Charlotte babbled at Rylan nonsensical words, which infuriated him; she should be making whole sentences. He worried Charlotte was failing to develop grumbling how their third child would suffer in the future because of this. Kneeling, he attempted to teach, having taken no time to encourage her siblings, he struggled to keep her attention. Charlotte’s arms reached for his neck, forcing him to bend to her hug; she gave a reassuring pat. She grinned at Patrick peeking through the kitchen arch; he had been teaching her to rephrase what she wanted to say to confused everyone. Emilie figured this was her son’s doing; however, Rylan remained concerned his daughter was unable to communicate.
The school encouraged Eliza’s year to think what their futures may look like; they had guest speakers, doctors, police officers, and a musician all promoting their careers. Eliza felt inspired, her opinion on what life could look like changed, evolved, she flowed through each notion, careful to consider and reconsider who she was becoming. Her vivid imagination brought her dolls to life; they were her patients, as a doctor, other times a vet, though she became frustrated, as she understood it was impossible to cure her dolly’s sickness every time.
Money had been a driving force in Rylan’s life; his parents made a reasonable income, a comfortable life for him and his sister. Rylan wanted to provide his children with so much. Looking back over his finance, the accumulated wealth from earnings, royalties and house value amounted to 200,000 simoleons. He leaned back proud, smiling, the computer flickered; Emilie rolled her eyes at the screen, wishing his idea of wealth translated to time with his children. Nothing changed, he joked they should have another baby, start afresh, certain three was plenty Emilie clipped his ear, and kissed his cheek, they could practice without the additional result.
Emilie rushes the cleaning, puts toys in boxes, plates to the dishwasher, and tries to adjust Patrick’s hair, hoping he would look smart. The chaos was to impress Ziva’s girlfriend, it was all Emilie had heard for the last few months, and it was time they held a barbecue. Rylan made with the polite, descending on Ziva, picking her brains for his new project, computer programing. He was looking to develop his novel into something creative, allow people to make choices, determine where the story followed. Ziva tore glances, Eliza seemed taken with Vicky as she talked art, without the actual image Vicky could describe the worlds she created in detail. Charlotte meanwhile begged her to watch as she clapped and twirled, eager for the applause, Emilie had attempted to apologise but realised Vicky was in complete adoration of the children keen to entertain her.
Patrick had other ideas quiet as he tucked into his burger, his eyes lowered to the table. He found conversation with strangers hard despite Vicky’s efforts to engage him; Patrick responded in gestures, shy at speaking. Following Eliza, her ability to make friends, he had made the same gestures, curbing his kleptomaniac tendencies to stay on their good side. Emilie felt his hand in hers or his presence close by as he hid in her shadow; she hoped this was a phase, for now, she embraced her shy boy.
By the Grace of Sim Gods 