nexility-sims - Tumblr blog

nexility-sims · 3 days

Text

𝐍𝐎. 𝟔 ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜ | NAKAWE PALACE, AUGUST 1991

❧ 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 / 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 / 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

❛ In the premier’s sitting room, Beatriz’s memories transported her back to a formative childhood moment. Her education began early, as was customary, but the distance between Canarís and Nakawe in those days meant she didn’t shadow the king himself until later. She was instead inseparable from her father, observing the birthright governorship that the men of Uspana’s assembly would deny her some years later. Still, her memory of Fernando was strong—a perfect jester of a grandfather, energetic and jovial. He was unlike her father in many ways, but they had both been paternal men. Beatriz believed to this day that her papa was the best father in the world, and she regretted that he hadn’t lived to become a jovial grandfather, too. Of course, the most notable difference was her grandfather’s effectiveness. Liberal pens rewrote history in the succeeding decades, but Beatriz remembered that fact well.

❧ ran out of time but didn't want to postpone so i kinda totally 100% phoned this one in dsfsdfjk BUT nando cameo !!!!! grandpa !!!!! uses the phrase "people of means" unironically !!!!! love him, can't wait to go back to the 1930s someday

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

The room belonged to Hernan Perdignon when Beatriz entered it for the first time. Fernando had disliked him on ideological grounds, and Alfonso respected him for his principles, but it had been neither that led to his being gunned down in a public market midway through his first term. The Depression ground down everyone. Even Beatriz recalled those as lean years—if, primarily, because her father’s guilt made him insist their household behave as if though its purse shrunk along with everyone else’s. It did, but not in a way they felt. Her mother’s ongoing spending, the very spectacle of it, proved as much. Meanwhile, Alfonso insisted they buy only food without import taxes and pay for cheap fabric at the market. It didn’t matter that the bolts went from the weaver’s mangled hands into those of better paid seamstresses and tailors. Her father reduced their estate’s livestock by half, but they didn’t have to take them out back and slaughter them to do it.

Before they departed for the meeting at Nakawe Palace, her grandfather had knelt down to give her instructions with uncharacteristic seriousness. Neither her grandparents nor her parents ever lived at Nakawe Palace itself. They rode over, whether in a carriage, a chauffeured town car, or one of her mother’s sleek, dangerous roadsters. When she could drive herself, Beatriz visited in a doorless military issue four-by-four. A black sedan was to Fernando’s back on this day as he explained that he wanted her to stand perfectly quiet and still, doll-like, while he talked to the premier. It wasn’t just a matter of being well-behaved. ‘Stare him down,’ Fernando intoned. ‘Don’t look away for a minute. If he looks at you, don’t back down. Keep him in a fixed gaze, and keep your ears open.’ She’d asked, confused, ‘Open?’ and prompted a laugh from him. ‘Listen to us, Bird. Listen like you listen to your papa.’ That, she knew could do.

Perdignon laughed, deep and good-natured, when he saw her stroll into the room ahead of the king. That was the desired effect, and Fernando assured him with a wink that six year old Beatriz could conduct a meeting with a politician just as well as anyone else. Indeed, the premier noted she was a somber child. She stood like a sentry at the edge of the king’s chosen sofa, her hands clasped, the maturity of her comportment undermined only by the girlish ribbons in her hair. Most of the conversation went over her head, and that was fine. She focused as best she could on what her grandfather had requested: although at times distracted by a bird in the window, a vase on a shelf, the movement of aides just beyond the room’s open door, she stared hard at Perdignon’s expressive face while the men conversed. Like their spirited debate about economics, the reason Fernando had asked this of her was beyond her grasp at the time. She only understood later what it accomplished—in the tense quiet between barbed words, when the king’s expectant challenges went unmet, when the premier fell silent in resignation. Perdignon found the attentive audience in miniature charming. As the meeting dragged on, though, he found it unsettling.

