A Discworldly Legacy - Chapter 11b: Cheery By Name, Cheery By Nature
Before she knew it, Cheery was back in that uncomfortable chair by her brother's bedside, burying her face in her hands in an attempt to crowd out the emotions. It wasn't working. Cohen was deep in his own world of dreams. It seemed as though his spirit was trying to escape with each ragged breath, but it would always catch in his throat before gaining its freedom. But the halting inhalation-exhalations were getting further and further apart, sometimes ceasing entirely for long, terrible seconds before continuing.
Two other sounds were vying for attention in Cheery's brain: The first was Debbie was trying to comfort her mother-in-law. The second was Brutha, uncharacteristically, giving the closest doctor hell.
“…Do you know who I am? Do you actually know who I am? I'm in a Legacy, you shiny-red-tied twerp! My son may be only a spare, but so help me, if you don't figure out what's wrong with him I'll see to it that the demons of the underworld turn your sorry backside into a pincushion for all of eternity!"
"Hey, don't you dare hate on the tie! Why does everyone hate on my tie? Ma gave me this tie. I think it's a nice tie. The cafeteria staff are always laughing at my tie-"
"Is it too much to ask that someone in this quackhouse focuses on the task at hand?! You know, stopping my son from dying?"
The doctor shrugged sulkily. "Look mate, I'm real sorry and stuff. But we don't know what's wrong and the few medications we've tried have done nothing."
Brutha fumed. "I'm a Legacy heir, you know-"
"Yeah, yeah, like I don't know. But unfortunately, the rules apply to you as much as they apply to the rest of us common cretins, so there's nothing we can do. Now if you'll excuse me, I have doctorly things to do." The doctor excused himself, mumbling and staring at his tie as he went.
"Demons! Pincushions! Backside!" Brutha shouted at him, but his heart wasn't in it. With a sigh, we walked back to Adrienne's side, took her hand, and gazed despondently at his dying son. When life was like this, hell didn't sound so bad.
As the minutes dissolved into hours, Cohen's lifeforce ebbed away. The little line of Z's that drift inexplicaby around the faces of sleeping Sims faded out of being. Adrienne let out a heartrending wail, bringing on a hysterical mission to calm her down.
Cheery scrunched her eyes shut, feeling strangely detached from the whole tragic scene. One word was nagging at her, and that word was: no.
No. No. Not right. It’s not right. This is a mistake; it’s not his time. He can’t die, not yet. The doctors couldn’t help him; nothing on the Disc could help him…!
This final, furious thought burned in her consciousness like a fiery brand.
Nothing on the Disc…
Cheery was no longer aware of anything outside her head. All sound was drowned out by the loudness of her thoughts. She was carefully and methodically shuffling and categorising ideas, a haphazard plan gradually forming.
She looked up, trying to catch Debbie’s eye.
Debbie came over, unsure whether to cry or smile sympathetically.
“Er," she tried, but the words wouldn't come.
Cheery rescued her from her flounderings. “I need to speak to you. In private.”
“Oh... yes, of course,” Debbie replied, the surprise obvious in her voice.
They slipped away, leaving Brutha and Adrienne in a twist of strangled sobs and whisperings. Neither of them noticed Cheery and Debbie leaving.
Cheery and Debbie found an empty ward and slipped inside. Cheery pursed her lips. Now that she actually had to say it, it seemed even less sane than it had inside her head.
“Debbie, nothing I can possibly say could make you think I’m crazy, right?”
“Whatever you’re thinking, I promise I won’t think you’re insane. Now, what’s this about?”
“Okay. Well… I can’t shake the feeling this is wrong.”
“Cheery, death is never something good-”
“No, I don’t mean like that. I mean… Cohen really can’t die yet. Death is always tragic, but it happens for a reason. No matter how random or accidental it may seem. But this one... I have this feeling. I can't describe it. I know Cohen wasn't meant to die yet.”
“You’re a bit late, you realise,” Debbie said carefully.
“Hopefully, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Cheery said, deciding to get it over and done with.
