“Don’t wake the Llama” is a game of strategy, a steady hand and luck. Eliza teased the log, aware the Llama already rocked; it sat precarious and stared, daring her to make a mistake. It was her special day; nothing was stopping her from winning, except Charlotte; she glared needing, Eliza to topple the logs so she could be safe. Charlotte kicked the table as Eliza safely removed her chosen piece, the game tumbled, Patrick yelled, Charlotte argued back it was falling, that her tap changed nothing. The game was finished, Eliza tidied the pieces watching them, it was a game, why did Charlotte need to turn everything into a competition, one where she had to be the winner.
Eliza gives her aunties a twirl, she was a perfect combination, the parents best elements, Rylan, his black hair, brown eyes, from Emilie, the shape of her face, curves of her body. She felt confident, self-assured, ready to take on school and the lessons they had. Vicky and Ziva invested in an animal treat crafting station, encouraging Eliza to follow her veterinary dreams. Listening to Ziva, stories surrounding Fiona and her band of cats influenced her love of animals. The present she longed for was a dog; Rylan kept pushing the parameters, the achievements to gain; each time Eliza reached them, Rylan moved the goal. Her current target was a grade A in high school, although his irritation over her lifestyle choice, being vegetarian reduced her chances. Emilie had sympathised, considering Eliza at mealtimes, adapting where possible. It had put extra strain on her mothers, but Eliza was old enough to cook for herself, eager to learn from the best.
Patrick stood curious as Eliza directed her parents; the changes to her bedroom included space for her crafting station and an upgrade to a double bed. The brother awaited his chance to claim anything, preferably activities he could do in the bedroom. Being shy, Patrick spent his time reading, pushed aside by Charlotte as she took charge of the Social Butterflies. Eliza moved the violin and art table to the hall; this was his chance; he dragged the table a couple of feet, Rylan interrupted the rug ruffled, unimpressed, Patrick stared at his feet apologising. Emilie had planned to put the table downstairs, the play area emptied since they were no longer toddlers; Patrick won her over, as he believed Charlotte uninterested. His promise to spend time making friends lay broken, the table and violin in his room; Patrick knew that if mum delivered meals and he had a private bathroom attached, he could remain safe in solitude.
High school, nothing like Eliza expected; the moment she stepped foot into class; it was as though she was in quicksand. Eliza established her intelligence, creative genius, maintaining popularity, feeling unstoppable. She returned mortified; teens stared, making her feel like a freak, as she stammered through answers. Homework increased, a thick blue book filled with information they expected she learnt and understood. Things faired the same for her sister, an attitude fueled by believing she was the best. Looking back on her school, Charlotte realised she had overestimated her abilities; her grades suffered. Emile couraged her daughters to focus; they will match her peers and succeed.
By the Grace of Sim Gods 