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Hi, all! I've tried to do the apocalypse challenge a few times, but I've always lost interest. I hope that posting an apocalypse story will keep me from getting bored with it. If you aren't familiar with Pinstar's apocalypse challenge, it's viewable here (http://www.legacychallenge.com/apocalypse.html), or you can view my summary of the rules here (http://www.insimenator.org/showpost.php?p=1398097&postcount=17). Also, I just wanted to share that the family is named "Danger" because, uhh, well, because I got tired of thinking up interesting surnames. :D
Okay, I hope you enjoy my little story. This first chapter is short, but I have more coming very soon.
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Ansly Danger tried to remember how she’d gotten here, to this shack on the outskirts of the outskirts of Strangetown. She couldn’t, and she thought that might have something to do with the goose egg forming on her forehead, her dirty clothes, and her missing luggage.
Okay. What was the last thing she could recall?
The orphanage. Yes. She had gone there, to see if anyone remained, or if any of her old friends had come back, but there was no one. What did she remember before that? Why was she even back in her hometown at all? The empty airport—no, not empty; looted. The plane. The Pualos Islands.



“Ansly, you’ve been with the volunteer program for eight weeks,” the project director said, leaning forward over his industrial metal desk. A large fan swung its face lazily around to her, dispelling little of the room’s cloying heat.
“Yes? I’m here on the twelve-week stay,” she answered. The Pualos Islands were a difficult place to call home, what with the lack of basic amenities, sweltering tropical heat, and unusual food. But, fresh out of college, she loved feeling like she was making a difference. “Is there a problem with my papers, sir, my passport…?”
“No, nothing like that. But you’ve heard about the disaster in Strangetown, haven’t you?”
“Disaster?” She smiled nervously. “I’d heard there was an accident, but you know—news travels slow.”
“Yes. It does.” He looked uncomfortable. “Ansly, I want to apologize that we didn’t realize the urgency sooner. And But now, we really—we really think you will want to go back. Not to Strangetown, of course, but to the states—“
“Sir, what happened?”



A nuclear disaster had happened. And she’d insisted on returning to her hometown, to find her loved ones—no family, of course, but the friends she’d grown up with at the orphanage, as well as the woman who’d lived in this shack, Jane. Jane had been the closest she had come to family outside the Home, a “Zen wannabe” with a sense of humor, a huge heart, and a sparse (really, impoverished) but lovingly kept home. Ansly had found no one at the orphanage, so here she was—able to remember only scattered images since she’d arrived at the airport, and unsure of how long it had taken to get here. She suspected it was days, and was suddenly grateful for her amnesia.
“Jane?” She knocked lightly, and the door swung open. A chill clenched around her heart. “Jane?”




Jane’s lovely things, simple though they were, had been stolen in the weeks since her death. Still, there was a bed, a sink, a toilet, a near-empty fridge; not much more or less than Ansly had had on the Pualos, in other words. Ansly had nowhere else to go, and was afraid to venture far from the house, so for now it looked like she was home.


Jane had kept a journal before her death. She wrote of the confusion after the accident, the terror in the streets, the fleeing survivors... Ansly’s heart went out to her, to all of them.
The last two entries were her goodbyes to the people she’d loved. Jane had always had a weak heart, and perhaps she’d known there was little more she could take. Ansly read them over with a sadness and deep reluctance, never more so than when she got to the end:
“Ansly: I’m so proud of you and grateful that you are at that college and far away from all of this. I know the world has a great need of you and wonderful things in store for you. You were a blessing in my life.
I’m not afraid of what will happen to me now. Life has to end because end is natural, and life is natural. And deep down I know that my soul will find Howard’s. That will be a relief.”

I love it!  I played the Apocalypse challenge awhile back and wanted to do one sometime with a story behind it, but could never think of anything interesting.  I look forward to reading more and sharing the adventure!

Ooh, I like the look of this :) Well written and well illustrated; I'll be following this one for sure :)

this looks really good so far i look forward to reading more, please update soon
and i hope this story will keep you playing the challenge:D

Life went on. Ansly took a job as a paramedic, and slowly began to fix up what had become her home. Mostly she furnished it with what she found while out driving, like the barrel that became a crude fireplace.


She had always been crafty and artistic—in college, which seemed a lifetime ago, she’d loved to dance and to sew her own clothes. Making things just for the joy of it? That now seemed incredibly luxurious, even wasteful. Her time was now spent driving the ambulance, looting and foraging for goods, and lying awake at night, too terrified to sleep.