“…I have a magic lamp. I’ll summon the genie and wish him back. It should work, I think. And if not… I have a few other ideas.”
Debbie still looked quizzical, earning her a frustrated gasp from Cheery.
“Come on! I have to try, at least. Are you going to help me or not?”
“Do I really have a choice?”
“Nope.”
“Then go get a polishing cloth, we have a genie to chat with.”
After hunting through various rooms in search of a private, unoccupied space to summon a genie, the girls found a cold, dark storage room in the depths of the hospital. Cheery looked around the space and shivered.
“Brr, just look at all this old equipment… It’s so typical that the most out of the way place in the hospital is also the creepiest.”
“Yeah, well the two do tend to go hand in hand, you know,” Debbie said, then her attention was caught by a door in the wall.
She peered through the frosted glass.
“Hey, it’s an old freezer unit. Still running. I wonder what they keep in those cabinets…”
“Oh, sweet zombie crap!” Cheery shouted behind her, demanding immediate attention and yanking Debbie from her daydreams.
Debbie turned to see Cheery surrounded by a swirling miasma, sputtering from the spout of the lamp she had just placed on the ground. The smoke grew steadily more solid, producing a beard, a turban and an jacket that would make Ali Baba proud…
With a bang that shook plaster from the walls and roof, the genie sprang into being. He gave a booming laugh and threw his arms wide in a spectacular gesture.
The effect was rather ruined by the fact that he carried out the whole performance facing the wrong way. Giving an embarrassed little cough and correcting his turban, the genie turned to face Cheery and looked her up and down.
"Sup. Whatchoo want?"
Cheery's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"
"You rub the lamp, you gotta wish for something. Or something. Don't ask me; I just work here."
"Sorry, that was just a bit... anticlimactic."
"What do you want from me? The whole quasi-Arabic "I shall grant thee wishes three" act? Puh-lease, that went out of fashion three centuries ago. Get with the times, hun."
"I- sorry, this is my first summoning. I guess I'm just 'not with it' yet."
The genie inspected a metaphysical fingernail. "If you're done chatting, I'd appreciate it if you'd get a move on. I'm missing Doctor Who and it's the one with the stone angels. Amy has an angel in her head and-"
"Shut up! I haven't seen it yet! Okay, my wish. My brother has died, and I know it's not yet his time. Tell me: can you bring him back from the other side?"
The genie sighed. "What, haven't you seen Aladdin? That's a no-go area, my dear. Now, if that's all, Matt Smith awaits..."
"No no, wait," Cheery said hastily, "There's something else. If you can't bring my brother back, can you grant me the power to cheat death?"
Debbie did a double take. "What? Cheery, you can't-"
"Interesting," the genie mulled, stroking his beard. "Yes, I can give you the ability to go to Death's domain and return unharmed. If that is your wish."
"It is. I wish for the power to cheat death."
"No!" Debbie cried in anguish, but she went unnoticed.
"Right!" The genie wiggled his fingers in anticipation. "Well then, allons-y!"
"Abracadabraalleyoopfushandchupsrhubardrhubarbrhubarb!" the genie cried, his arms windmilling wildly. Cheery waited for a change but nothing seemed to happen.
"That didn't seem so mystical to me," she said dubiously.
"Shows what you know about mysticism, then," the genie sniffed. "Now if you'll excuse me, the ad break is over..."
Cheery dismissed him with a nod and the genie gleefully vanished to the constraints of the lamp.
"Cheery, are you mad? What do you think you're doing?"
Cheery’s head snapped up, and she seemed to notice Debbie for the first time.
“You can’t be serious! You are not going to kill yourself to bring Cohen back!” she faltered. “Are you?”
“I said I had other ideas if Plan A fell through,” Cheery answered quietly.
“But you can’t- that’s- how do you even know it worked? That genie seemed a bit fruity to me! How do you even know he’s the real deal?”
“Because he lives in a lamp and has smoke for legs? Honestly, it’s pretty unlikely he’s just a guy in a funny hat. Just trust me, I’ll be fine.”