There was an art to it, to unsettling and intimidating and domination. It demanded subtlety. Although some pretended to forget, her ancestors had known that and passed the wisdom down. It was the warm bath that became a boiling pot. It was a gentle touch. It was an unexpectedly stifling room, an uninvited guest, inexplicable body language, threats delivered with luxurious kindness. Beatriz could browbeat and curse when it suited her. In fact, that’s what she loved. Neither her stature nor her pedigree suggested as much, which became its own kind of unsettling. Still, she approached her work more often as a strategist rather than with self-indulgence. She learned early and well that her claim to dominion—her queenhood, her king’s crown—rested on precision and finesse just as much as the very real force underwriting it.

Eladio Guillen’s sitting room was worlds away from the one that had belonged to Hernan Perdignon. Much of the decorations remained unchanged in the six intervening decades, but this was a different time and place. This was, too, a different premier. Unlike Perdignon, Guillen wouldn’t be lionized for his devotion to the nation. His aspirations were not grand; by Beatriz’s measure, they were small and petty, which made him more susceptible to precision, finesse, and force alike. It was her prerogative to choose a premier from among the winning coalition’s candidates, and she had chosen him for that very reason. Her mind wandered to a memory of instruction, but it was only because Guillen failed to maintain her attention. There was no real need for strategy today. He talked about nothing, meandering and wandering. Beatriz was a shepherd. He was a chicken, headless.

Beatriz refocused herself soon enough, crossing her ankles as she interrupted Guillen to state, “Arnaut was here yesterday. Was it productive?”

Guillen readjusted as well, leaning back into the cushion with a sigh. They regarded each other as he thought through his response. “Well,” he began, meeting Beatriz’s sharp eyes. “It’s a good kind of sentimental, what you all are trying to do for my late princess. Believe me.” The queen prompted him to continue with a raise of her eyebrows. “Still, I was skeptical when she was pitching it herself, and she was a much better communicator than my prince. He’s just all over the place and nowhere at the same time, I hear. Hard to find a mess he hasn’t stepped in.”

Beatriz’s expression remained unchanged as she listened. There were no surprises in Guillen’s report; his were words she could have just as easily said herself—and, whether casually or in frustration, likely had. Yet, it roiled her to hear them from him. She could imagine the meeting, and she could envision Guillen’s smirking face as Arnaut made a show of his inexperience. There was no trace of amusement as he sat before her now, but she found his apologetic demeanor just as rankling.

Maintaining an even tone, she followed up with, “What do you want, Guillen?”

“What?” He sounded surprised—or, she thought, feigned it.

“What do you want?” she repeated, leaning forward. “Do you have strong feelings about higher education? Do you want to humiliate my son? Is it completely irrelevant to you and just … 'weighing interests'?” That was Guillen’s terminology. He ferried it from his corporate background into the premiership, and now it cropped up time and time again in meetings Beatriz had to endure. This vague, euphemistic bandage encapsulated his politics well. Likewise, it had infected underlings, admirers, and enemies indiscriminately.

“It has nothing to do with him, my queen,” Guillen protested.

Beatriz shrugged. “Perhaps that’s how I heard it.”

However feebly, the premier was determined to defend himself. It seemed apparent to him that he had hit a nerve, even as the queen performed nonchalance. He hadn’t addressed her other suppositions. In a way, that didn’t matter. They both knew he had no abiding interest in this particular arena of policy. His mind, when it went into the weeds, entertained more attractive prospects like free trade and technological innovation. Even then, the name of the game was weighing interests. The outlier was pointed, almost as sharp as if she’d jabbed him with a pin: had he humiliated her son? It wasn’t his place to clarify that someone else had done it, actually, and he had only piled on by letting it happen in his presence. Perhaps that had been ill-advised, he wondered now. Still, it wasn’t often in the course of his business that someone’s mother checked their work. He was unsure how to handle it.

“That may be,” he conceded with a short sigh “But, I didn’t mean that.”

Beatriz sniffed. “You said what you said, and that tells me something.” She paused, and Guillen straightened in anticipation. “I don’t need you to respect my son. That’s his concern. What I need is for you to work with him. These are not playdates or sentiments. For this project, he is my emissary. His work is the Crown’s work. And, for the Crown to work with your work … Well. Do you understand me?”

This, Guillen understood all too well. It was almost all he understood.

TRANSCRIPT:

[Premier talking]

BEATRIZ | Arnaut was here yesterday. Was it productive? GUILLEN | It’s a good kind of sentimental, what you all are trying to do for my late princess. Believe me.

