A new, quaint apartment in the north-western district of San Myshuno; a budding (but not yet thriving) job as a freelance artist; and just enough money saved up to live off of for the next couple months without a roommate: Angie Ja-Hyun's life seemed to be going just as she had planned. Though she still missed her family and friends back in South Korea, Angie was absolutely determined to find her fortune and expand her artistic career overseas.

One Friday morning, with everything finally unpacked and organized, Angie groggily awoke to the still unfamiliar ambience of San Myshuno; honking cars stuck in dense traffic, chirping city birds perched on her neighbor's balcony, and indistinct chatter resounding from the sidewalk four stories below. Stretching and yawning, she struggled to pry herself away from the comfort of her quilted bedsheets. Rubbing crust from her sleepy eyes, she meandered into her kitchen. One fresh cup of flat white coffee, a glass of milk, two frozen waffles and a bowl of applesauce; these managed to cease her empty stomach's incessant whining. "Naega ttungttunghaji anh-eun gijeog-ibnida" she thought, considering her svelte physique.

Half a minute passes before her shower warmed up. Into the warm cascading water she stepped, enjoying the downpour across her smooth fair skin.

Once thoroughly wet, she turned off the water. With a soft washcloth, she meticulously lathered soap across her petite body; over her soft shoulders, along her hairless legs, and down her back.

As she bathed, she noticed the weight of her breasts in her hands. Since secondary school, she'd been an early bloomer; and even after college, her chest has continued to grow. Only in the last few months did her growth seem to stop. They were a decent size, she figured; C-cups, a bit larger than most other Korean girls she knew. She recalled a few days ago, as she was moving things into her new apartment, spotting a woman with what were undeniably cosmetically enhanced implants. Although the woman had walked with an upright sense of confidence, her body seemed terribly disproportional. Angie hoped her body never grew into such an uncomfortable physique.

She lathered shampoo washed and combed out her long raven hair. After she rinsed the rest of her body off, misty steam had collected in the bathroom, filling the air like a foggy sauna.

Even without an set schedule or agenda, Angie couldn't resist putting on a big of makeup and sporting one of her favorite outfits. One doesn't need plans nor a date nor an appointment to dress up as though they have one. Even without makeup, Angie considered herself at least slightly attractive; maybe even a teeny-weeny bit cute. She had always held an affinity for hip-hop fashion and she admired the tough, street girl persona; despite being way to timid and shy to emulate the attitude of one.

Regardless, practicing her makeup every morning always served as an adequate warm-up for her creatively-draining career. For her, it was like doodling. After all, cosmetics are an artistic form in themselves, right?

Right.

With her tablet and pen in hand, Angie got to work; sketching, erasing, resizing, painting, transforming and referencing. All the while, random Simpify playlists of ambient lo-fi music resounded throughout her living room.

Her current online client had commissioned several character model sheets for an indie role-playing game they were planning to launch on SimSteam.

Steadily, the hours ticked away. Morning lapsed into afternoon, which lapsed into early evening. Her focus never faltered.

At length, after roughly six hours (interrupted only by a few short breaks for snacks and calls of nature), Angie finished the models. They ultimately turned out quite decent in her opinion; but in her client's eyes, they were absolutely marvelous. So marvelous, in fact, that her client promised to name one of his character after her: Ja-Hyun the Enchantress, she'd be called. Rolling her eyes at the idea, but smiling nonetheless, Angie accepted her Simtreon payout of §250; not too shabby at all.

With her payout pocketed and her work-day essentially over, Angie felt a rush of confidence, accompanied by more growling from her unsatisfied stomach. Of course, she could have just microwaved some simple frozen dinner and gagged down all the sodium, but having finished a commission and feeling quite inspired, she fancied she'd craft herself something actually delectable.

Browsing Simtrest, scrolling through pages of delicious-looking recipes, she decided she'd try her hand at preparing some meat dumplings. "Ama geuleol su issseubnida," she reassured herself in Korean, not entirely sure of her own cooking skills, but certainly hungry enough to experiment.

Back home overseas, Angie had rarely dabbled in culinary arts; instead, preferring fine arts. Still, overall, following the recipe and calculating the measurements and preparing the ingredients didn't prove too difficult. By the end of the preparation stage, several bits of tenderized meat and seasonings laid sprawled across her countertop. Placing the dumplings on a tray and sliding them into her preheated oven, she patted herself on the back for a job decently done.

