annette was entirely incapable of microwaving hot dogs, let alone cooking substantially. Let alone cooking for a living.



Fate worked as darkness started to fall over Twinbrook, because Annette found herself chatting with an employed cook in the back of the grocery store. She introduced herself as Gala Ball.

“Hey, I can try putting in a good word for you at the diner,” Gala said, “Maybe come by tomorrow morning?”

Annette nodded and left with the possibility of a job, and a notice that there was a new dance club on the edge of town, in case she wanted cheap bar food and pulsating electronic music to end the night.



Seemed like a plan.



Before exhaustion sent her home, Annette downed a strong party drink and embarrassed herself in front of the few club-hoppers that night. She dirtied up the counter with her muddy sandals as well. But as a four-on-the-floor beat drove Annette’s dance moves, was Harwood still sculpting? Taking a nap? Tapping into their pooled savings for a midnight snack at the diner?



Alas, poor Harwood.



Word Count for this chapter: 1,577
Word Count so far: 4,439

Revised on 1-31-2015. In spite of it still going under the knife, this was always one of my favorite chapters. :D

I live near a train station and I know for a fact that their bathrooms aren't nearly as nice-looking as CAS, but I needed an excuse for Annette's CAS-shot.

Annette's traits are Brave, Ambitious, Inappropriate, Schmoozer, and Kleptomaniac. I never really used the last one. She has a thing for Cobbler, R&B, and Spice Brown. For the sake of completeness, Harwood's traits are Savvy Sculptor, Artistic, Eco-Friendly, Perceptive, and Charismatic.

As for Sagebear, she really was an attempt to make a Catahoula Leopard Dog. I don't know how well I did, but I thought she was a lovely hound either way. :)

Offline saltpastillen

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 3, 1/27)
« Reply #10 on: January 27, 2014, 05:05:36 AM »
I have been looking forward to you posting this for what seems like forever :)

Offline sunshine_2406

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 3, 1/27)
« Reply #11 on: January 27, 2014, 07:47:44 AM »
Yay a new Trip dynasty! :) I like how your founder looks, just as unique as all your Sims. I can't wait to see how you get all the original townie genetics in your dynasty, it will make for an interesting bunch of immortals I'm sure.
From the moment I fell down that rabbit hole I've been told what I must do and who I must be. I've been shrunk, stretched, scratched and stuffed into a teapot. I've been accused of being Alice, and of not being Alice, but this is my dream. I'll decide where it goes from here.

Offline Ausette

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 3, 1/27)
« Reply #12 on: January 27, 2014, 08:36:01 AM »
Ah, good old Harwood. Always so eager to be homeless in his old age. I hope those lips of his find their way into the Twinbrook gene pool after whatever that cliffhanger turns out to be  :o. Speaking of which, I'm loving how quickly these chapters are coming out! Have you got much of the story written in advance?

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 3, 1/27)
« Reply #13 on: January 27, 2014, 09:00:41 AM »
Somehow I knew that Harwood would come back in this tale. :)

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 4, 1/27)
« Reply #14 on: January 27, 2014, 11:31:42 AM »
I have been looking forward to you posting this for what seems like forever :)

Heck, I've been looking forward to myself posting this!

Yay a new Trip dynasty! :) I like how your founder looks, just as unique as all your Sims. I can't wait to see how you get all the original townie genetics in your dynasty, it will make for an interesting bunch of immortals I'm sure.

Thank you!

Ah, good old Harwood. Always so eager to be homeless in his old age. I hope those lips of his find their way into the Twinbrook gene pool after whatever that cliffhanger turns out to be  :o. Speaking of which, I'm loving how quickly these chapters are coming out! Have you got much of the story written in advance?

I imagine that his retirement is boring enough for him to accept whatever a dynasty founder asks of him. And he left behind some descendents in hopes of getting that mouth into the family, but more on that later. ;)

I tried writing in advance, but I end up always hating my writing later on, so I scrapped it all and now write on the spot before I can regret what I have written. However, I kept some pretty detailed notes to make the process easier.

Somehow I knew that Harwood would come back in this tale. :)

Why of course!



