The Keller Legacy (Rewrite)

Dust_Bunny2010

Hi guys, first time in the Creative Corner. I would have used Blogspot to show this because context issues (i.e. cussing), but I've been feeling unwell and can't update a site on my own yet, though I do plan to eventually move there by July this year or when I finally finish my grad thesis, whichever comes last. Over there will be a more complete and definitive style of storytelling I want to convey, but until then this thread will do nicely. The details until now are all in "What happened in your game today?" at the general discussion category, but I figure I should at least be more organized when writing down a story before moving to Blogspot.

To give a basic rundown of how all this happened and why it is a "rewrite," the entire story was actually supposed to be an unchanged recreation of my old TS2 legacy, which spanned some 14 to 15 generations already, and I wanted to bring them back after I found an old USB containing some screenshots of them. Around that time I got back into TS4 after years of not playing due to grad school and having really bad time management and budgeting skills, say, last year around July or August. I eventually played a test run by recreating the latest generation into the game, a couple of cousins running amok, and when I finally managed to decide what to do with the Founder of my old game, the story started to spin itself out eventually, which turned out to be a far from faithful adaptation of my old TS2 legacy, so I had to find a way to reconnect all that, and well, you'll see...

So, back to basics:

Family: Keller
Succession Law Sequence: Equality, Strict Traditional, Strength, Xenophobic
Mode: Extreme Start

With that, let's get this out in the open, shall we?

Dust_Bunny2010

Beginning

Dust_Bunny2010

Prologue

The crashing waves and the squawk of seagulls resounded in a discordant cacophony. They were the only source of sound for miles. Sunrise has just passed in the last hour, bright enough to warm and wake anyone exposed to it.


"Ungh..." The light shone through her eyes, waking her up from her deep slumber, the warmth soothing just a little bit of the pain coursing through her body. The pain was too much, try as she might, but because of her hurting, she couldn't get up at all. A deafening boom and blinding flash, and then...she's here flat on her a$s down for the count. The sound of the sea permeates through her, and she can't help but be roused. Water...there shouldn't be any water for miles around, not outside of pipes or bottles anyway, is what she's thinking. She didn't know why, but she just knew she shouldn't hear water.


Finally having enough of just tanning from the sun while feeling like she was steamrolled, she held down her hand, retracting it right away when she felt the cold. 'Frost...frost melt? I can hear the sea and feel the cold.' Sucking in her pain with a hiss, she pushed on her hands and forced herself slowly to at least sit, drawing blood from her lip as she bit it.

A weakened constitution never did anyone good. Survival was important; it was priority. "Stay alert, stay alive," comes to mind in a gentle, masculine voice beckoning inside her head; who was that? "Agh...hurts..." Stopping the bile from rising past her throat, she forced herself up, screaming out from the intense pain no one but her could hear. It was still early, thankfully. If she was going to empty her stomach, she needed to at least do it at the sea. At last, she opened her eyes.


The bright reflection made her step back and she nearly fell over, but managed to steady herself at the last step before dropping from the pier. "D@mn it!" Unable to adjust, she squinted and took a glance at her surroundings while struggling to maintain her balance. "Where...am I?" Just over the horizon, she could barely make out an island and a tower. A lighthouse? Once again, a gentle, affectionate voice rang those words between her ears. "Stay alert, stay alive." 'It's too far, and in my condition, I'd sooner faint and drift to sea before I make it even if I hijack a boat.'


"Ah...hello? Ahoy? Anybody? Please...help me," she pleaded coarsely, panting in uneven breathes as she clutched at her body for self-support. No one could hear. Her throat was raw and aching, just like the rest of her, but she needed help. 'Turn back and walk, I need to walk and find help, somebody please help me,' her mind dictated. Common sense was her only tool of survival, a last light of hope when she didn't even have any idea where she was, what she was doing, or anything at all. She needed to find help first and foremost.


Finally, she managed to walk herself to where she could hear cars occasionally pass by, a road in this snowy place. After a bit more walking, she was dismayed to find it was an elevated road, and while she heard more cars that pass, she doubted anyone would hear her shouting for help with the state her voice is in already, and her body begged for mercy not to climb anymore. It was too steep and inaccessible. Continuing on the white-laden path, every step caused excruciating pain, but with each one taken, fleeting scenes flashed in her head, but too vague to make any sense or even register what they were at all, her only source of relief was the underpass that seemed to lead somewhere.


Her feet led her eventually to a library, if that sign she could barely see was any indication, with a rather small tower as if a complement structure to the lighthouse she saw across the sea. Common sense led her to believe that she would benefit more finding help from police, but she didn't know where their station was, so a public library was the next best thing to civil services.

She wanted to scream for help the moment she stepped inside, but the soreness of her throat stopped that, and the pain her body was wracking in begged for mercy, for self-preservation and sweet relief. Traipsing her way into the restroom, she held herself steady, a feat she struggled with, before finally touching the rim of the sink, with a lift of her head to see a hideous sight.


