The Cromwell Legacy -- Gen 1.1
So! My first real legacy ever. I'm still learning about this whole "cataloging sim lives" thing (what you mean you aren't supposed to play triple speed all the time?!), so all critique is welcome. Even "WTF THIS SUCKS DIAF D:" critique.
Here we find our founder, Selma. If you want to close the window and stop reading right now, you can be content that you've already seen the whole essence of the legacy so far.
"Hey Selma!"
"HURR HURR HURR"
"Selma, let's play catch!"
"HURR HURR HURR"
"Selma, let's get married!"
"HURR HURR HURR"
It's okay, honey. I love you anyway.
Selma is a Fortune aspiration. She aspires so much to Fortune that she wants to be a SPACE PIRATE. There is apparently a lot of booty to be plundered in space...?
Well, good thing that space booty is within reach, because her digs suck. That means it's time to get a job, right?
Hell no. It's time to get a husband.
Selma. SELMA NO. BAD SELMA. We're going to pretend that you have standards.
Selma, that's--oh for the love of god.
Selma: LAMP HURRRR.
It's time to play "guess what's more interesting than men"! Answer: making out with the fruit punch keg. I'm really starting to worry about this girl.
Selma: OMNOMHURGHGHRHRHRRRHRHGH.
Classy.
It takes her about an hour to figure out that there are people in her immediate vicinity and that maybe she could possibly interact with them. She guesses. If she has to.
Bartender: Oh hey, that's a pretty nice make-up job you've got there. Those are spring colors, though. You're much more of a winter.
Selma: I'LL SHOW YOU WINTER, ASSHOLE. D:< *plusplus*
Soon, though, Selma exercises her mental facilities with some intellectually stimulating discourse.
Guy: Do you see that factory over there? Do you know how much oil they go through a month? There is NO bigger threat to our environment than the DYING VESTIGES OF A POWER-HUNGRY PATRIARCHAL SOCIETY. THESE PEOPLE MUST BE STOPPED BEFORE WE TOO ARE CONSUMED BY THEIR GREED.
Selma: That's a building. :D
Selma: omg your horrible singing makes me so hot. *____*
It makes her so hot that she must immediately proclaim her eternal love for him with a ballad. A ballad that she hates.
Selma: DON'T MAKE ME SING DON'T MAKE ME DO IT DON'T okay.
Oh Selma. I can taste your fail. It tastes like sad.
Guy: RAAAUUUGH YOUR SINGING MAKES ME ANGRY I MUST BEAT UP THIS BLACK LADY.
Selma: D: D: D:
Selma: GUYS STOP IT SERIOUSLY. ;_;
I love how she's the only one freaking out and crying and everyone else is cheering. (Cheering for the black lady. Not just the black lady, but the black old lady. Probably because the guy is a total asshole to start shit with an old lady.)
Selma: Oh okay. *wanders*
With her only love interest getting his ass handed to him on a Christmas platter with festive garnish, Selma moves on to bigger and better things elsewhere.
Well, at least the "elsewhere" part was right.
Selma: WORST LAMP EVER. ;_;
Selma: I wonder what this'll do! :D :D :D
SELMA NO STOP IT. SELMA. SELMA, NO. GET YOUR HAND OUT OF THERE.
Like before, Selma finally figures out that there are people to be interacted with. Unfortunately, she still sucks at it.
Why are you trying to chase the staff out of their own kitchen? Oh, Selma.
She may not be the smartest, but she quite possibly is the sweetest. Look at her! She's bussing tables for the waitress! She's not even a neat sim.
Wait, wtf. Selma, you aren't a neat sim, what the hell are you doing?
Selma: :D
Selma: HURRRR :D
Selma: HURRRR D:
Oh, Selma. It's like she loves being crippled by embarrassment. I have to admit that I respect her poise, though. I mean, how many of you could puke all over yourselves in public and totally walk it off with a vacant smile?
