By the Grace of Sim Gods

Eliza: New Year

Constant bleaching dried her hair; it fizzed and broke easier; Eliza had loved the blonde; it made a statement, empowered her independence, stood for her teenage rebellion. Rylan’s death brought home the reality of what she rejected and the relationship which remained broken. The mirror reflected her dyed black locks; they curled beneath her chin, words unspoken; it would be a lifetime of regret, unable to say what he meant to her, how much love she felt in her darkest and distant moments. Her need for space, granted in abundance, but in grief, she travelled to see her family every week, desperate to find some solace.

As a high achiever throughout her youth, Eliza found herself at a loss, the unplanned, unknown next step. Rylan had big aspirations for her, the potential he saw, and his love for her, which remained despite their arguments; a smile tickled her lips, he saw her as a vet or pursuing science, with excellent grades, there could be a university place had she returned home. Although that door remained open, Eliza preferred freedom, refusing to live with the guilt and in her parent’s debt. San Myshuno felt like home, a place she planned to stay, save her money for a penthouse apartment in the fashion district or a lavish Uptown suite. To afford such extravagance, Eliza needed a better income. She enjoyed her green-fingered career; while it meant living month to month, unable to save, the pace relaxed her.

She spent her weekdays searching through the job listings finding nothing of note; Eliza flicked through; the announcement on the sports page drew her in. The San Myshuno Warriors were looking for its next Llama mascot. They were big shoes to fill; for Eliza, this came from stories of her grandmother Aria, the Llama mascot and cheer captain for Newcrest Wanderers. Why every sports team chose a llama confused Eliza, a few different animal mascots existed, but the llama was King. She frowned, realizing that paying attention in history class might have provided the answer. Legends varied, the gods obsession; to a “eureka” moment over a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches, that one made Eliza’s mouth water, a plate piled high with melting yellow cheese on soft white bread. Whatever the answer, Eliza found the job suited her needs.

New Year’s Eve meant a time of renewal and reflection, of planning and a change for the positive. Eliza wondered what her father would think of her current career choice; it made her smile, imagining him grumbling, comments on a wasted talent despite following in Aria’s footsteps. She wished to have met Aria and Jose, Ziva spoke with fondness, the dedicated father who had time to spend with his children and Aria, who inspired Ziva’s ambitions.

San Myshuno was quiet; a thin frosty layer made the pavement sparkle, and treacherous underfoot, though it held something magical, watching her breath release into the air. Jose wrote beautiful descriptions, he described it as the inner dragon; the creature lived through the medieval period, but in the present, confined to myth and legend, with glimpses caught in the magic realm. It made for a conversation starter with the few locals braving the weather for breakfast and steaming coffee. Eliza agreed to join them in the evening; the Waterside Warbler had splashed money on a fancy television, with discounts on cocktails. Although she had lived here several years she had made few friends, this invitation opened her social calendar to numerous possibilities as they swapped numbers and prepared to see in the New Year.

Vicky: Rocks in the Storm

Silence, as Grim disappeared through the black smoke, the family stood in shock. Simon rested a firm, supportive hand on Vicky’s shoulder as she continued to cling to Alexis, her life raft in the grieving sea. The festive tunes cut through the din, prompting Liam to hit mute. Outside, snow fell, the distant sea lapped, muffled sobs from the widows, the room filled with discomfort and unknowing of what the next move should be. Patrick took charge, directing Rhonda and the others to clean; Eliza cuddled Milly, numb with shock, Charlotte stood frozen, uncertain, tears rolling down cheeks and Emilie shrugged him from her.

The dessert chilled, Ziva’s hard work to learn a new recipe abandoned in the kitchen, cat paws in the icing. Patrick and Charlotte lifted their mother, accepting a ride home to Newcrest with Liam. Milly followed as Alexis helped Vicky to bed; after a quick hug, Alexis ushered Milly back into Eliza’s care to give Vicky time to rest. She nestled amongst sofa cushions, her eyes sore, red, and throat dry, although refused the water Eliza whose pain reflected her own, offered. Abbey and Libby’s quiet purrs helped soothe Milly; enough to sleep. Eliza busied herself cleaning, trying to push through how there would be regrets in her unhealed relationship with Rylan.

