Tattoo or No: A Sims 3 Quest with The Smug French Bastard. Or, See Yves Fail to Get a Woman to His Bed. Again..

28 07 2010

Installment 3

One evening after work, Yves had to drop some papers off at city hall. As he was leaving he spied a lovely young woman and since he’d previously rolled a wish  to use his Charming Introduction, I obliged him with chatting up Julienne Knack. Using my magic overlord mod, I see that Julienne is Flirty, a Workaholic and a Natural Cook. She is also An Ambitious Snob. Wheeee. However, she does happen to be single and childless. Being a flirt, she naturally responds to his Charming Greet with a flirt back…one that he takes in stride, is flattered and then begins talking about books. Of course. The man is lacking in the flirt department. Either that or Julienne is far too young for his taste. I guess he does tend towards well-aged meat.

She leaves before I can have him find out her status, but no matter. He didn’t seem too interested in her anyway. Yves has but one mistress and she’s a long-necked seductress. Yes. Yes, I am talking about his instrument yet again. He’s always pulling it out at home or in public, stroking and plucking it. His guitar, you potty minds!

Tired and shabbily dressed in his work uniform, he still makes time to play. He finally stops when he nearly passes out from exhaustion, but after wobbling in place a bit he…pulls out a book. Seriously, dude? What the fuck?

Then I remember. Oh Yeah! He doesn’t have a bed anymore. He’s a non-bill paying deadbeat. Hrmmm, I’ll bet he’s rethinking not flirting back with Julienne. He might have wormed his way into a place to sleep for the night. I am determined to not help him, however, and he must find his own solution to his exhaustion sans bed. I am eagerly awaiting what he will do.

He puts the book away, sways more, tries to read again, sways more…again with the book and the swaying. He then ‘asks’ the air “Excusez-moi? Je suis épuisé. Je dois dormir. Pouvez-vous m’aider?” (Excuse me? I am exhausted. I need to sleep. Can you help me?)

Finally, after more attempted readings and swaying, he heads home. Wow, how the hell did it take you THAT long to figure out you might need to go home, dude?

Of course he has no bed. At all. Just a sofa, and sleeping on the sofa is not an option in the Sims games, heh.

Upon entering his house, exhausted and ready to pass out, his first thought is of…hiring a maid. It’s that prissy Neat trait. Makes him think of clean, clean, clean all the time. He actually gets wishes to clean his sink or his toilet, plus he’s a Natural Cook. No wonder his French roomate was loathe to lose him.

But what’s this? He walks into his bedroom to pass out on his…bed. WTF? Umm, I know I watched that hussy of a repo-chick take it away…I even took photos to prove it! Did the Sleeping Items Gnome leave him a gift while he was at work or is my game glitching out? I suspect the latter, but he still has the unhappy moodlet concerning having his shit repoed, so I have no idea what’s going on. BTW, that red diamond (aka a ‘plumbob’) denotes a very, unhappy Sim.

I am still stumped as to why the repo girl pointed her magic vacuum at his bed and yet didn’t take it. And upon closer perusal I see that I don’t actually have a shot of her taking his bed, just aiming in that general direction. I start looking around in that area. Toilet…check. Sink…check. Tub…check. AHA! She took his mirror and the lights in his bedroom and bathroom. LAWL. Well I guess that was generous of her. Not wanting to be too evil of a SimGoddess, I give him some new lights. But that mirror he will have to work for.

The following morning dawns boring and routine. Reading, Bathing, Guitar, Work. He whines about not having a maid again and rolls wishes for a washer and dryer. He’s such a proper madame. But still a bit tired and starting to get hungry he rolls on in to work anyway. He’s going to be pissy when he gets home.

Shockingly he manages to get another promotion & raise, his second in as many days, without passing out on the clock. Good man. Of course the moment he does get home he scarfs some leftover waffles and hits the hay. Thank gods he only has one more day of work before he has a day off. He’s fucking boring my tits right off me now.

