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Battle of the Bands (Sims 2) - Updated May.10.2017

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Postcharmful on Wed May 03, 2017 7:42 am

Thank you Anita and Anneke for reading and your lovely comments! I'm so glad you are enjoying it so far. Be prepared for more twists and turns and awesome pics ;)
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Postcharmful on Wed May 03, 2017 10:36 am

It was only 9:30 on a midsummer’s Saturday night and Illyana was already in her pajamas. What a lame way to spend the evening but what else was she going to do? There was no band practice while Alanna was still out gathering intel on the competition corruption and Alarie was out of town. She and Leona used to hit up the fun house in downtown Scandalica City on the weekend. Those memories made her heart pang with bitterness. Leona was a traitor.

She had her notebook on her lap and was writing down lyrics to a new song she had written, at least that was productive. They had been practicing a song for the battle of the bands that she and Leona had written together but now she wasn’t sure if she wanted to use that anymore. It was such a great song by itself but felt kind of wrong to have someone else sing it.

The shrill ringing of a phone nearly made Illyana jump out of her skin. She stumbled out into the hallway and grabbed the cordless phone off its wall charger, darting back into her room before her mother could be bothered to ask who it was.


“Illllllyana,” she heard Nick drawl her name out of the receiver.

“Nick?” she hissed, mildly bewildered; he hadn’t called her in years and still remembered her number?

“Yeah hey, so…I was wondering could you do me a solid and come pick me up?”

Her mind reeled in anger, from their encounter at the Launder-O-mat a few weeks ago. How dare he ask her for any solids after he insulted her guitar-playing!


“Long story short—I’m grounded—” Illyana couldn’t help but to roll her eyes. Typical Nicholas. “But there’s a band playing at Sweet Marie’s tonight and I wanted to see their set.”

Her face fell into an indifferent, stoic expression, something of a habit she picked up dealing with Nick’s cavalier and overconfident attitude as he grew into puberty, “You’re kidding.”

“Why would I kid about that?”

Her tone turned sharp, “Because you could get Cypress, or Orion or any other person to pick you up. What are you calling me for?”

“They’re both acting weird and I don’t want to bug them. Besides you like music, you could come see the band too!”

“I don’t think so,” Illyana scoffed

“Come on, I’ll owe you a favor. Please?”

She hesitated; that wasn’t too bad of a deal to have a favor in her pocket. Her contemplation was too long for Nick because she heard his annoying chants of “Please? Please? Please? Please? Please?” coming out of the receiver. Plumbobs, he was so immature.

“Shut up. Fine. Meet me in front of your house and try not to get caught sneaking out.”

She pulled on a t-shirt and some capris, not bothering to take the extra time to put her hair up in their regular buns. It would not take long to get to his house, and then Sweet Marie’s was about a 30-minute drive north to Memosa Bay. She grabbed the keys to the Jeep and told her mother she was going out.

As soon as she pulled up to the house, she could see a white blur — Nick, presumably — sprint across the flagstones of the front lawn to try to avoid the windows and outside lights that would have exposed him to his parents view.

When Nick found himself on the other side of the stone fence and facing the street where Illyana had parked, he straightened up, brushed his hair from his face, and then gave the vehicle a dissatisfied look, “You’re driving this hunk of junk?”

“Oh my Plumbob. Get in and shut up,” she responded in the same indifferent tone she had used before. He cranked the door handle and the Jeep’s whole frame lurched as he put his weight in the front passenger seat. He raised his brows in an ‘I told you so’ expression which she ignored.

He only smirked and tried to buckle the seat belt before finding out that the latch was broken and let it go with an exaggerated sigh. She got it. He hated the Jeep.

She rolled her eyes and shifted gears.

“What did you do anyway?” She asked after they were on the highway, after ten minutes of her giving him the cold shoulder, “To get grounded?”

“I Tricked Uncle Adagio into reading Marilyn Manson lyrics instead of a poem at Grams’ funeral.”

“Grams died?!” Illyana nearly swerved into the oncoming lane while she took in the news, shocked that she hadn’t heard. Nick was equally as shocked, his fingers on the dashboard in a death grip—life flashing before his eyes.