Chapter 4: Black and Blue





Annette came home with her head in a fog, almost tripping over her own feet from the exhaustion. However, a whirring chainsaw kept her from plopping down on the wet grass. Harwood was awake.

“Did everything go well tonight?” she asked him.

“Pretty much,” he replied, drowned out by the saw. And lying too, but it made no difference that night. Chunks of ice still fell to the ground, until a fully-formed Tiki Lord statue emerged, the second statue of the night. Still running off a long nap in a rocking chair, he restlessly called for it to be hauled away to make room for another sculpture. Harwood was ready to be up for most of the night. Annette just buried her face in her hands, her skull feeling like a lead brick was lodged in her cranium. Black and blue bags formed under her eyes, strong and apparent, even against her already blue skin.

A choir of crickets started to lull Annette to sleep, and her knees almost buckled as she stood on the edge of a puddle.



So Annette surrendered for the night, collapsing into the wooden rocking chair, right as the chainsaw started up again.



After all, she needed some energy for the morning. If Gala stayed true to her word about getting Annette a job at the diner, then she needed practice. The drunk and hungry still ordered waffles as often during the dinner rush as they did in the morning, after all. An oven was far beyond her means and her lot's shoddy electric wiring at that point, so she ended up borrowing.

The colorful young lady sitting a couple rooms over was Amy Bull, who met a somewhat buzzed Annette the night before at The Grind. Her bright orange getup stuck in Annette’s mind, and her striking black and blue hair stuck even more. The first plate of waffles prepared Annette for a job at the diner, and gave Amy some nice leftovers for the rest of the day. Amy let Annette in the house whenever she showed up, and enjoyed how the smell of fresh waffles or pancakes wafted through the house.



Why yes, Amy embraced it all. Everything excited her, from new friends to finding out that Annette made blueberry pancakes instead of regular pancakes.



Eventually, Annette learned how to make dinner too. In her bikini. Ratatouille was a far cry from usual swimsuit party fare, but Annette tested it there anyways. It was her first time making it, and it won over the partygoers too. Amy gave her a hug for it, while Annette looked over her friend's shoulder. Messy painting supplies stained a corner of her living room. There was a canvas somewhere. Amy seemed to have the basics of value and human anatomy down, with the youth and eagerness to improve.



She could have asked Amy to do a lifelong job for her right then and there, but Annette found herself distracted for a few more hours instead. Rock stars in swim trunks? Twinbrook was the right place for her after all! So she chatted up DeAndre, in a bikini that highlighted her boyish hips and nicer cleavage. Even though he drove there in a car that almost made Annette's heart stop with the gold exterior alone, no sparks flew with DeAndre. Love would have to come from another obscenely rich man.

By the time Annette’s star-struck frenzy wore off and rock star DeAndre Wolfe headed home, Amy was almost in bed, undressing to pajama shorts and a bra.

Annette climbed the stairs into the loft above the kitchen. She shook a resting Amy. “Wake up, sleepyhead!” Annette yelled. “I mean, I just wanna say good-bye, that's all.”

“Woah, forgot you were still here!” said Amy, “Did I put the leftovers away? But good-bye, friend. Should we do lunch some day? I'm just dying to try the Bistro!”

“Sure, sure. Well, I think I wanna stay here, come to think of it. Wanna have some fun?"



Knowing Annette, I think she was referring to going out clubbing again, but the night took a softer, feathery turn. However, it takes a lot of trust and friendship to whack someone with a pillow, and let them use your kitchen too. It took even more to invite her to a party when she didn't even bother cleaning up her paint. Fitting enough, Annette bought an easel with the rest of the starter supplies, also for the sake of her dynasty and being captured in color. Yet, they stood unused, waiting for a seasoned professional or chipper, colorful Amy. There was no use getting black and blue and bruised in a quest to find a painter. Why make it difficult when they stood right in front of you?



“I bet you want something more in life,” said Annette, once they dropped both of their pillows, “Ya know, more than working at the spa.”

“Hell yeah, I just do that to pay the bills. You saw my painting gear, right? I'm hoping to make it over here!”

“I think I have just what you need.”



That she did, that she did. Until Amy had just one complaint.

“I need some new clothes. Someone just called me unfashionable this morning!”

