#sim: Alasdair McCarrick

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Alasdair's Adventures In Jefferson, Part 1

Dear Everyone…

We have arrived in Jefferson safely, and you would not believe how blisteringly hot and humid it is. The hotel we are staying at is an original from the French and Spanish period, and I think Uncle Jon would die over the state of preservation. And then Uncle Richard would die over the bougainvillea, which have made some of the upper galleries a bit rickety. (Don't worry, ours is perfectly safe, though I'm not about to dance a jig on it.)

With the exception of mod cons for the plumbing and some hurricane-proofing, according to the brochure at the desk, it is close to the original. This includes some odd markings on the floor, which I have decided not to ask about in case there's some distressing story behind it.

The little building next door is supposed to have been a voudou priestess' home, if you can believe that!

Wee Lassie, for her part, is very excited about the balcony, and enjoyed staring at the passerby through it while we relaxed yesterday evening, and today while I had breakfast (hot chocolate and orange marmalade that the proprietor's sister makes, which is astonishingly good; if the jars wouldn't break on the trip back, I would bring some).

It's as if Lassie's at the zoo.

I have been told there are ghosts, but neither Wee Lassie nor myself have seen them. The brochure lists several, whose stories are all quite tragic, especially Marie-Josephe, the poor wee girl who died when the entire town was under quarantine for breakbone fever in the nineteenth century.

(Yes, Aunt Alice, I am taking my medication, and Wee Lassie hasn't been on alert at all.)

I have also been told that the nearby town of Owl Creek is a haven for witches and "rougarous" and other fantastic beings. I am sure this is all made up for tourists, because the town is not that old, but I think I shall steer clear as much as possible.

Yours, Alasdair and Wee Lassie

P.S. Tomorrow we are going on a visit to an alligator farm!

Credits And Explanatory Notes

I believe that while Alasdair certainly experiences time-travel, in a modern AU like this one, he may be more likely to have been diagnosed with a form of temporal lobe epilepsy. Hence the references to medication. Wee Lassie is both a cherished, spoiled companion and an ad-hoc seizure dog.

The "hotel" is by @murfeelee, and I added Rejal's bougainvillea myself. Owl Creek belongs to @moocha-muses, and the McCarric clan belongs to @danjaley. They are visiting the lovely town of Jefferson, by frankensonnet, which I think could also be used as an analogue of St. Augustine if I had enough time to make it so.

Almost all of the poses are by Danjaley, with the exception of some dog poses by pixelpfote and orangemittens. Alasdair's sleeping pose is by simpuritysims, edited by Danjaley.

Alasdair's casual wear is by @nectar-cellar, shokoninio, and peacemaker-ic, in @simlicious' and ktar's patterns. Marie-Josephe is wearing @procrasimnation's twisted Newsea Guajira, and her EA dress is also in simlicious patterns. Wee Lassie is simply too hot for clothes today. It's so hard to wear a fur coat all day long.

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My boy! He looks so good in your game! And he’s a very cute child!

If you've been following @windermeresimblr you may remember Alisdair McCarrick. It's only a few more years now until he appears on my side of the family. (He's currently three years old, so even the first picture is a glimpse of the future :)

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This weekend, I am posting a somewhat anachronistic photo postcard series for @danjaley's Alice, Matt, and the other McCarrics at home from Alasdair and Wee Lassie, who are, perhaps unwisely. vacationing in a neighborhood near @moocha-muses ' Owl Creek. Hopefully they avoid a visit from a certain behorned gentleman.

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Snippets of Alasdair's Adventures In Jefferson

(in lieu of an actual post!)

"...The zookeeper said that this particular alligator had been rescued from Twinbrook, where someone had thrown it into a window of a fast-food store..."

"...but I don't know if it counts as playing to put something on your nose and not do anything else..."

"...apparently they taste like a cross between chicken and pork..."

"...I suppose that made Uncle Matt's ears perk up from across the ocean. Yes! Pirates!"

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Alasdair took some time off from his busy, busy schedule of sitting in the Sim Bin and judging me to model some of the knitted patterns @simlicious has been making.