She had no sewing machine here, but she did have an awful clunker of a car to fix up. It was nice to be able to work with her hands again, and on something that could ultimately be useful.
Of course, there were days when she wished a perfectly new Mercedes-Benz would show up in the driveway, instead of this...this monster.
“You…you…I’m feeding you to the zombies, you piece of junk!”


As the endless winter wound on, Ansly found that it was becoming second nature to talk to herself.
“What I wouldn’t give for some fruit, like…raspberries. Strawberries. What? I know they’re not in season, but I think that’s kind of moot. Because it’s a nuclear winter and so everything’s out of season, that’s why. I’m just so sick of hot dogs and hamburgers and hot dogs and hamburgers and I think I might be getting scurvy. Do zombies get scurvy? I guess not. Lucky.”
Her medical job was surprisingly lonely. She would drive through the streets looking for sheets hanging on doors, or for people running out to meet her, then simply deliver them to the hospital--there was no 911, and she had very little training. Besides, people had become strangely disconnected since the incident. It was almost as if they had forgotten how to feel, how to care. Even she felt numb. In her former life, she had been very nice, and playful, if a bit on the sloppy side (or so she’d been told). She’d had a love of knowledge. Now, all she cared about was getting home to bed at the end of the day. And she was sleeping more and more.


Desperate to feel again, she traded one of Jane’s heavy quilts for a hideous, but working, word processor, and began to keep her own journal. It was difficult at first, but after the first week, she felt emotions beginning to penetrate the haze of fear and survival.


She laughed when she burned her hot dog dinner. I’ve made this enough to know better, she thought, helplessly shaking with a strange joy. One day, she came home from work to find butterflies, and she cried from the beauty of it.

Ansly knew what her mission was, and it wasn't to be a medic-taxi. She had to make people care about each other, even about themselves, again. And she—she with a bachelor’s degree in drama—would do it through Shakespeare.
She sought out survivors to act with her, to perform. Every one of them thought she was crazy at first, but many stayed to give it a try, perhaps intrigued by her energy and passion.
Then, one night, he arrived.


There was a knock at the door. Ansly was poring over a copy of As You Like It that she’d been fortunate enough to find that day in a looted bookstore. Her muscles tensed and she reached instinctively for her baseball bat. Tonight she might actually have to use it.
“Ansly?” came a hesitant but somehow familiar voice at the door. “Ansly?”
She threw open the door. “George Schweber,” she whispered, not believing the sight until he pulled her into a hug.
“Oh, my God, Ansly. It’s really true. Someone said they’d seen you out here, but I thought no way, no way would you come back here.”
“I guess I wasn’t that smart, huh?”


George had been her best friend growing up. While Ansly left for college on scholarship, he’d stayed to attend culinary school in town while working nights at the orphanage. It had been more than two years since she’d seen him. She’d hoped he’d come for her college graduation, but he’d been a poor pen pal in their time apart, and he hadn’t come.
At that moment, though, she was just overjoyed to see him. She didn’t want him to leave, but he promised he’d be back—he had to let the others know that he was safe.
“You could come with me,” he offered.
She couldn’t tell him that she was terrified of leaving home for any length of time, terrified that it would be gone when she returned. Even back when she drove an ambulance for a living, she would swing by home every hour or so, just to check. “Come back tomorrow,” she said.
He did come back the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. Sometimes she came by the hotel where he and the others with him had set up camp. She was happy to see old friends there, but saddened when George told her the fates of others they’d grown up with: those who’d been killed in the blast, or in the ensuing chaos, or murdered.


Stronger for his friendship, Ansly poured herself into her work, and before long, she’d achieved her goal. People once again appreciated the dramatic arts, but more than that, they cared. They took care of themselves again, beyond basic survival, and they reached out to one another as a community again. And best of all, George moved in. The finicky water in the hotel had mysteriously shut off, and the others he lived with there were starting to leave, one way or another. Besides, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her this, he worried about her safety.


“I know this is a little weird, but I only have one bed—not like there’s room in this house for two of them,” Ansly said, climbing in.
“It’s not that weird,” he said, thinking, This is weird.
“At least we can keep each other warm,” she murmured, falling asleep immediately.
Okaaay, time for a midnight snack. Or cold shower.

This is great, can't wait to hear more!

Wow, cool. Things are moving for her.

I love how you are telling a story as well as doing the challenge. I am trying to this challenge myself, though my founder is still in college at this time.