“Geez, it took you that long?” asked Annette, “Any ideas? Or should I reject them? I'm thinking I should.”



It turned out that Amy made her own clothes, but her eye for fabric was skewed, so that every pattern looked good next to another, and another, and another. As noble as that sounded, Annette had different advice to give. Amy still let out a small cheer once she tried on something new.

Harwood refused fashion advice at first, though, but there was little retinal damage to be had from grey t-shirts. Annette headed off to work instead of wasting her time, confident that he would come around and maybe treat himself to a new shirt. Unfortunately, the ice sculpting devoured every part of his life, and the chainsaw’s whirr acted as calming white noise. It worked well to compliment the crickets and cicadas.

But Annette’s mind was just frantic. That eventually stopped, but with little funds and not even a scrap of drywall, it was natural. She needed to escape, somehow. She turned to the friendship of her co-workers, and then her neighbors. One of them saw her plight, or was just hungry, and invited Annette to a friendly dinner at the Bistro on him. Considering that he lived in a place with walls, it was only fair. Placated by the promise of the Bistro's award-winning chili, she accepted the invitation with fervor.



Still, that night she scowled a tiny bit when she passed by Sagebear reclining in her doggy bed.



Instead of reclining somewhere too, Annette faced her worst nightmare when it came time for her dinner date: wearing a dress. She bought it before coming to Twinbrook and hoped to never have to wear it. Her legs freely rubbed against each other and chaffed, and the silky material did not absorb sweat. The only saving grace was that it showed off her tattoos.

Yes, just her tattoos.



Word Count for this chapter: 1,194
Word Count so far: 5,633

Revised on 1-31-2015.

As a note, some of the pictures from these first two chapters were taken from previous, botched attempts. I just happen to save everything I do, and I'm really bad about getting pics in the early days of a dynasty. So if there are any inconsistencies, now you know why. :P

Amy isn't exactly an unbelievable choice for a dynasty painter, considering that she's one of the most skilled painters in Twinbrook, but I picked her mostly because she and Annette hit it off really well regardless of her ability to paint, and she's a blast to makeover too.

Offline RaiaDraconis

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 4, 1/27)
« Reply #15 on: January 27, 2014, 12:21:25 PM »
Oh awesome. I love the way that you made Amy over--she looks stunning in that hairstyle, for one.

Offline Beezy

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 4, 1/27)
« Reply #16 on: January 27, 2014, 02:14:24 PM »
I'm loving it! Amy looks wonderful in her new clothes!

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 4, 1/27)
« Reply #17 on: January 27, 2014, 03:38:08 PM »
I love the way you started this story...

Is Harwood preggers, by any chance?

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 4, 1/27)
« Reply #18 on: January 27, 2014, 06:46:15 PM »

Holy crap! You finally posted your story, and it took me two days to notice! So excited to finally read it! When you first showed that picture of "Alas, poor Hardwood" I was thinking meteor, but then he was still alive, so now I'm thinking aliens. I absolutely love your founder; she's really awesome looking. Her and Amy look like they were just made to be best friends. The back-story is also phenomenal: touching and a bit bittersweet, plus a token tribute to Agnes. It's absolute win, and I can't wait for more!

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 5, 1/28)
« Reply #19 on: January 28, 2014, 11:58:06 AM »
YAY! You recruited Amy! Amy Bull's fashion sense/nonsense seems endearing to me; it's just so her. Though, Annette did give her a nice makeover. Her look is less distracting now.

I'm fairly new, so I don't think I've come across any of your other Immortal Dynasty stories. Is Annette one of the Sim offspring from a previous attempt? I could be way off, but her features remind me a bit of the Riffin family from Appaloosa Plains.

Amy's original wardrobe hurts my eyes if I look at it for too long. :P But it's kind of endearing in its craziness, I'll admit.

Annette is entirely CAS-made, though I see how she might look like a Riffin. While I have plenty of sims saved from past attempts, I wanted to start entirely fresh this time.

Oh awesome. I love the way that you made Amy over--she looks stunning in that hairstyle, for one.

I know! Amy has a really easy face to flatter and looks good in plenty of hairstyles, but that one was calling to me and it worked so well.