GUILLEN | Still, I was skeptical when she was pitching it herself, and she was a much better communicator than my prince. He’s just all over the place and nowhere at the same time, I hear. Hard to find a mess he hasn’t stepped in.

BEATRIZ | What do you want, Guillen? GUILLEN | What? BEATRIZ | What do you want? Do you have strong feelings about higher education? Do you want to humiliate my son? Is it completely irrelevant to you and just … "weighing interests"?

GUILLEN | It has nothing to do with him, my queen. BEATRIZ | Perhaps that's how I heard it. GUILLEN | That may be. But, I didn't mean that.

BEATRIZ | You said what you said, and that tells me something. I don’t need you to respect my son. That’s his concern. What I need is for you to work with him. These are not playdates or sentiments. For this project, he is my emissary. His work is the Crown’s work. And, for the Crown to work with your work … Well.

BEATRIZ | Do you understand me?

GUILLEN | Of course, my queen. I'll call him soon. Why don’t we return to the matter at hand? Pending bill forty-seven and excluding the Armorica provision, as you requested—

BRISIDA | The Canarís location? You’re sure? [Door opening]

??? | He requested the number. They do have a good auction there. We have a fax of the purchasing arrangement proposal, if you need it—company policy. It’ll be signed at the sale next week, I believe. BRISIDA | What day? ??? | Tuesday morning. Ten o’clock, if they’re punctual.

BRISIDA | Great. Nothing further; just let it proceed. Thank you. ??? | Our pleasure. Please give my queen our warmest wishes. BRISIDA | Uh huh. Goodbye.

BEATRIZ | The surveillance order? BRISIDA | Just needs those details and your signature. BEATRIZ | Always on top of things. Good.

#ts4 story #sims story #sims 4 story #royal sims #simblr #ts4 legacy #1992.story.post #1992.a1 #1992.e04

39 notes · View notes

nexility-sims · 3 days

Note

⭐ For Leonor & Renzo! What’s their song?

What do they tease each other about?

What is their favourite non-sexual activity?

ULTIMATE RELATIONSHIP TAG / accepting !

thank you !!! excellent picks ...

what’s their song? whatever was playing through the wall in this scene, obviously !! ksdfjhsdf i have been chewing on this (and listening to various playlists), and i think there are a few that have the right vibe. my first thought was “it has to be a chili peppers song, clearly,” and i think “don’t forget me” is a good contender—sure, it’s about drugs like all of their best songs, but it always makes me think of relationships that are thrilling and raw and perhaps not the wisest in the long run; another one that stood out to me is “after dinner” by unloved, which just feels like a very leonor pov song; relatedly, maybe an even better fit but listed last because it just occurred to me, would be “french kiss” by sleep thieves. exhibit a: "i want to fall with you, fall faster, fall closer now, see the world and fuck all of that and let it go / along with you" ... perfect? perfect (EDIT: lana, obviously ???? alexa play "burning desire" … no, alexa play “peppers” ???)

what do they tease each other about? i’ve shown this a bit, but i feel like the biggest source of teasing must be how different their backgrounds are. that’s part of what i find interesting about them, that there’s a veneer of mutual understanding, but their upbringings and worldviews and ways of moving in the world are so disparate. so far, leonor’s on the receiving end—which, yeah, she is very much a pampered princess who doesn’t know anything about anything and acts snotty, which is funny if you’re a Normal person in comparison. renzo is also, in comparison, much more coarse and rude, which i think leonor finds amusing. plus, there’s the fact that it’s easier to joke about something dissonant than, like, treat it seriously.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity? surely anything can be a sexual activity if you're just Like That but i digress sdfsg i like this one because obviously there’s a whole bunch of hanging out and such that’s happening off-screen ! my first thought was that they must go to non-den events together—you know, open mics, music or performance art shows, things like that. renzo’s always alert to low-key, intimate goings-on that he can slip into and just vibe; i feel like leonor must enjoy the same, too. aside from that, going to bookstores and watching movies at home—hers or his, doesn’t matter. leonor has not seen a lot of stuff, and it’s probably in part a compromise for the fact that he refuses to watch anything he’s been in. it’s either go-go-go or just sitting around quietly for them, imo, and it's usually leonor following him around and doing whatever he's up to.

