Fanon:Thea Donnybrook

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Thea Donnybrook

About the Story

• The motivation behind this story is for me, the author, to get the most out of playing The Sims 3. I like for my game to be as realistic as possible. Adding a more detailed storyline to my sim's life will help in this regard.

• My goal is to do "everything" in The Sims 3 with this single sim, Thea Donnybrook. For that reason, I don't really have any story arches in mind. That's not to say there won't be any, I just want it to be known that I'm winging it.

• I am not necessarily writing for an audience, though I do hope I can manage to keep an exciting enough story that people are interested.

• There are clearly some discrepancies between the world in The Sims 3 and the real world. I'm going to try and manage these the best I can, in some events just accepting that the world in The Sims 3 is its own little place with its own rules. For instance, I imagine Simearth to be much much smaller, made up of somewhat secluded and close-knit communities: the worlds we play.

• The dates are mostly arbitrary, just to mark the passing of time. I didn't want to start with today's date and travel into the future too quickly, so 2005 seemed like a good year.
• Thea will change a lot over time. Her appearance, her personality and her desires will all morph and change as her life progresses. This is why there is no infobox.

Thea Donnybrook's Diary

July 12, 2005

My life isn't a story. If it were, perhaps it'd be more enjoyable. In stories, there are rarely superfluous details. I could be confident that anyone who made an appearance was set to play a large role. And oh, the foreshadowing! If my eye lingered on some object for a moment too long, I'd know it were significant. If my life were a story, I'd be both the protagonist and the reader and I could be sure that things would wrap up neatly. Any secrets I had would come out, any desires I had would be fulfilled.

But then again, if my life were a story -- not a single novel, mind you, but maybe a 13-season TV show -- I would probably grow tired. After all, protagonists are not also readers. Stories cannot lull like lives do. To keep readers, or viewers, interested, things must constantly be happening. Yet, for people to stay sane, we must have a sufficient amount of rest, of nothingness, of boredom.

The one thing I remember about my mother was that she kept a diary. My shoddy memory breaks my heart as I cannot remember the color of her hair or how she smelled or her face. I can't remember what my father's arms felt like, or what his voice sounded like. I just remember one thing, that my mother wrote in a little book and she called it her diary.

They died, both of them, from overdosing on heroin. It's never been certain if it was intentional or not. Part of me wants to believe that it was intentional, that the two of them couldn't take being drug addicts while their little girl needed them. But I don't necessarily want to believe that they'd purposely leave me on this earth alone, either.

And alone I am. With no immediate family able to take me in, my parent's death put five-year-old me into the foster care system. I bounced around foster homes, changing schools in the process, never quite making friends or taking root. When I was 14, an older couple, the Donnybrooks, took me in with the promise of some sort of stability and I took their last name to feel more normal. I appreciated them, but they were old, retired and they were not parents. They let me be and I let them be. When I officially became an adult and the state no longer had an interest in me, they let me stay until I graduated high school and then gave me some money to start my life with. They didn't say so, but I took the money as an offering to stay out of their lives. They didn't want a daughter, but they weren't terrible enough to leave me on the streets.

After a few weeks in motels, I decided I should join the military. I don't really feel I have any other options. I found the nearest base, in Sunset Valley, so I ordered a cab and rode into town. I've heard there are only two types of stories: a stranger comes into town, and someone leaves town for an adventure. On some level, aren't these the same thing? Someone coming has to be leaving somewhere. So maybe my life is a story, in some sense. This is my story. I suppose I can leave the boring details out and keep those quiet moments to myself. The rest will become written word, and live on, the way my parents didn't.

July 13, 2005

I bought a beater of a home, but it's actually quite lovely in a worn sort of way. It's all wooden and maybe rotten in some areas, but it's surrounded with these gorgeous willow trees and even has a pond in the front yard. At night, the crickets sing me to sleep. It was really the only place in town I could afford. Nearly all my money from the Donnybrooks went to the house, but I have a home now. I didn't realize until just writing that that this is the first time I can remember that I actually have a home that is mine in any sense.

Though money is a slight concern, I've officially signed my soul over to Uncle Sim, so paychecks should start arriving soon. I've been issued a uniform and some other gear and toured the base but I've not put any work in quite yet. I start tomorrow, bright and early. Good. The mornings are beautiful here.

July 20, 2005

When I said the mornings are beautiful here, I was assuming those were mornings greeted with an able body and a full night's rest.

School was always easy for me. I see now how lucky I was. I never had to study for tests and reading is actually something I enjoy. I guess I've never had to work hard at anything. Despite my early childhood, I think I've been pampered and spoiled.

My whole body aches. I joined the gym, but I'm not even sure that was necessary now. My duty may be in the latrines but they don't skimp on the PT. I can't simply stop when I am tired. My body is not my own; it belongs to the military. I am forced to push myself to the very edge, until my vision is beginning to go. In order to be on base in time to report, I must go to sleep very early. I am so tired when I leave, but I still have to ride my bike home, fix myself dinner, and try to keep my home somewhat clean. When I do get to go to sleep, it's already too late for me to truly rest. I've not had time to do anything but work my body to the point of exhaustion and then sleep. Is this what military life is going to be like?

My supervisor, McIrish, an older woman, mentioned she has a daughter around my age. I'm not feeling too lonely yet, but it's good to know I have a potential friend out there. I can hardly write as my arm is shaking with fatigue.