Dear little Wee Lassie even came by to help!

Sweater no. 1 by @nectar-cellar and shokoninio | Sweater no. 2 by ModishKitten | Sweater no. 3 by shokoninio

In all photos, the pants are by nectar-cellar (I believe these ones?), and so are the shoes.

Protip: Simlicious' Spooktacular "Quirky Ladders" pattern works up so well as a mock corrugated rib.

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Iolanthe, a wealthy provincial from Hispania Baetica, and her Gaulish Celtic Pictish some kind of Brittunculus barbarian bodyguard, Doiros, have arrived in Rome. Whether they're there to consult with Gordianus the Finder or Marcus Didius Falco (or some other fictional Roman) is up to the reader's discretion...

Tunica 1 by Namama (teal) | Tunica 2 by Frisbud (green and blue) | Shoes by EA | Hair by EA

Tunic by @danjaley | Torc by SimplyKitsch | (I'm still working on a decent analogue for braccae...these are the Store's Genie Pants.) | Shoes by EA | Hair by EA

Patterns by @simlicious (1, 2, 3)

Chair by mammut

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Young Alasdair and his mother, on promenade in a park the autumn before certain matters came to light. (Although sharp eyes might notice the colors of a certain Highland clan's tartan on him...hardly subtle, your Grace!)

The Duchess is wearing...

Hair by EA and IfcaSims | "Gainsborough" hat by @deniisu-sims | "Casaquin a la turque" by EA and I-Like-Teh-Sims (1) | Skirt by all-about-style and DreadPirateVinna | Shoes by @sweetdevil-sims | Makeup by alhajero and wundersims and noino-n

Alasdair is wearing...

Hair by EA and sweetdevil-sims (2) | Tricorne by EA and @danjaley | Suit by EA and KentConverts | Shoes by Danjaley | Hobby-horse by Danjaley

Patterns by @simlicious | Poses by Danjaley

Photo Credits: World by Nilxis | Park furnishings by @aroundthesims | Editing (sharpening, etc.) using Kaleekalo's Clean and Clear

(1) A real casaquin a la turque more than likely wouldn't have had these puffed sleeves at the top, but I really wanted something with a draped peplum on the caboose, so away we went.

(2) How his hair got so much shorter by the time he arrived is beyond me. Perhaps he went and ruined Mamma's embroidery scissors playing barber...the true, shocking truth behind his departure in disgrace!

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List 5 facts about a favorite sim of yours, and send this to simblrs whose sims you adore 💜

We're going with Alasdair, because he needs more attention all the time.

His birthday can coincide with Mardi Gras! His mother, never one for age-appropriate parties for children, or age-appropriate behavior around children in general, used to celebrate this in lavish style. His first loose tooth came out on the bean in a king cake. Does he appreciate the costume I've so lovingly dressed him in? Absolutely not!

His mother used to powder his hair excessively as a child so that it would look pink, similar to this gentleman's, rather than his very brilliant red. After all, for some strange reason, red hair was considered ugly! The rest of his siblings, when they were old enough to tolerate it, got a lighter touch of powder, with their natural hair tones ranging from strawberry blonde to mousy brown.

Alasdair learned quickly not to mention his "less-visible friends" at home, because when he told one of his governesses about the man in the ruff, she thought he meant an actual man and was reasonably alarmed at the prospect of a stranger roaming around! Once the house was torn apart and nobody could find anyone unaccounted for, especially not in fancy dress--Papa had some choice words for Mama's choices of entertainment there--he was punished for "telling lies" and "scaring the help" and "making a scene" and sent to bed without any supper. The governess was given a day off for her very frazzled nerves.

He enjoys climbing, and in a modern AU, would perhaps have been one of those people who tries to set records for climbing various cliffs and mountains. (As an adult in Spain, he looked forwards to perhaps going on a nice hike in the mountains if he had the chance, until something derailed that. Will have looked forward to? He's hard to give a proper tense to.)

