Rylan thrived on attention; regular ego massages came with the growing popularity of his books and the movies they spawned. Vicky and Ziva hoped an evening surrounded by family, drinking, maybe dancing, would be quiet, free from Rylan hogging the spotlight by announcing his attendance. Her brother forgot his fame for five minutes, pretending that he, with a beautiful woman on his arm, was a regular guy. The barman recognised him offering a free drink then the bell rang as the star struck tender announced the celebrity presence, the quiet night turned to a party, with Rylan front and centre.
The job commanded Ziva, launched into space, chasing rogue aliens and smugglers, she needed good fitness. It sapped her energy resources; at home, she dozed, the tv sound muted, Vicky humming, cooking their supper. She watched jealous, Vicky and Emilie had the whole bar dancing; her young beautiful vibrant wife laughed, eager for Ziva to join. Ziva wondered if it was her advancing age, but she preferred the quiet evenings, her aching feet massaged as she read Rylan’s books to Vicky. Resting her head, Ziva closed her eyes; the music fizzled to the background and sleep found her.
Since the wedding, Vicky had distanced herself from the dominant personalities that made up her three siblings. They had families; spare time was a rare commodity; Vicky knew she would be lucky to see any of her nieces. Rhonda, the eldest, enjoyed her visits, wanting to play fetch with Fiona, build an appetite ready to devour the buffet spread Vicky and her anxiety prepared. The weather had alternative plans for Rhonda, the game of fetch brought her inside; she was bored, Vicky distracted her with music. Ziva had installed a new sound system; the invitation to dance was infectious amongst the visiting siblings.
Ziva slept through the day; Vicky worried the job demands were excessive, her concerns met with a sleepy dismissal, blaming her age and desire to keep pace with the younger rangers. Vicky found worrying impacted her inspiration; the blank canvas taunted her; for days it loomed, Vicky felt certain, it mocked her. The cats followed the ins and outs; Vicky transferred her work to what passed for a garden, an unkempt patch of grass surrounding the house. Asher and Libby stretched themselves, sunbathing and napping. Abby had other plans, prowling; Vicky theorised she wanted to fight; when dogs barked, Abby headed their way, unafraid.
Vicky brought creative energy; the house came to life with her singing, artistic flare and the sweet smells that arose from the kitchen. It surprised Ziva how easy Vicky had embedded herself into the routine; this home with her fur babies was complete. Ziva felt the tug of jealousy watching Rylan with his family; she could see the same loving looks in Vicky’s eyes, her nieces, and nephews, Ziva wondered if they should consider their own. She plonked Patches on the sofa, running fingers through thick fur; Vicky grinned at the notion, they needed a man to volunteer, and Ziva had the perfect candidate.
By the Grace of Sim Gods 