#leonor girl get up ...#ch.leonor #ch.renzo #reyes.hc #one thing about me is im gonna write a novel #in response to every ask i get sdfkjdsf

8 notes · View notes

nexility-sims · 4 days

Note

For the ⭐️ ask, pick the 3 questions that you yourself would be most excited to answer about Leo and Renzo!

ULTIMATE RELATIONSHIP TAG / accepting !

i haven't answered an ask meme since december ??? omg ... anyway, i was promptly overwhelmed by the possibilities and dumped the entire post into a random picker dfkjsfg turns out that surprise random prompts are the most exciting option. here's what it spit out:

who leaves the most marks? i'm going to say leonor on the grounds that perhaps she's inclined to get overzealous and perhaps renzo bruises easily, etc. all fine and well, everyone is happy.

who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? wow, hypothetical leorenzo baby … obviously from renzo, who has the potty mouth of the two. idk man, what's cuter than a grumpy four year old saying "fuck you"? my brother did this and it was, unfortunately, very cute and funny

who mows the lawn? leonor vc: sorry um what is ... "mowing the lawn"? is that a sex thing or— i'm sure she's vaguely aware of how gardening works, but that's a job people do professionally, not something you do yourself at your own home. would you cut your own hair? would you wash your own clothes? would you unclog your own toilet? would you stock your own pantry? exactly. trained professionals only. Meanwhile, It's Summer 1973 … one pint-sized lorencio ledford is busy cutting grass with a pull-start push mower in sim arkansas, one of his 1278174 part-time jobs—

#what a fun mix of questions sdkfsf #i never would've picked these myself #ch.leonor #ch.renzo #reyes.hc #thank you siri !! <3

6 notes · View notes

nexility-sims · 4 days

Text

The Ultimate Relationship Tag

Send ‘✩’ for the following:

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Who trashes the house? Do either of them get physical? How often do they argue/disagree? Who is the first to apologise?

Sex:

Who is on top? Who is on the bottom? Who has the strangest desires? Any kinks? Who’s dominant in bed? Is head ever in the equation? If so, who is better at performing it? Ever had sex in public? Who moans the most? Who leaves the most marks? Who screams the loudest? Who is the more experienced of the two? Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Rough or soft? How long do they usually last? Is protection used? Does it ever get boring? Where is the strangest place they’d have sex?

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? If so, how many children do your muses want/have? Who is the favorite parent? Who is the authoritative parent? Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? Who goes to parent teacher interviews? Who changes the diapers? Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? Who spends the most time with the children? Who packs their lunch boxes? Who gives their children ‘the talk’? Who cleans up after the kids? Who worries the most? Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from?

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? Who is the little spoon? Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? Who struggles to keep their hands to themself? How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? Who gives the most kisses? What is their favourite non-sexual activity? Where is their favourite place to cuddle? Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? How often do they get time to themselves?

Sleeping:

Who snores? If both do, who snores the loudest? Do they share a bed or sleep separately? If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? Who talks in their sleep? What do they wear to bed? Are either of your muses insomniacs? Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Who wakes up with bed hair? Who wakes up first? Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? What is their favourite sleeping position? Who hogs the sheets? Do they set an alarm each night? Can a television be found in their bedroom? Who has nightmares? Who has ridiculous dreams? Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? Who makes the bed? What time is bed time? Any routines/rituals before bed? Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?

Work:

Who is the busiest? Who rakes in the highest income? Are any of your muses unemployed? Who takes the most sick days? Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Who sucks up to their boss? What are their jobs? Who stresses the most? Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? Are your muses financially stable?

Home:

Who does the washing? Who takes out the trash? Who does the ironing? Who does the cooking? Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? Who is messier? Who leaves the toilet roll empty? Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Who forgets to flush the toilet? Who is the prankster around the house? Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? Who mows the lawn? Who answers the telephone? Who does the vacuuming? Who does the groceries? Who takes the longest to shower? Who spends the most time in the bathroom?

