Like a package nobody ordered, Freesia Wolff’s pending birthday was approached with curious detachment.
“If you’re chosen to be the heir, are you gonna change the house around?” asked her sister Forsythia.
“Maybe,” Freesia answered.
“Pittsburgh’s great,” commented her best friend Ace, who’d just aged up that morning. “Lots of industrial waste.”
He was always saying stuff like that.
“How do you even know that?” she asked.
“And all of those old steel mills..” he went on. “Can you imagine the kind of stuff they have lying around there?”
“What,” he said a bit defensively. “You can do a lot with scrap metal!”
The conversation had become Boring to Freesia so, without further ado, the birthday girl lined up for her candle-blow.
She made a wish ..
.. and boldly carried the teeny-tiny-eye gene into the next age.
There are a couple sim-things that I loathe that, in doing so, I may have inadvertently invited to the party. Not active loathing, but the more insidious, judgey, “other sims’ problems,” passive sort of loathing — it’s one of those lazy behaviors that you know on some level is gonna come back and bite you in the ass. And since it’s Freesia we’re dealing with, a sim who I am thus far unable to ignore, of course they’d be dredged up and be plopped out, slime-covered, onto the table.
It’s cool, though. I mean, how can I resist that face? Clearly I need to get over myself.
. . .
“So,” Ace asked, “what’s the damage?”
After a moment of poorly-feigned shock, Ace busted up laughing.
“You could at least pretend to be surprised,” Freesia smirked.
“You finished yet?” Freesia asked.
“Pretty much.” He smiled, and added gently, “don’t take this badly, but, you’ve always been kinda Mean.”
Freesia’s stare went cold. She raised her arm and drew back her hand.
Ace threw his own arm up instinctively to counter hers.
It was a good thing, too.
If he hadn’t, he might’ve missed the high-five.