As the days pass it becomes clear that Guy has...
Issues.
He often insists someone is listening to his thoughts and scratches rabidly at his ears. Marko has already taken him to the doctor, and the police station to find the boy's parents, but it seems that there is nothing to be done at the moment. When pressed for his last name, Guy says it's Winterly and that he is, indeed, Tula's imaginary friend. His precarious hold on reality puts this statement into question, but Marko saw his transformation for himself.
That still doesn't rule out that someone out there is missing him. He might have run away from home in his doll form, or any number of other scenarios.
He is allowed to stay with the Winterlys for the time being. The police station is too small to accommodate anyone for more than a few days and is no place for a child.
"What is this 'homework' you keep doing?" Guy never stops asking questions, "You're only giving them better access to your brain."
"If I don't give them some access, I'll just look suspicious," Tula decides to play along, "So I write down answers...from someone else!"
This seems to satisfy him before he notices that the plates are just...a bit...too white.
"I bet they're made out of teeth."
Tula starts tuning him out after this.
"You should really dust the place for prints," Guy suggests. How else will they find out who's been bugging the place?
Krista's phone rings while she's inserting screws into her latest project. She doesn't notice it ringing, or when it stops, but she does notice when her phone begins vibrating with the second call.
After all the screws are more or less secure, she picks up her phone.
"Hello?"
"Oh, Keith," she deflates slightly.
He sighs, "You're supposed to call me Mark, remember?" Like his older half-brother, Keith also has an alias for his shady dealings.
Krista rolls her eyes, which thankfully 'Mark' cannot see, "Of course. What is it, Mark?"
He asks how her current project is going.
"I'm nearly done, it just needs some, um..." she glances at the somewhat round hunk of metal sitting on her inventing table, "finishing touches."
"I don't need all ten right now... just the prototype."
She sighs with relief. There was no way she could have given him the final product! But the prototype? Now that, she can do.
"So you want to meet...at the junkyard?"
"Yes. Be on time." With that, Keith hangs up.
They meet in a very tall bunch of grass next to the junkyard.
"I brought the prototype," she says without greeting.
"Good. I want to see a demonstration."
She lugs the harvester forward with a huff. It's pretty heavy machinery.
Keith pulls out his phone. "John wants a video, for, uh, evidence," Keith explains.
Krista shrugs. Whatever works.
No one else in the junkyard seems to notice pieces of scrap metal flying into the tall tuft of grass.
"It's perfect for operations that require stealth. It can hold up to 100 kg of items, so it'd be pretty useful for any bank heists."
Keith makes something close to a hissing sound. "We're in public you dolt, you can't just say stuff like that out loud!"
Krista only belatedly notices some people about thirty meters away. She blushes, "...Sorry Keith."
He wipes a hand over his face, "I wonder what in the world Mr. Valedictorian sees in you," he mutters. While not nearly as public about it as Tulip was, Paolo easily had the best grades in his class for every class. Keith is mystified about what a genius would want with his brain-dead sister. She's not even that pretty.
For a moment, Krista's face reddens. "M-my marriage is none of your concern."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You'll probably forget about this in a few hours anyways," Keith mumbles. Making fun of Krista isn't really fun now that he's older. He watches the short video again, then nods, satisfied.
"I'll send this to John. He'll probably want another video once you finish with the real deal."
"Sure," Krista says. Her face is still red and she can't meet Keith's eyes. She just wants to get home and "forget about this", as she apparently is so good at doing.
Keith taps his phone screen and types a short message. "Ok, we're done here. John'll contact you later."
Krista doesn't even say goodbye before making a beeline for her motorcycle.
He makes a face as his half-sister speeds home. He doesn't like doing favors for people.
His phone buzzes with a reply. He glances at it.
A single thumbs up for the video. He scoffs; he would think Mr. Valedictorian's sister would be a bit more articulate than that.
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AN: Guy has the insane trait. Sims 3 has borderline, if not outright, offensive depictions of mental instability, so I'm going to attempt to strike a balance between the sims 3 depiction and the often far more serious reality of mental illness. This chapter is more leaning towards the unrealistic sims 3 depiction.
