( february intro ) WELCOME TO THE PINES!

[officialnotice]

INTRODUCTION LOG

waking up

There was an accident. That's basically the only thing you know for certain. Maybe a car wreck - metal and broken glass everywhere, and the sirens and the screaming. Or maybe there was an explosion. Maybe your bike hit a rock and you careened uncontrollably off a mountain path. You can't can't quite make out the details, not who was at fault or why. Try as you might, the chaos is all you can remember.

It's also the last thing you remember from before you wake up here.

When you open your eyes, the accident is gone. Instead, you're in a hospital bed. You're sluggish, covered in a scattering of minor injuries you only vaguely remember getting, not to mention the vaguely-healed remnants of any wounds you might've had before.

It's a shame you won't be able to tell the difference between the two. Your memories are an indiscernible fog if not absent altogether, only a few standing out in your mind with any kind of certainty.

Whether or not the room's empty when you wake, it's not for long. Nurses bustle in, taking your vitals and asking your name and anything else you might remember. Welcome to Wayward Pines, they tell you. You'll make a full recovery here.

Much of what you say (especially anything unusual, anything about monsters or magic or outlandish technology) will earn placating speculation of head trauma “from the accident”. You'll be told to stay put, not to push yourself, and to wait for the doctor to clear you before you leave... Then you'll be left alone. The hospital's population is quadruple the usual, and you get the impression the nurses are working themselves ragged just running damage control. You can even leave your room without much fuss - whichever doctor or nurse intercepts you gets called away almost immediately to deal with something even more pressing.

Mingle, visit your fellow patients, even poke around for a few basic answers. Or maybe, maybe just stroll right on out the front door.

heading outside

Outside, the birds sing a joyful song, and though the air is awfully crisp to be wandering around in your hospital gown, the sky's as sunny as you've ever seen it. It's bright enough to make you squint for a moment before you feast your eyes on the quaint little town of Wayward Pines, though that might be in part because of the glare off the scattered patches of snow along the sides of the street.

Trees line the street at regular intervals, carefully manicured. Cars cruise by at a safe and respectable speed. Pedestrians spare you glances, some wary and some concerned.

This isn't even the picturesque city center, though a colorful nearby sign reads "Main Street" with an arrow pointing due south, followed in smaller font by a list of businesses you don't recognize and one that you might: Wayward Pines Police Department. Whether you asked for yourself or simply overheard, you've likely caught wind by now that all of your earthly possessions now lie with the Sheriff until you see fit to claim them.

Might as well head that way, right?

items reclaimed

So you've visited the Wayward Pines Police Department and reclaimed... well. Most of your stuff, anyway, though you can't quite remember what's missing. Best to put it out of mind, as you head down the steps toward the Main Street sidewalk. At the very least, pedestrians have stopped looking at you like you're sick or crazy. (Then again, depending on what you're wearing, maybe it's gotten worse.)

The sheriff also forked over what looks like the key to a house ("A cozy place to stay while you're here in town."), plus the address that it belongs to. You could check it out, see what kind of digs they're putting you up in.

Or you could stick around Main Street and sight-see a little. Also a perfectly viable option. Hell, maybe it'll jog your memory a little. A few of the shops do feel inexplicably familiar...

( ooc notes )

Welcome to the first newbie mingle log! We apologize for the minor delay.

This log is meant to cover characters' first day in Wayward Pines. For the most part, only the five memories detailed in your character's application are remembered throughout the duration of this log, although the first couple of false Wayward Pines memories might begin to surface (in those who've opted to utilize this mechanic) as the day wears on. These memories, as noted in the FAQ, feel very real and are accompanied by as much emotion or sentiment as a real memory would be.

Any questions about the log or its contents can be addressed to our FAQ or the intro log's designated Plurk.

Comments

[dehanded]

[ when lancer finds the house that is supposedly hers... its kind of a mess.

firstly, there's a hole in the drywall by the front door that looks suspiciously hand sized. muddy footprints lead from the door, up onto the couch (down the cushions and over the back, the poor thing doesn't even have a slipcover or whatever), to the glass door that leads to the back porch (there's a plastic grocery bag full of fabric by the fireplace), into the kitchen, in front of the open fridge door that's letting cold air out, and then back into the living room, to the big reclining chair by the window. it's full of what appears to be every damn blanket in the house, bundled up into a pile... with two little red spikes poking out.







someone is sleeping in your chair.

