The news first reached the Snack household earlier that afternoon. It was thanks to a premature newsboy, whose mouth was loud enough to match up with the weight of the announcement. Peppermint had heard him through the heavy oak door, sipping on bitter coffee and musing over the nature of her work. A cold chill seeped underneath the windowsill, unforgiving and voracious for the theft of the near-elderly woman's comfort. It had been three years since she had arrived at the district, cold and alone on the little wooden plot that she had come to call home, and yet Peppermint found herself no closer to understanding her situation. Where she had originally come from, who she had originally been, well, the government pamphlets all told her the same thing – that she had arrived of her own free will to the sleepy town of Broadhollow to participate in the ROAR program. The emphasis on "free will" still sent shivers down her spine, with its flamboyant bolded ink and demanded importance. But it did seem to align with her personal philosophy, or what she could remember of it. Peppermint had always felt drawn to children, always dreamt of a big family – qualities which the government felt the need to applaud in every public announcement, with the drawn optimism of a parent congratulating their child for using the toilet correctly. Still, a familiar nag in her heartstrings would object, and ulterior motives occasionally riddled her mind. But through the years the rearing of her children had been a primary concern of the bustling mother, and her minute conspiracy theories had to fight for time between changing diapers and cooking dinners. Sometimes, it was shown the light of day in candid moments such as this, where even the onslaught of yawns and tired creaks emitted by the mother took to the backburner in its few glorious moments of consideration. The morning witchcraft was broken by the yelling of the delivery boy, and Peppermint unwilling dragged herself outside. Perhaps it was due time for provisions, and getting up would be worth it. It definitely didn't feel like it.
She was met with the familiar brown haired boy, a satchel of golden inked letters around his back, whose restless eyes undressed the house. She briefly considered his resemblance to a previous son of hers. Memories of said child's delivery days naturally followed, and bits of conversation pertaining to his description of the outside world ebbed as quickly as they arrived. Many days had she sat on her back porch, wondering what laid beyond the iron fences. The government had assured her not to worry, that the troubling world would only distract her from her duties as a mother, the yearly field trips for her kind were enough. She fleetingly thought about warning the boy about enjoying his days on the outside but figured that it was not her place.
"One of them lives here? I've been making deliveries to her! I know someone famous!"
Peppermint leaned down on one knee in order to face the child, a trick that she had learned in dealing with countless of her own restless boys. While surely about ten, he was still a compact little thing, though apparently not limited in his energy. Suddenly on her level, he was humbled into a temporary silence.
"Now, now, Jeffery. Couldn't you please be a little quieter? The babies are sleeping upstairs."
His eyes were alight with genuine childish innocence. "Gee, Miss Snack, are you still a breeder? I thought that they only used young girls for that."
She decided to ignore the hurtful comment, though it was based in fact – Peppermint was climbing up in the ages, and surely the latest set of triplets had to be the last of the batch. "Never mind that, Jeffery. Will you be a little quieter from now on? And while we're at it, may I have my mail?"
Jeffery pouted, biting his lip as hard as he gripped the stack of mail. Evidently, he was reluctant to hand over whatever was being delivered. But a stern look from Peppermint soon surrendered the papers into her outstretched fingers. It seemed to be a rather innocent stack, peppered with the average ministry declarations and a small package that probably contained her due one thousand marks for family produced paintings, free to use in ordering whatever she pleased from the government funded catalogues – probably another baby blue easel for the nursery, she mentally calculated. While not overtly stated, it was common knowledge that the government gave minor rewards to those whom ordered items that benefitted the household as a whole as opposed to self-rewards – whether found in a few extra towels for one's bathroom or slightly brighter lighting. She was about to disregard the rest of the stack as junk when she noticed something strange about one of the letters. Unlike most standard issue letters preaching the value of group activities and the role of the mother, this letter was wrapped in platinum lettering and a ribbon of red ink, stamped with the words "Rearing of America's Respectables" in its center. Peppermint could almost feel Jeffery's pulse quicken. Peppermint recognized it immediately as a job assignment. But why had it come so early? These types of things were usually mailed in bulk, and in the summer.
She felt rather odd opening it in front of him, so she gently shooed the boy from the front door and headed inside. Abandoning the now cold coffee, she slipped her fingers softly under the slip of the envelope. It ripped across in a satisfying line, and she pulled the letter out.
"To the Household of Miss Peppermint Snack,
As you are no doubt aware, your daughter FETTUCCINE SNACK has served as an outstanding example to our community of Broadhollow due to her leadership roles in SCOUTING and the AFTERSCHOOL ACTIVITY PLANNING BOARD. We of the Ministry of Profession commend you on your exemplary work on raising a truly honorable human being. Because of her accomplishments, FETTICCINE SNACK has been given the honor of becoming one of our community's most respected roles: BREEDER. Further instructions will be sent to your house on the 28th of JANUARY. Congratulations!