As a very young child, probably between Catherine's and Gramps' Graham's age, he once came upon his mother's snuff-box unattended, and took a largish handful and ate it, believing it was a new variety of brown sugar. It was a horrendous surprise to him that tobacco did not taste like brown sugar, and the whole thing promptly came back up all over the very expensive carpet. His nurse was sacked for not watching him closely (one of the very few times the sacking was deserved), and he was laid up in bed with a stomachache for the next day. As an adult, he has an instinctive horror of snuff and chewing tobacco, preferring a pipe if he absolutely must engage in smoking. Surprisingly, he has no such qualms about brown sugar!

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The Scotsman and the Culdee of Innish Breacaimsir, Chapter Two

“Yes. I get supplies every so often from one of the brothers on Iona,” Caedmon said.

“Iona!” Alasdair said, standing up and wrapping the blanket around himself. He at least knew where Iona was, although there was a strange feeling at the back of his head, as if he wasn’t remembering something correctly. “And how far by boat is that? When will the brother arrive?”

“Oh…” Caedmon said. “Uh, on the quarter-days and cross-quarter days, usually. He last came in on Saint John’s Eve. And it’s just after Lammas…so he’ll next be in on Michaelmas.” 

“So that’s a month,” Alasdair said. He looked again at the cell they were in–there was barely enough room for one of them, and he was much taller than Caedmon. Certainly there was only one pallet. And he had stolen the blanket to cover himself. It would be a very long and disagreeable month, especially with only a blanket for clothing.

“It’s fine, I can sleep in my robes,” Caedmon said before Alasdair could say anything. “I do that often in the winter. Otherwise I might wake up dead from cold. And we can split the pallet. I’ve been too vain, sleeping on such thick hay.”

“Do you not have any other clothes I could wear?” Alasdair asked.

“I’m a hermit,” Caedmon reminded him. “I’m not supposed to have a lot of clothes.”

“I can’t take your blanket!”

“Saint Martin gave his cloak to the beggar without expecting the beggar to give him anything in return,” said Caedmon, piously crossing himself. “And it’s much too cold here for you to walk about without anything on. Even if it is summer.”

“Well, what about food? I don’t want to eat you out of house and home in the meanwhile.”

“I am happy to share my bread with you, and water is in abundance.”

Alasdair groaned. The man was irritating him more and more. “How’s the fishing around here? I can at least fish for myself, and give you some.”

“I see lots of fish, and lots of sea-birds. There’s deer in the forest on the other side of the island. Once I even saw a whale, the kind of fish that ate Jonah.”

“Whales aren’t fishes,” Alasdair said. “They’re mammals.”

“They live in the sea. They’re fishes.”

“Not according to–never mind that. How long does it take the brother to arrive from Iona?”

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Dance! Dance!

I realized that @deniisu-sims' new top was a touch too short for historical saves without it looking very odd with my choice of bottoms, so instead, have modern-day Alasdair, who's quite the ballerino.

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When you get this, list 3 facts about your favorite sim and send it to the last 3 people in your notifications! Let’s get to know each other's sims 💕

Well...I suppose we're going to use Alasdair again! You all don't mind? Right?

Alasdair once had a Scottie named Wee Lassie. I really ought to bring her back, although she's perhaps too modern for his current save. No matter the era, he's secretly very soft-hearted when it comes to animals. Except for deer.

His red hair came from both sides of the family, although his dear Mama is as blonde as they come. (I like to think it's primarily a recessive O'Brien gene.)

Alasdair was born almost immediately after his mother won a very long game of faro at a party. (As in he was almost born in the litter back to the Ducal townhouse. That the Duchess made it to the drawing room was a minor miracle.) The Duke had gone to a friend's hunting lodge because both he and the Duchess assumed they had another few weeks until Alasdair's arrival; he was very surprised to come home and find the child already named. The other contents of the prize pot were £200, a racehorse's next foal, and a set of opal-and-onyx bracelets. The bracelets would have been in Alasdair's trousseau had he been a girl.