I'm loving it! Amy looks wonderful in her new clothes!

Thank you!

I love the way you started this story...

Is Harwood preggers, by any chance?

Thanks!

I guess you'll just have to find that out.

Holy crap! You finally posted your story, and it took me two days to notice! So excited to finally read it! When you first showed that picture of "Alas, poor Hardwood" I was thinking meteor, but then he was still alive, so now I'm thinking aliens. I absolutely love your founder; she's really awesome looking. Her and Amy look like they were just made to be best friends. The back-story is also phenomenal: touching and a bit bittersweet, plus a token tribute to Agnes. It's absolute win, and I can't wait for more!

Glad you found it!

I'm glad you like Annette. I've been playing her since the summer (in her own series of botched dynasty attempts), and she grew on me a lot. I can't imagine a dynasty without her now! Thanks for the nice comments.

In addition to a new chapter, I also edited my ruleset to include two things I forgot (no changing mortal LTWs, and removing on any "no inbreeding" rules I had). I also linked to a published document on Google Drive that includes stats for all of my immortals so far. While it's linked on my first post too, here it is for anyone that needs it. Because I play ahead, beware of major spoilers!



Chapter 5: Keys to Your Car



It was an unorthodox recommendation.



Annette chopped onions at work for most of her shift, bags and bags of them for every dish. As good as she was at it, she yearned for the heat of the griddle or the industrial oven and being a proper cook. However, she improved at her cooking more and more by hopping house-to-house after Amy moved in. The allure of Julienne Knack’s oversized basement kitchen called her. In addition, Annette found herself learning the secret to perfect omelettes from Julienne instead. And then about Julienne’s romance gone sour.

“You’re new here, but you gotta listen to me about Bill Racket. I don’t care about what creep you can reel from this godforsaken place, unless it’s Bill. He’ll break your heart and break it hard.”

“God, Jules, just give it a rest,” sad Pattina, Julienne’s mum, before heading out to the pool to cool off from 98% humidity before bedtime.

“No mum, she has to hear about me and my problems! And I’ll be darned if I let a new cook get hurt. Anyways, Annette,” she continued, “I fell for him and it was just awful. If he didn’t try to drag me into all of his personal drama, he cheated on me with the maid!”

“How rich is he?” asked Annette.

“Loaded, but that’s not the point.”

So Annette looked in the phone book and found that Bill lived up the street, in a mansion with a long, red, brick-laid walkway up to the front door. A VFN Kompensator was parked towards the back. Once she laid eyes on the shiny black car, she laid out every possible plan to hotwire it, drive it home, and sell it on the market.

One night, she knocked on the door, and was greeted by an older man in a blue denim jacket (in that heat!) and his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses. He introduced himself as none other than Bill Racket. Could Annette charm him, win his trust, and get a ride in that car?



Of course she could!





Some sort of strange friendship blossomed between those two afterwards, through a few nights of her whacking Bill with a pillow. Later, Annette learned that the Rackets indeed had a kitchen, and a large family to feed. In spite of enough money to do better, they also owned a faulty stovetop and a high tolerance for burnt pancakes. Bill stepped out a little earlier to go to work, but at first, the rest of his family seemed amiable, if just for a few moments.

“You know, Nettie,” said Dennis, Bill’s brother, after choking down a bite of charred pancakes, “I am this close to kicking that miserable oaf out of the house. I feel so sorry for when you have to deal with him.”

Geez, did everyone think that way? She went to work that afternoon feeling sorry for Bill, and metaphorically patting herself on the back for such stunning philanthropy. Even the nice car was parked in the back of her mind. Sheer friendship drove a text she gave him one Tuesday night, during a slow night at work and with bags’-worth of onions perfectly sliced.

Dinner tomorrow night. You in?



He insisted on getting seating inside, even if it meant an hour’s wait for a table. Instead, Annette pushed and shoved and got her way, sitting outdoors with a bowl of chili and a refreshing lakeside air breaking up the sweltering summer heat. He reminded her that it was air-conditioned indoors.