...and follow it up with spongebathing in a public bathroom?
I think this is why she was trying to chase off the kitchen staff earlier. Oh, Selma. Sweetheart. Kitchens aren't for bathing.
This is the only time she attempted to interact with anyone the entire time she was there. And it was apparently to tell this lady that her choice in seating arrangements sucks.
Selma: Don't you know you're SITTING ON KITTEN FUR? BITCH. >:(
This wasn't working out too well. Selma had very little interest in anything that didn't involve sitting in various chairs or things where doing them would reduce her aspiration meter. The hole in the wall bar didn't work, the hole in the wall club didn't work--time to improve the surroundings.
THERE WE GO.
y halo thar, wut r u smilin at?
.......Oh.
Luckily, Selma wasn't around to witness that awkward little display, because she was too busy having her delicious dinner DROPPED ALL OVER HER.
Selma: OH GODS OF DRYCLEANING, I JUST WASHED THE PUKE OUT OF THESE.
Wait, actually--this scene looks kind of familiar.
Someday, Selma too will have black velvet paintings of her sold in flea markets. It is her biggest dream. (Aside from pillaging and plundering. In space.)
LADY, YOU'RE SCARING ME.
Apparently from time to time, Mrs. Crumplebottom loosens up, orders a drink, and makes completely terrifying facial expressions at passers-by.
Completely unfazed, this guy--his name is Meyer, remember this because it will be on the test later--says "whatever" and steals Mrs. Crumplebottom's drink. That takes testicular fortitude. He looks rather pleased with himself.
Selma is rather pleased with him as well.
Selma: Drink-stealing is sooooooo hot.
Luckily, one of the things Selma has learned over the years is the importance of a good impression.
Selma: Hey, are you rich? I love money. Gold makes me puff out my cheeks like this. :D *PUFFFF*
And she's never at a loss for tasteful conversation topics.
Selma: Kissing is awesome.
Meyer: You know what else is awesome? ME. :D
Selma: OH MY GOD. YOU'RE THINKING ABOUT YOURSELF AGAIN, AREN'T YOU? SELF-ABSORBED PRICK. >:( *plusplus*
Selma: I WILL PUNCH MY HAND THROUGH YOUR CHEST AND RIP OUT YOUR HEART SWAYZE-STYLE. I SAW IT ON TV. DO YOU HEAR ME? >:(
Guys, he's standing right there. That's rude. Don't make fun of the disadvantaged.
At this point, Selma is the barely-hanging-onto-consciousness-so-I-will-bitch-every-two-seconds kind of sleepy, so she heads home. But she's still thinking about Meyer--oh yes she is. After a bit of a nap, she calls him up and invites him over.
No, tell us how you really feel.
STALKER ALERT. DON'T TURN AROUND, SELMA. IF YOU LOOK THEM IN THE EYES, THEY POUNCE.
Selma attempts to put the moves on Meyer, but Meyer ain't having none of that.
Selma: HUGS? :D
Meyer: OH FUCK NO.
Let it never be said Selma was a girl to get herself down easily, though. She is nothing if not persistent. They both head inside to--
Uhhh, relax. On the bed. Naked. Um.
See? Totally just talking. Naked. About jets. Selma is my girl, she isn't that easy. She just like some naked, relaxing jet-talk.
...Oh, Selma. You are easy like Sunday morning. :\
And Meyer walks off into the sunset, knowing that he got what he wanted. Selma wakes up briefly, then goes back to sleep.
Selma: Where did he go? D:
Selma: brb distracted by fireflies :D
But Selma does not give up. She wants his money him to move in and she wants him NAO. NOBODY PLUNDERS HER BOOTY WITHOUT PLEDGING ALLEGIANCE.
Selma: MOVE IN WITH ME OR I'MMA BEAT YOUR ASS.
Meyer swiftly concedes. Selma is pleased with this.