She remembered Kimmy Hart well, a sweet old lady who baked them cookies after they came home playing at the park or who provided them piano music for them to dance around to. She was always there, and the closest thing to a grandmother Illyana had since her own died before she was born. The last time Illyana had seen Nick’s grandmother was at the grocery store, not even a few weeks ago, where Kimmy gave Illyana such a big hug and asked her how she was despite the fact she had stopped coming over for years. Tears welled into her eyes without her consent knowing that Kimmy was gone forever and she never got to say goodbye.

"Watch where you drive, Jeez," Nick’s roguish smile dropped at seeing her face, “I thought you would have heard by now the way news spreads around Isla Del Kashmire.”

“I’ve been busy,” Illyana wiped at her eyes, but knew Nick had seen already. Then without warning, she started punching him the arm aggressively, punctuating her words between hits and keeping her eyes on the road. “You! Never! Take! Anything! Seriously!”

“Wha—?” he tried batting her fist away before she could give him any more bruises or drive them off the road.

“Marilyn Manson is not an appropriate reading for Grams’s funeral, you douche-canoe.”

“It was funny!”

She didn’t reply and only gave him the cold shoulder of silence for another 10 minutes before breaking it.

“Are you even sad she’s gone?”

“Of course I am, the lady was a saint and miss her like Hell, but I can’t waste all my time being mad or sad about things. Unlike you.”

“What the frack is that supposed to mean?!” she snarled.

She hated how his mouth always took on that stupid, annoying smirk, even then. She had the urge to slap it off but straightened her shoulders and resigned herself to the fact he wasn’t going to answer and only said it to bait her into a flare of anger to prove his point.

“I should turn around and take you home. You deserve to be grounded.”

“Come on, don’t be like that! Besides we’re basically here,” he pointed at the exit for Memosa Bay.

She begrudgingly agreed and soon enough, pulled up to Sweet Marie’s with a glare that told him to ‘get out’.

“You drove all the way here and you don’t even want to see the band?” he asked after exiting and leaned against the open passenger window.

“What do they play?”

“Folk Metal.”

“Is that even a genre?” she knotted her brows doubtfully.

“It is now,” he turned his back to her and began walking toward the entrance. He smirked to himself as he heard her driver’s side door open and close.

Curiosity had gotten the best of her.

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Postcharmful on Wed May 03, 2017 10:48 am

The band wasn’t half bad. In fact, the guitarist was exceptionally good, Nick had to admit to himself.

He cheered and clapped as the guitarist executed the move where she continued to play even with the guitar behind her back. He side-eyed Illyana to his right and saw her standing straight, staring forward and not knowing what in the world she was thinking. He used to be able to tell.

He noticed her hips started to sway back and forth with the folk metal beat, maybe the music was finally sinking into her. Maybe she even liked it despite the sound not being of pure rock metal.

He turned to her and started shaking his shoulders, swinging his arms, and trying to encourage her into dancing along with him.

When she finally figured out what he was doing, she opened her mouth with surprise and made a dismissive gesture over the loud music. Though, something happened to her face in that moment that was highly amusing and kind of cute.

He belted out a laugh before leaning in toward her ear so she could hear him and said, “You’re blushing.”

As he pulled away he saw the red in her cheeks intensify before she covered them with her hands, “It’s…I’m not blushing!” she shouted over the music, “It’s just…hot in here!”

He reached out to one of her concealing hands and eased it away, taking it and leading her away from the front of the crowd, “Well then let’s get you out of this fray so you can cool off!”

To his surprise, she didn’t act like his touch was that of a leper. She maintained a hold on his hand until they reached the back of the venue where they found an empty sofa. Illyana sat down, still red in the cheeks and Nick leaned against the wall to give her space and to study her.

She was staring again, like before, like she wasn’t really looking at anything in particular. She was probably still in shock from hearing about his grandma’s passing. Still, he found this behavior very odd for her. She was usually loud, fiercely opinionated, combative, stubborn, and particularly hostile to those she perceived to have wronged her. Especially Nick. He had no idea what he had done to deserve her ire.

Maybe we aren’t friends after all,” echoed in his mind after she stormed out of the Laundromat. The words had made him stop and consider because it had seemed like such a long time since they hung out one-on-one.

He nudged her leg so she would make room for him on the sofa. She acquiesced and scooted over.

“Ill?” he asked.

