After months of hiatus, I’ve decided to pull the plug on In Fair Veronaville. It’s kind of a shame to do this so close to the theoretical end, but for every reason I have to continue it, there’s about a dozen for axing it.

The fact as that I’m not at a very good place in my life right now. I’m doing thirty-three credits this year (maximum at my university is thirty without special permission) and I’ll have a few courses over the summer and a full thirty-credit year next year, and then comes the question of “What the hell am I going to do with my life?”. I’m also a few weeks away from a breakup–I figure it would be bitchy to dump that stress on him during midterms–and while I know it’s what’s best for both of us in the long run it will be tough for a while.

In addition to that, I just got my final exam schedule a couple of days ago and found out that I can’t leave until December 20th, leaving a very short break between two packed semesters as I’ll doubtlessly have to head back on my birthday again; I’m especially pissed about this because my second-last exam is on the 12th, the one I’m hanging around for is in a class I don’t really like, and… well, this is going to be a really difficult Christmas for my mom and I was hoping I could get back early to be with her. So much for that now.

Anyway. Five Sim stories are really too much, even if one of them has just been hanging around in limbo for the past couple of months.

Sorry about this. If you remember enough about the plot to have any questions as to how I was planning on ending it, feel free to ask.

Thanks for understanding.

Please follow this link to my LiveJournal for an important announcement.

http://dinuriel.livejournal.com/59139.html

Thank you for everything.

The tail end of 1908 was a difficult year for my family. Out of respect for my wife’s privacy, I will not discuss the intimate details, but suffice to say that there were many issues competing for our attention. Like any loving parents, we tried our best to keep the children’s lives as stable as possible in spite of our own difficulties; inevitably, however, there were times when they were left to their own devices.

My eldest, Adriana, is a clever girl like her mother. A prodigy, in fact–more than once we were hauled into conference with a frustrated teacher who didn’t know what to do with the consequences of my daughter’s stifled intellect. She was often bored with routine tasks, but as our firstborn they often fell to her in our times of indisposition. But we were never the most overbearing and paranoid of parents and had no qualms about leaving our young children to their toys as we went about our business in the next room, and Adriana was quick to learn that her presence made little difference on a practical level.

So–on occasion, when she could get away with it–she figured there would be little harm in venturing out of the house.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before she discovered something interesting.

NEXT CHAPTER:

The advantage to working in a relatively new field was that Romeo could go about his business as he pleased. He could work out of his own home according to his own convenience. He could operate within the bounds of his own ethics, never answering to anyone who might have made him do otherwise.

But what was most important–or at least, what was most important today–was that he might provide his services to friends and family at an adjusted rate.

And damn–did they ever need him.

He lowered himself into his desk chair and stared down his newest clients in the fashion in which he had been trained–scrutinizing without being threatening, concerned without being patronizing. As always, the individuals had different responses. One flashed him a forced sort of grimace. The other glanced to his feet.

Romeo made note of the reactions, then crossed his arms over the desk’s surface. Discount or not, he would do his job both thoroughly and well.

“So… who wants to talk first?”

NEXT CHAPTER:

It was a struggle to look at her husband as he leaned against the door-frame, Beatrice found. She would have preferred not to acknowledge him at all, but he’d been a good five minutes and she was getting restless–besides, the silent treatment was a childish thing and someone needed to be an adult here. “What do you want?”

Henry or Hal or whoever the hell he was pushed himself off the frame and shuffled into the bedroom. He had the look of a cracked sculpture that would crumble at the slightest disturbance, but if he was here, then he wanted to face the wind. “Can’t we just talk about this? I mean, I understand that you’re angry with me–”

“I’m not angry.” It wasn’t a lie. She was done with the rage and the fury. Perhaps she had burned out or come full circle. Maybe she didn’t even care any more, but she wasn’t angry. She lacked the capacity to be so.

Her husband nudged his head toward the empty side of the mattress. “May I sit?”

Sighing, she shifted toward the side of the bed. He made his way around the footboard and approached the spread’s upper corner, adjusting the pillow and reclining beside her. It was a funny feeling, being so close to him again; she’d scarcely let him within four feet of her since the initial argument. It was both familiar and uncomfortable, and she wasn’t sure which moreso.

“I was just a kid.” He grabbed the knot of his scarf and loosened it. “I was the second of four and they’d already broken my older sister beyond repair. My mother is a shrew and my father is a psychopath, and I had to get Desi and Ariel out of there.

“After Miranda left, things got worse. My father got even more irate; my mother responded in kind. The fights got more and more frequent. Possessions were intact one day and in shambles the next. My mother squandered her savings on cosmetics and my father lounged around with steaks over his eyes. He threatened to lock us all in the house and burn it down–even got the fuel once, probably would’ve done it if he hadn’t been out of matches.

