The Feltcher Legacy – Chapter 3: To Be An Optimist

It seemed that Candy was more likely to meet people who were willing to talk to her at the graveyard. She had seen Dante Morganthe around town, but the sight of his sallow skin, preternatural eyes, and sharp fangs had made her cross the street to avoid him, especially when the sun was out and he seemed to be sizzling slightly. She recalled seeing his profile on SimCupid, and had fervently hoped he would not send her any messages, slim as those chances were. As vampiric as he was, Dante turned out to be apparently nice. She reminded herself of the mini-fiasco that was Garth, but Dante’s charm silenced that little voice of reason. She told herself she’d enjoy the attention while it lasted.

On arriving home, still feeling warm little flutters in her belly after having an actual conversation with someone who was not obviously disgusted by her, Candy found a strange light shining over her land.

She hurried to investigate, reminding herself that this was not a movie and no serial killer is going to jump out and kill her, gloating at his elaborate trap. Besides, movie serial killers went after the pretty, thin, and blonde girls. Well, she got one out of three covered.

Well, it wasn’t a serial killer. Candy stared, open-mouthed, at an actual alien craft. When she regained her wits, it was too late.

They didn’t keep her too long, however.

“Maybe they thought I was a cow and were disappointed,” she thought, half-delirious. She tried to avoid thinking of the matter, scared that if she did, she’d go insane. One step at a time, Candy. One thought at a time. She was exhausted, physically and mentally. She could panic tomorrow. Right now, she needed some rest. She walked to her tiny shack.

It didn’t take long for her to drop off. Maybe the aliens, and Dante, were nothing but a dream.

The mixture of exhaustion and strange dreams made it easy for Candy to convince herself that the weird light was just another kooky delusion her sleeping mind had cooked up.
One thing she did know was that she should not have gone to sleep grimy and covered with sweat after a night of digging – er, “specializing” (not to mention the fear sweat of the event that shall not be thought of).

Of course, this meant another stealthy trip to the gym.
A quick shower later, she found the gym packed. For a split second, she panicked, sure that she would be found out, but then realized that in this sort of crowd, no one was likely to notice her. A quick glance at the clock told her that she had enough time to check SimCupid quickly.

Alas, no messages. Not like she expected much, anyway.
She still had time, and decided to give herself a little treat, so she made her way to the nearby festival’s concession stand for some onion rings. After that, it was off to work.

Her phone rang as soon as she touched the door to her shack. Cautiously, she answered, wondering who would want to talk to her. The voice on the other end was friendly and familiar. It was Dante, asking after her day. She answered enthusiastically, telling him of the weird people who were all over the graveyard that night. He laughed, “Of course, they’re zombies. It’s a full moon tonight. Don’t worry, they’re harmless, as long as you don’t cuddle them or something.” Candy laughed, imagining herself in an embrace with one of those things. For once, she wasn’t the butt of an appearance joke, and it felt good.
After some small talk and ranting (Dante, unemployed, felt stuck in a rut and was feeling frustrated), she bid him goodnight and turned to study her shack.

She had just enough money to have a cheap toilet installed. Sure, sleeping in what was now officially an outhouse for real wasn’t the best of situations, but it definitely beat peeing in the bushes, or sneaking into public bathrooms for relief.
She thought of what had happened that day. She had gotten a hot shower, she hadn’t been kicked out of the gym for mooching off their facilities (yet), she had had some hot, crispy onion rings, she had installed a toilet in her little shelter. And best of all, Dante, whom she had half-convinced herself was a figment of her imagination, had called to ask about her day.
Today was definitely a good day.

Candy did not relish a day off. It just meant she wouldn’t get money that day. But no matter. She thought she’d spend it in the library reading more gardening books, and may she could work up the courage to ask Dante out to the Summer Festival, as friends of course.

As Leisure Day was tomorrow, Candy thought she would stop by to watch some of the preparation. Unbidden, hazy memories of aliens floated through her brain. She blinked. That’s it! She could reapply as a test subject at the lab! Her story might just make her interesting enough. And maybe, just maybe, they’d like her after getting to know her, and give her a raise, or even a promotion. Excited, she hailed a cab and headed towards the Bloom Institute.



The Feltcher Legacy – Chapter 2: Crushed Hopes and New Dreams

The weather had not changed the next morning. Relieved that she did not have to resume her hunt for a job, Candy realized that she had a lot of free time before she had to report to work. She headed back into the Library of Lore and decided to study something, anything, that may help her survive in this new town. She picked up a gardening book and settled in a corner, ignoring the curious stare from an early riser.

The words in the book started to make sense to Candy, and she decided that she would find some seeds and plant a small garden on her property. It may not feed her now, but she would have a guaranteed supply of food, and produce she could sell in a pinch.
Her stomach rumbled, complaining of the lack of breakfast, coffee break, and lunch. Candy sighed. Hunger cramps were becoming familiar, and that did not help her struggle out of the cesspit of self-pity. No matter. She had seen flyers around the library advertising the Summer Festival. Surely there’s food at a festival, right? She made her way to the ladies’ room and changed out of her comfortable pajamas.

Candy was in luck. The Summer Festival was just across the street from the library. She hurried into the park, her mouth starting to water when the smells from the concession stands reached her nose. There was even a hot dog eating contest! Candy decided she’d compete. She knew that eating was one of the things she was good at. Her bullies and tormentors never failed to remind her of that fact. Unfortunately, it was still raining, and the park was all but deserted. Candy decided to wait for more contestants. Guaranteed food and the possibility of some sort of prize were more important than keeping dry.

Alas, no one came.

Hungry, cold, wet, and rather stinky, Candy decided to rummage around the Old Fishing Hole for something to eat. Maybe an apple or a tomato.
Hey, isn’t sashimi pretty much raw fish?

Unfortunately, nothing was ripe enough to pick. It was getting late, and Candy was still hungry, cold, wet, and rather stinky. She decided to make her way to the gym and take advantage of the showers there. She needed to try and make the best possible impression when she went to work for the first time.

Luckily, the gym was nearly deserted. The only person was a man who was having trouble staying on his treadmill, and was giving it 100% of his attention. Candy briefly admired his tenacity, then ducked into the basement as quickly and quietly as she could to get a much needed hot shower. She was sure the proprietor, whoever it was, would not like to have someone who was essentially a hobo taking advantage of the facilities.

No time to scrounge some more for food. Work started in an hour, and there was no way Candy was going to be late on her first day.
Fortunately, work had a small break room with some snacks for the employees, so Candy did get a meager, but admittedly welcome, meal.
The general atmosphere of a graveyard at night, added to the stresses of the first day at a job affected Candy’s mood, and for the first time since arriving in Moonlight Falls, she stopped feeling unsure and scared and started feeling cranky.
But what was that? The faint rustle of grass and leaves, and the indistinct murmur of a voice told Candy she wasn’t alone tonight. She cautiously followed the sounds and came upon a man she hadn’t seen around town. Limited as her experience in town was, she could tell he was foreign. Having been brought up right and proper, Candy decided she would introduce herself to this man and see what he had to say. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be something too mean or pitying.

Much to Candy’s surprise, the man, Mr. Garth Whitman, did not react to the sight of her. In fact, he was not even fazed, and talked to her as if she was a completely average person. Well, tried to talk, at least. It became obvious pretty quickly that Mr. Whitman did not speak Simlish all that well, and had to resort to impromptu sign language to get his point across. This confirmed Candy’s theory of his foreign-ness.

Nonetheless, Candy was ecstatic that someone would treat her like they’d treat any other person out there. When she made her way back to her lot, she had Garth’s number nestled in her pocket.
Back at her “home”, Candy carefully tallied the cash she had on hand. §99 from work, bringing her total to §974. Maybe she should start working on the little dilapidated outhouse on the corner of the property so she would at least have some shelter from the elements. With that thought in mind, she lay in her sleeping bag and let the exhaustion from that day’s events pull her under.

While it wasn’t much, the little minimally renovated shack would give her some protection from the heat and weather. Candy vowed to have a small, comfortable house set up soon.

Her stomach reminded her that it was lunch time again, and that she had had nothing to eat since surreptitiously sneaking snacks at the graveyard. She headed out to the Old Fishing Hole again, and as luck would have it, there was something she could harvest.

With at least two meals guaranteed, Candy decided to call Garth and see if he wanted to spend some time with her before work. However, the number only connected to someone who spoke poor Simlish who informed her that there was no Garth who used that number, and there never has been. It looked like she had been duped for someone’s amusement yet again. He was probably telling others in whatever tongue he spoke about the fat, discolored cow he had gotten to dance about trying to be understood. And laughing. They were probably all laughing.

Crushed, but somehow not surprised, Candy considered her options. She had what is essentially shelter. She was going to plant her garden that day, and the Old Fishing Hole plants were finally ready to be picked, so she had food. But none of that could combat the emptiness that was a part of her since she was old enough to realize when someone was making fun of her.
Candy was lonely. And she wanted to do something about it. As she walked into the library to continue studying, the old computer caught her eye, and an idea began to form.

She carefully studied the options before her, carefully filling out the details as accurately as possible without scaring potential friends away. Traits… she tapped her lip, thinking. Proper, definitely. Her mother didn’t raise a wild child. A fat child, for sure, but never wild. She loved the outdoors, maybe mentioning that would attract someone who liked being outside too. Athletic? She did love to run and play and exercise before the torment and ostracism drove her to seek comfort in food. Shy, because that would explain any awkward silences, and she would not appear any weirder than she already was. And she should definitely mention her dislike of children. Any potential messages would probably come from people who weren’t looking for a family that way. After some careful deliberation, she set her body type as “more to love” rather than “morbidly obese”. It did sound cuter.
With only an hour left to the start of her shift, Candy logged out and hurried to work. Maybe she’ll find some messages for her tomorrow!

The Feltcher Legacy – Chapter 1: A New Life

This is the story of Candy Feltcher, so named because her mother thought she looked like a chewy Jolly Rancher when she gave birth to her, and because one of her ancestors was obviously dyslexic.

After years of bullying and humiliation, because of her size, name, and unfortunate coloration, young Candy decided that enough was enough. She took her life’s savings – a meager §1000 – and headed out to Moonlight Falls. Her family had some land there, though she wasn’t sure where that land was, exactly, or how big it was. Ever since an unfortunate accident at a llama ranch, Candy was the last living member of a once mighty clan, and that land was 100% hers.
“Well,” she thought, “this is it.” She stood on the edge of the plot, *her* property, surveying the admittedly larger than expected turf. “All this is mine… But it’s so empty! What can I do? How will I live? What can a measly §1000 do?”

The only thing she owned, besides the currently useless tract of land, was an old sleeping bag.

If she planned things right, Candy knew she would be able to make it work. But there was little room for error in her life now. It’s succeed or die because of a simple fuck-up. But Candy knew what she needed right now. She needed a job. A job would mean money, which would mean she could finally have a roof over her head here.
Armed with the self-righteous fury of the wronged and slighted, she made her way to Commonwealth Court. A career in politics is what she wanted, a position that meant she’d make a difference to those who had no voice, like the lonely creature she had been before moving to Moonlight Falls.

Candy’s dreams were soon crushed, however. The same prejudice she moved here to escape has followed her. She was stopped before even going in by a Mr. Rainflower Ivy, who told her, with clear disgust on his face, that no, she may not apply for a job at the Court.

Miriam Hoppcraft, the local representative was a good friend of Rainflower’s, and was sure he sparing her the misfortune of having to gaze upon Candy’s bulk. Besides, he informed Candy, a job in politics needed a certain… something. Something that Candy did not possess. For our proper sim, Rainflower’s words did not sit well at all.

Candy told herself not to let this get her down. “Remember, it’s succeed or die because of a simple fuck-up, and feeling sorry for yourself is definitely a fuck-up!” She walked off, head high, so that the rude Mr. Ivy would not see that she was discouraged in any way.

But job after job rejected her, claiming that they needed someone who was not absolutely grotesque and likely to scare custom away. Well, they did not really say it like that, but Candy heard the underlying message in their flimsy excuses.
Even the hospital in the Bloom Institute of Wellness could not give her a job as an organ donor, saying her peculiar hue might be hinting at other, more-than-skin-deep, differences.
The final straw was the science lab. She was useless to them even as a test subject. The researcher she had talked to had looked extremely sheepish as he explained that due to her special-ness, her use as a test subject would be limited at best.
Seeing her face fall, the man had hastily suggested she applied for a part-time job at the graveyard, if only to spare himself the certainly monstrous sight of the large woman before him bawling her eyes out.
Holding back a sniffle, Candy nodded and said she would try the graveyard, feeling quite pessimistic about the possibility since other part-time employers had rejected her, the day spa people even laughing her out of the building. Not wanting the researcher to see the tears that welled in her eyes at the memory, Candy quickly turned away and walked out the door, telling herself that the graveyard was the last place she would look today, carefully ignoring the fact that it was the last place in town she had not visited.

Candy took a deep breath, suddenly unsure of her decision. “Maybe I should have waited ‘til tomorrow to come here… when the sun is up…” she thought, eyes darting about the deserted, spooky grounds. It felt as if a ghost would jump out at any moment, a thought that sent an unwelcome thrill through Candy’s mass, and forced her to mentally coach herself, thinking over and over that ghosts weren’t real… oh well. She was already at the graveyard, she reasoned, might as well try applying for whatever position is available here.

The weird guy at the mausoleum seemed to think there was more to Candy than meets the eye. Or he thought some manual labor may help her lose the pounds. Nonetheless, Candy got a job as a “burial specialist”, or, as most people would call it, a gravedigger. Candy was definitely not afraid to get her hands dirty, but she hoped for some sort of promotion. Maybe a referral from the graveyard would help her get another, better job later on! Candy could dream.
Of course, a victory like this deserved a celebration. Candy decided to treat herself to a meal at The Toadstool, a decision that had nothing to do with the fact that her stomach had been grumbling for some time now.

But of course, Candy’s feelings of fulfillment were not meant to be. As she started to leave The Toadstool to go back to her empty lot of a home, she realized that it was raining. Great.

Candy sighed. She had suffered a lot of indignity today. One more would not hurt. She started towards the closest public lot that offered shelter.

Candy’s last thought that night was how she hoped tomorrow was a better day.