“What?” she snapped, reacting harshly to the shortening of her name only he had ever called her by. He knew very well the ‘L’s were silent yet pronounced them and made her name sound like a sickness. She came out of her stare, dragging her lively brown eyes over to meet his with a frown.

“Why aren't we friends anymore?”

Her frown lifted and she squirmed a bit, crossing her legs, not seeming to expect such a straightforward question. He thought he saw the color in her cheeks pick up some more hue.

“Probably because you and the guys started the band.”

He looked taken aback, “What do you mean? We still went to the arcade and hung out, we were still friends!”

Her gaze was steady “You stopped being you. Suddenly you became this arrogant jerk that tried hitting on any girl that would talk to you, blowing off our plans to instead hang with Cypress, pranking kids, and you just don’t care about anyone but yourself anymore. Not even an hour ago you expected me to drop everything and give you a ride even though you were grounded.”

As she spoke her voice raised in volume, pitch and speed as her frown got deeper and deeper.

“And then after months of radio silence, you tell me that I sound like tortured cats when I play my music. Do you know how crushing that is to hear? Do you even know why I started playing guitar? I thought maybe we would have something in common again, maybe you would let me join your band, but no. You’re still immature and conceited and that’s why I stopped trying to be your friend.”

Illyana turned her whole body away from as if was the most disgusting creature on the planet. And he felt like it. What she described…it was familiar. It was who his father was. If there was one person in the world he didn’t want to ever be like, it was his father. So this was how she saw him?

He always thought what they had was intense playful banter but she really was revolted by who he had become. He bowed his head, at a loss for words and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling ashamed.

“You’re right.”

She uncrossed her arms.

“I am a jerk.”

She side-eyed him.

“I’m sorry.”

Her frown softened.

“So can we be friends again?”

She folded her hands into her lap and contemplated his question. He’d never sounded so sincere before. He took her hesitation for a definite maybe. He could redeem himself. He stretched, pulling his hands behind his head with a smile, “We sure have had some good moments.”

She smiled wistfully, seeming to pick out a few choice memories in her mind, “Like the time we went camping in your backyard and you got so scared of the wind blowing tree branches that you had to go indoors.”

“Or the times we played shoot out and you kept losing because you were to short to reach the hoop so I had to lift you so you had a fairer shot.”

She actually popped a giggle at remembering that. He felt his smile widen.

They ended up spending the rest of the show at the back of the room, reminiscing about their old friendship and laughing at fond memories, over the sound of folk metal.

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Postszanne7000 on Mon May 08, 2017 5:47 am

You really are a great story teller, Rachel <3

...still, I would never want to be a teenager again! :D

Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
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Postcharmful on Tue May 09, 2017 1:03 am

The sudden belligerent knocking coming from the other side of his bedroom door caused Franz to look up and glare. He knew she’d enter even if he didn’t say anything, which he usually didn’t.

His twin sister entered with a hand on her hip and gave him a judgemental look, “It’s a nice day outside, are you going to spend all summer inside? What are you even reading? Do you close yourself up in here and look at porn? Oh my Plumbbob, are you looking at porn now??” she squealed and made a disgusted face.

He kept glaring at her before looking back down at his Steven King novel. He had been at ‘band’ practice nearly every day at the Mayor’s estate due to Evelyn Jane’s insistence on perfection, and finally had some time to himself. He just wanted to read.

“Fra-anz, come on go on a run with me or something. No wonder you are super pale. People will think you are a ghost if you keep so white and quiet. Let’s go!”

He was already exhausted at hearing her words spill out like some leak in a plumping pipe. He grabbed up the book he was currently reading and brushed past his sister wordlessly. If he couldn’t get peace and quiet in his own room, he was going to find it elsewhere.

There was a coffee shop not too far away from where he lived; he detested the stuff but knew the place had a relaxing atmosphere and was friendly toward book-readers. He entered and made his way to a comfortable chair, opened his book and picked up where he had left off.

It wasn’t long before movement tugged at his peripheral vision; someone else who had been sitting in the room was staring at him. He glanced up to see a pretty girl next to a pile of her own books, her legs crossed and she was staring curiously at him. He cleared his throat and pretended to concentrate harder on the words on the page.

“Reading anything good, Franz?”