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? How many cars do they own? Do they own their home or do they rent? Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? Do they live in the city or in the country? Do they enjoy their surroundings? What’s their song? What do they do when they’re away from each other? Where did they first meet? How did they first meet? Who spends the most money when out shopping? Who’s more likely to flash their assets? Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Any mental issues? Who’s terrified of bugs? Who kills the spiders around the house? Their favourite place? Who pays the bills? Do they have any fears for their future? Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Who uses up all of the hot water? Who’s the tallest? Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Who wanders around in their underwear? Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? What do they tease each other about? Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? Do they have mutual friends? Who crushed first? Any alcohol or substance related problems? Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Who swears the most?

#fun … throwback to rp days … 🏄‍♀️

15K notes · View notes

nexility-sims · 4 days

Text

had german and barbie on the brain ... i love them

#reyes.outtake.2 #i been using the wrong tag omg #unclear why barb's hair color looks different there...#ch.barbie #ch.german

28 notes · View notes

nexility-sims · 5 days

Text

since i’m blogging: i really, truly love when people reblog a post and say something in their tags about it 😭 it doesn’t even have to be a full blown compliment or review; i grin a lil bit when i see a heart or a “this is cool!” too. it’s harder to reply to than a reply feature comment, so: just a little thank you to everyone who’s done that 💓

#i try to always comment when i reblog #i also read the tags on posts others reblog #that just come across my dash #but this is specifically for those who’ve reblogged #my story posts and had kind words #so small but so seen

6 notes · View notes

nexility-sims · 5 days

Text

directory was not the most popular blog page when i was surveying about it BUT i will say i effortlessly find all of my past story posts when i need them, so 💅💅💅💅💅 that’s archival science, baby

#no it’s not fjehejf but still #idk i reference my story posts a lot #i try to reference y’all’s but it’s less easy #unless you have chapter summaries or w/e #i get that it’s Work to maintai #esp if you don’t reference your stuff or like #know for a fact you have readers that do #but i love my directory page 😭#gift to me myself and i

9 notes · View notes

nexility-sims · 6 days

Text

the weather has been really nice so beach content felt necessary / this is just gratuitous fashion posting but let's pretend it's Backfilling The Time Skip™

#paging bret michaels sdkfsfg #miss leonor ... hottie #the way they have become my new german and barbie #play dress up take pretty pictures etc #reyes.outtake.2 #ch.leonor #ch.renzo

64 notes · View notes

nexility-sims · 6 days

Text

𝐍𝐎. 𝟓 ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜ | THE DEN & NAKAWE PALACE, AUGUST 1991

❧ 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 / 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 / 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

❛ She’ll be here any minute.' Arnaut proffered yet another empty explanation to fill the silence. The premier granted forty-five minutes, but he had already spent fifteen giving intermittent assurances that Leonor was en route, delayed in some unpreventable way. Although known as gregarious and energetic, Premier Eladio Guillen sat across from Arnaut this entire time with a small, static smile. The anticipatory silence that dragged on seemed not to faze him. Waiting grated Arnaut’s nerves, meanwhile, as did attempting to puzzle out Guillen’s thoughts. Every minute of quiet that passed constituted some kind of failed test, he was certain. Yet, he exhausted his list of aide-approved topics within the first three minutes, and Guillen resisted his efforts to sidetrack the stillborn conversation into small talk. It could only be taken as a clear, loud message that the premier preferred to sit in total silence than humor Arnaut’s attempts.

❧ important psa: leonor is her grandmother's granddaughter; additionally, i did not proofread much and should've so sdjfsdf if you notice anything off, no you didn't !!!

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

In fact, Leonor was due to be there any minute. She was in the parking garage of Nakawe Palace's complex, and she had arrived there just ten minutes past the appointed time. What kept her was the newspaper she’d snagged from a stand on Oceanside Avenue. It wasn’t a respectable publication, certainly not Nakawe’s paper of record, but its headline for the day caught her eye. That was rare. Even if tabloid chatter affected her subliminally, she wasn’t one to read the stories or pay much attention to the headlines. The newsstands she passed in the course of daily life were easy to ignore; someone delivered her preferred papers and magazines each morning, whether or not she planned to open them. This paper’s claim cut through the inane, sensational fabrications about her body, her love life, the silly woes with which some two-bit copywriter claimed to empathize.