She gave Debbie a reassuring hug. “Okay?”
“I s’pose… So what about the, um, how are you going to… you know…”
“I was thinking about it. And this room is actually quite convenient in that aspect. Have you seen The Frighteners?”
“What…” Debbie’s eyes were snatched to the door on her right, “oh, hell no! I’m not letting you turn yourself into a Simsicle!”
“Hey, if it’s good enough for Michael J. Fox, it’s good enough for me. If you could just get me out once I’m gone so I don’t go all frostbitten and stuff…”
“I don’t think I have it in me to drag my new wife’s frozen corpse around. Man, I know they say marriage is no picnic, but this seems to be taking it to extremes.”
Cheery managed a smile. “Just content yourself with the thought that it won’t be a corpse forever.”
“That a kind of twisted consolation... Ah... Alright, go then. And I promise I’ll look after you after… after.”
Cheery stepped into the freezer unit, the cold hitting her like a brick to the face. She shut the door quickly to prevent too much of the super-cooled air escaping, and made herself as comfortable as possible, given the circumstances. Already, she could feel the warmth leaching out of her and wondered with a sick sort of bemusement how long it would take.
Meanwhile, Debbie was waiting wretchedly outside. She couldn’t bring herself to watch Cheery gradually succumb to the cold.
“You’d better come back, you hear me? Don’t you do anything stupid on the other side. I don't want to lose you. Not yet…”
It didn’t take long for Cheery to feel the chill eating away deep inside her. She wrapped her arms around herself in a futile attempt to retain heat; even though that was the last thing she wanted. As soon as she started to feel everything slow down - her thoughts, her breath, her heart - she knew it was going to be soon.
Finally, gently, like a paper doll stirred by a breeze, Cheery crumpled forwards…
…and awoke on a surface which was every bit as cold as the freezer floor, but a whole lot grittier.
She opened her eyes, staring at her own hand lying limp on the ground. She made a fist, and upon relaxing her grip found she had a handful of black sand.
Cheery picked herself painfully off the ground, still feeling the chilly ache in her bones. She took in her surroundings, a vast, black, windless desert under a dark sky. Then she realised she wasn't alone: There was no mistaking that apparition in those horrible, starchy, hospital pyjamas.
“Cohen!” She scrambled forward, throwing her arms around her brother’s shade without even thinking; her arms went right through him.
“Don’t you worry, I’m getting you out of here,” she assured him in a whisper. The shade just continued to stare into the middle distance, head lolling.
WELL, WELL. THIS IS NEW.
Cheery cast around in search of the voice’s source. Harder than it sounds, as it seemed to resonate from inside her own head. Then she saw the cloaked figure watching her from a polite distance. She was sure it hadn’t been there a moment ago… She swallowed.
“I’m here for my brother. You can’t have him, not yet.”
Death sighed. It sounded like silk being pulled across a sheet of glass. YOU MORTALS SEEM TO THINK I AM POSSESSIVE OF THE SOULS I COLLECT… IT IS QUITE TIRESOME. SOMEONE HAS TO DO THIS JOB.
“Then you wouldn’t mind if I take him back with me then,” Cheery hazarded, barely trusting to hope.
THERE, SEE? YOU MISUNDERSTAND. I DO NOT DICTATE WHO LIVES AND WHO DIES. LIFE IS THE CRUEL ONE. LIFE KILLS PEOPLE. I JUST LOOK AFTER THEM WHEN THEIR TIME COMES. AND IF SOMEONE LIVES PAST THEIR TIME, IT CAN UPSET THE FABRIC OF SPACE AND TIME ITSELF.
Cheery paused, trying to think. “But… Cohen is already dead. History is vindicated. So if he were to return, he would essentially be born again, but from a little further down the track.”
AH, YOU HAVE FOUND THE LOOPHOLE. Death said, an note of appraisal in his otherwise empty voice. He walked toward Cheery, each footfall sounding like a bag of marbles set down gently on a marble slab.