The hair on his neck prickled, he took a good look at the girl, and realized she went to his school. Her name was Atlanta or Alligator, or some other name starting with ‘A.’ He didn’t keep track.

He gave a slow nod.

“Can I see?”

Usually he would have just ignored her, or pretended she hadn’t said anything but there was something kind of…nice….about someone taking an interest in what he was doing.

He stood, and walked over to her with the cover of the book displayed so she could see. As he did, she leaned back in her seat and played absently with her braid. Alanna, the name bubbled up from the depths of his brain filled with trivial knowledge. She may have been in a few classes with him, but he wouldn’t have noticed.

“Steven King! I love that author! My favorite book of his was The Shining. I read it when I was younger, and had to sneak it in because my parents wouldn’t have let me otherwise.”

Franz’s indifferent expression shifted ever so slightly into a grin.

She scooted over a bit and indicated for him to share the small sitting space with her. He sat down and opened his book back to the place he was before.

“Have you read this one?” he asked. His voice came out soft and deep, a little gravelly from lack of regular use.

“No, not this one,” she shook her head and put her hand over the open page closest to her with a laugh, “No spoilers!”

He closed the book partially, so only he could see the words.

“I’ve been trying to get through the works of Bronte this summer, but I feel like I need a break for something different. Any suggestions?”

He cleared his throat, “What kind of books do you like?”

“Well I’m actually in the mood for some science fiction,” she mused, “I don’t think I’ve read enough to really appreciate it.”

An odd sensation flickered through Franz at her admittance. He usually kept to himself and had little reason to converse but now a feeling emerged, too abstract and foreign to name. He wanted her to know about all the great science fiction books he had read, wanted for her to read them and be as moved and excited by them as he had upon first reading, wanted to share experiences of the books they had read. He wanted to talk to her.

“Asimov is a good start,” he found himself saying, standing and browsing the bookshelves of the coffee shop. He found one Asimov book and pulled it off the shelf. Another two books by Jules Verne and H.G. Wells he added to her pile.

She moved to the floor next to the pile and eagerly opened ‘The Time Machine’ to skim the pages.

“Thank you so much!” she beamed up at him, and he returned the smile and then looked for more novels on the shelves.

After adding a few more books, he sat on the floor across from her and pointed at each book, giving her the synopsis of each and was pleased with how her eyes became bright and even more interested in what he had to say. Was this what it was like to be noticed?

“Which will you want to read first?” he asked.

She looked around at the books displayed on the floor where he had left them, all with the eyes of a kid with so many candy choices and not knowing what to eat first.

She picked up the novel by H.G. Wells, “Probably this one, I like time travel stories.”

“Good choice,” his voice was steady now, being used the most in one afternoon than it had in months. He noticed that time had slowly slipped away; he had meant only to stay an hour at most but the sun was setting. He stood abruptly, motioning behind him, “I need to get going home but let me know what you think of it.”

“I will. I’m here almost every day,” she started to get up as well, but he grabbed her hand in order to help her stand. She smiled in thanks, stood steadily, and he let go.

“Good,” he said a little too quickly, looked as his feet, then back to her. She had started putting her pile of books back together. He turned to leave but she grabbed his hand and the hairs on his neck stood on end again. He held his breath.

“You forgot your book, here,” he heard her say and felt his novel replace her hand in his.

“Thanks,” he released his voice without looking back at her, feeling that he’d be tempted to stay even longer if he did.

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Postszanne7000 on Tue May 09, 2017 5:03 am

I so love to read...

...and I detest being interrupted.

However, what a nice way to be interrupted for Franz <3

...but, oh, those hormones - they will play havoc with one's head and other parts! :D

Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
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Postcharmful on Thu May 11, 2017 12:45 pm

It had been a long time since Evelyn Jane could recall a nervous flutter in her gut. She never considered herself intimidated once in her eighteen years, but she was standing at the door of the penthouse apartment of Maestro Shaun Piper. She wasn’t expecting any kind of special attention from the Maestro, but nevertheless had curled her hair, put on some red lipstick, and touched up with some dabs of flowery perfume for her visit.

She took a breath and knocked a few times before a speaker nearby said, “Enter.”

The door lock could be heard clicking to an open position and she turned the knob, not even knowing what she would see in the home of the noted Symphony conductor. It was a gorgeous apartment, with the finest luxuries she could ever imagine. An 80-inch television, paintings by renowned modern artists, a terrace with the view of the city.