It was almost certain that her having bought a copy of the day’s paper accusing her drug abuse would become tomorrow’s headline. At any rate, the shocked vendor stared. So too did other pedestrians as they passed. The speculation wrote itself. Why, after all, would she have bothered if there wasn’t something to it? Incensed, morbid curiosity wouldn’t do. There had to be a more salacious explanation; it was the one that argued her interest was somehow proof of guilt. But, the simple truth was that she had gasped at the sight of it: a grabby headline, juxtaposed photos innocuous on their own but damning in this contrived context, an authoritative quotation of concern from some anonymous acquaintance. The front page promised a full story unfurled inside, and Leonor, who had never been accused of wrongdoing in her life, became consumed with the need to know every lie printed within the pages.

As she sat in the car, reading about how her alter-self had become obsessed with benzos and tried heroin with a hard rock band, she knew there was no recourse. The Crown wouldn’t respond. These papers could publish whatever they liked, and they weighed that freedom against the constriction of access it only sometimes engendered. Leonor’s people had been silent and inflexible since winter—a moribund policy rolled over from before, when she was an off-limits teenager regarded as inseparable from the entity of her mother. Perhaps that was why she became fair game once the mourning moratorium lifted. More likely, the press’s the dark underbelly dwellers knew the larger apparatus of the royal family saw value in any public discourse about its members. Individual reputations were less of a concern, especially when the Crown itself and more reputable papers churned out flattering, factual stories to complicate any emerging narratives. For some time, gossip and relevance went hand-in-hand. Beatriz’s vision of the monarchy was increasingly a flirtatious one, winking when provocation paid off and demurring when it didn’t. Leonor had never needed to think too hard about it. Her mother went through the grinder time and time again, but her popularity remained intact, and she hadn’t ever let on, at least to her daughter, how terrible it felt.

It was within Leonor’s power to huddle her team and insist they at least pretend to respond. Her little household was hardly autonomous, but it didn’t need to be. Leonor complaining to her grandparents about rude tabloids would get her nowhere; a conversation among aides about public relations, on the other hand, at least created an official paper trail of bureaucratic value. Yet, that was why she found herself frustrated. This paper she held in her hands trumpeted glaring, clumsy lies. Those lies, however, didn’t need to be rooted in fact if they had been planted in a context that made them feel plausible. For the average Uspanian, the takeaway wasn’t in the details. Most people cast idle glances at the newsstands, noticing ugly candids and buzzwords, passively gleaning less of a coherent story and more of an ambient sense. Leonor’s new friends and hangouts weren’t the kind of blank slate she had been. They came with their own public associations, jumbled facts, wild fabrications. These particular details were false, and The Den remained a locked vault to the public, but it wasn’t outlandish to imagine her as part of the scene if ample photographs and videos suggested she was.

Leonor closed the paper and laid it on the passenger seat. It sat there, folded, for just a few seconds before she snatched it up again. Quickly, angrily, she tore at it. It wouldn’t rip down the middle, so she yanked out the pages instead. They shredded into scraps as she pulled wildly with haphazard, hurried fingers. Almost as fast as the impulse struck, it ran out of steam. Leonor stopped what she was doing and, feeling satisfied but far from content, tossed the mangled paper into the backseat.

When Leonor entered the premier’s sitting room, Arnaut watched with disbelief. She strolled in appearing unperturbed by her tardiness, and the apology she offered to Guillen as he rose to clasp her hands was simple at best. It didn’t bother him. His reception of her made his demeanor toward Arnaut earlier that afternoon seem lukewarm—unwelcoming, even. They interacted like people who were well-acquainted; Guillen’s famed charm leapt out as he kissed her cheek and made a joke about Nakawe’s drivers, and Leonor took up space in the room with ease.