Fiona had remained where Ziva died, her owner gone; she waited for a distracted Eliza to leave the door ajar when taking the trash. She took advantage of the snow depth, poor visibility; she wandered along the beach and disappeared from view. Hours passed, Eliza said a muted goodbye, grief-filled hugs elicited sobs as Vicky and Milly found themselves alone. Winterfest sent shockwaves through the family as Milly laid food for the animals, she realised Fiona was missing. Despite her guilt, Vicky had neither the energy nor inclination to search. Milly scowled, wrestling with wellies, a coat and her mother, determined to find Fiona but the blizzard conditions intensified, forcing the resignation of her efforts.

Vicky plated the leftovers, neither had an appetite and her effort to encourage Milly to eat, met with a frown as she picked at her plate. They attempted to find a distraction with the big boxing day football match; it would be temporary as the reminders were everywhere. Milly caught herself mid cheer as the Brindleton Bay Pirates scored, remembering how Fiona would bark as Ziva did a funny celebratory dance. The excitement and thrill of Football confused Vicky; she used to paint, watching Ziva and Milly argue with the TV, yelling at the players and referee, it seemed nonsense to her, but this had become a boxing day tradition. Muting the TV, Milly switched sofas, cuddling Vicky, nothing would be the same; Milly kept her grounded and reminded her a part of Ziva was with them, inside her. With a watery gaze, Vicky wondered how they could create a child so strong; Milly squeezed tighter, assuring her they would make it through; Ziva told her they were her rocks in the storm.

Ziva and Rylan: Life’s Winter

Rylan hugged everyone with a brief squeeze, moving swift to the fire with numb fingers. He gave a pleasant albeit awkward smile, disappointed in Eliza’s distant nature, Rylan hoped they were improving, but as Emilie reminded him, it takes a long time to heal. Eliza was thawing, wishing the train had been on time and regretting the decision to spend Winterfest Eve alone, returning the smile with an apology for her absence. Patrick and Charlotte launched themselves at the eldest sister; the trio piled into the floor with a thud knocking Rylan, laughter erupted.

As Vicky’s family joined the gathering, a feast spread across the table, turkey, stuffing, roast potatoes, the mushy green balls Ziva knew no one would eat, tossed aside. The bread sauce at the previous Winterfest dinners abandoned in the microwave at Emilie’s gatherings made its debut at the table. Emilie rolled her eyes at the teasing, helping herself to a huge dollop, reminding Ziva they were missing the cranberry sauce. Beneath the tree, presents multiplied, the children itching to see what was inside. They gobbled food faster than a turkey running, ignoring parents and calls for dessert; they sorted the gift into piles, diving in with the adults having to perch on the sofa’s eating.

Ziva and Rylan rested their weary eyes; the dining table, covered with the remanent of pulled crackers and uneaten dinners. Her face relaxed, pleased Rylan and Eliza were talking, he managed a lazy “hm” a curl to his lip; this had been the best Winterfest, and the New Year would continue to bring him and Eliza closer. The children were dancing, waiting for the promised visit of Father Winter, knowing he would visit those happy and good. Patrick jabbed Charlotte asking if Vampires were good enough for this visit; she shrugged; if Father Winter forgot her, she would hunt him down.

The room warmed, the fire glowed brighter, and magic filled the air; Father Winter appeared in a flurry of snow, a rich belly laugh. He replenished the gifts beneath the tree, and the teens were eager to see what were for them. Shy, Milly bit her lips together, her stomach fluttered, looking to Vicky for encouragement. Father Winter bent down to hear her, smiling as Milly presented him with a gift, a handcrafted gift, a decoration for his wall, a string of reindeer and snow pals. Letting another jolly laugh rip, the family, intoxicated by the joy his presence brought, opened their extra gifts. Milly tore off the paper; inside was a doctor playset, her eyes alight, able to practice taking care of her dolls. Hugging Father Winter, he disappeared.

Another visitor to their home was unwelcome, the long, black hooded cloak, his scythe in hand; it was a Winterfest gift they wished to return. Sleeping peaceful, Ziva had breathed her last; Vicky nudged her, bound she would feel disappointed to miss Milly opening presents. Unresponsive, Vicky felt the pressure build in her eyes, telling her brother to watch Milly; she tried to wake Ziva, ignoring the solemn presence. Dreams echoed a life of friendship, numerical codes of 1s and 0s, the love she missed and the one she found. Ziva reached the stars with Vicky and loved her daughter with all her heart. She had nothing to regret as Grim embraced her sole with a swipe of his scythe. Alexis squeezed Vicky, stifling a wail, the grief rushing through like a steam train; her knees buckled as the sisters knelt on the floor.