Cheery found herself looking into the deep recesses of his hood, where two blue lights burned with a strange kind of not-exactly-vitality.
“These games are getting annoying. Can I have my brother back, or not?”
TECHNICALLY, YOU ARE CORRECT. COHEN WOULD BE STARTING HIS LIFE AFRESH, AND WOULD BE STARTING A NEW BOOK ON HIS LIFE. BUT THERE MUST STILL BE A PRICE.
“A price, huh?” Cheery glared at him. She noted with some satisfaction that he shifted his weight a little uncomfortably as a result. “Okay, me then. Take me in Cohen’s place. That’s what you’re getting at, right?”
LOOK, THERE YOU GO AGAIN. I HAVE VERY LITTLE PERSONAL INTEREST IN YOUR IMMORTAL SOUL, REALLY. BESIDES, YOU ARE IN A LEGACY. YOU HAVE A DUTY TO FULFILL, MUCH AS I DISAPPROVE OF THE THINGS MYSELF. He shook his head darkly. LIFE WAS SO MUCH SIMPLER IN THIS PLACE WHEN IT WAS INHABITED BY GORMLESS TOWNIES AND NPCS, BUT NO. TERRY DISCWORLD HAD TO START A LEGACY IN ANKH-MORPORK...
Cheery coughed to interrupt him. “What, then? If not me, what do you want?”
The blue lights flickered self-consciously. Somehow, Death seemed embarrassed. I HAVE WHAT YOU MIGHT CALL A FASCINATION WITH MORTALITY. THE PRICE OF YOUR BROTHER’S LIFE WOULD BE SOMETHING A LITTLE MORE… WELL, SHALL WE JUST CALL IT A PERSONAL FAVOUR.
Death unfurled a bony hand; a pale, ghostly light danced weakly on his fingers. Cheery was transfixed.
“What is it?” she asked.
IT IS A SOUL. BEFORE IT BECOMES A SOUL. THERE ARE MILLIONS OF THEM, BOUNCING AROUND ON THE OTHER SIDE, WAITING TO ATTACH THEMSELVES TO A NEWBORN. THE PATERNITY OF THIS ONE IS... SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT.
Cheery trod carefully. “And you are expecting me to do what, exactly?”
I WOULD LIKE YOU TO LOOK AFTER IT FOR ME. IT IS PURELY A CURIOSITY, YOU REALISE. BUT IF YOU DO THIS, I WILL LET YOU TAKE YOUR BROTHER.
“Just like that?”
BOB’S YOUR UNCLE.
“Actually, Bill’s my uncle… But I accept. I’ll take care of this soul for you. Now, send us back.”
EXCELLENT. Death closed his fist over the soul with a clack like dice knocking together; it dissipated into a hundred tiny sparkles that drifted in the air around them before blinking out.
A beam of light shot down from the sky, engulfing Cheery and Cohen.
“Thank you,” Cheery said, trying to ignore the tingling sensations running from her head to her toes.
One blue pinpoint faded momentarily - a wink. I LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING YOU AGAIN, CHEERY DISCWORLD.
He probably meant it to be friendly, but then it was hard to tell. Then Cheery felt herself starting to lose consciousness once more…
_______________
Whzzl…?
Are my eyes shut or am I blind? Unh… Where am I? I don’t remember a thing… Chrys… Urg.
I’m not blind, there’s something on my face. What is- feels like a blindfold. Off you come…
Oh, whoa, what’s going on? Everything’s blurred… Mum? Carrot? Dad?
“-as soon as I heard. I can’t believe it… he’s always been there…”
“I know, Carrot, I know. Don’t beat yourself up, son, we were all here when he slipped away.”
But I’m right here.
“What about Cheery? I wasn’t exactly prepared for the sight of my baby sister sharing a ward with my brother. What’s she doing here?”
Cheery?
“We don’t know. She and Debbie just disappeared and we couldn’t find them anywhere. Then two nurses arrived carrying Cheery on a stretcher. She was cold as ice and we thought she was dead, but Debbie assured us she’d be okay. And she does seem to be, but-”
“Mwuh?”
