Flirt with the driver, who care’s if it’s a guy or a girl…you need that car!
You stand up, your legs shaky and a horrible taste in your mouth. You wobble over to the car and lean in to the open door. Perhaps whispering sweet nothings to the gallons of blood and bits of gristle will help. It’s a plan that’s gotten you through life pretty well thus far.
“Your daddy must have been a drug dealer, because you’re dope!”
The ears swing a bit, but that’s all the response you get. The smell climbs up your nose and bile rises in your throat.
Whoa. That’s a bad break indeed…
You realize your fingerprints are now on the car (and if you puked…a decent amount of your saliva too), so you seem to have one of two options: either you call the police and wait to meet them so they know you discovered the er….situation and are on the up and up, or you clean off your fingerprints and get rid of the evidence of your presence as quickly as possible and run away.
Call the cops! But in an anonymous way of doing things. Then have a quick shower at the pool or gym and go to work….Then quit and evacuate the country for a while…Like Egypt or CHina….Payments cant find you there and there are some very valuable minerals and stones that can be sold for ALOT of money. Not to mention tombs and relics…
The carrot-selling business must *really* be rough – kids are leaving “messages” with ears hanging from rearview mirrors? Too much TV, that’s what.
So he decides to leave the sand where it is – he can try to clean up a little in the bathroom at work. Backing away from the car, he runs to work hoping he can get through the day without anyone noticing the smell of his breath or the sandy itch in his very manly pink skull pants of love.
You should probably call the police. That would be a good idea. They would know what to do with all this blood. And the ears. Oh god the ears.
You touch your own ears. They are indeed there, if still itchy. You sigh with relief.
So, yeah – call the police. Good idea. Except…what if they think you did this? You’re not exactly at your personal best at the moment and you might give the wrong impression. You were just trying to flirt with mutilated ears, after all.
Also, well – you’ve heard rumors about the Sunset Valley police force. They’re supposedly more corrupt than your misspent youth.
You could just leave. Just walk away all cool and nonchalant until you’re out of eyesight of the Vaguester and then run like hell. Maybe go to Al Simhara. You’ve heard the girls there are pretty cute.
Your heartbeat slows down a bit and your legs are less shaky now. You’ve got to think.
Okay, running is probably the best thing to do. Problems always go away when you ignore them. But…you opened the door. You touched the car. When the police do show up, they’ll have your fingerprints.
The pink skull pants of love are loose enough for you to pull up a section of the fabric and use it to wipe the door handle. There, that’s taken care of.
Hey, no blood on the pink skulls of love! Totally ruins the babe-o-vibe! Leave something near the car to incriminate the OTHER Gilscarbo, then beat a hasty retreat to… anywhere far away. How far away can you go without technically leaving town? Isn’t there a waterfall somewhere around?
Yeah, incriminate the “other” one!! But instead of running just go to work.
Now that you’ve saved yourself, it occurs to you that you could perhaps lead the police in a different direction.
The flood of adrenalin and nausea disappears and leaves burning hatred in its wake. That *other* GilsCarbo. He Whose Name Must Not Be Said Unless It Is Part of a Dark Ritual of Torment.
But how can you lead the police to him? He doesn’t even live in Sunset Valley. You do a quick check of your inventory. In your magical infinite pocket you find an old newspaper, a cow plant figurine, an unknown seed, a cabbage, a death fish, an easel, a Wugglesworth Schnuggles Bear, and a life preserver wall decoration.
You take the easel out, pick up a crayon, and scrawl “Goopy GilsCarbo did this!” in your best imitation of handwriting that is not yours at all. Someone else wrote this, totally, you don’t cross your t like that and you dot your i with a heart, not an intricate drawing of mutilated ears. No one will be able to connect the paper with you.
You place the paper on the front seat of the car, being careful to not get any of the blood on your pink skull pants of love. The easel goes back into your magical infinite pocket.
Punching (and getting punched by) Xander Clavell at a beach party is one thing, it’s a man thing – a Jack-the-lad thing; dealing with a pair of bloody ears however – even if they are located in a very attractive Vaguester, is quite another. You can’t get involved in this sort of stuff; you have responsibilities! (and you are a coward) You are the man with the plan; with the coffee and cake for Iliana, with the twenty four pack, with the lucky 5 still to woo and with the sand up your… (well, we won’t go there).
So you scramble away from the Vaguester, furtively checking up and down the road (there was an old lady out in her garden, but you don’t think she’s seen you) and simply run away as fast as you can.
All right. Fingerprints wiped away, incriminating note left, nothing to see here, let’s move along.
Where to go, though? Al Simhara is very very far away, but if you called the travel agency they’d probably say you had insufficient funds. There is that waterfall at the edge of town…but no, that place has some baaad juju.
Probably best to just go on to work, really. Less suspicious that way, maybe.
You look around to see if anyone saw you. You’re not really expecting anything because you haven’t seen another living Sim since you woke up.
That has now changed.
Your stomach drops and you can’t breathe.
She hasn’t seen you, has she? You don’t think so. Her back is to you. She’s just hanging out in her garden, not paying any attention to you or blood drenched cars or hastily written incriminating notes.
You’re reassuring yourself and trying to pick up your stomach and go on to work when she starts turning towards you.
Yeah, your stomach is pretty much gone now.