Meyer looks...devious. Uhhh, watch your food, Selma.
In return for letting her make him over, spend his entire bank account on a new house, and make questionable design decisions, Selma lets Meyer immediately get to his live-in-boyfriendly duties.
Oh Selma, don't you know you're never supposed to propose immediately following sex?
Selma: THANK YOU FOR REJECTING ME :D
Selma: He is so fine. CALL ME! I love you :D
Selma: THIS IS WORSE THAN THAT TIME WHERE I PUKED ALL OVER MYSELF IN PUBLIC. YESTERDAY. D:
Uh oh. Who else smells a shotgun wedding?
Meyer does! He (wisely) accepts. I mean, who couldn't when the lady you met one night ago and just got pregnant proposed to you in her ugly kitchen with dirty dishes on the table? He wants the honeymoon RIGHT NOW. TAKE HIM HARD, SELMA.
Selma--Selma, goddamn it. You have a bath! Stop spongebathing in the kitchen! KITCHENS ARE NOT FOR SPONGEBATHS. D:
Selma, ever the romantic, finally ties the knot in a nonexistent ceremony in their bathroom. In their pajamas. She really knows how to woo a man.
Meyer: HI WE'RE MARRIED. :D
Selma: HI. :D
And here we have the first official addition to the Cromwell family: Meyer Cromwell, Drink-Stealer and Total Asshole. Selma will not regret her decision. Probably because she'll be too busy chasing butterflies.
Misc. Images
ARRRRRR. She never struck me as the pirate sort until I saw that face. Now I know that it is destiny.
Yes, you are a sexy thing, even if you did not want to sing up there in the first place.
Selma smiles for the camera, giving me one of the only decent face shots I have of her where she isn't giving a completely retarded facial expression. I love you, Selma.
I'm incredibly displeased with the quality of the screenshots the in-game camera spits out even with everything turned all the way to high (I know, I know, I shouldn't be surprised). The next update is going to look a hell of a lot better; I know more of what I should be looking for, what I shouldn't be, and that some kind of camera mod is going to be a must if I want to do this without killing someone by generation 2.
Here we find our founder, Selma. If you want to close the window and stop reading right now, you can be content that you've already seen the whole essence of the legacy so far.
"Hey Selma!"
"HURR HURR HURR"
"Selma, let's play catch!"
"HURR HURR HURR"
"Selma, let's get married!"
"HURR HURR HURR"
It's okay, honey. I love you anyway.
Selma is a Fortune aspiration. She aspires so much to Fortune that she wants to be a SPACE PIRATE. There is apparently a lot of booty to be plundered in space...?
Well, good thing that space booty is within reach, because her digs suck. That means it's time to get a job, right?
Hell no. It's time to get a husband.
Selma. SELMA NO. BAD SELMA. We're going to pretend that you have standards.
Selma, that's--oh for the love of god.
Selma: LAMP HURRRR.
It's time to play "guess what's more interesting than men"! Answer: making out with the fruit punch keg. I'm really starting to worry about this girl.
Selma: OMNOMHURGHGHRHRHRRRHRHGH.
Classy.
It takes her about an hour to figure out that there are people in her immediate vicinity and that maybe she could possibly interact with them. She guesses. If she has to.
Bartender: Oh hey, that's a pretty nice make-up job you've got there. Those are spring colors, though. You're much more of a winter.
Selma: I'LL SHOW YOU WINTER, ASSHOLE. D:< *plusplus*
Soon, though, Selma exercises her mental facilities with some intellectually stimulating discourse.
Guy: Do you see that factory over there? Do you know how much oil they go through a month? There is NO bigger threat to our environment than the DYING VESTIGES OF A POWER-HUNGRY PATRIARCHAL SOCIETY. THESE PEOPLE MUST BE STOPPED BEFORE WE TOO ARE CONSUMED BY THEIR GREED.
Selma: That's a building. :D
Selma: omg your horrible singing makes me so hot. *____*
It makes her so hot that she must immediately proclaim her eternal love for him with a ballad. A ballad that she hates.
Selma: DON'T MAKE ME SING DON'T MAKE ME DO IT DON'T okay.
Oh Selma. I can taste your fail. It tastes like sad.
Guy: RAAAUUUGH YOUR SINGING MAKES ME ANGRY I MUST BEAT UP THIS BLACK LADY.
Selma: D: D: D:
Selma: GUYS STOP IT SERIOUSLY. ;_;
I love how she's the only one freaking out and crying and everyone else is cheering. (Cheering for the black lady. Not just the black lady, but the black old lady. Probably because the guy is a total asshole to start shit with an old lady.)
Selma: Oh okay. *wanders*
With her only love interest getting his ass handed to him on a Christmas platter with festive garnish, Selma moves on to bigger and better things elsewhere.
Well, at least the "elsewhere" part was right.
Selma: WORST LAMP EVER. ;_;
Selma: I wonder what this'll do! :D :D :D
SELMA NO STOP IT. SELMA. SELMA, NO. GET YOUR HAND OUT OF THERE.
Like before, Selma finally figures out that there are people to be interacted with. Unfortunately, she still sucks at it.
Why are you trying to chase the staff out of their own kitchen? Oh, Selma.
She may not be the smartest, but she quite possibly is the sweetest. Look at her! She's bussing tables for the waitress! She's not even a neat sim.
Wait, wtf. Selma, you aren't a neat sim, what the hell are you doing?
Selma: :D
Selma: HURRRR :D
Selma: HURRRR D:
Oh, Selma. It's like she loves being crippled by embarrassment. I have to admit that I respect her poise, though. I mean, how many of you could puke all over yourselves in public and totally walk it off with a vacant smile?
...and follow it up with spongebathing in a public bathroom?
I think this is why she was trying to chase off the kitchen staff earlier. Oh, Selma. Sweetheart. Kitchens aren't for bathing.
This is the only time she attempted to interact with anyone the entire time she was there. And it was apparently to tell this lady that her choice in seating arrangements sucks.
Selma: Don't you know you're SITTING ON KITTEN FUR? BITCH. >:(
This wasn't working out too well. Selma had very little interest in anything that didn't involve sitting in various chairs or things where doing them would reduce her aspiration meter. The hole in the wall bar didn't work, the hole in the wall club didn't work--time to improve the surroundings.
THERE WE GO.
y halo thar, wut r u smilin at?
.......Oh.
Luckily, Selma wasn't around to witness that awkward little display, because she was too busy having her delicious dinner DROPPED ALL OVER HER.
Selma: OH GODS OF DRYCLEANING, I JUST WASHED THE PUKE OUT OF THESE.
Wait, actually--this scene looks kind of familiar.
Someday, Selma too will have black velvet paintings of her sold in flea markets. It is her biggest dream. (Aside from pillaging and plundering. In space.)
LADY, YOU'RE SCARING ME.
Apparently from time to time, Mrs. Crumplebottom loosens up, orders a drink, and makes completely terrifying facial expressions at passers-by.
Completely unfazed, this guy--his name is Meyer, remember this because it will be on the test later--says "whatever" and steals Mrs. Crumplebottom's drink. That takes testicular fortitude. He looks rather pleased with himself.
Selma is rather pleased with him as well.
Selma: Drink-stealing is sooooooo hot.
Luckily, one of the things Selma has learned over the years is the importance of a good impression.
Selma: Hey, are you rich? I love money. Gold makes me puff out my cheeks like this. :D *PUFFFF*
And she's never at a loss for tasteful conversation topics.
Selma: Kissing is awesome.
