1.2 - Natural Born Performer
Nova was supposed to be resting in savasana. But her arms wouldn’t stay still, and she couldn’t keep track of her breath. She sighed and placed her hand on her chest. Her heartbeat was slow–the yoga flow she had just done had hardly been challenging, but she had hoped that it would at last calm her.
There was nothing for her in Lucky Palms. No friendships to draw on (other than Sirena’s), no place to go (other than the gym), and nothing to look forward to each day (her nightly jog hardly counts). The only highlight in recent memory was one of her only memories: the night at Diamondbacks. She felt herself diminishing, becoming nothing more than a ghost.
She tried to convince herself that remembering one small thing each day made it worthwhile. And it was true that as memories came back, one by one, she felt a little more complete. But it wasn’t happening fast enough, and the memories were too small: the smell of her mother’s perfume, for example, or the way the sunlight filled her childhood bedroom. Nothing of consequence.
Sometimes inversions calmed Nova. She found the only dangerous thing about them was they made her think.
Thus she wasn’t surprised when the pang of a thought entered her mind during a shoulderstand: she was strong. And flexible. And a natural born performer.
And there was a thrift store just down the street.
Her idea was ridiculous. This was ridiculous. Nova felt ridiculous.
She was wearing a musty old Spooky Day costume and caked on, flakey facepaint.
She sure was good at standing very, incredibly still, though.
Nova was not as good at miming. She could make strong, dynamic, dramatic movements, such as flips and inversions. But the subtlety of miming–being trapped, being blown away in the wind, pulling a rope–was much more challenging.
Darren Dreamer found her entertaining enough to leave §15. “I like it when she falls,” he chuckled to himself.
Nova grimaced as she struggled to find her footing. It’s the boots, she thought as she gritted her teeth, why did I wear boots?!
“Ha,” a man behind her snickered, “some acrobat.” Her eyes widened.
“Say what now?”
“I said some acrobat!” He jeered. She glared at him over her shoulder. He glared back, paunchy and beady-eyed.
Determined, Nova attempted a backflip. But determination wasn’t enough to make it land. She fell back to the ground, scraping her lower back.
“Thanks for coming out, folks,” Nova said as she stood back up, “I’ve been Pretzelina von Queefinmeyer. Thank you!”
A smattering of applause punctuated her finale. Nova whipped around and stalked over to the paunchy man.
“What the fuck is your problem,” she hissed.
“Whoa,” he put his hands up, “not everyone has to like your show.”
“No, they don’t,” Nova jabbed a finger in his chest, “but you also don’t have to be a weasley little scrotum about it.”
“Hey,” he protested.
“I demand you to march over to that jar and give me a gotdang tip before I step on your balls, you pube-faced goober.”
“I–I,” he shifted his feet awkwardly, “we got off on the wrong foot. I-I’m Walker. Walker Sparks.”
He pulled his shirt down, and she glanced at the motion. His pants were swelling quickly and noticeably.
“Oh”, her face fell, “oh no.”
“So you want a tip,” he whispered.
“Please don’t ever attend another one of my shows.”
Walker would attend many more of her shows.
***
Sirena’s days were much more rote than Nova’s. Kismet–Lucky Palm’s one and only metaphysical store–was open from 10 am to 10 pm. She often worked that entire shift. Sometimes she minded the register, but more often than not she worked in the back.
This particular day, she wandered to the library at the back of the store. As she pulled back a copy of Tarot: Interpretations for Fortune and Fun, a secret door slid to the side and revealed her favorite workspace: an alchemy room.
The sounds, the smells–all of it exuded magic. She thrived here, at the cauldron where she could manipulate reality and distill it into convenient little jars.
She couldn’t wait to use this one.
Nova held a strict schedule of performances. On Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays she performed at parks near bus stops. On Fridays and Saturdays, she performed in the courtyard of the library.
Sirena tried to make it to as many shows as possible. Nova was always glad when she came–she was her best audience member by far.
Of course, not everyone was a fan of Pretzelina von Queefinmeyer.
“Boo,” an old man hissed as he staggered into the courtyard, “acrobatics!? Phooey! That’s old hat! Boo!”
The corners of Sirena’s mouth turned down. “Hey,” she whispered to him, “stop!”
The old man sneered as he made eye contact with Sirena. “Boo! Boo!”
She clenched her jaw as she rummaged in her pocket.
He would rue this–after all, it was a fresh batch.
The tinkering smash of the glass jar was almost melodic, but the buzz that followed was a cacophony.
“Bees,” the elderly man bellowed, “where did they come from?! BEES!”
And the show went on.
The library courtyard cleared out, and Nova wrapped up her act. “Thanks for coming,” she beamed at Sirena, “it’s always better when you’re here.”
“My pleasure,” Sirena smiled in return.
Doubt crossed Nova’s face. “It wasn’t…bad? Like that guy said?”
“Fuck that guy,” Sirena spat, “seriously.”
“I’d rather not…”
“You were great up there. Some people just don’t have an appreciation for the avant garde.”
“I guess. Are you going back to work?”
“Unfortunately,” Sirena rolled her eyes, “it’s just Emily and me tonight, and you know what a fuckwit she is.”
Nova didn’t know. “Do you have to?” she looked pleadingly at Sirena.
Sirena’s right eyebrow quirked. “What’s wrong?”
