This reaction to Joe is funny because I don't really like his haircut very much. I was even going to ask what the rest of you thought about it. I'll let him keep it now, though. I'm not exactly sure where I got it because I was downloading from several sites trying to find decent hair for men that wasn't hanging in strings in front of the face. Joe's hair might be the one from Sims Connection, page 32 of the hair styles, called 'Keanu' . Not positive. I preferred the way his father Iven wore his hair, in a long pony tail. But that made Joe look exactly like Iven. Couldn't do that.
I had the same problem with Porter and Mallory. I haven't gotten any hair from sims connection yet. I'll check them out. It is kind of 70's but it works on him, I think. Or maybe I just like him because he's cute no matter what ...
Yeah I can't do the long hair look on Gregory or Hans because they look so much like Franz when they have that style. Interesting enough, all three look nothing like each other now.
Eek, had to catch up a week's worth of updates! Fantastic story, Lynet! The pictures are good enough on their own, but the story...
Thank you 123. Glad to see you back. We were wondering what you were up to this past week. I don't know if I'll be able to catch this story up before I get back from Amsterdam on the 29th. Since my house is a shambles (painters) and finding the time to play sims is turning out to be difficult. But I'm thinking about it every day...:bandit: Much apologies to those checking in who thought I'd posted about Errol's investigation of the House of Fallen Trees. Not yet. It's a very delicate situation for him. We have to be careful. Wouldn't want him back in jail for breaking and entering.
I was in Cancun...I got a huge tan. Didn't feel like making an "I'm Back!" topic, so I'll just post here. I'm sure everyone on the forum has visited this topic.
No, we wouldn't, but color me disappointed. Have a great time in Amsterdam, and may the painters finish soon!
I'll try to get some pictures up in the next few days, but I have a lot of catching up to do with a lot of stuff online...and for some reason My Network Places isn't working too well at the moment. :(
Everyone went to bed except me. At about 2 in the morning I went back alone to the house next to the cemetery and that was a big mistake. Sure, it seems foolish now but I was just doing what came natural to me. After all, I had worked on my own for years as a thief. Why would this be different? And I was just going to take what was already mine. Ive heard what they say about assuming anything but what the caretaker at the cemetery had said about the other visitors to the mausoleum made sense. They had opportunity. So where was the harm in taking a look? Especially as the house was for sale. It had looked vacant when we drove by it on the way home but I saw a couple of dim lights when I parked my truck out front. I walked up to the door and knocked. That had always been my first step before burglarizing a house--check to see if anyones home first. Nothing worse then facing a nervous homeowner with a shotgun. That happened to me once. Just once. I ran fast and managed to escape with only a small handful of buckshot lodged in tender flesh. Very painful, so now I knock. There was no answer. I walked around the porch and pried open a window. It made some noise as I opened it so I waited, listening. Not a sound. I climbed through. Inside the house it looked like someone had started renovations and then run out of money. The walls were unpainted, unfinished. There was no furniture except a worn chair in the kitchen. A couple of floor lamps. I walked upstairs and noticed yellow light flickering under a door. I opened the door, prepared with a speech about buying the house in case I met anyone, and found only an empty room. There was a fire in the fireplace but nothing else. All the rooms upstairs and down were empty and bare. There was only one more door left to try and I suspected it would take me down to the basement. I was reluctant. OK, so I was a little spooked. The place seemed completely empty and yet not quite unused--a fire in the fireplace upstairs and some old but still recognizable Chinese carryout in the filthy refrigerator. I also had the uneasy feeling I was being watched. Did I leave? No. I was here now and needed to get this over with. I opened the basement door and went down the long, long flight of stairs. Way too many steps for any ordinary basement. I was surprised to see an electric light on the railing. It was lit. I should have stopped and gone back up but I was sure I could see the urn itself down at the bottom, on a table. I kept going down.
I was followed. Maybe some part of my brain knew it but Id seen the urn and its all I could think about. Hurry up, get the urn and leave. I finally reached the bottom of the steps and ran over to the small crude table with the urn sitting on it. Yes, for sure, it was mine, the one that Granddad had insisted that I take care of. I started to touch it when I heard the noise behind me. I had no time to turn around before a nasty blow to the head knocked me to the floor. I heard a raspy voice mutter over me something about traps, and while everything around me became a gray blur I wondered why anyone would set a trap for me when everyone knew where I lived.
The trap, as it turned out, wasnt for me. I was only the bait. This I figured out later. Now, however, I pulled myself up out of the load of pain that was my entire skull. Ouch, ouch, ouch, I said, rubbing my head. You didnt have to do that. He just stood there, watching me. He was real ugly, his face painted purple. His eyes were so deep in his head I couldnt see them at first. Then I saw them, shiny black marbles. This guy has some serious problems, I thought, starting with his face. My name, I said, is Errol Waring and Ive been looking for a bigger house, big enough for my family and for my business. Your For Sale sign caught my eye. This is just the sort of place I need. I knocked. No one answered and it looked vacant so I thought Id take a look. Tell me, he said in a voice that wasnt normal, very hoarse, about Joe. Joe? Joe who? A jolt of electricity shot through me. It came from the chair. Tell me, the crazy man repeated, about Joe. "You mean the guy that works for me? He's nothing. A jerk, really." The chair zapped me again. I think there was a button under his shoe. We went back and forth like this for awhile, long enough for me to start thinking Joe really was a jerk I'd like to strangle. Eventually the crazy man left me alone, locked up in that dark little room.
Eep! Who is that? I was expecting Duke Sidewinder, but he doesn't have black hair ... oooh, I can't wait to find out what happens next! Oooh, simulpost!
great pictures Lynet The shadowy figure is really spooky. Poor Errol, one of these days someone is going to hit him one too many times.
