The Asylum Chapter 1

Chapter 1 Annabelle Faversham wasn’t the only vulnerable young girl who was forced to climb those secret stairs. And Augustus Wolvercote became increasingly fascinated by the science of treating the insane. He invested in the latest electrical apparatus – and tested it at length, regardless of the effect on the subject. His successes with “recalcitrant, difficult or violent” subjects began to be better known, and a steady trickle of patients, and a steady stream of money headed towards Wolvercote House. It was quite remarkable how a few sessions with Augustus and his “Cerebral Cortex Realignment Machine” would transform a person. And Augustus grew even richer. The women in his family never seemed to prosper – but Augustus pooh-poohed their fanciful notions about the place being unhappy, or haunted – and certainly he and his son never felt any sense of unease there. And he continued his secret experiments, feeding the results from them back into his fairly successful treatment of his legitimate patients. More than one unhappy young girl had to agree to a high price for her freedom. But downstairs, the asylum was a model of up-to-date treatment and methods, and much respected in the medical community. Augustus had a theory – that if he could work out how to drive someone to the brink of insanity, then he could also work out how to bring them back from it. And, being a Victorian, he was convinced that this could be done scientifically, using as many different scientific disciplines as possible. There was no denying that the experiments he performed in the attic, in secret, did advance his knowledge – much to the benefit of his more legitimate patients. But this knowledge would have been of no comfort to those whom he used for the furthering of his expertise. And his son proved an apt pupil too – like his father, a shrewd business man, but also fascinated by the experiments they performed together.
Time moved on, and Augustus’s son passed on what he’d learnt to his son. The daughters were never happy at Wolvercote House, and left as soon as they could, and visited seldom, but the sons were never troubled by the atmosphere of the place. The early apparatus was tested, refined, altered – and kept! They couldn’t bear to throw away the Cerebral Cortex Realignment Machine, nor one or two of the other early pieces of treatment equipment. Finally, though, the other large attic space was home to a gleaming array of high-tech equipment, and the latest Dr Wolvercote was running a very successful clinic, with a remarkable success rate. Total confidentiality was guaranteed – and most of clients were word of mouth references. They had to sign a disclaimer when they entered the clinic, but his success rates more than outweighed any discomforts the treatment might entail. The very rich were now putting their money in Wolvercote House. However, the secret experiments were still continuing. From one Wolvercote to the next, a dark fascination ran in their veins. Getting test subjects for experiments was proving harder. But, every so often, someone promising turned up – young, with no family or close friends to miss them, and keen for a chance to learn about the by-now-famous Wolvercote methods. “We’ve kept this room as it was in Augustus Wolvercote’s day – but as you see, the rest of the clinic is more up-to-date. You’ve arrived at a quiet moment – we’ve no new clients for the next three weeks, but that gives you time to settle in, read up on our methods and also help me with some research, if you want to. One thing I do have to emphasise is the importance of confidentiality – many of our clients are extremely wealthy, or famous, or the offspring of the wealthy and famous. You cannot tell anyone where you are working – we had a very distressing incident three years back with a paparazzi spy who wormed himself into the confidence of one of our new employees. You might recall it?”
“I do remember that. And I quite understand. But it’s all right – I have no family, and I’ve rather lost touch with my university friends while I’ve been abroad…”
And with those words, Elise’s fate was sealed. “Come and inspect our facilities. And I’ll also give you some staff wear.” Bemused, Elise found herself in a windowless room, with a locked door. Later, worse was to come as she became the latest Wolvercote test subject, her personality changed as though Francis Wolvercote was moulding a lump of plasticene. All the way through the experiments, Francis Wolvercote made careful notes, and typed them up on his computer. By the end, she was a grey and quivering wreck of her former self – and yet he had subjected her to no physical pain whatsoever. So much more sophisticated that the methods his ancestor had had to use at the beginning! Amelie Watson was a shy young music therapist, with a similar lack of close friends or family. With her, Dr Wolvercote tried a new tack. Amelie was in much the same mould as Elise. He set out to transform this gentle girl into something quite dangerous instead. The interface he grafted to the back of her skull enabled him to manipulate her moods as he chose. He was hoping to create a useful tool for the military, but there were some teething problems with it. Jonas was a gift. Delivered to Wolvercote House by a family member who wanted Jonas to vanish. Francis thought that this sort of thing had died out long ago but, no, he was wrong. The brief was simple: certify Jonas insane, and then keep him there for ever. Money would be forthcoming every month, and the family would pretend a decent grief and upset. They couldn’t have Jonas inheriting his share of the family business – he was too embarrassingly honest. He would ask questions. They would ask none of Francis.
Making Jonas confused enough to be certified not only by Dr Wolvercote, but also another, independent, practitioner wasn’t difficult, especially as the other doctor saw no reason to question Francis’s carefully faked notes.
Now he had a suitably robust subject on which to test the metal alloy the family had also been working on for many years. If he could create a metal that could be grafted to skin and breathe like skin, then the possibilities were endless. And the profit. Olaf was another student, and a brilliant one. Francis had never come across a mind so sharp. He grasped Dr Wolvercote’s ideas and developed them in new and interesting ways – but he seemed to have no grasp at all of the commercial potential involved. When Olaf talked about making the latest invention free for all, Francis had to act.
It was a brilliant idea – a visor that could be programmed to respond to the user’s brain. In normal use, the wearer would be able to see perfectly well. It could even be adjusted for long or short sight. But, linked in to the interface, the visor could be programmed to throw up certain images in response to certain stimuli. The therapeutic potential was endless. It might even be possible to warn epileptics of oncoming seizures.
The prototype however needed refining. Ideally, it needed to look like a pair of normal glasses – and the interface needed to be a lot smaller than the current helmet. And it needed to be removeable – at the moment, it had to be permanently attached, and could only be removed by someone else. Almost reluctantly, Francis decided Olaf had to be stopped. But he didn’t want to reshape such a brilliant mind – not permanently. It seemed a good excuse to test a new piece of equipment until Olaf was malleable enough to agree to what Francis wanted. And when Olaf was still insisting that the visor should be made available to all, Francis had to resort to stronger measures. He fitted Olaf with the visor, and programmed it to run a loop of erratic and often unpleasant images. The rest of the time, Olaf could see nothing at all. That would soon bring him to heel – or so Francis hoped. Unfortunately, he underestimated Olaf’s resilience.
Three weeks later, Pete Wainwright arrived.

The Asylum - Prologue

The Asylum Prologue Augustus Wolvercote was good at spotting a need and filling it. And his pockets at the same time. And Wolvercote House, with its barred windows, high fencing and walls, and high security was going to meet a very specific need. During Queen Victoria’s reign, there were families who would pay good money to have their relatives “looked after”. Relatives who had a shaky grip on reality. Augustus built Wolvercote House out in the countryside. No-one wanted a lunatic asylum on their doorstep after all. Discretion was everything. And the beautiful surroundings meant that the sorrowing families didn’t feel quite so bad about locking their relatives away. Augustus Wolvercote was very good at spotting a need and meeting it. Very good indeed. Sometimes, for instance, a man might have a wealthy ward who was unwilling to agree to the marriage being proposed for her. Augustus could help there too. Young, unprotected, and at the mercy of her guardian, there was nothing Annabella Faversham could do to defend herself from the plot hatched against her. The stairs they made her climb were hidden, secret, and they led up to the attics at the top of the asylum. “You had your chance! You refused his offer! Well, let’s see if a few weeks here will change your mind.” When they locked her in the tiny cell, she fainted from the shock. A week later, her guardian came to see her.
“Well, will you agree to the match I have proposed for you?”
“But I love Algernon! And he loves me – and his family is well-enough born for the match to be suitable.”
“If you think I’m going to see your fortune in his hands, you may think again! You will stay here until you agree to this marriage. No-one knows where you are, and there is no-one to rescue you.” A month later, he returned.
“You still resist me? Then Mr Wolvercote recommends moving you to the special cell.” The special cell was bare indeed. And as the door was locked behind her, her guardian said, in tones as smooth as silk, “I’ve given out that you are going abroad for a year for your health. Naturally, I shall accompany you. I’ve found someone willing to be my “invalid ward” while we’re away. When I return, maybe you will think again.” Through the grating, she could see other unfortunates brought to these secret cells from time to time. Mostly, they left weeping, and promising to do what was asked of them. Sometimes she heard the screams. From time to time she was alone in the secret portion of the asylum. Only Augustus Wolvercote knew that she was there in any case. And when he was thrown from his carriage, and lay unconscious in a hospital for a week, there was no-one to bring her food or water. She died alone – and Augustus bricked up the door to her cell, leaving her body behind it. After that, he began to experiment with other ways of “changing people’s minds”.