Ansly was at work, and George was trying yet again to make hot dogs marginally more edible. It was useless. Until there was a better supply of food to this region, there would be nothing but Twinkies and whatever semi-foods had survived the blast.
Mostly, though, he was just trying to keep his mind occupied until Ansly came home. It had been more than a month since he'd moved in with her, and he still couldn’t help but worry whenever she left for work. There were just too many zombies and thugs and God knew what others out there to get her.
Suddenly, he heard a knock at the door, and he answered without thinking. And he never would have imagined who he would find standing there.
“Natasha?”
“George.”



“Natasha, I thought—I thought—“
“I know.”
“You left for work and never came back!” he said, holding her tight. It had been months since he'd seen her. Natasha, his old friend—his old girlfriend.
“I know. The Kalahachee Dam broke, north of the city, and it was my day to scavenge in the city, remember? And I was conscripted, George. By an army caravan going by to repair the Dam.”
“And they had you this whole time?” he asked, trying to stave off the uncomfortable emotions he was slowly recognizing. He was happy she was safe, of course, but…something was missing.
“Yes. Well, they told me that if I stayed voluntarily, they would get me safe transport out of the city after a few months. I tried to get a message to you a hundred times. But none of that matters, anyway. I got us passage out! There’s a plane leaving today, and we’re on it.”



“Passage just for the two of us?”
“Two was all I could get,” she said, still breathless. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, she came back. I’m—I’m living with her now, Nat. I can’t leave her behind.”
And at that moment, the front door opened. “Natasha, is that you?”



“You!” Natasha snarled. “Thank you so much for coming back. You ruined my life!”
“I don’t know what—what did I do?”
“Oh, of course, sweet little Ansly has no idea what she did wrong. You never noticed the way he used to look at you, right, sweetie pie?”
“Lay off, Nat,” George warned.
“Sure, sure,” Natasha said, eyes locked on Ansly. “Do you know how long I had to wait for him after you—“
“I said lay off, Nat!” George barked. She seemed to snap out of it finally, and she gave George a hurt look that he felt he would remember for the rest of his days. But he couldn’t let her talk that way in front of Ansly, could he?
Natasha ran out, and George (having always been a bit rough around the edges, but kind) followed her helplessly. Ansly stood rooted to the spot, reeling.



“Nat, please, don’t cry. I’m so sorry.”
“How long did you wait after you thought I died, George?” she whimpered. “How long did you care about me before you fell for her again?”
“I never stopped caring, but I…”



“Save it,” she hissed. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You have fun with her, Georgie. Play your end-of-the-world Adam and Eve games out here in this shack. You know where I’ll be? I’ll be in a penthouse in the city, living rich and not giving a damn about either of you. You see how long you last out here. You just see.”



After that, things were different. George was distracted, morose; their easy camaraderie had been replaced by silence. He did tell her a little, here and there, of his history with Natasha, and Ansly thought she knew what was bothering him—guilt. But after the things Natasha had said, Ansly needed him to want to talk to her. Was his ex-girlfriend telling the truth about his feelings, or was she just lashing out because he refused to leave Ansly, Ansly who was just a friend?
One morning, George came home from his overnight culinary job—preparing and distributing food with the Red Cross—to find Ansly waiting quietly. It was barely dawn, and she looked as though she’d been awake all night.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asked.
“Not really.” She shifted in her seat at the table, playing absently with a tarnished candlestick holder they’d “salvaged” from a burned-out house.
“What’s—did something happen, or…” he checked her over anxiously, wishing that he had medical training.
“No, it’s just…” She smiled down at the candle. “It’s my birthday.”
“Oh. Oh! I’m an idiot. I’ve been preoccupied, An, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine, really. You can still get me a present, you know.”
“Anything. How about a zombie slave? Would that be good?”



She laughed. “No, easier than that.” Taking a deep breath, Ansly finally looked up at him. “George, for my birthday, I want you to tell me if she was telling the truth about…about how you feel about me.”
His eyes bulged and his breath came out in a strangled gasp. He felt a bit like he’d been punched.
“I guess I don’t have to explain what I mean. And if you’re reacting that way to what I think you’re reacting to…” she trailed off, turning red. He’d never seen her look this embarrassed (and he’d known her during puberty).
Rising slowly, Ansly made her way over to him—though exactly how, she wasn’t sure. Her entire body was trembling and electric as she came closer, closer, up to his chest. “George,” she whispered. “I hope I’m not ruining our friendship, but I have to know. I love you, George. Do you love me?”

It seemed that they were both eager to make up for lost time.
So eager, in fact, that they were very soon married. Not in the eyes of the state, maybe, but there wasn’t much of a state left. But certainly in the eyes of the new addition to their family that had, well, predated George’s proposal by more than a month.