August 18, 2005

I didn't realize I've been keeping to myself until McIrish pointed it out. Things have gotten just slightly more relaxed. My body's moved past its panicked stage (from going from having never worked out before to being pushed to the breaking point almost daily) to a more manageable ache, only when I go too far. I go to the gym on my days off, but I don't talk to anyone there. I talk to McIrish and Officer Kennedy every day I work and that satisfies any longing I have to talk to anyone. But McIrish, being too maternal for her own good, is concerned that an 18-year-old doesn't do anything but work, work out, and sleep.

I don't want to go claiming uniqueness. I mean, goodness, I'm rather regular. I know I am not special. But I do appear to have an aptness for keeping to myself. I guess other people long for friendship and I've never felt that. Though, to not paint me as a total sociopath, why do I write in this diary? Maybe I do want someone to talk to.

I hate teen drama TV shows that have "losers" who are miracuously just as attractive as the popular people. Actually, in my mind, generally more attractive (am I the only one who has never had a thing for blonds?). That's not how real life works. We like to pretend we're not shallow, but it's human nature.

As a normal-looking (large-breasted) girl, I wasn't put in the loser catagory. I wasn't given plenty of attention by my peers, and I wasn't bullied more than anyone else might be in high school. But I never took to any one group. I felt like a nomadic teenager, talking to whoever chose to talk to me, accepting invitations but never offering them. I've never had a best friend. Maybe it has something to do with being yanked out of school after school when I was younger. Why make friends when you're just going to leave them months later? Of course, that was never consciously my reasonsing. It's just the way I am. I think.

But McIrish has been bugging me about this. Saying I need to socialize. She read some study that says being a hermit decreases one's lifespan substantially. That poor Agnes Crumplebottom I keep hearing about won't live to see 30. Anyway, she's been urging me to come visit her at home and meet her daughter -- apparently she just got engaged and McIrish wants to ensure I'm invited to the wedding in order to meet even more people. I'm not against it, I'm just not stoked. It's nice to have no one depending on me. (Says the woman who joined the military...). Well, we'll see how it goes. Maybe McIrish will accept that I'm fine how I am.

August 21, 2005

So ... I took a workout class the other day on my day off, and after feeling starved decided to head into town to grab something to eat. When I got there, I immediatly realized I'd look like an idiot eating by myself (or would I? Would it give off the strong independant woman vibe?). But then I saw this guy in the park and ...

Okay, I know it's just my brain flooding with horrible chemicals to confuse the logical side of me, but holy hell, I think I'm in love. Did my brain hit puberty late, or something? I've never recalled this feeling of ... pure animal attraction.

I'm not even sure he's objectively that attractive. I mean, I recognize Parker Langerak is basically a model, and Chris Steel is a very handsome guy (okay, I admit, I've been indulging in some serious gossiping with McIrish -- she's lived here ever since River was a baby; I've got all the dirt) but ... something in me wanted to pounce on this guy.

His name is Xander Clavell. He's older than me. 15 years older. Is that too old? According to McIrish, the age isn't really the problem. According to McIrish, he's a jerk and I should never, ever get involved with him. He "uses" girls, she says. Is it so wrong that I kind of want him to "use" me? McIrish just scoffed when I swooned over him. She doesn't think he's cute. ("Why can't you find a nice guy, like Holden?" she asked). That doesn't really matter though, I think he's cute. Not cute, but ... I want to feel his lips brush against mine ... I could go into more detail, but we don't need a romance novel here.

So I stared at him and he looked up and smiled (do cute guys practice smiling or something?) and said hey and I said it back all nervously and giggly and stupid and then I darted away like my house was on fire. He probably thinks I'm crazy. McIrish says he probably likes my ... anatomy. Way to make a lady feel like her intellect is appreciated.

I'm being stupid, I know it, but I'm not saying I want a relationship with him. I just want to press myself against him. Is that so terrible?

I have yet to meet River. But McIrish begrudgingly told me that Xander will be attending her wedding. So, yeah, I'm stopping by to meet River soon.

August 28, 2005

I stopped by McIrish's home on a weekend. It was so busy. There's River, and then their roommate Molly, who has a little girl of her own. Everyone was home and together and laughing. I've honestly never been in a home like that. I commented to McIrish at some point (it's harder to call her by her last name outside of work -- River gets confused!) that their home was so different than mine. She asked if I missed living with others. Rather than explain that my home growing up was nothing like this, I sort of shrugged and said no. I don't miss it, but it wasn't any different than it is now. And truthfully, I don't come home sad to be alone. It's nice to not have to compromise with anyone over how things are. It's my space.

River sort of looks like me. At least we have the same color and style of hair. Maybe that's why McIrish is so motherly towards me. When I made a slight mention of Xander, River looked cautious. I assume McIrish told her about my crush. River immediatly started talking about how he wasn't someone I should date. I know, I know. I also don't care.

I feel like people think I want to marry him or something. I don't. I've gotten enough warnings about him to know he's not someone to invest him. But he puts butterflies in my stomach like I've never felt so I'm going to run with that. I'm not stupid and I think I've shown I can take care of myself pretty well.

September 01, 2005

Wow. The wedding's off -- Holden and River broke up. McIrish is devastated. She adored Holden and already considered him a son-in-law. I expressed hope that it could just be a cold feet sort of thing, but apparently River won't talk about it at all. I'm sad for them. What could cause someone to reach a point where you're going to spend the rest of your lives together and then suddenly decide to ... not? What happened?

(And selfishly, I wonder, when will I see Xander again if it's not going to be at their wedding?)

Poor McIrish. I know this is River's tragedy, but I know McIrish just ... really wanted her family to be just a bit larger. She's such a loving woman. After a deep talk about it during lunch, she hugged me and said she was glad she still had me, daughter number two. I can't even explain how emotional that made me.