“Stop your whining and eat up,” she said, “And maybe talk too.” She fidgeted a bit in her chair. Bill came to dinner in his everyday clothes, but Annette was stuck in her cocktail dress. The silky fabric grew damp in the humidity.

“I guess I didn’t mean it that way,” she said after a bite of chili, “It would have been nice indoors too.”

“I’ll live,” he grumbled, pushing the egg rolls he ordered around on the plate, “Still better than eating at home.”

“I’ll take your word for how bad it is. They seem okay enough, but you’re much cooler. So are you the corrupt kind of politician or the ineffective kind?” she asked.



“I still work on behalf of the family. Corrupt as they get! I wouldn’t mind leaving, though. I’d rather be in law enforcement than help those jerks.”

Corruption made Annette’s heart melt into a warm puddle, and put her sticky fingers at ease. Without legal papers and with an illegal habit, she needed someone to bribe and schmooze for added protection. This had to be the one.

They sat at the table, pushing around things on their plate, mostly, and engaging in small talk about TV shows and the weirdest woohoo they ever had. By the time Annette had the last of her chili, it was still lukewarm, all from the summer heat. By the time they got the check, a choir of cicadas drowned out any conversation. Annette just looked at the sky, clear that night instead of its usual overcast. She never knew how starry the Twinbrook sky could get.

“Is it ever this clear at night?” she asked Bill.

“You’re acting like I get outside and look at the sky,” he said, “It could be this way every night, for all I know.”

“Well, it’s always nice to try new things.” She sat down on the brick-laid ground, cross-legged. “New for me, new for you.”

“Alright, I’ll humor you.” He took a seat by her side.



Under the twinkling stars and the full moon, Annette slowly moved her hand closer to his. With each sentence, she moved it close, until her fingers brushed against his, taking Bill by surprise.

“You...you really think this way about me?” he asked.


“I can’t say that I’m sure yet,” Annette said, “But you looked so nice under the candlelight.”

Annette took a look at the clock on her phone, and it somehow became 3AM. Perhaps they got dinner later than she thought. But Bill likely had work that morning, so it was time to depart. She almost leaned in for a surprise kiss and a good-bye, until something more dire arose.

“Ahhhh!”



It turned out that Jenni Jones-Brown stayed at the Bistro for a late dinner too, and stayed even later to contemplate her impending motherhood by her lonesome. Conveniently, her water broke just as Annette contemplated grabbing her first kiss. Annette ended the night still just friends with Bill, and with a young woman in labor and in need of a ride to the hospital.

After the initial panic, Annette said a quick good-bye to Bill and managed to catch Jenni between contractions for long enough to find out where she parked her car. It was at the consignment shop. Jenni gave her the keys, a bad idea. Annette paused for a moment upon seeing Jenni’s beauty of a car: a Bwan Speedster in prussian blue, close to the color of Annette’s eyes. The original leather interior was intact, and a car seat was installed in the back. Keys in her hand, Annette had a car handed to her, but Jenni’s screams of pain rang through the night air and to the nearest eight lots.

So Annette drove to the curb of the Bistro, escorted Jenni to the passenger seat, and parked at the hospital. It took a lot of willpower, but she accompanied Jenni inside instead of driving home in an ill-gotten automobile. Napping in the waiting room instead of seeing who would take the car and for how much money. Hours passed and Annette buried her face in magazines instead of sneaking away, until Jenni finally walked out. She held a darling little girl, who screamed while in the confines of a pink swaddling blanket.

“Hey, Annette, right? Thanks for the ride. I’ll get myself home,” Jenni said.

“No problem. I think you might want your keys, though.” She handed her the keys, as misty-eyed as if she faced romantic rejection or a child moving away.



That morning, the summer morning sunlight fully bathed Twinbrook, without a cloud in the sky. Annette watched Jenni walk away with her daughter and drive away with that car, with its seductively-roaring engine. From that morning until the time my great-great-grandfather was born, she shifted her priorities. No longer were the nicest cars in Twinbrook her main focus, but preparing for one day having her own swaddled, screaming demon. She focused on that for a few years, until my great-great-grandfather was born.



At least Annette had time to prepare for him. Harwood could not say the same when he held a new-spawned alien.