“Oh, well. Who’s counting the days? We don’t even have a calendar,” George said, laughing.
“It’s not like there’s anyone around to call the kid a bastard,” Ansly said.
“Ansly!”
“Oh, come on. He can’t hear.”
“You think it’s a he?” he asked, mesmerized. In the midst of all the destruction and desperation, this miracle, this new fresh light, still had found a way into his life.
“I’ll say this, if it is a she, then she’s a fighter. Oof,” she said, “whoever it is, they’re kicking mommy’s bladder.”


In spite of her lighthearted teasing, Ansly was still worried. How could she not be? There was still barely enough food for her and George, and he was currently giving almost all of it to her. Clean water was a joke, and the cold was unending. All Ansly wanted was a safe delivery and a healthy baby, and then…Then they’d keep scraping by.


“GEORGE!”
“Wh—Oh, no, no, no, we have to get you to the hospital!”
“No, no hospital,” she moaned.
“Come on, sweetie, we have to go.“
“George,” she said, her voice deadly even through her panting. “I worked for the hospital.”
“I know—“
“Shut up. You listen to me. Most of the doctors there are sadists, half-rate mechanics, and whatever psychos just get off on playing with people’s organs.”
“They aren’t all bad, you know that, and I can’t deliver a baby!”
“You are going to," she said, "and if you don’t stop trying to get me in the car, than this baby is going to have two mommies by the time it’s born. You got that?”
“Uh. Yes.”


But in spite of George’s inexperience and Ansly’s threats to his manhood, their first home delivery went off with nary a hitch.
“You were wrong about a boy,” George said, smitten with his two beautiful girls.
“Yes, but she’s going to be a fighter, I can tell,” Ansly murmured.
“Good thing, too. What should we name her?”
“Rosalind.”
“You sound pretty sure of that.”
“It’s Shakespearean. From the play I was reading when you showed up at my door.”
He beamed at his baby daughter. “Rosalind.”


Rosalind was a fighter—rarely sick as a baby, she was walking precociously and teething her way through everything in the house. She seemed to grow faster than she should, but since George and Ansly were first-time parents, they couldn’t be sure. Anyway, if that was the worst effect of their living in a nuclear zone, then so be it. Ansly could sew her new clothes as quickly as she grew out of the old ones.
Like her mother, she had beautiful black hair and loved to play games. There weren’t many other children for her to play with, of course, but her parents usually let her win, so she liked them best, anyway.


Like her father, she had a bit of a grouchy streak, though it manifested more as tough playfulness than genuine ill-will.
“I like you, snowman. I shall call you Professor Stupid Face, and together we will fight the zombie hordes. What’s that, Professor Stupid Face? You say that you are afraid of zombies? Well, that’s too bad, because you are the front lines. I’m going inside to shave dolly’s head.”


“You’re pregnant?” George asked, dazed.
“Well, that is generally what happens, when, you know.”
“I know, I know. I just…Has it been that long already? It seems like just yesterday Rosie was born.”
“It does seem strange, doesn’t it? Time flies.”
“If only we had better food. I just worry about the food, Ans.”
“I know. I do, too.” She sighed. “But this is good news, right? Maybe I shouldn’t be, but I’m excited.”
“Yes. I am, too,” he said, and as the months went by, his words became truer. He was excited. How could he have ever known that he could love this much?


“Mommy! Can I play with him? I want to play cowboys and zombies. Please please please?”
“When he’s a little older, sweetie. He’s too small to play with.”
“Nuh-uuuuh. He would fit in the wooden car Daddy made me! I could push him around the house and outside and he’d really like it. I bet he’d even fit on my sled if I tied him on.”
“Babies are too fragile, Rosie.”
“I’ll tie him really good!”


“Mooom, I named the baby!”
“He has a name,” George said.
“Beckett’s a stupid name.”
“Rosie.”
“Sorry, Daddy.”
“What do you want to name him?” Ansly whispered.
“Umm. I have to remember…oh, yeah. Butt Face!” she giggled.
“Well, at least he won’t get picked on in school,” George murmured.


Rosalind, for all her teasing, helped out more around the house as she grew older. She had to. George was developing new food techniques that would hopefully make it possible for them to one day eat like real people again. Meanwhile, Ansly was pregnant. At night she lay awake, craving fruit and milk and fresh bread and salad—none of the junk they ate, food that somehow hadn’t perished in the dozen years since the blast. By day, she fought nausea. It was unfair.
“Rosalind, sweetie, I appreciate that you’re helping with Beckett—“
“Whee! Upsy-daisy!”
“—but could you please take him out of the room when I’m—oh, my stomach…”
“Uh, sorry, Mom. Gross."


