The Stewarts Family (and other shenanigans)
Sims player fourteen generation deep into a legacy. Here's their story! Also, art and builds.
The Spices have lost their grip on my body, and now I’m cold again. Probably doesn’t help that I decided to give snowpal-making another go, in the middle of the plaza, next to an artist’s unused station.
I’m still terrible at it, but at least I feel like he fits in the spirit of the Spice Festival. He’s got an edge.
Look, Selvadorada isn’t the only place you can find treasure. There’s treasure in the antique snowballs and the colorful, one-of-a-kind posters you can find around the San Myshunian alleys. They’re less valuable, perhaps. They have fewer centuries of histories behind them.
But it doesn’t mean they’re not interesting.
Also, it turns out the Curry Challenge T-shirt is plenty warm enough when you just ate food that made your body’s temperature go up fifty degrees.
Oh, Cléo, Cyril, we see you being too afraid to give the Curry Challenge a go. Don’t act innocent. We practically ate the same things for seventeen years, your taste buds should be as robust as mine.
Oh, Cléo, Cyril, we see you being too afraid to give the Curry Challenge a go. Don’t act innocent. We practically ate the same things for seventeen years, your taste buds should be as robust as mine.
I’m not going to lie and pretend the curry sauce was a breeze. But I was raised by my mother, and no matter how terrible of a cook she is, she did teach my taste buds how to withstand spices — all kinds of spices.
If anything, her inability to dose them properly has led to a few times she had a heavy hand with the hot pepper, the perfect training for tonight.
Dad, Mom, and I, the three of us win the challenge and a stylish set of T-shirts. Mom is the only one who can still feel her lips enough to beam at the prowess, but the spirit is there.
Look, I know I was breathing fire earlier, but the bubble blower has somewhat emboldened me. When Mom gets up to go take a Curry Challenge plate and “show these tourists how you do it,” I jump up to my feet and proclaim high and loud that I, too, can conquer the challenge.
So as mom and daughter, we walk to the red tables of the challenge, and each of us picks up a plate of flaming hot, literally flaming hot, rice and yellow curry sauce.
Wish my mouth luck.
One of the lesser known parts of the Spice Festival is the traveling bubble blower. It’s always there, every festival, without fail, in a nook in the plaza of the Spice Market.
Mom says it can get dangerous, and judging by the unnatural skin color of a reckless tourist, I’m inclined to believe her.
I’m also inclined to believe that it looks like a heck of a lot of fun.
In under a minute, and after I’ve gotten the hang of it, I’m breathing up colorful bubbles, and my brain and body feel lighter. It’s like I’m somewhere else, transported up above and on the other side of the world.
How have I never tried this before?
After the show of sparkles, watch me breathe fire!
Really, it’s less showmanship, and more the abundance of spice I ate over the last few hours.
The Stewarts Family (and other shenanigans) 