Adrienne’s head shot up, confused by the unexpected gurgle. Her supposed-to-be-dead son was gazing at her, looking bewildered.
“Cohen! You’re… you’re…” she gasped, struggling to find words to explain what he was, “not dead anymore!”
“I was… Huh? Why can’t I see anything?”
But Adrienne was more interested in demanding a hug than answering his queries. Mid-hug, Cohen swung his legs over the edge of the bed and shakily stood up with his mother’s help. Carrot and Brutha, who had been deep in conversation, finally realised what was going on.
“Wh- he’s alive! I thought you said he was-” Carrot yelped.
“I thought he was! It’s a miracle! Praise be to Om!” Brutha said, steadying himself with a hand on the heart. Debbie just snickered.
“Yeah, of course. It must have been Om’s work, huh…” she looked down at the sleeping Cheery, now very much alive and starting to regain her healthy pink glow.
The recently-deceased Cohen had to endure a hard rain of hugs and babblings from his family, none of which he really understood. And he dearly wanted to know why his vision was blurry. Carrot eventually filled him in.
“We think it was Chrysoprase. The doctors say your eyes have been damaged by some kind of poison, and it’s that same substance which kil- almost killed you,” he finished uncertainly.
A memory crept back, “yes, he hit me with something. In a vial. Burned like white fire…” he closed his unfocussed eyes, overwhelmed by the rush of painful recollections: Chrysoprase, the fight, Nicole… he shook them off.
Unsteadily, he walked across the room to where Debbie stood defensively over Cheery’s bedside.
“Seems strange that Cheery should be in this state at the same time as me,” he said casually.
“I agree, it is quite a coincidence,” Debbie said.
“One might think the two could be connected. I don’t know what happened, but thank you both,” he said.
“Don’t mention it. And don’t worry, we’ll tell you all about it later. I’m just glad you’re both okay.”
Cohen frowned. “While I slept… I had a strange dream. I was in a huge black desert, and Cheery was there but I couldn’t touch her or speak to her. And Death. They were talking but I couldn’t hear what they were saying,” he laughed. “Strange, huh?”
Cheery made a noise of protest and sat up, looking grumpy. “Oh, hi Cohen. Hey, although you have no idea how totally delighted I am that you're alive and not quietly decomposing, can you go have your chat session elsewhere? Kinda been a big day for me.”
Cohen rolled his eyes. “Nice to see you too, sis.”
“Oh, who am I fooling…” Cheery sighed, pushing back the covers and getting up.
She drew Cohen in for the hug of his life, quite literally, almost.
“You have absolutely no inkling of how incredibly glad I am that you’re alive. No inkling at all.”
“I dunno, I’m pretty happy to not be dead, too…”
“Yes, but you don’t know how close you got.”
“Wha-”
“Later, I promise. Right now, I think we both need to rest.”
_______________
Cohen recovered at the Discworld house, watched over by a very protective Adrienne. Whenever she was at home, Cheery hung around with her brother and Cohen was eventually able to worm the whole story out of her.
One problem had arisen from his short spell as a corpse - in the time it took for Cheery to barter with Death, Cohen had been pronounced legally dead. When it became obvious that he wasn’t, he asked if the mistake could go unfixed. He had said, rather mysteriously, that not existing could be handy in his plans for a new life.
Cohen's right eye had healed nicely from the effects of the poison, but his left eye was beyond repair; he bought himself a stylish eyepatch and took to wearing it at all times. Although he walked into the occasional doorframe, he grew to love it. He said it made him look like the Dread Pirate Roberts. Cheery said it made him look like Captain Feathersword. Much friendly sibling rivalry ensued.
“Remember that time, when you were a kid, when that skunk sprayed you? Haha! You couldn’t get the smell out of your man-pony for days! And mum so wanted you to just cut it off, but you fended her off with the industrial-sized scissors…”
“Oh gods, I’d forgotten all about that! Heh. No one touches the man-pony!”