“One night, I woke up to the sound of a muffled scream from Desi’s room. I got out of bed and followed the sound to find my father there, one hand holding a pillow over Desi’s face and the other up her skirt. I tried to pull him off, but he was too strong for me; he broke my nose, then went back to Desi. I don’t want to think about what he might have done to her if my mother hadn’t come in and shot him in the arm.

“I packed up Desi and Ariel that night and took them to Tybalt and Miranda’s. I’d been working in secret and saving up for a while, so I bought a small house and told my mother she could have it if she never went near the girls again. I called the authorities about my father and they hauled him into custody, but the charges were dismissed. I sped through high school and left town for post-secondary, dropping my name to avoid the stigma. I always meant to come back for my sisters, but… well…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to; she could fill in the blanks for herself. “Henry…”

He cut her off with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry I never told you. It’s not that I don’t trust you; I just didn’t want you to get mixed up with that part of my life. It’s over now–my mother is settled, my sisters are safe, and my father seems to have kept himself otherwise occupied. I didn’t see why all that ugliness should be allowed to pollute what we had.

“After I met you, for the first time in my life everything just seemed… good. I was drowning and you offered me a hand. I didn’t want to pull you under with me.”

Beatrice swallowed. Fighting back a stray tear, she reached for his hand, slipping her fingers between his. “I would have tried to pull you up.”

“You did try. You succeeded.”

NEXT CHAPTER:

Kent sat with the a resolve usually saved for more significant actions, but Juliette scarcely indulged him with a glance. He had made himself strange to her as of late; it seemed only fair that she might do the same to him.

“I got the papers.”

His words were of the confirming variety, the sort spoken to those in the know who sought clarification. But clarification of what? Was she supposed to be in the know? “What papers?”

Kent sighed. “Divorce papers.”

“Oh?” The baby kicked, but Juliette’s surprise was such that she almost didn’t notice. Yes, their marriage was a sham–but if they hadn’t divorced yet, then why now, of all times?

“I’ll sign them if you will.” Kent’s glasses slipped down the steep slope of his nose; he pushed them back into place, then flashed Juliette a shadow of a smile. “Consort’s dead. You’ve given me an heir. There’s no reason for this to continue any longer if you want something more.”

Something more. What a bizarre concept. Even as a girl, even in the days of white knight dreams and rose garden romps with Romeo, she’d always known in the back of her mind that this would be it: convenient husband, hoard of brats, nothing to do all day but age and gestate. What more was there? It had never occurred to her that there was more. It had never occurred to her to ponder–or so it seemed now. “What do you mean?”

His mouth remained stationary, but a certain something glazed over his eyes, some curious glint she did not know. Was this… pity? Disgust? “Don’t you want to be with him?”

She shrugged, one hand falling deftly to her stomach. “I don’t know.”

His strange gaze lingered. The corner of his lips twitched, as though trying to understand something incomprehensible. He was a clever man, she knew for a fact, and there was not much he found unfathomable. She couldn’t guess what might have confused him so. “I see. Well, I won’t touch them unless I see your signature first. Feel free to think about it.”

Now that–it hit her with more force than even the strongest of fetal kicks could muster–was a phrase she’d never heard before. “Thank you. I will.”

NEXT CHAPTER:

“I just don’t know what to do, Aunt Regan.” It was about the eighth time that afternoon that those words had breached Hal’s lips. “I don’t know.”

Regan reached across the couch and rubbed her nephew’s shoulder like she had when he was a kid, but it was all she could do. It was a bizarre situation and she wasn’t sure if there had ever been a precedent, much less one that had worked out in the end. She’d known that he’d been playing with fire this whole time, but she’d never stopped him–never forced him to think about he was doing. She wasn’t sure she could forgive herself for that, but then again she doubted he would have listened. Although he’d never admit it–and although she didn’t even want to think it–he was too much like his mother to be anything but stubborn.

“You went back to check on Beatrice and the kids earlier?” She pulled back her hand as he gave a strained nod. She wanted to say something reassuring, but all that came to mind were years’ worth of Should’ve seen it comings–nothing she could have told him at a time like this. “Nothing’s changed?”

Hal’s head turned the slightest degree, paying Regan what might have been a quarter of a glance before gravity pulled his hair in front of his eyes. “We’re past the yelling. She doesn’t even talk to me now. I don’t know which is worse.”

“I know.” Mindful of the baby within her, Regan leaned forward slightly. “She’s hurt, Hal. It hurts to be lied to. It hurts to learn the truth.”

“The truth.” He brushed his stray bangs to the side and turned his head, fully this time. “That damn truth again. She believes in the truth and it turns out to be a lie. I tell a lie and it becomes the truth. What’s the difference? It’s all the same, isn’t it?”

“It is. But it’s also not.” She nudged a little closer and took him by the hand. His grip was as cold and tight and sweaty as any frightened child’s.

NEXT CHAPTER:

If you’re subscribed to more than one of my blogs, sorry about clogging your feed with the same message multiple times.