Arnaut knew, in theory, he had received an upbringing not dissimilar from hers. They learned the same rules of comportment, and they learned the art of politics from the same teachers. In preparation for today, they had received the same briefs with identical preparation from the same team of aides. Yet, as Leonor settled into the sofa beside him and suggested with unimpeachable authority that they get to work, Arnaut felt the distance between them stretch to its true size. There was no substitute for experience, and there was no hiding its absence. Arnaut had been on the periphery of Uspanian public life for over a decade. Everyone remembered him as the immature, troublesome spare he had been. They viewed his life abroad as suspect. Worse, each day brought a litany of small reminders that no one much cared about who he was now or who he intended to become.

The television summarized it well just a few nights prior. These days, Arnaut watched news broadcasts as if it were a ritual, often doing so with a pen and pad that Lorraine politely ignored. USB’s evening news hour aired interviews with passersby on the streets of Nakawe as part of its programming. One elderly woman, prompted for an opinion on the crown prince, had furrowed her brow deep and hard. ‘Well, I think he is in for the most tragedy,’ she said finally. ‘People don’t change at forty. They just don’t. I lived long enough to know. You grow up right into who you are. So, what Uspana needs, he isn’t.’

Arnaut had been so immediately agitated by despair that he leapt from the couch and began to pace, talking aloud of how easy it would be to identify the woman, to find out where she lived, to go there with a box of sweets and get on his knees and beg her to change her mind. ‘Let me prove it to you,’ he would plead, holding her frail hands. Perhaps he would cling to her feet and even pepper the crooked toes peeking from her sandals with supplicatory kisses. ‘Give me a few good years to show you that I’m different.’ That was how he would frame it, too. She was right that it was a fool’s errand to prove he could change. What he hoped—the hopes that were, almost daily, dashed to dust—was that someone different lurked under the surface, suffocated for too long but real enough to show his face if Arnaut somehow found a way.

That way was elusive, although Arnaut knew he would never find it if he capitulated so easily. Today’s meeting felt bungled already, but he pushed himself to see Leonor’s arrival as a reset, as a reinvigoration, rather than a performance of naturality that he could never possess. He struggled to believe in his heart that the ability to rule flowed through his veins as much as hers, but it was more compelling to remind himself that he had been trained for this, too. Had he been as serious about it as she had, that deceptive distance between them would be more of a trench than a canyon. What mattered now was exactly that: he was serious now and, if the unexplained absence meant anything, perhaps even more serious than she was.

As the conversation turned to business, Guillen let out a sigh. “Fast-tracking legislation when there’s a passing is no way to run a government,” he explained, his tone light and wry even as he regarded them both with an earnest look of condolence.

“We’d be doubling offshore drilling in memory of Mario Esparza,” Leonor quipped. The comment prompted a laugh from Guillen, who pointed at Leonor and nodded emphatically.

Arnaut, meanwhile, sat bemused and wearing a vacant smile. The name didn’t ring a bell. He knew enough about the politics to understand why the policy idea was ridiculous, but he wasn’t privy to the personal backstory that gave it flavor in this context. Arnaut had once believed the capital to be a slow-paced, change-resistant bastion of tradition. The monarchy was sometimes accused of being arrested by its reverence for the old ways, and the legislative assembly had its own superficial but no less real way of doing things. People were the backbone of that. Perhaps naively, Arnaut had expected to find the same names in circulation a decade later. He hadn’t accounted for the turnover, but he also hadn’t accounted for how poorly acquainted with those people—with them, with their place in politics, with their connections to others, with the culture that glued them all together—he had been. It was difficult to insert himself now, knowing he had passed up the opportunity to belong as intuitively to this world as everyone around him did.

Having noticed Arnaut’s expression, Guillen asked, “You remember Mario, right? You’ve met Paula?”

“His wife?” Arnaut, with the urgency of panic, responded.

Leonor snorted, and Guillen raised his brows before clarifying, “His daughter. She’s filling his seat until the provincial election is held, so I assumed—”

“Forgive my uncle,” Leonor said, casting a look his way. “He’s not in the know about any of this. Good thing it’s not his job to be, huh?”

It was clear Guillen wanted to chuckle, but he remained quiet with his lips quirked in a smile that Arnaut found somehow just as offensive. He looked away from the premier’s expression to regard Leonor with quizzical eyes.