The laughter subsided naturally, and Cohen seemed to sober up a bit.
“You know, it’s been great being back here and seeing all you guys again. Hell, it’s great to be alive. Say, have I thanked you for that?”
Cheery rolled her eyes. “Frequently.”
Cohen grinned. “Sorry, just can’t help myself. You took such a risk for me is all, and I’m really grateful.”
“Knock it off, Cohen. I’m not used to you sounding this syrupy. Next thing we know you’ll be prancing around the house in a pixie dress, your hair flowing free around your shoulders-”
“No, I won’t, because I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Cheery tried not to sound disappointed. “Oh, Cohen! Already? But you’re only just recovering!”
“I’ll recover on the road. I’ve been so restless these past few days; I need to get out of Ankh-Morpork. There’s so much here that does nothing but remind me of the drama.”
“If that’s really how you feel, then happy travels. Come visit us now and again, m’kay?”
“Naturally. And I'll bring you expensive presents by the sackload. I don’t want to cart my stash of treasures around with me anyway…”
“And you have plenty of clean underwear?”
“Yes, mum.”
“And you won’t talk to strangers?”
“No, mum.”
“And you’ll always remember your sleeve isn’t a hankie?”
“Yes, mum.”
Adrienne squeezed her son’s shoulders. “Lies. You never did, and you never will.”
“Hah… Caught out. See you later, old lady. I’ll write, if there’s paper where I’m going.”
Cohen broke away and climbed into the taxi, waving goodbye to his tearful mother. The taxi turned a corner. Sunlight flared on the window for a second… then it was gone.
Cheery had quietly forgotten about her deal with Death until her belly started expanding. The thought had been niggling at her: how exactly was she supposed to be caring for this soul? Well, now it became clear as the waters of the Ankh. Yeah - she was still pretty confused.
She remembered Death’s manner, how he’d seemed, if possible, embarrassed. She wondered vaguely about the child’s paternity, and decided she should raise the issue with Debbie.
She found her in the family’s study. Debbie gave her a bright smile as she entered, then her eye took in the maternity wear.
"I'm sure I recall you saying you wanted to wait."
“Don’t freak out, but I think I’m carrying Death’s baby.”
Debbie raised an eyebrow. “Oh, snap.”
“Seriously? That’s all you can say? ‘Oh snap’?”
She shrugged. “After the kafuffle with the being dead and the not being dead and the genie and the acid and everything… Death spawn seems fairly run of the mill. After all, if I was worried by a bit of weirdness, I wouldn’t have married into this family.”
“Gee, that’s a nice, unhurtful way of putting it. Debs, are you really okay with this?”
“Knowledge Sim, remember? We’re cool with all sorts of crazy stuff,” she said, putting a hand on Cheery’s belly. “So what if this kid is unplanned, and a little unorthodox. He or she still deserves a decent upbringing.”
“Debbie, you’re just incredible."
“And don't you forget it. By the way, if it’s born with glowing red eyes, a tail or horns, you’re on your own. Just putting it out there.”
Debbie was gradually getting better at the whole gardening thing, as was befitting of her hobby. What’s more, her enthusiasm for it prompted Brutha into the garden, too. What creases remained in their relationship were smoothed out in the therapeutic setting of the vege patch. And although the plants were visibly flourishing from Brutha’s lavishing of attention, his conversation topics could, as always, need some work.
“So, little guy, if you don’t do as you’re supposed to and give us lots of wonderful tomatoes for our sparkly chef salad, I’ve got two words for you: vegetable oil!”
“Hey, Mr D, I don’t think you’re meant to put the fear of Om into ‘em.”
“Maybe not, but these are all thriving! You can't deny it!”
Cheery was on her way to the letterbox one morning when she heard someone call her name, followed by the acceleration of high heels on the pavers. She turned to see an olive-skinned, dark-haired young woman striding towards her with a grin. The woman saw her bewildered frown and stopped.