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The Scotsman and the Culdee of Innish Breacaimsir, Chapter 1

Alasdair awoke again, lying on rough sheets over a thin and poky pallet, aching as though he’d fallen from a cliff. Perhaps he had. His hands had scrapes on them (not terribly different from normal) and he could feel bruises and knots forming all over. His eyes felt a little swollen; he hoped he hadn’t broken his nose yet again. He shivered, trying to wrap the blanket (one blanket, and rough wool at that) tighter around himself. Worse still, he was totally naked, once again without his awareness of the matter. Where were the clothes he had been given? Where was he? He looked about for his belongings, but none were found. 

The surroundings were unfamiliar–the ceiling was thatch, the walls and floor rough-hewn stone, and–it was cold and dark, lit only by a candle perilously close to the straw and some light from a door, if it could be called that, some distance away; it was made of rough planks, open at top and bottom. He could see a cross hung on the wall, with some kind of prayer-book on a low table below it, but there was otherwise no ornamentation or other signs of a person living there. 

He was reminded of the sheilings on his cousin Matthew’s estate, although this building was much smaller than any he’d seen in his youth. It was more like one of those round prison-cells found in the south. But the ‘door’ was definitely not meant for a prison-cell; he could have crawled out through the gap at the bottom if he was less sore and disoriented.

“Foolish, to leave a candle burning like this,” Alasdair said aloud, if only to reassure himself that he could still speak. “I could have turned and knocked it over.” 

At this, the door swung open; Alasdair flinched and blinked at the blaze of light. A man in a monk’s robe entered and made his way to the pallet; he was speaking in some very strange variant of Gaelic, by the few words Alasdair could make out. There was a buzzing, itching feeling in his ears, making him dizzy, and he screwed his eyes shut and leaned back on the pallet for a moment. And suddenly, he understood what the man was saying, with another wave of vertigo and buzzing. 

“...you’re awake, praise be to Saint Colmcille, I was sure you were dead when I found you…” He had a gap in his teeth that made him whistle while talking, and the stubble on his tonsure was somewhat overgrown. Alasdair was unsure whether being in a monastery was a good sign or a bad one.

“Who are you? Where am I?” he asked. 

“I am Caedmon, the hermit of Innish Breacaimsir,” the monk said. “Although I suppose I’m not such a hermit anymore now that you’re here. Even if I’m supposed to live in seclusion, I can’t very well ignore someone washed up half-dead at my well!”

“You’re a hermit,” Alasdair said, feeling his stomach drop. Outside of men hired to live in rich landowner’s follies, or perhaps Robinson Crusoe, he’d never met a real hermit before. As far as he knew, there hadn’t been a religious hermit in Scotland since after the Reformation. And where was Innish Breacaimsir? He’d never heard of such an island.

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🎵 How do you solve a problem like Maria Alasdair?🎵

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2 and 13 for Kolfinna, 6 and 7 for Alasdair 👀

What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

Ah, spoilers, spoilers! But definitely there's a lot more steel in Kolfinna's spine than you would expect for a person in her situation. She's not a shrinking violet despite her "shy" or "dreamy" behavior, and even if she can be a bit squeamish or anxious when push comes to shove, she will do what has to be done. Also, despite being on the "spoiled" end of the scale, she's still very kind and generous, and tends to be shocked when people don't have the things she takes for granted.

(Kolfinna's spoiled in the sense that she has a lighter load of chores around the house, and was given a bit more slack in behavior growing up for reasons I won't get into.)

If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

Language barrier aside, I think Kolfinna and I get along okay. We'd have a fiber arts party! But she's a lot more physically active than me, so I'd probably be worn out quickly if she was like "let's go for a hike and pick berries!" And if she expected me to help prepare a Viking-style dinner, I might faint. (I think she'd like ceviche, though, but whether she's a pine nuts or a popcorn person remains to be seen.)

How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?

Alasdair's very…he has a strong sense of right and wrong. If his men were looting, he'd stop them if the looting changed into causing innocent people bodily harm or taking an entire village's food supply. But that's not to say he has an anachronistic sense of "hey, this is a war crime and we shouldn't be doing this." It's more along the lines of "well, this is sporting, but that isn't, I don't want my men doing things that reflect poorly on me." He is, after all, still deep down the youth who called his father's fiancee a war-profiteer.