The online recipe recommended cooking the dumplings for roughly thirty minutes. In that time, Angie's fingers once again found her tablet pen and began sketching and painting random compositions as they entered her imagination.

She had switched her playlist from ambient lo-fi music to S-Pop. She hummed to the familiar melodies and sang the choruses she remembered. In her musings, her awareness of passing time quickly eluded her.

Now, perhaps she had music turned up too loud, or perhaps she had been too consumed in her own profound imagination. Either way, she didn't notice anything afoot until dense grey smoke clouds wafted across the apartment overhead. As she glanced up, the sudden ear-splitting wail of her fire alarm jolted her from her seat. Turning her head, a sudden panic overwhelmed. A roaring flame had engulfed her stove and over, flaring out and steadily spreading across her kitchen countertops. Angie's heat leapt into her throat, choking the scream within her. A myriad of thoughts raced through her mind: call the fire department, climb down the fire escape, run out of the apartment, get help. All seemed like truly valid ideas; but, in the moment, Angie has a better one.

Still choking on her screams, Angie sidestepped the reaching flames and burst out of her apartment. Black smoke billowed after her as she shut the door. Frantic, her eyes scanned the complex's main corridor. A lone fire extinguisher, encased in a glass box, hung against the wall nearby. Running towards it, she found that its door required a small key to open. She swore aloud, "Jenjang!"

Down the hall, she noticed her neighbors peeking their heads out their doors. "Get out, there's a fire," she shouted at them, hoping they'd not ask questions and quickly evacuate. She wouldn't follow them though; her new life in San Myushuno, all of her belongings, everything was here, in this apartment currently ablaze. The terror and this realization commingled and spurred a sudden sense of reckless bravery in her. Bracing herself, she kicked against the glass case as hard as she could.

The glass withstood her.

She kicked again and again. After the fourth kick, the glass caved in and shattered, slicing her ankles a bit in the process. Wincing, but ignoring the pain, she seized the fire extinguisher, ignored the protests of her terrified neighbors, held in a deep breath and ventured back into her apartment.

The dense, black smoke was both blinding and suffocating. The flames, though still contained in the kitchen, were spreading rapidly across the countertops and reaching up for the cabinets. Bracing herself, standing her ground, squinting into the black fog, Angie unleashed a torrent of pressurized nitrogen unto the roaring fire. The gas and flames fought and contended with each other. Angie aimed her attack as broadly as possible, but kept her focus upon the source; her engulfed oven. She soon couldn't stifle the coughs as the battling gases filled the kitchen air. Regardless, even as her vision started to waiver in the chaos, she kept herself steady and unwavering.

Soon, after what felt like hours, the flames yielded to the nitrogen. As the last embers died away, Angie dropped the empty extinguisher and sighed. What little remained of her oven and countertops was utterly ruined, charred beyond repair. And there she stood, covered head-to-toe in soot. Her lungs burned from inhaling so much smoke.

Angie cured aloud, "Sesang-e!", as tears began welling in her eyes. The fear and adrenaline subsided, leaving behind twinges of relief and sadness. She couldn't help but sob. What the hell had just happened? One moment, she was cooking dumplings and drawing on her tablet; the next, she battling an inferno in her own apartment. The tears streamed down, more as a subconscious reaction than anything else.

Her neighbors peeked in, concern and fear painted across their faces. Angie only knew a few of them. They tentatively tried to consult her as the fire department arrived. Their reassurances helped; most were astonished. This quiet, seemingly frail Korean girl had battled a house fire all by herself. Whether or not she started the fire seemed irreverent to most of them. It took a special sort of bravery to end a catastrophe alone before it affected other people.

By and by, the damages seemed to be entirely her fault (especially according to her landlord).

However, as the fire department rummaged through the debris. they discovered several fundamental deficiencies in the destroyed oven's installation and wiring. Nothing had been built up to code. The apartment's last tenants had complained a few times of its malfunctioning, but otherwise never used it. The faulty installation was a disaster waiting to happen.

Thanks to the help of a local insurance investigator, and a bit of pressure from her insurance company, Angie's landlord reluctantly reimbursed her with a new up-to-date oven and countertop. What little the insurance company wouldn't pay for came out of Angie's pocket; §250 to be exact.

Hope you enjoyed this story. This is my first attempt as writing a semi-long story for the Sims 4. I miss the Household/Neighborhood storytelling features from the Sims 2. Not all of my DotsSims World entries will be long-formed like this; some will be individual pictures with captions added to them.

Sim - Angie Ja-Hyun

Icons - LuniverSims

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