A Nice Quiet Life Chapter 6

Chapter 6

This is Ciane’s renovacy.
The link to the story and the download is here:
https://2sim3.wordpress.com/other/container/ I thought little Miss Don’t-Do-That had been pretty like, rude man, about my pad. Maybe she kind of had a point though. Perhaps I should try and make it look a bit more conventional. Now I’d seen inside her place, I could see why this might have been a bit of a shock. If my family could see me now, they’d have like, fifty fits, never mind one. Fifty each, probably. But I might find treasure. Hey man, it’s buried everywhere. I got home bushed. Dreamt of rain falling softly – and woke up to this! Better deal with it, or little Miss Don’t Do That really will have something to complain about. And it hasn’t done much for my Tree Of Life. Could be a Sign, that like, man, I really do have to change my groove. Could be time for a trip to the builders’ yard. Yup, that flood has just about done for all my works of art. I’m going to have to do something – and, man, I found some good stuff at the junk yard yesterday. Time to transform my palace. And whaddaya know? I got invited downstairs for a meal! Put my best clothes on, in honour of the occasion. Hey, man, she actually said sorry. And meant it. I’d have seen that burglar off anyway – no-one’s going to pick on others while I’m around and can stop it. The food was pretty cool too – all home-grown and organic. And we talked like real people. I washed up, she tidied up. I can tell when neat matters to people. But, like, I never saw the need to live dirty anyway. Being smelly is just so not cool. I went to the gym for a swim after a day of nailing down floorboards – tomorrow I’m staining them. After I’ve painted the walls. A real cool blue everywhere. And anyway, there she was, playing chess against a real person instead of her computer. Franco’s no mean player either, and she was doing good against him. “So how did you learn to do all this building stuff?”
I’d been invited to breakfast – I’d had to sleep out in the tent overnight while the paint and stain stopped smelling so much, but she’d been cool with that. And then offered me breakfast, seeing as I couldn’t really light a fire and cook it. No Camping, remember? But she’d said she wouldn’t tell about that one night outside.
She was talking to me like I was a real person. Fair enough – I could, like, open up a bit about myself. “I worked on a building site. For, like, four years. Learnt a lot. Grew some muscles too…now I use the gym, but back then it was , like, real weights I was lifting.” I wasn’t going to tell her too much about why I was working the sites, didn’t want to bore the lady, but a little wouldn’t hurt.
“So, like, what did you do after school?” “College. Accountancy.” She kinda drooped, like a flower with no water. Didn’t look like college-accountancy had done her any good. I waited to see if she, like, wanted to spill a few more beans into my listening ear, but she stopped there. So I changed the subject.
“When I’ve got my place finished, you want to come see it?” A bit more scavenging, and I reckoned I’d find what I needed to finish furnishing my little palace. “So what do you think, then?” I was, like, a bit worried. I mean, to me it looked really cool, all colour and life, but this lady had her own style too. “It’s amazing. Such a transformation.” She could see that my furniture was a bit, like, second-hand, but she was too kind to comment on that. This lady had manners as well as style – this visit, anyway.
“I love what you’ve done.” She smiled at me. “I like the window box too.”
“Hey, lady, I hoped you would. I put that there specially to like, please you, lighten your day a bit.” I think she blushed! Summer, and I laid some slabs in the shade (moved my garden plants too: they were so, like, not cool with the shade), and added a painting that looked – to me – like that little lady’s true personality. Found a chess table and a couple of old chairs and we’d sit in the shade and she started to teach me how to play chess. Autumn was warm too, so we carried on. She was like, way better than me! Sometimes almost like a machine; but then I’d look at my painting and think: I’m sure that beautiful, romantic lady is inside you somewhere. I invited her up for breakfast – just to prove that I could do it! – and her too-sharp eyes spotted my certificates.