Ansly gave birth to a healthy boy, Sacha Butt Face grew up, giving Rosalind a play mate. He was outgoing, though from a very early age, he showed a fondness for bugs and a propensity for science, a sort of curiosity for the world that was better sated by books than exploration. Or, as Rosalind put it,
“Nerd!”


George, meanwhile, finally reached his goal of becoming a culinary master. He’d invented new ways to preserve food, and better ways to cook the artificial food. This meant three things to the Danger family: one, delicious food, without risk of scurvy; two, Ansly would never have to cook again, which she hated after two many years of smelling hot dogs; and three, George looked so handsome in his new work clothes that she didn’t want him to leave the house in the morning.


It frightened her a little, sometimes. How much she’d changed. It truly seemed like only yesterday that she’d been a kid, fresh-faced and naively returning to her hometown in a disaster situation. It was a disaster that the region—the nation—hadn’t recovered from, even now, fifteen years later. Instead, she’d adapted, fallen in love, had three beautiful children (with another on the way—if it was a girl, Ansly wanted to name her ‘Portia’). Still, how was it possible that she had lived through this? Through the loneliness, the isolation; through the hunger that roared up in her stomach, the bone-deep coldness that made her forget what it was to be warm, the dirt and age of everything around her that made her long for something, anything new?
Maybe Jane, her long-lost friend whose home she’d taken as her own, had been right. Maybe Ansly was stronger than she’d thought.


And maybe it was because of the family she had, the family she’d made. Her children didn’t mind that they had to wear re-fitted hand-me-downs, or that they couldn’t leave home to even go to the park or make new friends. On cold nights, they all piled into Ansly and George’s big bed, and they would listen to their parents tell stories of their own childhoods—stories about sleepovers and sneaking into movies and first dances and baseball. But those things were from a world that they hadn’t been born into, and so they didn’t miss them.
And George still looked at her the way he had when they’d been teenagers in the orphanage. Or maybe with a little less awe, but more warmth, more real admiration. He didn’t mind the way her body had changed from her pregnancies, or the lines around her eyes, and she didn’t mind his gray hairs or softer body. She wouldn’t have given this up for the world—not even that glittering world that had been blasted apart.

Awww :D Had to catch up, but it's shaping up really well :) How're you finding it, just out of interest? I was thinking about trying it a while ago, still might once my legacy's over :)

Try what? The apocolypse? Is it some sort of challenge? (btw, i know what the word apocalypse means, but in sims)

oh yeah! I nearly forgot! Great chapter..woah! They should get some contraception. O_O four babies and barely any food...

Aw, what a beautiful family!  I'm wondering the same thing Sadie is - how do you like the challenge?  It's very difficult with the food restrictions.  Reading your progress makes me want to try the challenge again sometime.  Great job - I love Rosie - she's a fun girl.

LOL Zorom - yes, it's a challenge, and one of the restrictions that applies is, there IS no contraception ;) There's limits in place until you peak a certain career, and the challenge ends when they're all lifted. She's linked to the page in her first post ;)

Thanks to everyone for your kind words :D I'm glad people are enjoying this.
I really do like the apocalypse challenge, because I get too bored with just the regular sims (and the legacy challenge, because they get rich too quickly). Though I do have to admit I'm cheating on one rule--I left out the "Law" career, because you have to lift it before you can lift Politics, Law Enforcement, and one other. I just can't do it. That's way too boring, to build a sim all the way up in their career for no reward. So no lawyers in the Danger family, haha.
I'm excited for the chapters coming up...Ansly's kids grow up to be really fun adults.

EDIT: I also realized that the last two chapters ended with Ansly and George making-out. HA!

I know what you mean about them getting rich too quick, especially when they start winning big chance cards. This is the first time I've done something like this though, so I need to start small ;) Found enough ways to spice it up though ;)

Have they updated the rules on there then? *goes to look*

I know what you mean about starting small...the only way I know the apocalypse rules is that I've tried and given up so many times, I've memorized them, haha.
Just to make life easier for those of you who aren't as familiar with Pinstar's apocalypse challenge, I thought I'd post a very summarized version here. Unfortunately they haven't updated it for FreeTime's new careers, so I had to make my own rules for it. Anyway, these are just the main restrictions that reaching the top of a career will unlock (each sim can only unlock one set of restrictions). The actual challenge has a lot more little rules, and cool "flavor text" backstory for each career.
I'll update these each time one of the Danger sims lifts a restriction.

Business: no selling anything except build mode stuff; no starting a business; no hiring service sims or calling headmaster.