The first night he lived with Annette was an odd one. After a morning being schmoozed to by a periwinkle-colored oddity of simkind, Harwood had other unbelievable horrors to face. For one, he had to admit to his best friend that maybe he had a point about aliens being real. However, what exactly was on the end of the aliens’ probe was a mystery until months later.



Little Xeep, wrapped in a blue blanket, cooed as Harwood placed him on the ground, in hopes that his own kind would discover him and bring him back home. As he started on another ice sculpture, Xeep was gone in an instant. With the weirdest story of his life behind him, what was Harwood to do?



Get a new shirt.



And a popsicle too. Soon after that, life started looking up for him, and for Annette too. He got into a groove with ice sculpting, and she might have met her soulmate.



Amy had other issues, though.



Word Count for this chapter: 1,607
Word Count so far: 7,240

Revised on 2-2-2015

Congrats to Rhoxi and hazelnut on guessing what happened to Harwood correctly. To date, he's the only man in this dynasty who ever got alien-pregnant. The aliens love abducting my women instead!

To fully explain Annette's fascination with nice cars (beyond her being a kleptomaniac), her LTW is Living in the Lap of Luxury.

Online Rhoxi

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 5, 1/28)
« Reply #20 on: January 28, 2014, 03:28:53 PM »

Nice to see Annette is following up on that good recommendation.  :P Let's hope that pans out well for her. Money and corruption aren't usually a big attractor for me, but I think Annette dances to her own little tune.

Offline RaiaDraconis

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 5, 1/28)
« Reply #21 on: January 28, 2014, 03:34:26 PM »
Ha ha...oh poor Harwood. Being pregnant by an alien would have to be one of the most unnerving feelings in the world.

But Bill Racket as a potential dynasty spouse? That's not something I've seen before, but I guess I should expect that with one of your dynasties. :P Pretty awesome, that!

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 5, 1/28)
« Reply #22 on: January 28, 2014, 04:11:53 PM »
(INCOHERENT SCREAMING OVER ANOTHER TRIP DYNASTY)

But also, elder Harwood? Pregnant? Xeep Xeep would have been the best dynasty painter.

I also love the use of the Rackets. They're my favorite Twinbrook family to breed into. Good genes and charming personalities ;)

Offline Trident

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 5, 1/28)
« Reply #23 on: January 28, 2014, 05:21:33 PM »
Ah HA! I KNEW Jo was number six!!! *momentary victory dance*
Unless my math is off on that one.....meh.

Heh. Loving the romance between Bill and Annette. It's really cute.

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Re: Eight Ways to Live Forever: The Waverly Immortal Dynasty (Ch. 6, 1/29)
« Reply #24 on: January 29, 2014, 01:10:27 AM »
Comments everywhere!

Nice to see Annette is following up on that good recommendation.  :P Let's hope that pans out well for her. Money and corruption aren't usually a big attractor for me, but I think Annette dances to her own little tune.

I think when I started this dynasty, I had in mind that she needed some money and corruption to protect herself. Being a klepto without papers sounds like risky business!

Ha ha...oh poor Harwood. Being pregnant by an alien would have to be one of the most unnerving feelings in the world.

But Bill Racket as a potential dynasty spouse? That's not something I've seen before, but I guess I should expect that with one of your dynasties. :P Pretty awesome, that!

To be fair, I didn't see it coming either! I had plenty of other men on my radar before Bill. She just fell for him the moment they (randomly) met. I guess there's no accounting for taste.

(INCOHERENT SCREAMING OVER ANOTHER TRIP DYNASTY)

But also, elder Harwood? Pregnant? Xeep Xeep would have been the best dynasty painter.

I also love the use of the Rackets. They're my favorite Twinbrook family to breed into. Good genes and charming personalities ;)

Yeah, but dynasty rules are dynasty rules! I think Xeep had a good upbringing on his home planet regardless. I hope.

I love the Rackets too, and totally not for their money.

Ah HA! I KNEW Jo was number six!!! *momentary victory dance*
Unless my math is off on that one.....meh.

Heh. Loving the romance between Bill and Annette. It's really cute.


You guessed right! It's not like it's a huge plot-point that Jo is #6, so it's okay to write it in.

They were surprisingly cute together! I didn't believe it would be that way when they first hit it off.

Bill and Annette's romantic development is so uniquely cute. All the attributes society frowns upon just seem to amplify Annette's attraction to Bill. Then again, who doesn't love a bad boy?

It's really fun to write about those two. And there's nothing wrong with bad boys! I'm glad Annette found her own.



Chapter 6: Kisses and Shark Bites



Mary Baker owned the diner. She also saw Annette’s enthusiasm for cooking, even if it hid her lack of experience and how Annette forgot to write a resume. Or that she didn't show up in any legal records. No matter her status, she cut onions like a seasoned professional, as if the knife was a natural extension of her arm. Potatoes too, and tomatoes, and mushrooms for Julienne’s mushroom omelettes.

So one night, Annette clocked out and untied her apron when Mary came up to her.

“You’re doing great,” she said, “Who wants to work the deep fryer now?”

And so Annette dropped filets of fish or breaded prawns into the deep fryer, leaving the onions for anyone lower than her. However, her uniform started to reek of peanut oil. Even after taking it off for the night, the smell lingered on her skin, and there was insufficient plumbing for a shower at home. Annette was ready to head to the pool to use its showers, until a familiar face stood outside the diner.

“You, outside?” she asked, until a bouquet of purple roses were shoved in her face.



“I know it seems odd for me to do, but I thought you might need them,” said Bill.



Annette took them and inhaled in their fragrance. “Beats all that peanut oil, for sure.”

If life was a rational thing, then maybe she would have found someone else who wasn't 30 years her senior. Barring that, she would have taken the time to ask herself what out-of-character experience Bill was having. However, the intoxicating smell of fresh roses took its toll on Annette, sweaty and greasy from work.

“It is rather unlike you,” she said, looking at the ground. “Didn’t you say something the other night about how romance is too much hassle?”

“Probably.”



Annette looked Bill deep in his eyes, or whatever she could see of his eyes behind those sunglasses. “Sucks for me, I guess,” she said. “Stop being so dense and let me kiss you.”



I never said that she was bad at persuasion.

“You know, I’d love a place to sleep tonight,” Annette said, “How many extra beds does your place have?”

After arriving, Annette changed into something a little more comfortable, which is to say, not her pants. The tank top and boyshorts she wore underneath sufficed as clothing for her, but with twice the comfort. Bill insisted they would be alone. Plus, to him, nothing was wrong with having a young lady strut around the house in her undergarments.

Alone they weren't. Someone else was rummaging around the kitchen when he saw Annette for himself.

“Is it my lucky day?” the mystery person asked, in a male voice that was almost fully-developed, but still shrill with teenhood. He even chuckled at such a jackpot standing in front of him.



Annette may have seen the teen at breakfast a couple times before, or around town, but never caught his name before then. He introduced himself as Shark Racket. While Shark didn’t mention that he was also Bill’s nephew, it was a pretty easy thing to infer.

“Listen, kid, I know I’m hot. But your uncle Bill is waiting for me and I better get myself upstairs.”

“No, really, what are you actually doing here?” he asked.

“Is that how you’re gonna speak to your future aunt?”

“Look, lady. If you know what’s good for you, you’re going to leave that lazy mooch right now,” he said.



“You better not speak about family that way!” she yelled, a tiny bit of fire filling her dark eyes. “No matter what, they’re family.” Shark stared at her with disbelief in his green eyes, unshaken, if a little speechless for fifteen seconds.



“Knowing him, good luck on actually becoming my aunt” Shark said, with a hearty laugh after, “You’re just so naive.”

That kid! The only saving grace about him, to Annette, was that he was a pretty nice piece of eye candy. Well-built, with shaggy brown hair and puppy-dog eyes. Shark would be nice to watch while he hauled away statues for Harwood, or if he took his shirt off in the summer heat while tending a garden.

But no matter what girlish, teasing thing she thought about her future nephew, it was all shallow in the end. She devoted herself to the project of winning over Bill, who was more cuddly and of legal age. Getting the commitmentphobe to commit. And getting some woohoo that night. She needed an easy project like that, too.