Anyway, I’m doing the Storyteller Spotlight interview at the SimStoryTellers community on LiveJournal. If you have any questions (which I hope at least a few of you do, because I’m quite obscure on LiveJournal and it would be nice to have at least a couple questions up there), feel free to ask them at the questions post (no LJ account required) and they will be answered in the interview next Monday. When the interview is posted, I’ll add the link to the sidebar next to the VSS interview.

Have a great night, all

As I mentioned previously, all Aefyr–save for those of most peculiar circumstances of birth, which I shall outline later–are synchronous hermaphrodites. All Aefyr are capable of bearing children, and all those who do so die in the process.

They are also capable of breeding with humans.

A man I know, whose identity I shall not reveal, once had a physical relationship with a male-bodied Aefyr. Now, I won’t go into extensive detail in regards to Aefyr genitalia, but I trust that anyone with a basic knowledge of the human anatomy will conclude that in cases such as these, there is an extra available orifice. In the case of my acquaintance and his lover, this orifice must have been put to use.

I am not sure how my acquaintance took the news. As a scientist, he was likely intrigued; as a man, he must have been both proud and terrified. I do believe that what he felt for the creature was love, and the idea of having a child with someone he loved might have set his heart a-flutter. Or–I suppose it is possible–that he was simply dumbfounded, but I doubt it, as he was a learned man who was surely aware of the locations of the various entryways.

But above all, he was a good man, a kind man, an accepting man. While I did not care to pressure him for more information than necessary, there is no doubt in my mind that he eventually warmed up to the idea.

Or, at least, until the light was shed upon the darker side of the story.

I am a scientist. I study facts and figures–concrete, physical evidence that can been seen, touched. I do not claim to be an expert in the realm of feelings.

But I do believe that a heart needn’t stop beating in order to die.

NEXT CHAPTER:

“Were you ever planning on telling me this? Ever?” Beatrice’s hands were thrown back and forth in her fury, but not once had she hit him. He almost wished she would. Maybe this was all a nightmare and a well-placed left hook would wake him. Or maybe she’d punch a hole right through his skull and kick his falling corpse as his brains leaked all over the floor. Either scenario would have been preferable to this. “What the hell, Henry–or should I call you Hal? All these years and I don’t even know your name? All these years and I don’t know my name? Here I was, thinking I was Mrs. Stratford, but no! I’m Mrs. Norman–Mrs. Hal fucking Norman!”

Henry clenched down on his pulsing lip and let his eyes drop to his feet. He knew he deserved this. He didn’t want to yell at her and he wasn’t going to. He didn’t even want to explain himself. He’d been hoping he’d never had to. “Look, Beatrice, I can only say I’m sorry so many times!”

“Well, good! Because it doesn’t mean anything!” She was livid–livid and insulted and hurt. He’d never meant for it to be like this. He wished she could see that. He needed her to see that. She’d always been the stronger of the two, and he couldn’t repair everything he’d broken without her support. He was a lost ship by a rocky shore and the lantern in the lighthouse sat cold and unlit. “Our family, our marriage, our relationship–everything! You just made it all up so you could run away from your problems like a coward! It’s all a lie, Hal!”

Henry flinched. She didn’t really think that… did she? “It’s not a lie. It’s the only thing I know for truth.”

“Truth?” The venom in her voice was unlike any other. His father’s wrath and his mother’s scorn had never stung so. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it grabbed you by the balls and and squeezed! You’re just a sick little shit living in a half-imagined world. You don’t even know who are you, do you?”

It was painful to meet her eye, but he had to–he wanted to. He pulled his bleeding heart from his chest and held it out in offering. “I know I love you.”

Her face wore a mask of outrage and disgust as she took and a tore it apart and threw the pieces to the floor. She shoved past him on her way to the stairs. “Don’t try to make me feel guilty. Don’t tell me you love me while I don’t know if I can say it back. I don’t even know if the man I love exists.”

He didn’t know what to tell her. He wanted to say that yes, he did exist… but did he? He didn’t feel much like anyone now–not Henry Stratford, not Hal Norman, nobody. He wanted to be whoever she wanted him to be, but she didn’t want him to be a lie and he didn’t know if he could be anything but. Without her, he couldn’t even tell the difference.

She reached the post at the end of the banister and turned around. “Do you remember when we met, all those years ago? The first time, at your cousin’s house… do you remember what you said to me?”

He did. He wished he didn’t. Never before had he so fervently wished words back to their thoracic womb. “I was just a stupid kid, Beatrice.”

“So was I.” She placed her hand atop the post and swung herself onto the steps. “We never grew up. We’re both still stupid kids, Hal. Let’s just take a break from playing pretend and figure out what’s real.”

And with that, she proceeded up the stairs–out of sight, out of earshot, but ever present in his mind. His entire being was full of her and he couldn’t figure out why he felt so empty.

What the hell have I done?

NEXT CHAPTER: