::1.1:: Sad Ice Cream in the Dark

On the first day of the first year of the first forever, Hansol Moon opens his eyes.

☽

He blinks; looks around.  He's standing on the side of a road, with an empty field and vast, blurry sky before him. 

He looks down at his converse; purple laces.  He likes that color, he decides.  But what is he doing here?  Why is he doing here?  And what was he doing before?

And whose house is this??

It takes a few more minutes of standing completely still, gazing out hollowly over untouched grass, before his brain decides the proper response to knowing absolutely nothing is to freak out.  He takes off down the sidewalk that lines the empty road; he doesn't know why he's running, or to where.  All he knows is he needs to move--needs to find something.

It doesn't take long for him to reach civilization--some sort of small town.  He doesn't pause to take in the scenery, to see if there's some part of it he can recognize.  He can already tell that it's all foreign.  Foreign, but not exactly unfamiliar.The town looks and feels empty at first, which doesn't exactly make him feel any better about his situation; about having no memory of this place, yet not feeling lost; about knowing instinctively what corners to turn at, yet not knowing where his own feet are taking him.

It isn't the fact that he doesn't know the town that scares him--it's that he doesn't know if he knows.

He stops when he sees people milling around behind the windows of a building; his mind is foggy as he enters, unable to focus on any one thought for too long.  He tries desperately to think as he absently counts the steps--onetwo threefour fivesix seveneight--of something, anything; about himself, his life, his past before he opened his eyes and saw grass and sky and pavement.  But he can't hold down any thought long enough to parse it.

It's a library.  There's a small smattering of people inside, and he doesn't recognize any of them, but they don't feel like strangers, either.  Mind still swimming in thought soup, he mimics what everyone else is doing and pretends to carefully select a book from a bookshelf.

It's a book about llama anatomy--llamanatomy?--but he doesn't pay attention to its contents.  He's too busy sensing the people around him.  It's not something he's trying to do, exactly, but it's a feeling he can't shake; their minds are blank, just like his, but unlike him they don't seem bothered by it.

Who are they?  And who is he?

He spends the rest of the day searching for any sort of clues on--anything.  Each book turns out having the same sort of non-help--he doesn't care where Bella Goth is, he doesn't even know where he is, and he doesn't need a recipe on goopy carbonara when his brain already feels like it--so he settles for the internet.  Apparently he knows how to use a search engine, but doesn't know what he had for breakfast that morning.  Did he even have breakfast?  Sad.

He types anything he can think of, and his search history soon becomes a jumbled, panicky reflection of his thoughts.  Amnesia.  How to tell when you're dreaming.  What to do when you end up in front of someone's house with no clue how you got there.  What to do when the library's about to close and you still have no idea what the hell is going on.

In the end, he feels even more confused than before.

When he's finally kicked out, he returns to the house he started at, surprised--but also not?--that he remembers the route back like it's second nature.  He ducks under the roof awning just in time to avoid the rain.

Inside, there isn't much--a mysteriously-stocked fridge, a single rotting counter space, and a few rooms with carpeting.

After a sad dinner of ice cream in the dark, he finds a sleeping bag rolled up in the farthest corner of one of the carpeted rooms.  He isn't sure if he wants to sleep--what if his memory is even worse tomorrow?  What if he doesn't wake up?--but once he cocoons himself, exhaustion makes the decision for him.

☽

The next day, with nothing better to do--and still slightly afraid the homeowners will return and catch him camping out by their fridge--Hansol returns to the library.  Sleep did him some good; he feels refreshed, is thinking a bit clearer.

He'd spent that morning, over a sad breakfast of ice cream in the dark, developing a game plan, and it's is far more practical than his fever-dream-esque attempts from yesterday--first he'll figure out where he is, who he is, and who others are, and then... and then something.  Not sure about that part yet.  But it's a start.

A simple plan, but he doesn't get far into his research before he's distracted by another visitor.  There's nothing outwardly strange about her--although he thinks absently that it's a little weird to wear heels to the library--but what draws his attention is the low buzz of confused, nervous, awake energy that surrounds her like an invisible aura.

He recognizes that feeling; it's the same he's had since he blinked awake the day before, and she's the first person he's found who shares it.

SUSPICIOUS.

Some part of him, the part desperately seeking answers, wants to approach her.  But he can't think of anything to say that wouldn't make him sound like a complete lunatic, and the last thing he wants to do is get himself into trouble when he's still so... clueless.

The woman skims a few books, disappears to the second floor, returns a few minutes later with a frown, and leaves, taking her bumblebee aura with her, and Hansol is left to concentrate on his research.

This town, he learns, is Sunset Valley, or so the grand total of two daily newspapers archived in the library say; an internet search of the name renders a map, a few blogs run by locals, pet adoption services, and a dating site.  There's no mention of anyplace else, and nothing dating further back than the day before--and, most frustrating of all, no source giving an explanation why.

Fed up with the blatant lack of information, he goes back to the house for a sad lunch of ice cream in the dark.  He also learned during a self-search that the house is under his name, a fact of which he remains dubious; if he were the owner, he's sure he would have bought at least one light for the poor place, and stocked more than ice cream in the fridge.

It's not exactly sweater weather, so after lunch it's a quick change, and then back out for more exploring.

It seems harmless enough, so he isn't give it much thought, but he really wishes the green thing constantly hovering above his head would leave him alone.

Further exploration of the town only teaches Hansol that he really, really hates being outside.  

Although, the strikingly out-of-place wagon in the middle of the park is an intriguing find...

It's tiny, gaudy, and not exactly in the best location for privacy, but it seems unused and has actual lights, strung up on the inside and outside, and that's good enough reason for Hansol to pack up his little sleeping bag and make himself at home.

He isn't sure what happened the day before yesterday.  He isn't sure what's going to happen tomorrow, either.  But having some memories, even if they're just from yesterday, and a home he picked himself, even if it's small and a little dusty inside, makes him feel better.  Like he's a little less lost, a little less of a blank slate he doesn't understand, and more of a person with an actual identity, however fragile it may be.

He's Hansol Moon--whoever that is.

☼

::
Welcome to my Sims 3 random legacy blog!  Thanks for stopping by.  Sorry about That One Paragraph that's too dark to read; that block of text is cursed, and I am not a high enough level coding wizard to fix it.

This isn't my first time blogging a legacy, but my other sims family are on a tragic hiatus due to some problems accessing their game file.  I plan to continue their legacy eventually, provided I manage to recover them and all that, but for now this story will have my full attention.

Writing this first chapter was hell.   I was pulling my hair out over every little word for a good while before I remembered that one of the main reasons I started this blog in the first place was so I could have a space to write pressure-free.  And then I (kind of) stopped caring.  So I hope you enjoy lukewarm storytelling!

That said, this will probably not be plot-heavy.  I know the first chapter contradicts that, but this is mostly for the sake of exposition.  I love reading big fancy story blogs; I loathe writing them.  It's just not what my play style caters towards.

Details on The Legacy and Rolls:
Hansol Moon is my attempt to create a sim different from my usual "style".  I couldn't resist giving him neon eyes, though.  It's still TBD if they'll be a plot point or if they're just... weird.

Speaking of, I know things seem pretty meta so far, and it will be somewhat--but, just for the record, the answer to the mystery will not be my sims coming to the realization that they are tiny pixel people being controlled inside some college student's computer.  There's just no way to write that in a non-parody way without being cheesy, imho.  However, I will be using some elements of the game, such as the plumbob, as part of their reality.

Anyway, here are the rolls:
Single Parent
2 children
Fortune Teller (Genuine Psychic)
A Party to Remember
Random Traits

Hansol's randomized traits in CAS are grumpy, hates the outdoors, insane, mooch, and night owl.  Not half bad, and actually helped shape the story I want to tell.

Also: I have a limited number of towns to choose from, and Sunset Valley is one I haven't played in for a while.  For the sake of my poor legacy's genetics, I gutted it of its townies and replaced them with my own.  My sim-making creativity has officially died, but it was worth it (I hope).  I left the Goths in on accident, as well as a few of the more palatable "Roomies" out of laziness.

This is getting to be almost as long as the chapter itself, so here's a song to send you off.  It isn't related to The Sims or this blog in any way; I just like it.  Thanks for reading!

☽