Law Enforcement: no alarms; no "emergency" calls on phone; no teens or elders leaving house without 10 in body skills.

Medical: no medicine; no showers/tubs; must always "Try for Baby."

Culinary: only prepare one meal per sim day per household; may not inventory food; only cheapest barbecue grill may be used (and fridge). (Pinstar has also said that gelatin is cheating, because it stays fresh too long.) COMPLETED BY GEORGE SHWEBER

Life of Crime: there are 3 different ways to pay "protection money." The one I follow means replacing your fridge each Monday (for food) and paying $200 more each week, so week one is $200, week two is $400, etc.

Military: no going to community lots; only invite over sims you love or, if you have a car, are best friends with; no moving out.

Athletic: any item bigger than one square may not be moved or inventoried once it has been placed; no more than 3 items in inventory.

Slacker: no vacation days; no missing work; no ignore chance cards; no going back to old jobs.

Science: no electronics but one computer, one phone, cheapest stereo; computer may only be used to "Write Term Paper" and "Write Novel."

Politics: may only build/place items in an 8x8 area on the lot.

Artist: no art may be bought; no creativity skilling items except for "Write Novel" on computer.

Paranormal: no moving graves/urns; no Resurrecting; no plead with Reaper.

Natural Science: no landscaping items or plants; house must be on foundation or pillars.

Show Business: no change appearance; no dressers may be bought; no dates, parties, or outings. COMPLETED BY ANSLY DANGER (because I hate ugly/weird-looking apocalypse sims)

Music: weather must be winter/winter/winter/winter; everything must be covered by roof (although Pinstar said in a podcast that cars can be placed outside because they're sturdy).

Education: teens can't go to school or college.

Adventure: career rewards may not be used.

Gamer: phone can only be used between noon and midnight on Tuesdays. Once Gamer is lifted, you can use the computer to find jobs.

Journalism: only select first job in the newspaper, not second or third (computer not restricted for finding jobs, if science and gamer are lifted).

Law: slacker, politics, and law enforcement can't be permanently lifted until law is completed. I'm ignoring this rule because I hate it.

Alien Technology: no aspiration rewards unless a sim is abducted by aliens, or a "Top Secret Researcher" or "Mad Scientist" goes to work with a satellite in inventory.

My additional rules for FreeTime:

Oceanography: no bodies of water; no tubs; no primary-aspiration-related perks.

Dance: no dancing; no ballet barre; no secondary aspirations.

Architecture (I used the rules from one of Pinstar's Legacy Challenge Handicaps, so this is his idea, not mine): only construct two of each type of build item per day, like two windows, two carpet squares, and two wallpaper sections per day. Ignore on first day to set up house.

Intelligence: no work perks.

Entertainment: no needs perks; no freestyling.


Okay, now I'm obviously a major dork. :D But hopefully this helps.

Great update. Ansly has a strong character.

really enjoying this story so far it s nice that you play the challenge and write the story to it proberbly helps you to keep playing ive tried this challenge but i gave up quickly (i have very little patience)
anyway hope you update soon as i really like it:thumbup:

Hey everyone--I made a typo in the previous chapter, about the third son's name. Ansly and George have four kids: Rosalind, Beckett, Sacha (not Asher), and Portia. Enjoy!



“Do you ever wish you’d taken that train ticket, with Natasha?”
“Natasha? Who’s—oh, I didn’t even remember her name,” George laughed. “No, I don’t wish that, and I never have. She was unhinged. And she had bizarre grooming habits.”
“Oh, you know what I mean. Do you wish you hadn’t stayed?”
“If I hadn’t stayed, I never would have been responsible for bringing bouillabaisse to a nuclear fallout zone.”
“George—“
“Hush, you."



“Hey, Butt Face!” Rosalind shouted from right behind Beckett.
“Ahh! What do you want, Rollie-Pollie?” Since he’d grown taller than her, the threat of noogies had subsided somewhat.
“How come you’re always reading those stupid sci-fi books?”
“How come your face is so ugly?”
“You’re one to talk. Come on, how come?”
“Because…they’re kind of like us. Living beyond the reaches of civilization, boldly going where no man has gone before. Plus, you know—you know I like houses, and I like drawing. And these people, they live on starships, in glass castles, in all these amazing places.” He sighed. “I want to build a nicer house for us."



“Yeah, well, all I want is to be a doctor. Help people, restore the sanitation department—“
“I don’t think that’s a good idea," Beckett said.
“Why not?”
“Because as much as I love your B.O., I really don't want to see how ugly you are under all that dirt!”