Emilie checked Rylan; the twins had been quiet for a while, and people were getting restless waiting for the Winter Berry Cake, the honour of cutting this was Rylan’s as head of the Grace family. Grim hated these occasions, the pleas of a family; this day was his worse as he came to take two. She saw the gloomy figure moving toward them; shaking her head Emilie kept squeezing his hand, begging him to stay. Despite the years they shared. Emilie felt her breath snatched as the grief lodged in her throat. Money made his world spin; Emilie was the wonder that kept him grounded gave him a family. As Grim raised his scythe a second time, memories of his blessings, his three children and the niece he helped create; were his legacy and the best thing he had done with his life. Released to the ether, Rylan wished he could have told them what they meant to him and how proud he had been, in particular Eliza, her bravery and foolishness that made him realise in death all that he squandered.

Ziva: On the Eve on Winterfest

The big family gathering was all Ziva could think of as they decorated the tree; the snow outside seemed to have other plans as Vicky took another call with her brother declining their invitation. She struggled to hide her disappointment as their family decided the blizzard conditions forecast were risky. Their coastal home welcomed strong winds; the snow piled high against the house side, she understood why they would rather stay home. Ziva stared into the fire as Vicky added presents, a sinking feeling, like she knew something was to happen, or end. There had been awkward conversations, Vicky had tried hard to dismiss them as Ziva felt that winter brought with it her time. Her wife made plans, cramming into their lives memories and experiences, traditions for future generations. In her older years meant Ziva would miss the key moments of her daughter, sharing her dreams, the teasing as she tried new styles, her first crush, boyfriends, seeing her walk down the aisle, to see the amazing woman their daughter would be. Sitting, Vicky’s shoulders dropped with a sigh, squeezing Ziva’s hand, Winterfest will be perfect, whether it was the three of them and the fur babies or the whole family.

A squeal from the porch startled Vicky and Ziva, who rushed to Asher, his body semi-curled. Milly’s watery sobs, her cold hand brushed over his fur, he had drifted into his permanent nap, with dreams of turkey and catnip. Tugging Milly, Vicky embraced her, comforted as they both sobbed, allowing Ziva one final hug with her fur baby.

Death had no place, however, grief remained; the special present made up for Milly had supposed to bring an element of fun and excitement with sugary treats, a game and pyjamas. Vicky tried; she made the hot chocolates, made them all wear the toasty socks and encouraged Milly to open one present. Ziva watched as the marshmallows and cream melted; it dripped down the side to her trousers. Milly disappeared; she had forgotten to make a card for her mums; she felt Ziva needed this gift. The glitter fluttered, sticky with glue as she handed the chaotic card to Ziva, a Cheshire cat sized grin on her face. It had meant to look like Asher, with all his stripes; Vicky nodded, her brow furrowed, suggesting Milly had caught his energetic personality, as neither she nor Ziva could tell the drawing was a cat.

Despite her grief, Ziva stood tall that morning, it would be the first significant holiday she had held, and memorable it would be. Milly ran to the tree; presents piled high, eager to see inside the pretty boxes. Vicky joined her, arms pulling her into an embrace. She screwed her nose, wriggling free, begging her mums to let her open them all. Ziva appeared, pancakes overflowing; Milly knew maple syrup, bacon and sausages awaited; the smell tugged; as she followed her nose, glancing back toward the presents.

The snow had been lighter than forecast; although they were white across the land, the roads had cleared. They each opened one gift, art supplies for Milly; Vicky hoped it would stop her stealing hers. A homemade necklace for her mums used shells she collected in the Summer; Eliza helped her string them together with beads from the one Milly broke. Ziva smiled, her face soft, tearful, the beads had adorned Aria’s necklace, Milly borrowed without asking, and the clasp broke; this repair was somehow perfect and the best gift of all.