The upper half of her face had splotches of damaged skin, her eyes once a vivid blue color as they once were as far as she could pull from her vague memories, were bloodshot all over the sclera, the irises the hue of cornflowers drowned in cranerlet nectar, and her hair a disgusting white shade that not even an old crone would dare to be seen with. The shock of the sight of her was so great, her head ached with intensity as she remembered her last words before she woke up.

"Ruskowitz, what have you done?"

Dust_Bunny2010

Day One

She was confused, angry, and desperate. Her memories are faint and nearly non-existent, but the shock of her appearance triggered her last words from before, and acquired for her a deep sense of loathing she couldn't understand but accepted, if only to tie her sanity together. Vague and fuzzy, she could barely make out a blurry scene inside her head from the sheer trauma she can't remember suffering. Only hate and discontent was holding her down, a clue to what happened before she woke up and just...existed, if that was the apt feeling of it. The very name felt like a curse from her tongue, whoever this "Ruskowitz" was. Was he involved in whatever is happening to her; the disconcerting amnesia, her unease, the ghastly reflection in the mirror, was it on him? Was Ruskowitz even a "he" or maybe a woman? She didn't know, only intense hatred was fueling her at this instant.

The only consolation was that after some walking and standing, the pain in her entire body and her migraine were now tolerable. Barely.

Whatever the case, she knew she needed to get her bearings together and get some help. "Stay alert, stay alive," she repeated to herself the friendly advice bouncing around in her head. But who would help her? Judging from her appearance, they would sooner quarantine her with limited contact, or at least run away to the hills, maybe gawk at her like a circus freak show. She looked like...like...'something out of a history textbook after war.' A brief flash of memory entered her head more like a still picture than a moving scene, an open book, a history textbook, on a dirty table with a too-tight napkin dispenser and stale beer. 'Where did that come from?'

As much as she would love to stay in the washroom and probe her own head for buried memories and clues, that wouldn't solve her current predicament of having a ghastly appearance and finding help. Swallowing down a groan, and then the shot of pain on her throat, she opened the door carefully not to draw attention in case anyone was outside, or at least a librarian or archivist. She followed a set of stairs leading her up to a luckily emptier room, before finding the door out and peering through the window and seeing no one. It would be a good idea to look what's around while on a high vantage point.


After a quick scope, she thought of scavenging the trash to find anything useful, then relented despite how unsanitary it might be given her current possible health problem. Hoping to fish out even a pen with some ink or maybe even at least a clean paper gum wrapper to write on would be helpful, but what she found pleased her all the more; sure, they were dirty, and the idea of using them despite being found in the trash did not sit well with her, but she already knew what to use them for, and these discarded scraps would be extremely useful.


Back inside, the painting on the wall caught her eye, and on the frame it said "Brindleton Light" in faux-gold. Was it some sort of symbolic title? Was that the name of the lighthouse across the water? At least she knew now the lighthouse was a noticeable feature wherever she was, and would serve as a useful landmark if she ever decided to take her chances and explore beyond the limits of this place alone.

She managed to sneak back into the washroom, lucky how it must not be opening hours yet and she could only hear a barely audible humming from an out-of-view employee, the librarian maybe? With a click on the lock, she breathed a sigh of relief and took off her coat for the next step.


Without the coat, a twinkle on the wall caught her eye, and then she felt it. smooth, cold, metallic on her skin. 'How didn't I notice that before?' Holding it in her hand, she read what was on the dog tag she carried on her neck.

"Sheridan-Keller, Louis H."

Everything else was scratched out or just plain unintelligible except a couple of numbers.

Examining it closely, she wondered who Louis was, and why she was carrying an obviously official dog tag. It couldn't be her own name, could it? The name was male and she definitely knew she was a woman. Despite looking down on the obvious evidence, a moment of idiocy overtook her and she pulled at the hem of her pants and looked inside. 'Yeah, I'm definitely a woman. A lover, maybe?' No sooner did the thought enter her head that she felt an overwhelming urge to gag and her skin get goosebumps. Though she didn't have an idea of who Louis was except that he might be in the military and she was carrying his dog tag, she definitely knew they would never, ever be lovers. With her migraine still banging down on her head, the mantra of "stay alert, stay alive" kept bouncing in, and she suddenly felt a connection to that name in the tag.

Whoever Louis Keller was, the words she now kept close to her came from him; of that she was certain.

The words were probably a military motto or something to that effect. She felt grateful to him though she didn't remember him, plus his dog tag would definitely be useful. She had a connection to someone other than that Ruskowitz person, now it's just a matter of looking him up. 'Should be easy in a library. For now I need to do something about my hair and my face before even going out there.'

It took some half hour to hack off all the locks of hair on her head with the discarded scissor blade she found in the trash.


Keeping it all under her newfound cap was easier; all she had to do was keep her head down and let the visor of the cap hide her afflicted skin and abnormal eyes.


After that was done, she rummaged her pants and coat. What she found was far more useful than anticipated. It was a phone, and unlocked at that. 'Is this mine?' Unfortunately, after looking through it, it was empty. There was a signal, but no contacts, photos, or messages. The whole thing was a clean slate like it was freshly bought. 'Why would I have an empty phone? Did someone do this on purpose? This doesn't make any sense.'