“Welcome Miss Evie,” she heard the Maestro say from the right of her, she turned and saw him standing by a very expensive and rare Blackwood grand piano. Above it hung an ornate two-story chandelier. He was dressed clean and classy, with a dark burgundy vest over a crisp white collared shirt. He may have been older than her father, but he had aged like a fine red wine—the Maestro was an attractive man.

Evelyn Jane stepped further into the penthouse, letting the general splendor of it all wash over her. This is how she would live someday. “Thank you again for inviting me, your home is amazing,” she craned her neck back to see the details of the chandelier.

“I keep my violins in the music studio upstairs, would you like to see?” He offered. She gave a nod of awe, still not fully believing she was in his actual home.

It had taken her some significant weeks of having her contacts in the Mayor’s office find out the Maestro’s schedule in order for them to ‘bump’ into each other at the coffee shop. She wanted to impress him unequivocally, enough that he would have favor toward her group at the Battle of The Bands. Just because his style was more on the classical side, didn’t mean he was unable to judge other types of music.

He led her to the second story and into a room painted in bright red—it was an office and music studio.

“This canvas was the last of the Noir series, one of only eight in existence,” he motioned toward a wall-to-floor art pop art piece depicting a woman’s face.

Evelyn Jane gave him an appropriately impressed smile. Any other person who bragged as he did she would have admonished, but it seemed to work for him.

She knew his history, he liked to collect expensive things—art, music, cars. She took a seat on the small cushy chair in the corner of the music studio and continued to admire the room. He kneeled and removed a violin from its display stand.

“This is the last Simavarious I violin. It’s over 100 years old and cost me a fortune to obtain.”

“Are you going let me play it?” she asked in a coquettish tone.

He brushed his hand over the varnish and smiled, “Not this one, not today.”

She gave a small pout; that violin was supposed to sound flawless—it was a legend among any violinist that mattered in the world.

He picked up a second violin, shinier and newer and began to play. She recognized the solo piece immediately and gave a sigh of delight before smiling and paying rapt attention. She was watching a master at work.

He continued to play, crescendoing into a fortissimo and she closed her eyes. This music felt like her soul was spinning around the room. If only she could win the Battle of the Bands with this kind of lyricless, sweeping music and show the entire region how it had more place than in symphony halls and public radio.

“Your turn,” he said after he ended the solo. She stood and he handed the violin to her. She couldn’t help but to having shaking fingers as she received the instrument. He was letting her play his violin!

“Don’t disappoint me, Miss Evie,” he winked.

“I won’t,” she assured and steadied herself. She had just the tune to play, something she knew from hours of meticulous practice by memory. She began to play one of the violin concertos he had written. He seemed very impressed as she played through it.

“Stop,” he held up his hand abruptly. The string made a sharp sound as she lost hold of her bow, momentarily startled at his tone. Had he hated it? Did she do it incorrectly? She looked at him with concern, waiting to be critiqued.

“That was impressive, you memorized the whole concerto?”

She gave a nod, “As I told you, Maestro–” she set the violin back to its stand and then straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye, “–I’m a big fan.”

“So it seems,” he crossed his arms and gave her a long, considering look, and took a deep breath, “My, that is a pleasant perfume.”

He stepped nearer to her, inhaled a few more times and shut his eyes, leaning in even closer until his face was nuzzled against her neck. She froze, a bit startled at his action.

He was a married man, she knew, but also knew of his reputation as a former playboy of Scandalica City. She knew his weakness: a young, pretty girl that had an interest in him and his work. He wouldn’t be able to resist.

So she turned her head and met his lips. It wasn’t every day a person was able to kiss their idol and now the advantage was all hers.

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PostBroomhilda on Thu May 11, 2017 3:45 pm

Shame on him..but a typical man lol..shame on her as
I'm going to have to go back and read the whole thing..

Time for a Spring Siggi lol
Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
Friends call me Sam(F) or Broomie or Broomhilda

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Postszanne7000 on Fri May 12, 2017 4:37 am

Uh, oh...

Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
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Postcharmful on Fri May 12, 2017 6:31 am

Uh oh indeed! Evelyn Jane and the Maestro seem to have no scruples.

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