Rylan: Yellow Snow and Doggy Gifts

Rylan smiled; Eliza munched a sugar cookie; his cocky attitude at knowing she would apologise was a hard swallow. She came because Emilie asked; another Winterfest of Rylan and her bickering, Charlotte crying, and Patrick doing some solo activity in his bedroom; Eliza needed to step down, accept her part in disrupting family life. Her father would continue to believe he was correct, issue strong-worded suggestions for her future, something Eliza was still considering. He no longer had any say in where she lived; the occasional snarky comment of her sharing her bed with cockroaches made Eliza shudder; rather than fighting, she laughed it off, nodding in agreement that perhaps she should find a new place. Eliza hung by the kitchen door; Rylan had a craving for ice cream; the snow falling outside made it seem surreal, as Eliza offered to find him some yellow snow. A horrified stare worried her; a deep bellow erupted as he turned on the machine.

Their relationship was problematic, but it was nice to spend time together, open to rebuilding a friendship. Rylan missed the little girl who would beg him to read stories, came home excited to show her excellent grades; he was proud of her achievements, results were outstanding, but Eliza had declined a place at university. Lecturing her, pressing the issue of responsibility, it was his job, and accepting it was unlikely Eliza would nominate him as “father of the year”, elevated the disappointment in himself for failing to keep control of her. Eliza folded her arms; fatherhood should have been who he was rather than a job. As for controlling her or her siblings, it was a child’s place to challenge their parents; it’s how they learn, grow and develop, the tests bonds of the family; it’s love that sees them through, keeps them together. She knows talking through her issues with him, taking time to ensure he understood and finding common ground would have been the mature route. They had to find that now, to move forwards, they were both wrong, neither willing to listen; they were alike, stubborn and unyielding.

The gifts piled beneath the tree; Patrick observed his father’s interest; every year, Rylan sneaks a gift, checks and rewraps. This year, however, Patrick had a plan, placing his sibling’s gifts atop Rylan’s; he was careful to wrap a special gift, easy to open, no one could suspect Rylan had tampered with it. Patrick waited, sneaking downstairs to watch his father. He rattled a few, checked the label, checking he was alone he held the blue box, the yellow bow neat and promising with his name and a message from Sparky. Grinning, Rylan wondered which member of the family thought how sweet it would be to send him a gift from the family pet. It was light, made no noise; he guessed socks or those chocolate covered marshmallows they brought in the city. Inside, he rustled the yellow tissue paper, the smell hit him, suppressing the urge to vomit, he dropped the box. Thud, Patrick lay crumpled in hysterics; Charlotte bit her lip, trying to hide her amusement as Sparky barked. Emilie rushed in to see what had happened; the doggy excrement splattered the hardwood floor; Rylan clenched his fists, but he laughed, infected by his children, both of whom were responsible for the clean-up.

Charlotte: Dark, Twisty and Buried

“It’s a phase”; “You’ll grow out of it”; “Why can’t you be normal?”; to Charlotte, these were her parents saying conform to our expectations; Eliza refused, moved to another city to escape the oppression. It was Charlotte’s turn to explore her desires and her interest in the night. Rylan confiscated her book on vampire lore, seduced the reader, romanticised their life and world. The Vlad references, a being who has outlived his human appearance to one fitting of his reputation and years. This leather-bound book smelt musky, elegant needlework held it together; the cotton paper had glided in her fingers revealed its secrets, calling her into the world of darkness and blood. Eternal life, watching the world change, slipping in to bend it to her will. She imagined watching people grow old, her youth and beauty preserved, having wild love affairs and travelling the globe. Charlotte wanted to seek every experience a short life should enjoy.

Emile held her temper; Rylan pushed the eldest daughter away, and Patrick locked upstairs, she decided they should humour Charlotte’s vampire obsession, at least for the victorian inspired bedroom design. Heavy drapes blocked the sun; her double bed brought second hand for the large elaborate headboard, painted black and curtains hung on it for aesthetics. Emilie was grateful Charlotte chose purple as the predominant colour, but it failed to bring the room to life.

Charlotte decided they should have a proper funeral procession, make an event of the burial process. The dusty urns had been resting amongst forgotten toys and books; Rylan agreed they could have space in the garden, a place they gather and remember. Of course, winter brought the snow, digging the solid ground was back-breaking; Rylan’s stubbornness and anger at Ziva’s influence on the family meant he refused to surrender. He preferred to hack the earth than hear how he failed to provide a place for their dead relatives. In black dress and widow’s veil, Charlotte led her family outside, each carried an urn; Rylan first with their matriarch, Athena, followed in order with Joanne, Leonne, Aria, and her two husbands, Jose and Braydon. Candles lit, Emilie gave a sombre reading as each buried with fresh snow shovelled on top. Patrick yawned, Eliza elbowed him; he smirked clutching his ribs; these people meant little to him, sure they were the genetics that went into his creation, but they were dead, turned to ashes, why should he feel sorrow or act like he cared, how would they ever know. Respect, Charlotte asked nothing else of her brother; when Patrick dies, she will leave his body in the forest for the wolves to eat. If their ancestors looked favourable, he could be reborn, except disregarding their past, hungry wildlife will devour and “poop” him, like the rubbish brother he is.