For now, she had a few of the things she needed, a lot more than she anticipated. Unable to delay it any longer, she unlocked the door and stepped out.

The librarian must be on break because she couldn't hear the humming from awhile ago. Much as she'd like to ask for help, she couldn't stomach the fear of being gawked at with her freakish appearance, and wanted to prolong against talking to anyone just a little longer. At least the computer corner was empty. Perhaps finding some information from the internet would be a good first approach to her weird situation.


A little bit of researching revealed that she was in a city called Brindleton Bay, well known for its love and and rather lax laws concerning animals. She made sure to take note of important landmarks shown on the page, and as an additional precaution added the local emergency numbers into her phone.

She would've moved onto a new page, but an ad caught her eye. "Large Real Estate, Invest For the Future, Huge Space, Sunny Skies, Beach Front Property. Complete Solitude! Only 20,000."

A glance out the window showed it was still snowing. She couldn't very well just squat in a library lest she end up in jail, and she definitely can't risk sleeping outside in a place she has next to no idea about. What's more, a place of her own in isolation would be advantageous given her appearance and need of time to heal. 'If it can even be healed. I doubt this is just a sudden outbreak of a new strain of leprosy or albinism.' A place of her own to recuperate in while conducting investigations and information gathering in peace was an appealing thought. 'But where am I going to get twenty grand on such short notice? I'd have no choice but to take out a loan. Plus, I really hate sand.'

Still...it is complete peace and quiet. 'Sold!'

After a lot of finagling and ethically questionable rabbit hole diving to secure a loan on promissory terms, the property was now reserved for her. Now she had to do something to recoup this new loss. It wasn't something she would consider a non-liquidated asset, and she would find out everything about herself and make her way home, wherever that is, but at least now she had a base of operations, and if needed, something to mortgage. But how to offset it?


There were some classifieds for hire, but as it is, she needed a flexible schedule to do investigations. She browsed for options until she found freelance offers. It was a good idea considering her situation, but for some reason, she dreaded the idea of deadlines. It was a familiar emotion, somehow. 'Suck it up!'

She wrote down a makeshift resume, troubled all the while what to write on it such as, 'what's my name?'


She couldn't remember it, and there was nothing in her newfound phone to even give a hint. Shifting about in discomfort over the loss of her memories and identity, she heard the dog tag jingle about in her hoodie, and before she knew it, her fingers had been typing already, the name "Luise Keller" appearing on the screen.

The name felt right, even if it was a misconstrued and sort-of stolen identity. 'Louis, whoever you are, sorry, and thank you.'

Which turned out to be harder than she thought. On Simstagram alone there are over hundreds of Louis Kellers, some of them having a military background. Despite trying to converse with every one of them, even offering the legible numbers on the tag, her gut feeling told her that none of them was "her Louis." A creep or two claimed to be, but she quickly left. Sighing, she shut down the computer and decided to focus her research from my archaic sources: books.


"Luise" found out that she seemed to be fast at reading, so she devoured as much information as she can, sticking to non-fictional works, mostly information about Brindleton Bay. The woman was out of her element; she needed to read up whatever she can if she was going to adjust and blend in as much as possible, given her appearance and suspicious lack of identity and papers.

Thankfully, no one approached her, not even the librarian, and she spent hours engorged in books, just once in a while adjusting her cap to make sure it didn't fall off. If she couldn't figure out where she came from before all this, then the next best thing would be to find out why she wound up here of all places, she concluded.

Finally, Luise snapped out of her scholarly trance and realized that it was getting dark. She had spent the whole day retrieving as much information as she can, not even eating lunch.


Keeping her head low, she got out of the library. It was time to finally look at her new base of operations. Just a little excited, she broke out into a brisk stride along the walk, her pain and migraine having subsided to dull aches for now. She would've made great time too, if she hadn't heard a loud yowl coming from the shores.


It wasn't a hurt animal as she thought, but it sure was noisy. 'But cute, so who cares?' With a cautionary approach, she bent down and introduced herself.


"Hey there, little guy. I'm Luise. Are you lost?" He had the cutest little hat, why, he almost looks like an adorable little gentleman.


All of a sudden, the cat jumped into her arms and purred. 'No collar, and his bow tie has no license. A stray? Where did the hat come from?' The gentlemanly cat snuggled against her shoulder and bosom, and she indulged him for a bit, petting him, hugging, talking. Still, she couldn't take him in, at least not now. Even if she did, when she finally manages to find her way back to wherever she came from, the logistics of moving a living animal would be a fiscal nightmare when she's in debt for twenty thousand quid, not to mention the stress on the poor little guy. "Well, I can't take you under my care, little guy, but I'd love to someday. When I'm ready, I'll find you, if you haven't found an owner yet, promise."

After a bit more of playing, Luise left him with some hesitance, finding her way back to the path and to her new base.

Well, all good things must come to an end, supposedly. 'This must be karma biting me back in the butt or something.'


"Hello, police?"


"...I think I just got scammed out of twenty thousand Simoleons..."