While doing his typical undergarment guitar solo the next morning, he rolls a wish to get a tattoo. Heh. Heh. Heh. Oh yes, you will get one on your day off sir. Yes you will. You are not nearly amusing enough of late, sir! Seriously. He literally played his damn guitar in his fucking briefs all day until his carpool arrived. All this excitement might make me keel over with a heart attack. His new work uniform is Tres Sexy though. *snort*

“Je suis viril. Regardez mon habillement! Il crie l’HOMME! Unique besoin ne savent que je pense à la musique de feuille à tout moment et fais les biscuits cuire au four qui vous inciteraient à soulever votre visage aux cieux et à pleurer des larmes de joie!” (I am manly. Look at my clothing! It screams MAN! No one need know that I think of sheet music at all times and bake cookies that would make you raise your face to the heavens and weep tears of joy!)

Or that your name, when properly pronounced, sounds like ‘Eve’. Oh yes. You are studly. I have to beat the women off you with my pointer. Mmmmmhmmmm. *crickets chirp loudly in the distance*

Ah Yves…you make it so very easy for me to poke fun. I was about to viciously mock his gloves when I noticed he’s still wearing his wedding ring from when he was hitched to Odette in another incarnation. Oops!

It shows up rather well on the outside of his left glove there, heh. Oh well. Time to hit the tattoo parlor for some ink and more chances to find a mate. But first, a bath and a little snooze. ENNUI! I actually had to make him put his damn guitar away after the bath and force him to sleep. Fucker.

Bah! While he was sleeping he received a message for a job opportunity to help the accountants with the books at some music office, and since he’s a broke mofo, I made him do it. Now he can get inked. Or not. Merde!

Fuck, from now on I am just going to refer to back posts whenever he reads or plays his fucking guitar. The visuals are starting to get stale here.

Apparently he needs to read that stupid book for work, and as it was the only book in his magic pocket, and he’s a bookworm…..you get the picture. Finally he’s done and I shuffle his silly ass off to the salon/tattoo parlor. Meh. On a slightly different note, I am disappointed that you can only tattoo specific parts of their anatomy. I would dearly LOVE to give him a gnome tattoo right on his left ass cheek. Pity.

Upon arriving, he runs into his old acquaintance, Harwood Clay and they begin to chat. Harwood Clay thinks Yves is okay!

“You shorr do have a purty mouth!”

“Est-ce que monsieur, ces insectes me pardonnent sont dans vos cheveux?” (Pardon me sir, are those insects in your hair?)

I am beginning to despair that he will ever get his tattoo at all. He’s still chat, chat, chatting away with Harwood. About vegetables, and music, and Harwood continues to have thoughts of Yves’.

“Yer mouth is still purty.”

“Oui, oui. Mais vous rendiez-vous compte que vous odeur des légumes?” (Yes, yes. But were you aware that you reek of vegetables?)

I finally hunt down the tattoo chair in the basement only to discover that his only options are to get a tattoo from Harwood or to give one to Harwood. Fun. I am not even sure if Harwood Clay is a tattoo artist or just some random yoke who wandered in off the street looking for a place to nap. This may end badly.

However, once I try to get the ball rolling, Harwood promptly leaves. Clearly he is no tattooist. This leaves Yves still sans ink, alone and singing to the mirror. Nice posturing, dude.

“WHAM ! Bam ! JE SUIS ! UN HOMME ! LE TRAVAIL OU AUCUN TRAVAIL, VOUS NE POUVEZ PAS ME DIRE QUE JE NE SUIS PAS.” (WHAM! BAM! I AM! A MAN! JOB OR NO JOB, YOU CAN’T TELL ME THAT I’M NOT.)

Yes. You are a man. We have established this. Repeatedly. Now go bake some muffins.

Thankfully, a full bladder stopped his mirror concert and he headed home after a quick stop at the john. One gallon of ice cream later it was off to bed.

“Ceci ira bien à mes cuisses, pourtant je dois le manger. Ce panneautage affreux m’oblige à nocer.” (This will go right to my thighs, yet I must eat it. This hideous paneling compels me to binge.)

After this I had had enough and decided to call it a night. 5 seasons of Nip/Tuck await me on Netflix instant watch. Tomorrow we shall see if Yves ever gets that damned tattoo.

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