(she got cold, walking around without shoes, or a haramaki, or even a properly tied kimono, and since there's no food in the house and she's tired already, from jumping out a window and running all the way into town... may as well sleep to warm back up again.) ]

[dragoness]

[ what the fresh hell is this?? this place is a mess. if this house supposedly belongs to the one and only ... ... er, well, her name's not important right now! the important thing is that she's important, her standing is important, and she should have this house 100% to herself all the time (except not really, because that thought makes her chest ache for some reason), so why the hell is there so much of a mess everywhere?

did that place suffer from more incompetence than she gave them credit for?? giving her a house so ruined — she'd have their heads for sure. her claws twitch at the end of her fingers, and she can almost feel her lance materialize in her grip — but she holds off. with no master, she'll have to spend her mana wisely.

maybe she can talk whatever creature this is in her chair into giving up its space, and moving on. maybe she can annoy it to death. or maybe, she'll just sing. ]

... Hey, you. [ lancer picks up a booted foot and presses the ball against the edge of the chair. ] This isn't some fairy tale where you try two things and land on the third! Wake up! This house isn't yours!

[dehanded]

[ the pile of blankets shifts with a growl. and shifts a little more. and a little more, before a muffled voice issues forth. ]

Human! You intrude where you do not belong. [ finally, she frees her head from the blanketbundle. one of the stolen duvets appears to have caught itself on one of her spikes of horn, as she considers eliza with narrowed golden eyes, focusing on the horns, before she makes a toothy grin. ]

You're not a human.

[dragoness]

So you're not as stupid as you look!

[ that's right, she just said you looked stupid. what're you gonna do about it. ]

You're the one that's intruding, so I suggest you take your bony self and leave before I get angry.

[dehanded]

[ berserker stands on the chair, shedding more and more of her blankets, her yellow kimono falling off her shoulders. she points one clawed hand down at lancer, loath to relinquish her greater height, despite the insults. ]

This building was given to me by those human fools, kufufufu... What claim do you have to this which is mine?

[dragoness]

Yours!?

[ lancer almost laughs, though the longer she stays in this person's presence, the more familiarity she feels. yes, that's right, this monster has the same magical pressure as another heroic spirit! there's no doubt about it.

still, she'll do anything she can to avoid a fight without a master, so lancer instead lifts up a hand, letting the shining key dangling between her fingers speak for her. ]

This place is mine, actually, and you've messed it all up! You'll clean it before you go, or I'll make you pay for it in blood. ♥

[dehanded]

[ berserker fishes into the sleeve of her kimono with her good hand (her missing hand is still hidden away in the kimono's large sleeve), and pulls out an identical key, which she juggles one handed. one clawed foot (no longer muddy, that's all over the blankets now) braces against the armrest of the chair while she shows lancer the proof it's her house and she was here first. ]

Kufufu... Do not worry, red horn. [ hop! she's hopping down on the ground, and it becomes obvious that, without heels or fuckin 12 inch dragon horns, berserker is considerably smaller than lancer. but it's absolutely obvious that she's got the better boobs under that shitty hospital gown ]

I will let you stay in my home.

1/2

[dragoness]

[ ... this isn't fair. this???! isn't fair?? how dare they give her home to this type of servant! they said this place had her name on it, and she even saw it on the mailbox.

lancer's eyebrows furrow, and she glares at that key in the monster's hand. ]

...

[dragoness]

... Oh! I get it.

[ a grin spreads across her lips now. ]

You're the staff, right? That's why they gave you the key first! To make sure this place looks top notch before myself, the head of the household, showed up!

[dehanded]

[ she leans in to get a closer look at the taller girl again, one fang snagging at her lip as she frowns. ]

Hou... You claim that you are so incapable of caring for yourself that you need someone to do it for you?

[dragoness]

I can take care of myself!

[dragoness]

But a little help goes a long way, don't you agree? Besides, you're a Servant, right? That's what Servants do!

[ eliza goddammit ]

[dehanded]

[ ah, "servant." she knows that word, that it's part of the thing that differentiates her from humans, but not all of it. this girl has a familiar smell to her, human but not, even with those horns, and if she's able to identify this thing she is... ]

To serve a child incapable of doing things on her own... Mu... What is in it for me?