Patrick bent double, a mouthful of brownie, laughing at Charlotte as she tried to rephrase her sentence, stomping her foot in frustration; she meant excreted, that he was excrement, the word evaded her, and the childlike answer amused everyone. He kept repeating her words, choking on his food, Charlotte’s face red with anger and embarrassment, forced Emilie to step in, deciding enough, ordering them to the lounge to decorate the Winterfest tree-like respectable siblings. Eliza sniggered; each had an idea of how to style the tree, lights and baubles; they disagreed; it was these moments she had been missing. Rylan settled back to watch, a peaceful moment for him, sipping coffee, a sugar cookie in hand; the conversation with Eliza awaited him; for now, they had made it through the day without a crossword.

Eliza: A Time To Heal

The apartment repairs failed to transpire; alongside her unwelcome houseguests, a rotten egg smell came from the floor vent. Nothing made Eliza feel as sick as the scene that greeted her at breakfast, a cockroach made it into her fridge and made themselves at home on her leftover spaghetti. She checked the shower, hoping none would keep her company, but worse was to come, the pipe sprung a leak, and the whole floor plunged into darkness as her fuse box sparked as a result. Icy water washed over her, desperate to rinse the soap stinging her eyes. Eliza tightened the towel, her neighbours in the hall yelling, banging on doors; she crumpled to the floor sobbing.

Eliza knew sympathy would be in short supply; her exams were awaiting her, regardless of the amount of sleep or state of her living conditions. The chaos of the last few years weighed on her as she poured over questions; nausea swirled inside, a mixture of nerves and hunger. There had been a time Eliza would have written with a furious passion, knowing with certainty the answers if her time alone had taught her anything; it was the contrary was truer. It made her re-evaluate her attitude to Rylan; her father was imperfect, doing the best he could with the knowledge he had. She tapped a message; having completed the exam, she wondered if he and the family were open to meeting her. Hovering her thumb above the send, Eliza reread the message several times, wondering how many ways they could interpret it. Taking a deep breath, she hit send. Part of her expected an immediate response; the disappointment jolted a flood of tears.

Saturday, Eliza prepared herself for disappointment; although she knew Rylan would ignore her message, she hoped her eighteenth birthday might be a time for a second chance. As a legal adult, she was no longer beholden to her parent’s whims, the weight lifted and her choices, her own, but she could hear Rylan, his anger, dismay at how she lived. She squared her shoulders; today needed a positive vibe, reflections were for tomorrow, she has a cake to ice and an evening with friends.

Eliza licked the spoon; the sweet icing gave her a buzz, as did her phone; messages had been coming through; this one made her pause. Nerves fluttered through Eliza, preparing herself to read the response; Rylan and Emilie had plans for the weekend, but he hoped her exams were a success. It felt like a message her mother would send, perhaps had, but she thanked him and would see them in a few weeks. The timing was perfect, as her friends arrived and a familiar face grinned from the lift doors; her parents were unavailable; her brother on-the-other hand stood awkward, unsure if he should hug her or punch her arm with playful intent. Her plan post tuneless singing and cake was getting their dance shoe on for a nightclubbing. Patrick cleared his throat proposing another suggestion from their youth, bowling; Eliza arched her eyebrows, her friends on board; made a beeline for the door. Something in her brother’s smile told her that there would be another surprise if she went.

Charlotte paced outside, checking her phone, convinced she should have been the sibling to convince Eliza this was the place to party. Rylan had been reluctant to spend money on hiring, certain if Eliza knew he was there, she would refuse, but Patrick said he could bring her. The wait got to Charlotte; she wanted to see Eliza; pouncing on her as she stepped from the taxi. Arms embraced, squeezing, Rylan kept a distance, a respectful “Happy Birthday” with Emilie giving him a glaring look as he refused to show any affection. Released from Charlotte’s intense hug, Emilie took her place, sobbing at her baby being so grown, proud of her achievements and the excellent grades she would no doubt receive. Eliza shared a brief silent moment with her father, a sorrowful glazed look in his eyes, but Charlotte tugged Eliza’s arm, and the time with her father that heartfelt conversation would need to wait.