Meyer: You know what else is awesome? ME. :D
Selma: OH MY GOD. YOU'RE THINKING ABOUT YOURSELF AGAIN, AREN'T YOU? SELF-ABSORBED PRICK. >:( *plusplus*
Selma: I WILL PUNCH MY HAND THROUGH YOUR CHEST AND RIP OUT YOUR HEART SWAYZE-STYLE. I SAW IT ON TV. DO YOU HEAR ME? >:(
Guys, he's standing right there. That's rude. Don't make fun of the disadvantaged.
At this point, Selma is the barely-hanging-onto-consciousness-so-I-will-bitch-every-two-seconds kind of sleepy, so she heads home. But she's still thinking about Meyer--oh yes she is. After a bit of a nap, she calls him up and invites him over.
No, tell us how you really feel.
STALKER ALERT. DON'T TURN AROUND, SELMA. IF YOU LOOK THEM IN THE EYES, THEY POUNCE.
Selma attempts to put the moves on Meyer, but Meyer ain't having none of that.
Selma: HUGS? :D
Meyer: OH FUCK NO.
Let it never be said Selma was a girl to get herself down easily, though. She is nothing if not persistent. They both head inside to--
Uhhh, relax. On the bed. Naked. Um.
See? Totally just talking. Naked. About jets. Selma is my girl, she isn't that easy. She just like some naked, relaxing jet-talk.
...Oh, Selma. You are easy like Sunday morning. :\
And Meyer walks off into the sunset, knowing that he got what he wanted. Selma wakes up briefly, then goes back to sleep.
Selma: Where did he go? D:
Selma: brb distracted by fireflies :D
But Selma does not give up. She wants his money him to move in and she wants him NAO. NOBODY PLUNDERS HER BOOTY WITHOUT PLEDGING ALLEGIANCE.
Selma: MOVE IN WITH ME OR I'MMA BEAT YOUR ASS.
Meyer swiftly concedes. Selma is pleased with this.
Meyer looks...devious. Uhhh, watch your food, Selma.
In return for letting her make him over, spend his entire bank account on a new house, and make questionable design decisions, Selma lets Meyer immediately get to his live-in-boyfriendly duties.
Oh Selma, don't you know you're never supposed to propose immediately following sex?
Selma: THANK YOU FOR REJECTING ME :D
Selma: He is so fine. CALL ME! I love you :D
Selma: THIS IS WORSE THAN THAT TIME WHERE I PUKED ALL OVER MYSELF IN PUBLIC. YESTERDAY. D:
Uh oh. Who else smells a shotgun wedding?
Meyer does! He (wisely) accepts. I mean, who couldn't when the lady you met one night ago and just got pregnant proposed to you in her ugly kitchen with dirty dishes on the table? He wants the honeymoon RIGHT NOW. TAKE HIM HARD, SELMA.
Selma--Selma, goddamn it. You have a bath! Stop spongebathing in the kitchen! KITCHENS ARE NOT FOR SPONGEBATHS. D:
Selma, ever the romantic, finally ties the knot in a nonexistent ceremony in their bathroom. In their pajamas. She really knows how to woo a man.
Meyer: HI WE'RE MARRIED. :D
Selma: HI. :D
And here we have the first official addition to the Cromwell family: Meyer Cromwell, Drink-Stealer and Total Asshole. Selma will not regret her decision. Probably because she'll be too busy chasing butterflies.
Misc. Images
ARRRRRR. She never struck me as the pirate sort until I saw that face. Now I know that it is destiny.
Yes, you are a sexy thing, even if you did not want to sing up there in the first place.
Selma smiles for the camera, giving me one of the only decent face shots I have of her where she isn't giving a completely retarded facial expression. I love you, Selma.
I'm incredibly displeased with the quality of the screenshots the in-game camera spits out even with everything turned all the way to high (I know, I know, I shouldn't be surprised). The next update is going to look a hell of a lot better; I know more of what I should be looking for, what I shouldn't be, and that some kind of camera mod is going to be a must if I want to do this without killing someone by generation 2.