“Hey, Sacha! Guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m going to be sooo pretty when I grow up, I’m going to be president, and everybody’s going to love me," Portia said.
“There’s no such thing as president.”
“Yeah, but there used to be! I’m going to be president because I’m the prettiest one.”
“Oh, yeah, well, well," Sacha stuttered, "I’m going to get married, and have babies. And maybe be Superman.”
“Okay. I love you! Goodnight!”
“Night!”

But everyday life is not about big plans--and with that, here is a day in the life of the Danger family:



“Excuse me. You seem to be blocking my brother from getting off of the school bus.”
“Yeah! Dance it! Ugh! Oh yeah!”
“You seem to have fallout madness, little girl. I’m sorry, but I have no pity.”
“Shake it! Smustle! Woo!”



Rosalind delighted in being both a protective sister and a bully.
"Ow, ow, I hate you!"
"Yeah, well, I hate smustling."

Meanwhile, Dad checked out his stove.



“You’re filthy, you take up too much room, and you start fires. I hate you. I think that a man of my culinary stature should have something better. Something like…



“This! Yes! This is what I’m talking about!” I can just see it now. The sun-soaked beaches. Bikini-clad babes. “Oh, sir, your stove is so amazing. Won’t you please show me how you cook on it? I’m getting all hot just thinking about the way you dice and chop and simmer…I think I have to take my tiny bikini off!”



“Daddy? Are you okay?”
Not really, Sacha. Not really.
And Beckett, the Nerd, began to morph into Beckett, the Ladies’ Man. Or maybe not?



“So, I don’t know if you know this, but we have food to eat here. And blankets.”
“Teehee!”
“I know, most people don’t. Maybe I could show you our running water and flush toilets, eh? Eh?”
“Teehee!”
Rosalind laughed to herself. I wonder if little brother realizes he’s hitting on a man.

funny chapter
very enjoyable keep up the good work:thumbup:

You guys are going to have to forgive me if I get a little mushy in this chapter. The next one won't be so sentimental. :D
Also, if you haven't seen this, here is my summary of the rules to Pinstar's apocalypse challenge (http://www.insimenator.org/showpost.php?p=1398097&postcount=17).



Ansly still spent much of her time sewing clothes on the old machine that had served her so well. Adults now, her kids were no longer growing out of their clothes they way they had as children, but she liked sewing. George was still working as a chef, so she liked to stay busy during the days. Besides, at heart, she hoped that soon one of her children would meet someone, and Ansly would get some grandbabies. And she had a feeling as to which of her kids that might be.



Rosalind had grown into a young woman, as tough as she was pretty. Tougher than Ansly had been, but of course, she had had to be strong from birth if she was going to survive. And then she’d had to help tend to her younger siblings. And she was prettier than Ansly had been—or at least, Ansly thought so, but then she was a mother.



Rosie had softened up a bit since her bossy adolescence. Enough, anyway, to fall for exactly the wrong kind of man. Johnson was a systems operator with the military presence in Strangetown, and he was also interested only in sweet talk and romance. Rosalind was excited just to meet a good-looking, non-undead man, but Johnson didn’t exactly fit with her worldview. She had grown up in a world where the only people she saw day in and day out were her own family, so Casanova’s love-and-leave mentality was a mystery to her.
Anyway, she wasn’t about to get knocked up, so Johnson was and always would be a side interest.



Beckett was still a nerd, pursuing his architecture career (what little of it there could be in a region this devastated) while writing stories about space overlords and green-skinned hotties. But he’d also developed into quite the Don Juan, romancing all the good-looking women he met (of course, that was a limited number, what with the zombies, lack of sanitation, and infectious diseases). And, for obvious reasons, he didn't have to be quite so responsible about his romances as Rosalind did. His sisters envied him for it; his little brother admired him.



“How do you do that?” Sacha asked.
“Do what?”
“You know…” He blushed. “Get all those girls. I don’t even know how to talk to them.”
“That’s because you’re ‘cute.’”
“What?”
“You. You’re ‘cute.’ Look at you, you’re like, like a floppy-haired teddy bear in a sweater vest. And me? I’m kind of weird-looking.”
“No—“
“Yeah. Yeah, I am. But I can work with that. It gives me something to prove. Women like me because I’m not that great-looking and I try really hard to get their attention, so they think I must be crazy about them. With you, they have to be outgoing. It’s not as flattering to their egos.”
“Teach me your ways.”