“What, you don’t recognise me?” Cheery’s brow crinkled and she shook her head. She had to admit the face was familiar.
“Fair go, I have changed quite a bit since you last saw me. Keep trying.”
Finally, realisation dawned. Cheery started to smile. “Larkspur?”
“There, you got it. That wasn’t so hard,” Larkspur said, peaking an eyebrow.
“My gods, you look amazing! How are things?”
“Brilliant, thanks to you. That Katie woman hooked us up with five doses of Plantophic-D and bam!”
“That’s incredible. It must have set you back a fair amount, how did you pay for it?”
“We came to an arrangement. But enough about me, what about you? You look ready to burst!”
“Yeah, well… long story. Maybe I’ll tell you another time.”
“Fair enough. I have to be off anyway, I have an appointment with the hairdresser,” she looked proud. “A hairdresser! Me! It’s so exciting!”
Cheery laughed. “I’m glad to see you so happy. Have a good time.”
As the big day drew closer, Cheery got progressively more worried about how the baby would turn out. What if Debbie’s joking, throwaway comments were correct? What if the child was abnormal? She thought of the icy, blue lights staring out of that cowl and right through her. What if the child were cursed with those? What if it had ghostly pale skin? What if it had no skin? The possibilities enthralled and terrified her. Please, please, let this baby be normal.
It wasn’t that much later that Cheery felt the pangs of labour, and the usual routine of head-smacking and useless gasping ensued. It was the moment of truth…
…And it was with a sigh of relief that Cheery brought a perfectly normal, perfectly health baby girl into the world. She had the brown hair of her predecessors (slightswearingnoises) and blue eyes; ordinary, honest, blue eyes that stared out at the world with intrigue.
As Cheery cradled her new daughter and pondered on what to call her, a crystalline voice whispered inside her head.
“No,” she muttered in response. “That’s absurd. I’m not calling her that. Welcome to the family, baby Diamanda.”
“She doesn’t look like otherworldly spawn to me,” Debbie reflected softly, as Cheery put the little girl in her cot.
“No, nor me. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she was just one of the millions of unborn souls drifting around in space. But it seems strange that he should take an interest in one in particular,” Cheery chewed her lip. “He didn’t seem the sentimental sort.”
“Well, one way or another, she’s ours now, and seeing as she doesn’t come packing eight legs, she’s here to stay.”
Brutha revelled in his newfound role as grandfather, and hardly ever left Diamanda alone, in the manner of over-bearing Sim grandparents all over. His darling wife, on the other hand…
“Crivens! The baby’s crying again, Bru! I’ve fed her like six times but nothing’s working! What do I do now?! Hello? Bru??”
“GWAAAAH! (Stupid woman, do the fumes tell you nothing? Give me back to the silver-haired godly fellow, at least he knows what he’s doing!)”
Yes, for Adrienne it’s a throwback to the days of her own children’s babyhood days. I love her dearly, but Adie’s no natural mother. Diamanda spends altogether too much time on the kitchen floor, and she’s to blame. It boggles the mind how Sims with almost identical coding can differ so much in their personalities…
“I changed Di and put her back in her cot, Cheery. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? I’m just glad you got her out of mum’s clutches! I’m amazed I survived past toddlerhood.”
“Yes, well, that was mainly my doing. And I really don’t mind looking after Diamanda, you know. I think she’s the best thing you’ve ever done. I mean that.”
He breathed out, a steely look in his eye. “I think I can say it now: Debbie truly is the right one for you. She’s witty, intelligent; everything to you that Adrienne was to me. I’m just sorry it’s taken me so long to realise it.”
“So we have your full blessing now?”
“And then some.”
“Thanks, dad. Then you should be delighted to hear that Debbie and I are both pregnant again.”
“…”
Yep, on that note, I leave you! Until next time, ponder me this: What will become of Diamanda? Will I go mad running around after two pregnant Sims? Am I actually going anywhere with that Plantsim storyline? Is anyone going to bother to tune in for Chapter 12? Hopefully! With luck, see you then! Happy Simming!