Apparently not finished, Leonor added, “You haven’t asked yet, but I’m going to assume Diago Tegridia has been talking to you. He’s never been a fan—especially not of the part about funding students’ studying abroad. My mother planned to massage him on it, but he won’t take any of my uncle’s calls, so—”

Arnaut, growing nervous, laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t say that—”

“No? I suspect it’s because he offended him during a hallway chat,” Leonor said with a shrug. “Like with Paula? Similar misstep. If you don’t know who’s who and what’s what, that makes it hard to do business, doesn’t it?”

“That’s not relevant, Leonor, is it?” Arnaut asked. From the corner of his eye, he saw Guillen sitting with the same amused, forbearing smirk on his face. “This meeting has nothing to do with Representative Tegridia, and definitely not a casual conversation we might’ve had.”

With an eyeroll, Leonor laughed, “There, see?”

Guillen nodded and offered Arnaut what was, it seemed, his best attempt at a placating smile. “I’ll admit,” he began, looking from Arnaut to Leonor, “Diago does have strong opinions, and I’ve been inclined to hear him out where he has expertise. But, alright, why don’t you walk me through the particulars again—to save time, just make the counterargument to his?”

Leonor turned more fully to face Arnaut, her expression expectant. They stared at each other for a long moment while he assessed the challenging look in her eyes and what she wanted from him,. He remained all too aware that Guillen was staring and judging, too. More than a challenge, Arnaut saw mischief in her eyes. Leonor was unwilling to look away or say anything. The corners of her lips were curled—not altogether a smirk, perhaps something more predatory, as if she intended to bare her teeth instead of break into a smile. The more seconds passed, the more pleased she seemed.

He turned back to Guillen with a sigh, concluding, “… I’ll let Leonor take the lead.”

TRANSCRIPT:

RENZO | Have I see you in blue? In person. LEONOR | Maybe once?

RENZO | It looks good. Black is better. Brown. White, whew. LEONOR | It’s for work. Work! I’m going to be late. Poor uncle.

RENZO | He’ll be alright? LEONOR | He’s a big boy. RENZO | Stick around a little longer? LEONOR | Nice try.

ARNAUT | She’ll be here in a minute.

GUILLEN | [Sighs] Fast-tracking legislation when there’s a passing is no way to run a government.

LEONOR | We’d be doubling offshore drilling in memory of Mario Esparza.

GUILLEN | You remember Mario, right? You’ve met Paula? ARNAUT | … His wife? [Leonor snorts] GUILLEN | His daughter. She’s filling his seat until the provincial election is held, so I assumed—

LEONOR | He’s not in the know about any of this. Good thing it’s not his job to be, huh?

LEONOR | You haven’t asked yet, but I’m going to assume Diago Tegridia has been talking to you. He’s never been a fan—especially not of the part about funding students’ studying abroad. My mother planned to massage him on it, but he won’t take any of my uncle’s calls, so— ARNAUT | Well, I wouldn’t say that—

LEONOR | No? I suspect it’s because he offended him during a hallway chat. Like with Paula? Similar misstep. If you don’t know who’s who and what’s what, that makes it hard to do business, doesn’t it? ARNAUT | That's not relevant, Leonor, is it?

ARNAUT | This meeting has nothing to do with Representative Tegridia, and definitely not a casual conversation we might’ve had. LEONOR | There, see?

GUILLEN | I'll admit, Diago does have strong opinions, and I’ve been inclined to hear him out where he has expertise. But, alright, why don’t you walk me through the particulars again—to save time, just make the counterargument to his?

ARNAUT | … I’ll let Leonor take the lead.

ARNAUT | Where are you going? We’re debriefing upstairs in five minutes. LEONOR | Clocking out early. ARNAUT | Did you let Central know? It’s a weekday. You can’t leave the premises without giving them notice. LEONOR | [Chuckles] No, you’re just not supposed to.

ARNAUT | You don’t think anyone will notice the … slacking off? Talk? LEONOR | What, are you going to tattle on me? ARNAUT | I don't have to. I’m just saying it’s a bad look. Trust me.

LEONOR | You should worry about yourself, uncle. Trust me.

#ts4 story #sims story #sims 4 story #royal sims #simblr #ts4 legacy #1992.story.post #1992.a1 #1992.e04

36 notes · View notes