Ava’s is one of the earlier gifts that they manage to send-of course, it helps that it’s one that they’ve been thinking on for a while.
There is no dramatic presentation, simply a message of ‘for the holiday.itis all yours.’ and the pathway to a particular save file of The Sims which they’ve been working on. The upside to being a player, it’s so easy having ownership of entire games, entire little worlds to do with them whatever you will. The world itself? Every texture, every character within it? All a part of this gift, as far as they’re concerned.
Really, the most important part of this world is is one particular area. The outskirts of this game’s neighborhood run normally, but there’s a section of completely emptied out lots, and in the center? One lot housing an especially large building, built and decorated as if it’s halfway between a castle and some excessive walk in closet.
It’s not even close to full, but there are weapons, blades from various games, ported in and hung up on racks, some from Skyrim, some from elsewhere.. There are premade outfits hung throughout the space, ones that seem fitting, but nothing special enough, anyone in the game could have them. No. This is only the background.
In the center of it stand several sims in their idle animations, nearly entirely featureless and not assigned any personalities or prompts at all. They serve as mannequins, displaying a handful of outfits Tolya’s designed themself specifically for Ava’s use. There are four outfits, mostly purple and black, and two personalized rogue set armors. While the rest of this building is certainly not flawless in design, it’s clear that these outfits have had effort put into them.
Tolya sends their link, and immediately sighs. They’re trying too hard, and it’s still somehow so so hollow. There’s nothing more to this than look at me look at me. Nothing past this but give me your favor. There’s nothing for them to be OBSESSING OVER. Is there?
Just one smile, god, just prove it’s possible. Then this..infatuation (It certainly isn’t love, or even really friendship, it isn’t some elaborate sexual courtship, WHAT IS IT?)
Just.. Something to make this feel like it’s enough.
Fuck. WHY DOESN’T IT FEEL LIKE ENOUGH? Even when it’s all too much, it’s- they’ve set themself to this, and they’re falling back into an old habit, they need to serve a purpose, they need to serve their purpose, it’s all there is, it’s all there is, it’s all there is. This isn’t something they should fall back into, THEY NEED TO STOP WASTING THEIR FUCKING TIME.
There’s a frustration growling from their throat, and in an aggressive movement they shove themself up to standing to leave, but as they move they see that this stupid emotional fit has spurred a new thornvine’s growth up to wrap tight around their legs and chair.
WASTE OF ENERGY. LACK OF CONTROL
STOP IT. STOP THAT. STOP IT
Another louder growl, wrapping their arm around the thing heedless of the thorns and giving a firm yank, and the lone plant unravels under their will, withering as if paper-thin.
It leaves them glaring down at the space where they just so easily created and ended a life -an entire life, in seconds, out of their own BULLSHIT EMOTIONAL VICARIOUSNESS.
Then they step forward to type one more message, a ‘ hope you like them.’ into the chat, and their eyes light up a bit, as if nothing’s just happened.