“Fine. I can just fluff the pillows more.” Annette rested on the mattress, caressed by bedsprings and a fluffed pillow, finally able to rest lying down instead of sitting up. “In fact, I really can stay like this,” she muttered.

“Nah. We both need some fun tonight.” He took off his sunglasses and threw his denim jacket over the desk chair. "You're the first girl I didn't have to ask to dress like that."

"Hopefully you'll take your shirt off without me asking, too."



Let’s just say that Annette woke up refreshed in the morning. That, and she swore that she left the Rackets with some leftover pancake mix. Nothing said “good morning” like “pancakes.”



Or Bill laughing at her. That made her morning too.

But with all of the ambition close to bursting out of her heart, Annette never rested with her project. The more she saw Bill each morning, the more her motivation to win his difficult heart over increased. But the more she slept in Bill's mansion, the more her justifiable reasons for doing so faded away. She scrapped any plans to hotwire the family’s VFN Kompensator, or find their bank account credentials.

His heart wasn't the only one to change. As tautological as it sounds, Annette loved Bill because she loved Bill.

One morning, she woke up next to him again and five in the morning, and proceeded downstairs to mix more pancake batter. The Rackets still weren't tired of free pancakes from the main squeeze of their main annoyance. She wanted to wake Bill up with them, for once, but he was already awake. Still in his bathrobe and with unwashed hair, he stood at the top of the stairs.

"I sometimes wonder why you stick with me," he said. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You're like some sick domestic slave fantasy, and it's kind of hot, but no one actually does that."

"I'm a weird person, Bill," said Annette. "I thought you knew me well enough to know that I'm not joking. When I joke, it's a lot different. And when I lie, it looks a lot less obvious."

"So why are you here?"

"I'm in Twinbrook for my own reasons. I'm in your house because...Bill, screw it, it's because I love you. I love the heart that's under there, and all of those grey hairs."

"You do sound more sincere than Julienne," he said. "I hope that's what I'm picking up. And I don't know what I'm feeling for you back."

"It could be love. That's what I'm calling mine." She took his hand in hers. "And I don't know how much you'll like this, but I want to be your official squeeze. Your girlfriend, Bill."

He hesitated and pouted, looking away but still squeezing her hand. After a deep sigh, he looked Annette in the eyes. "I'll give it a try, how about that?



They sealed it with a kiss. Annette melted into it, ready to abandon the idea of breakfast in exchange for preparing Bill for work with some special morning woohoo. She was ready until her phone vibrated once. It was her text tone, from a familiar number.

Amy!

it's been weeks. where are you????

“Oh god,” Annette said with a groan. “Have to cut this one short.”

“Who was that?” he asked.

“None of your business.” She barely put her pants back on before sprinting out the front door.



Amy seemed, safe, through she yawned and stroked the back of her neck in boredom, in front of a finished painting.

“I’m really sorry,” said Annette.

“I mean, it’s okay. There’s only so much I can talk about with Harwood.” Amy sighed. “I just miss my old friends.”

“Take a few nights off” Annette took a quick glance at the painting. “You’re doing really well. Like, as well as a professional. Um, I just watched Parks and Rec for the first time a few weeks ago. So...treat yourself."



Amy then breathed a sigh of relief when she sat down to dinner that night, with a young man seated across from her. Hardly a line in his face, and his voice flowed as smooth as lotion.

“I can’t believe that we’ve barely talked since high school,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Me? Cruelly forget about you? I have plenty of other people to do that to. Not you.”



Sinbad Rotter’s stern green eyes lit up under the candlelight. All of him did, from his slender jawline to his brilliant red hair. The little flame’s light bounced off his shiny leather jacket.

“There’s no way that falafel wrap is as delicious as you,” said Amy.

“I am delicious. And you’re a lemon tart.”

“Delicious?” she asked.

“The best dessert around!”



Word Count for this chapter: 1,565
Word Count so far: 8,805

Revised on 2-2-2015

Peanut oil is a stench that really doesn’t leave a person. My brother used to work at a place that uses it, and I think we still have yet to get the smell out of his clothes. It’s gross.

Bill really did autonomously give flowers to Annette, which really caught me off-guard! He wasn't even in the household at the time.

 

anything