Ziva: Remembrance Day

Every parent feels it; when their baby takes their first steps when stammered words develop into language, and the inevitable birthday. Vicky dreaded the day Milly would leave, the first school day awaited her, the excitement at seeing the woman she would be, replaced with the fear in what world would await her. On the other hand, with hands-on-hips, she frowned as Milly rushed through the house, spilling paints. The bottom lip quivered, ashamed her efforts to help were unfortunate in creating chaos; Vicky had yet to open her mouth, unsure how to respond. Milly had grown accustomed to knowing when she had been naughty; her large green eyes widened, fake tears, a quick sorry, and taking herself to the “I’ve been naughty chair”. It meant leaving both Ziva and Vicky frustrated, unable to hand down discipline.

Ziva ached; as autumn breezed through their days; she could see a wealth of love and knowledge lost as each generation experienced life. Rylan gained everything from their parents home, including the few surviving books Jose refused to publish, wanting them handed down to his grandchildren. Her brother kept them in the attic, with his children denied the pleasure of reading “What Goes Bump?” and “Viv in Space”, both inspired by her and Rylan. The Grace Legacy was important: the books, stories, the people who made this family, they would grow, change and move across a sim nation. A day of remembrance would bring that family together to share in the name and be proud of their roots. It would mean persuading Rylan to approve; he held the ashes of their parents and ancestors, and Ziva believed it was time they had a permanent resting place.

Rylan needed work to convince; he grumbled how it was another gimmick or a way to emphasise how he had failed to keep his children in check. Ziva knew her brother was stubborn, unable to rebuild the burned bridge; his daughter, Eliza, shared that trait and a desire to find a solution, but they were at a stalemate with neither surrendering to the next step. She hung her head; Milly had a sticky face, a maple syrup hand clung to her hair, twirling, grinning, she was eager, awaiting the stories Ziva recalled from her youth. Vicky gave a sympathetic smile; if nothing changed with Rylan and Eliza, or if he refused to let the family rest, they would celebrate this family remembrance day together.

Vicky reopened the discussion over her career and exploring the local art scene; she wanted to seize the opportunity to focus on her dream. The work would be flexible, a route that would lead to Vicky becoming a Patron of the Arts. She planned to help other artists, focusing on young people who would otherwise struggle to access opportunities and see their work exposed. Ziva agreed; being overdue for retirement, feeling her job kept her from embracing family life. Over the years, she missed many cute toddler moments and hoped this role reversal would mean she would be the one to help Milly with her homework projects. This retirement included other benefits, like spoiling her wife, the way she did when they were courting and she missed her voluntary work with the animal rescue group she had initiated.

Zero substitutes, her family were everything, but Vicky felt alive, that the knowledge and understanding of art fed a hunger she had been missing. She piped icing; excitement squeezed every drop; Ziva grinned, her pride carrying an undercurrent of guilt that she had somehow held Vicky back from her full potential. Milly muscled in, her finger pressed against the cake, to indulge the frosting, glaring innocent eyes asking “What?” after all, it was her birthday cake.

Emilie: Torn Apart

The name “Eliza”, forbidden, Rylan refused to back down or discuss making amends with their daughter. He had disowned her; exclaiming it was her who needed to grovel, seek forgiveness from the family until she did, he had done with her. Emilie sobbed; the family she’d worked so hard to create, torn; the hostility within the remaining family, their arguments in the street. Charlotte skipped school, making her way to the city to visit Eliza, and Patrick locked himself in his bedroom, refusing to speak, playing his music loud. Growing tensions worsened as Charlotte was turning thirteen. She hated her cute girly outfits; Emilie refused to spend money on her daughter’s changing taste or dyed them to suit the dark vibes she felt was necessary.