Signed,
Roberta Lewis"
Peppermint was not sure if her first reaction should be of happiness, or of shock. On the one hand, breeder was a job given rather sparingly, and that in itself was an honor for her daughter. It didn't take long for a deep feeling of sickness to settle in her stomach. It was also a job reserved for those of either gender who did not overtly succeed in their academics or other designated area of talent. No mother wanted to think about their child, well, breeding for a living. The briefness of the letter almost felt like a slap in the face. Most declarations of profession were followed by a paragraph explaining the importance of the role to the nation as a whole. It was if the letter lacked the words to explain the breeder's importance. Could she have done better with the child? She was always standing over the girl's shoulder, monitoring her work as a student and an artist, and there were no discernable flaws that she could remember. Maybe no overt success, but not exactly borderline, either. But how had Jeffery known?
Perhaps the answer lay in the slammed door. The teenagers were home.
Apple was the first to cooly trail in, a day's worth of academics quickly sprawled over the clean kitchen table. She recognized the creaking stairs as Nugget's indication that he didn't want to talk to anyone quite yet. And Cheddar adopted a casual stroll in the kitchen, pushing hair out of his eyes and taking the seat opposite to his fraternal brother. His bag contained far less, but was no doubt the heaviest – silence overtook the room after the signature boom of his Advanced Physics textbook hit the table with a deafening thud. Fettuccine's bubbly presence was hauntingly absent. It was finally Apple who broke the awkward silence, aware of his mother's concern.
"I take it that you received her letter, mother."
Peppermint nodded. "How do you know?"
"The school called a surprise assembly today. The local government is apparently flipping over a new leaf. Whole new way of doing things, ROAR spirit, ra ra."
"Don't joke about that," she scolded. "That's exactly the type of attitude that the government preys on."
"Anyway." His eyes trailed off to the window. "They announced who's becoming breeders. It was a whole big deal, made the girls and guys lucky enough to be extended the honor stand on the stage. It was about half the school standing up there, I swear. Or at least all of the class C kids…"
"But Fettuccine isn't in class C," Peppermint defended.
He yawned. "Well, no, but she's at the tail end of class B as it is. And don't give me that look," he responded to an indignant expression on his mother's face, "It's not an insult or anything. She'll be an outstanding mother, that's all. Maybe even one of the Level Ones. Home Ec, to my knowledge, is the only class she ever seemed to get an A+ in."
"You said half the school has been made breeders? That's odd. ROAR usually tries to manufacture as many laborers as they can with the lower level children – not that I would want her to be a laborer, of course – so what's changed?"
"Low birth rates," Cheddar mumbled, "We're trailing behind the rest of the country. Not a lot of scholars being exported. Government might cut off the funding if it keeps up. Factories are saturated. Talked about it in Economics today." The room looked at him with shock. To their knowledge, this was the most words Cheddar have ever spoken in a continuous string. Usually he was silent, nodding yes and no at elementary questions and leaving you to figure out the rest.
He must be worried about his sister, Peppermint concluded.
"Where is your sister now?"
"They kept her after school, along with the other breeders," Apple chimed in. "With the government's permission, of course. I don't know why, or when she's coming back."
"I see." The sound of a bus in the distance signaled the children's arrival home. The news must have traveled through gossip. After all, the teenagers shared a school with the little ones. It couldn't have been difficult for one of them to pick up on a conversation they had no way to understand.
Eight children pooled in the hallway of the thin, three story complex. Brie was the first to address the elephant in the room.
"Mama, did you hear? Fettuccine's a breeder! Isn't that cool?"
"Very cool. Now, everyone, do your homework. And remember to be quiet for your siblings." Peppermint was lost in thought, with no appetite for small talk.
"Mama?" Tiny Sesame pulled at her sleeve. "When is Fettuccine going to be home?"
"I don't know, children. But if you spend your time on your homework and then go outside to paint, it'll feel like she'll come faster."
"I want to be a breeder!" Nacho proudly announced.
"No, you don't, idiot!" his twin brother Goldfish pouted, biting his thumbs nervously. "Our teacher said it was the worst job out there!"
"I'm hungry," Egg Roll whined.
"Everyone, get upstairs, now!" Peppermint said through tight lips. The room went quite, and when their mother's tone was processed, the group was scared into rocketing up the stairs. "And I'll be up there with snacks in a minute," she added quietly. She wasn't annoyed with her children, but she needed a minute to think. Nugget poked his head downstairs with slight interest. "Need anything, mother?"
"It's fine. Just go back to your assignment." He nodded, retreating for the laptop once again. He was a caring boy, but if he kept stalling, he would never finish his novel for English class. And become a breeder.
"Oh, stop it," she reprimanded herself. "Just see where things go."
AN) Sim Legacies have always been a fascination of mine, as have stories centered on the One Hundred Baby Challenge. How do you stay interested in one family for so long? How do you incorporate one hundred children into a story line? Let's see if I can answer both of these questions in this story.
Currently, I've been letting my Sims mill around and building the story from there. Sort of a free will sort of deal. And I can't wait to see "where things go", so to speak.