“You did an art degree? And got a first? And you play guitar to that level?”
“Well, yes, ma’am, I do.”
“Your family must have been so impressed.”
“Well, no ma’am, they weren’t.”
“So – if you can do that, this well, why the building site work?”
I was going to have to come clean.
“Lady, there was no way they wanted me to do art. And no way they were going to fund it. Construction’s well-paid, if you live cheap – and seasonal. That’s how I put myself through university.”
That pretty face of hers changed – lost that little mischievous sparkle. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
“Hey, lady, I didn’t mind you asking. Like, you can say what you want to me. I grew a thick skin a long time ago.” By the time winter came, we were like, friends, y’know? If we hadn’t seen each other around for a couple of days, we’d check up on each other. Lady came upstairs to see me ‘cause she hadn’t heard my Briar Rose singing.
“Now I’ve got a place instead of a tent, I can paint in the winter. I can always sell my work. Someone’s always needing a bit of colour in their lives somewhere.”
Told you we felt at home with each other. She picked up my dirty plate – hey man, my muse was calling me, the plate can wait – and washed it up for me. And commented on my new windows – well, the old ones didn’t exactly keep out the cold. Then she sat and chatted for a bit, while I painted, talked about how she’d loved books rather than art, writing rather than painting. But she wasn’t, like, putting me down you know. I said she should write again – it’s winter, can’t go out, so go into your own world instead. Did I miss my tent? she asked. No, I said, though the cat lady had been fun to be round in a crazy kind of way. But I liked where I was now, and my new neighbour. And then I moved on to talking about painting in the spring, but the outside of the container this time: what colour did she think would look good? (Probably grey, I thought to myself). Well, I was wrong about the grey! Still don’t know why she like, creased up with laughter when I said did she want to look at some paint samples, but hey, she was laughing. And beautiful with it. That lady chose blue – and I cleared up the last of the railway from outside my palace. Even put a new door on.
This was working okay, this shared space. We even started talking through what to do with the garden next, now that it was spring. And then we came back from town together one day and we found that a third – and very ugly – container had appeared.
“Hey, Blue, I’m sorry about this. Mayor’s orders. We did move your plants rather than just ripping them out…”
I knew these guys. They were okay. But what was all this about? That little lady didn’t look too happy either, and I couldn’t blame her.

Toddler-not-quite-training

Toddler-not-quite-training!!!! I got seduced by Ciane’s Toddler Challenge!
Link here: http://forums.thesims.com/en_US/discussion/362585/complete-legacy-challenge-list#latest
This is the Kinder family – Greta is potty-training Anna, Elsa and Dominik are reading, Clara is playing the xylophone and Friedrich is playing with the blocks. And this is Hans, about to start teaching Barthel how to talk. We’ve just been to Austria on holiday, and yes, it definitely influenced my names and my building style! This is the house from the outside – I went for the same lot as Ciane, and for the same reasons. Upstairs is the parents’ space – definitely toddler-free, though all they do up there is crash out exhausted. Downstairs has 6 tiny bedrooms – girls on one side, boys on the other. Like Ciane (she has such good ideas!) I colour-coded them. I decided I needed two potties, so I lose points there straight off.
By the end, they were all potty-trained, all talking, nearly all walking (almost there with the last two) and had read 4 books and cracked the xylophone and peg box. And I was exhausted too! But I’m still tempted to try again with a different family, one day!
The family's here, if anyone wants to use them and see if they can do better than me (very likely!).
https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9235876