I think, though, if it came down to the trolley problem/Kobayashi Maru exam, he would probably kill one person to save the others. But only if that was the only solution. And he would feel awful about it. In terms of theft, it would only be if he thought it was victimless.

But if it's at the faro table? The gloves are off and his conscience takes a bit of a walk. He plays to win, as his Mama taught him, and he has no hesitation against playing dirty. Would he call in bets that would ruin someone? Yes. Would he get into duels over cards? Quite possibly. It's faro, not chess!

What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

Alasdair was originally--please don't laugh--supposed to be something of an analogue to various Napoleonic-era military story protagonists. Think Aubrey/Maturin, Horatio Hornblower, perhaps even Sharpe, with a definite touch of Grand Admiral Thrawn in 'cultured badass;' obviously Alasdair's not an alien and he's not running about stealing works of art. But then he wound up getting quite a bit of influence from Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, especially the film version of the Wellington episodes, and the rest is history. I don't know if he resents me for this, inasmuch as a character 'resents' their creator. It was certainly a turn. But it also keeps him from being the standard Regency rakehell...

I am glad I didn't put him in the Navy, although the blue coats would look quite dashing against his red hair. There's really not a lot that can be done on a ship in TS3!

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for the oc ask meme - 2, 4, and 23 for alasdair!

What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

I originally created him thinking he'd be something of a musician in his spare time. He has yet to demonstrate any of this, mostly because I keep forgetting to find excuses for him to play the instruments that DO have poses.

(Have you read the Aubrey/Maturin series? When Jack and Stephen are fighting during the evening recital about the proper method of beating time and whether Jack's ruining the performance by beating time with his cane, I always think of Alasdair. He'd very quickly escalate from hissed whispers to "let's you and me talk outside," though.)

When scared, does your OC fight, flee, freeze or fawn?

He has a tendency to fight first, helped by his military training. However, if things are very bad and there's no way he's going to fight his way out of it--let's say that there was a grizzly bear attacking him, for example--he would freeze. Unless there were people he felt he had to protect, then he'd do his best to go down swinging. Or at least give them time to flee/distract whatever's attacking them from the others.

On the battlefield, he's quite disciplined and will keep fighting until he is either taken down/dragged away by his companions or he gets orders to retreat. Handling people firing cannons at him is much different than something chasing him through the woods with ill intent; the cannoneer's not doing it AT Alasdair in particular.

What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

Ouch! This is a hard question. I had to think very hard about this--and this is really more for adult!Alasdair.

He's been through quite a lot, with loss and rejection being prominent 'themes.' I'd say these are his problem areas for processing things. Especially if the loss was abrupt and due to factors he couldn't influence. If he was on the losing side in a battle, well, that's war. If he didn't win the prize at a recital, that's a technical issue. But the sudden transition from life in the aristocracy to living in the countryside in disgrace, even if it was for the better? Whoo! He has not processed that at all!

Expressing emotion isn't hard for him, because he's very…open about his thoughts and feelings. I meant for him to be a bit more straight-laced/uptight but it was impossible to keep him that way permanently. I do think he's got the usual hang-ups about expressing vulnerability, but that's not special to him. I really have to examine his inner workings a bit more.

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I’ve been in a bit of a rut and not able to actually take nice photos recently due to various things, but please have some 1930s Alasdair interacting with his Scotty dog, Wee Lassie. (Wee Lassie is, of course, only thinking her thoughts and not actually saying them.) These are utterly out of canon, unedited, taken in no sequence, etc.

Wee Lassie: We need a housekeeper. I can’t be expected to keep up with all the dust bunnies in the house. Just look at my fur!

Wee Lassie: What if there are ghosts on this island? Papà, you’d tell me if there were ghosts on this island, right?

(Uncaptioned; I just love how he immediately ran to play with her...and brush her...and obsess over her as a little princess dog deserves.)

Alasdair: Now, Wee Lassie, don’t run off too far this time!

Wee Lassie: (nothing but shapes and colors in her thoughts)

Wee Lassie: See, I came back, Papà!