Sacha threw himself into exercise, spending more time out of the house. He knew that there was a big world out there, and that it was mostly crappy, and that he wanted to be part of it. He loved his family dearly, of course—after Ansly, he had the biggest heart and the nicest attitude of all of them, and he never grew tired of them.  Mostly, really, he just wanted to meet some girls. Not the way Beckett did—no, Sacha wanted to meet one girl.



Portia was already working toward her future career in politics. She was always clean and particular about her appearance, and she was more aware of her beauty than Rosalind was of her own.
“Is that—is that a blemish? My career is ruined!”
As the youngest in the family, she was doted on and her somewhat fastidious nature was indulged, but she never became spoiled.



“I like your poodle skirt, Portia.”
“Why, thank you!”
“Did you—did you iron that?”
“You know, I did! Rosalind said it couldn’t be done, what with the electricity shortage and all. But two hours, a fire pit, and a first-degree burn later, and I have a perfectly pressed outfit.”
“You’re—you’re scaring me a little. You’re sweet, but you’re scaring the crap out of me. You know that, right?”
She giggled. “Yeah, I know. I can’t help it.”
But as the kids grew into adults, the adults aged, too.



After George died, things stopped making sense—everything became jumbled, and time seemed to lurch and halt. Their home, their little place in the decimated world, had been really threatened for the first time.



“I’m worried about Mom.”
“I—I know. I am, too.” She paused. “And Rosie’s sleeping all the time, Sacha.  I mean, she used to drive me nuts with all that meddling, but now, now she doesn’t even care about anything that’s going on.”
“And Beckett—“
“The drinking,” she sighed.



“Is she getting better, or worse?” Rosalind asked Sacha. He would never tell her how relieved he was by that simple question of hers; it showed that she herself was coming back. “It’s been two months. I know it’s hard on her, but…But she’s always staring off like that. I’m worried.”
“I know.” He’d been thinking about his mother a lot lately—more, he realized with some guilt, than he thought about his late father. But he knew that it fell on  him, the sensitive Danger, to put himself in Ansly’s shoes. “It’s no wonder it’s so hard on her. She grew up before the fallout, and then she came back here to nothing. She had to survive through all that loneliness, had to keep it together for us, and now that Dad’s gone...Maybe it’s just too much.”
“I think you should talk to her.”
He wanted to argue, but he could see her point. Rosie, you finally start acting like yourself again, and it’s already driving me nuts.



“Mom, how are you—how are you feeling?”
“Oh, just fine. I think I might have a cold, is all.”
“No, I mean, about…Dad.”
“Ah. I should have known I was worrying you kids.”
“No, it’s just me, Mom.”
“Sweetheart,” she said, with a knowing smile, “you think I don’t know by know that they always send you?”



“Sacha, I—I really am fine, in a way. I know I’ve been a bit flighty lately, but it’s nothing dangerous. It’s only that I miss your father. I see him all around, all the time, especially in you and your brother and sisters. I dream about him.” She paused. She had been dreaming about him, vivid dreams in which he came back for her, but that wasn’t all. What she couldn’t tell her son was that her dreams would be coming true very soon.
In a brilliant flash of memory, she thought of reading Jane’s journal, when she was young and stranded and alone—what was it Jane had written? That she would be with Howard, and that would be a relief. Ansly dearly loved her children, but they were grown now, and she had worked so hard for so long—she thought it would be nothing but a relief for her to be with George again.
“Sacha, I don’t want you to worry about me anymore. You have to live your own life. And from all the time you've spent daydreaming and off on your own lately, I'd say you've met a girl."
He blushed.
“Maybe. But Dad—“
“Dad would want you to be happy. And so do I. All right?”
“All right.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Now, I think I need to go have a little talk with Beckett about this drinking—if Rosie hasn’t beat me to it.”



“I thought she said she just had a cold.”
“Maybe she thought she did.”
“Maybe…”
“I think she just didn’t want to worry us.”
“She’s with Dad now.”
“I guess that means—“
“That means we’re on our own.”

Awwww. I don't mind mushy stuff. Well I do, but in this chap it was perfectly balanced.
:)

Aaaaw. I need more.

:bawl: So sad.  It's always hard to see the founders go.

Nice update - I particularly liked the conversation between Portia and her brother - cracked me up!

Thanks everybody. It's so nice to know people like it!
I like writing the funny stuff a lot more than the mushy stuff, so I'd kind of like to skip over the sims-dying part, haha. In fact, Beckett was originally my least favorite of this generation, but he's funny to write about, so I think he's my favorite now. I like having the ugly nerdy sim get all the chicks. ;)
Next update probably Monday or Tuesday.

Good update. Yes, it was sad....hard to see the founders die.