Karma has a sense of humour; Charlotte mused how bad family life was as the weather reflected their tensions. There had been storms for days; Rylan warned everyone, except he failed to heed his advice beneath the umbrella; lightning seized the moment to shock him. He was lucky; the umbrella ignited, leaving him cold, soaked, and singed. The dog felt forgotten; Emilie attempted to busy herself with housework, birthday celebrations and figuring when Eliza could visit without Rylan knowing. Sparky took himself for an extended walk as Emilie collected the mail leaving the front door ajar. A day passed until anyone realised; Rylan believed this showed he no longer belonged with them, and should he return, they would put him up for adoption. Emilie pleaded it was her responsibility; she spent the day searching, finding him basking, enjoying the sun, a few metres from where they used to picnic with the children. His tail wagging, sad brown eyes, Emilie laid with him, ruffling handfuls of thick brown fur, understanding things needed to change, but questioning how, when Rylan was unwilling.

The noticeable absence of Eliza hit Charlotte hard; becoming a teen, her sister said, was a “rite of passage”, a time to discover her calling. Charlotte felt bitter resentment towards her sister and their father; neither seemed pleasant, and Charlotte tired of speaking to Eliza online. She failed to understand other people’s reasons. They were no longer a family; they were people who tolerated each other enough to live together. Her birthday came to the cheerful song, but Charlotte felt the weight of expectation and disappointment.

When Eliza last snuck to the house for a visit, Charlotte had ignored her; Keyboard Commander was the game her friends competed, she wanted the top score. Rylan came home, horrified to find Eliza sitting in the kitchen; he launched into a tirade of responsibilities, her negative influence and demanding she stopped harassing his family. The arguments between Rylan and Emilie had made Patrick retreat into his room, and joined mealtimes with cold conversation, slamming plates, Patrick ignored the rules, taking his dinner upstairs. Charlotte sobbed through her dinner, wishing everything to end.

Rylan: Spooky Day

Spooky day was nothing special in the Rodriguez household which surprised Eliza since her parents loved mischief. Eliza knew the request was a rouse to bring reconciliation with her father, they had remained hostile since their argument, and neither was willing to submit to an apology. Patrick pushed past, arms ladened with pumpkins, a grunted greeting as he helped Rylan prepare the house. She looked nervous, frightened they would refuse to let her leave, somehow keep her prisoner. Rylan’s presence, the daggered stare, Eliza dug her nails into her palms, determined to attempt a pleasant evening with family. Emilie smiled, wrapping her arm across the stiffened Eliza; she wriggled from the embrace, tension growing in the neck, shoulders and jaw. Her mother sighed, mouth opened but interrupted by an excited Charlotte who threw herself towards Eliza, squeezing happily; the words that came torched her good mood, as Eliza exclaimed she should have stayed at the apartment. The sentiment agreed; Rylan wiped his hands, his eyes cold, ignoring Charlotte’s tears and Emilie’s plea’s.

Eliza bit her lip, suppressing a scream; having used her tight budget to travel, she growled unimpressed by Rylan’s dismissal. She should have realised he would be unwelcoming, agitated; she laid into how he made a useless father, hating his attitude to family and relieved she no longer had to put up with his selfish behaviour. Rylan retorted Eliza had no place in this home. The self-centred behaviour put them through hell, for months unaware if she was alive or dead. Searching was a waste of police time and resources; Rylan squared his shoulders slamming the door uninviting her to this and future family occasions.

Forced Spooky Day spirit failed to quell the tensions felt after Eliza’s departure. Emilie soothed Charlotte’s tears, her bitter tongue against her father’s decision, stopped under threat of spending the evening alone in her room. Patrick shifted towards his father’s unwavering opinion, deeming Eliza selfish, unforgivable, as he dressed as a galactic fighter pilot, ready to tackle the monsters as the creep. Charlotte pouted in her Hotdog costume; she shifted against the itchy fabric, knowing had Eliza stayed, she would have been the other half of a crime-fighting, Mason and Ward. Despite Emilie offering to take Eliza’s place, Charlotte knew it would be different as Eliza watched the show and would know all the catchphrases.

Ziva had failed to find the Spooky spirit with her summery appearance, unlike Vicky and Milly, who thrived on the amusement that costumes brought to the day. She led the way in carving pumpkins with scary faces, giving Patrick disapproving looks as he told Milly ghost stories. They were funny; Milly squealed delighted, stuffed full of candy courtesy of Rylan; she had no appetite for the chilli and baked potatoes. Charlotte snuck her classmate post trick or treating into the house; they devoured half the candy. Rylan glared, the children paused, mouth overflowing, wide-eyed panic, he broke, a huge grin, the morning tummy ache would be sufficient, but he kept that to himself.