Chapter Two

A/N: So I'm planning on a complete re-installation of Windows on my computer, so updates will be few and very possibly very far between. Sorry about that. I know it's been like a month since I started this insane idea. My last attempt at this (which was undocumented) had about five kids before I just said "THAT'S IT, YOU KIDS ARE CRAZY." So I'm gonna get back to the currently childless Majorelle before I get too freaked about so... many... nooboos...


"I am not cut out for this constant painting. I can't do this," I mumble to myself, painting yet again. "Well, then start gardening. You are supposed to do that, too, y'know." I want to just rant about completing these pointless tasks, gardening for what? Food? I can buy this stuff. Painting, what's the purpose behind that? Being able to make beautiful portraits of my plants? 

But I agree. I slowly put the paintbrush back on my easel, my left hand rubbing my right wrist subconsciously, loosening the knots that had worked their way under my skin. My fingers run over the calluses I had acquired as I walked to the grocery store. "Get the apples. Ooh, and some tomatoes, those look good! And some lettuce, too. And grapes. Grapes'll be good." I scoff as my hands grab the produce the Voice commanded. "You want a good start on your garden, right?" 


I want to say no. I want to refuse this task, I want to return home. I want it over. So I say nothing, my lips clamping over themselves. My teeth bite the inside of my cheek. 


I walk home again, my eyes scanning over the sims strutting down the street, talking to friends and having not a care in the world. And I get to go back home to painting. Oh, the joy.

Painting.

And painting. 

And painting. 


Driving me up. The. Wall.


"Plant the groceries you bought. They're rotting in your pocket, and they need to have some sort of nutrients. At least when they're in the ground, you can remember to take care of them instead of painting." The Voice's constant wisdom interrupts my thoughts as the wrist curves to perfectly imitate the trees across the street onto my canvas. 


"Fine," I mutter, my mouth lengthening the 'f ' into a steady sound. My brush clatters onto the easel, and suddenly I find myself shoving my hands into some soil, pushing a whole tomato into the whole and covering it before standing and doing the whole thing over again. The produce is in the ground quickly, so I water them just as quick before getting back to painting. Gardening is too fast of a diversion to do any actual diverting. 


So a week or two passes, and my attempts at painting have given me around 200 simoleons, and my garden had grown exponentially, profiting around 100 of the currency the sims use. I'm around halfway through mastering both of my tasks, and my mood is lightening. The daily monotony is comforting, in a weird way. Wake up, breakfast, gardening, shower, painting, lunch, painting, dinner, painting, sleep. And then it all just repeats itself. In a way, I find solace in it. It continues, and the Voice leaves my mind for increasing amounts of time, as if it's beginning to trust me enough to be on my own. 


I find myself walking down to the store to chat with a stranger more often, to break the comfort of my house and find more interest in these simlings. I find myself integrating into their society. But still I flee into the comfort of my own house, the solace of the emptiness of its rooms and the only change being the colors on my canvas and the growth of my plants. And I think I like that.


A/N: So this was practically a filler chapter, just to get you filled in on Majorelle's daily struggles with being a part of simkind. Hope you enjoyed!