“I just–it’s been really lonely at night recently. And boring. And,” Nova took a deep breath, “without your companionship, I feel a void growing ever deeper in me, expanding outward and eating my very soul.”
“Ew,” Sirena cringed, “you could’ve just said you don’t have anything to do.”
“I like the dramatics.”
“Fine. Let’s go to dinner. My treat.”
Nova grinned and pumped her fist.
In contrast to the elegant surroundings, the girls ordered comfort food: macaroni and cheese for Sirena, and a hot dog for Nova.
“I love hot dogs,” Nova smiled, “so simple. So delicious.”
“Oh my maker,” Sirena gasped. “That’s what you need!”
“Say again?”
“Someone to occupy your time. You know, a hot dog.”
Nova raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean, like–a boyfriend?”
“Ew–no, nothing like that. You just need someone to fill that void you were talking about earlier," Sirena said.
“Well, the void was mostly hyperbole. I just get…restless.”
“Okay, then you need someone to fill something else,” Sirena shrugged. Nova felt her face grow hot.
“I don’t like where this is going.”
“You said it yourself: you’re bored, you’re lonely, and I’m not home enough. We can’t help the last one, but we can help the other two.”
“What do you suggest?” Nova asked.
“You should download Simder,” Sirena grinned.
Nova’s stomach flipped. “The–the dating app?”
Sirena nodded, her smile growing even wider.
“What would I even do?” Nova frowned, “Like, when I talk to a guy, what would I tell him--what if he asks me a question about something from more than a week ago?” Sirena raised an eyebrow as Nova lowered her voice. “I don’t remember anything, Sirena.”
Sirena took a bite of her macaroni. “So? Just lie. You don’t owe anyone anything. Or better yet, don’t talk.”
“That doesn’t seem like a great foundation for a relationship.”
Sirena looked at her like she was an idiot. “Relationship? Girl, keep up.”
“Fine, fine,” Nova waved at the air, “let’s say I agree with you, that I could use a…distraction. What do even, like, do? Like, my bio, pictures, all that?”
“Let me handle that,” Sirena said, “I’ll put it all together. You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it.”
“Sirena.”
“Yes, my pet?”
“If I get murdered by some rando, please avenge me.”
“You got it, babe,” Sirena winked.
***
Nova’s mouth was agape as she read the bio Sirena had written for her. It wasn’t exactly her style, but she had to admit it was much better than the original: “Hi, I’m Nova. I like the gym and I hate writing bios.”
She settled in her comfy chair, ready to swipe the evening away.
The first profile is promising: Alex, 21. 1 mile away. His eyes were soft brown, partially obscured by an errant strand of long hair. A dog–some kind of mutt–was pressed against him, leaning in for a hug as big dogs do. She laughed at his bio, and swiped right accordingly.
Ping. A match. She opened the chat window and stared at her phone.
Finally, she typed: “What’s the most condescending kind of bear? 🐻”
An ellipsis appears in his chat bubble, indicating a forthcoming response. Nova watches it, rapt. When it comes, it’s too short: “No thank you.”
And then he unmatched.
Nova’s jaw dropped. Fuck Alex, she thought, a futile attempt at defense. Still, her heart dropped to her stomach and she pulled her legs up to her chest. Her first try, and she had already struck out. Fuck Alex, she thought again and she angrily swiped on the screen, and fuck his dog, and fuck Sirena, and fuck this guy, fuck that guy–
She stopped and stared at her screen.
Carwin, 23. Only 5 miles away. Nova read his bio three times, trying to reconcile the snobbery with the picture: a pale green man with deep, inky eyes, just like hers.
She matched.
A message pinged from Carwin: “Well, well, well…👽”
Nova flopped to her bed, ready to spend the night chatting.
***
Author’s Note: Nova actually has alien DNA thanks to MasterController, and it turns out aliens are VERY cheaty. She basically never sleeps and it takes her very little time to regain her brainpower since I don’t have her summon meteors or anything. While Sirena sleeps, I make her read the same book over and over or let her do some chores (otherwise she’ll work on her body skill, which improves her acrobat career).
I think she gets bored.
"If you upset me, chances are I won't remember it tomorrow." lmao :D
ReplyDeleteHonestly if I was Nova I'd be afraid that her and Carwin are cousins or something and she just forgot about it. How common are aliens in Lucky Palms?
I love all the yoga poses (and a bit jealous of the acrobat roll), really makes me wish that was part of the game. A sports dlc with yoga and other skills and a dancer career... Ugh.
Nova's first outfit is kind of pretty on her. Also, in what world is miming being an acrobat? In what world does an acrobat work alone?! Sims is weird. If there were three acrobats at a time it would make more sense and for much better gameplay. Then you could have three people in the house, and they would be called the trio of topknots. I forget the witch dudes' name from the Bees, who always had a manbun. He would do nicely. Not that Queefenmeyer isn't amazing as a name. Sirena's not quite growing on me yet, she's so mean.
ReplyDeleteThe creepy dude at the show, I felt that on an internal grossness level.
Pretzelina von Queefinmeyer! I remember Nova had a really cute stage name in a previous story too. Fun! And her hilarious insults for the heckler! I’m wheezing! You really know how to write likeable characters.
ReplyDeleteI love the bio Sirena wrote for Nova. “I’m flexible.” Clever!