MAY 1ST - 3RD | AFTER THE ACCIDENT |
There was an accident. The details are hazy and obscure, but it's still the first thing you remember. Maybe a car wreck — metal and broken glass everywhere, and the sirens and the
screaming. Maybe your bike hit a rock and you careened uncontrollably off a mountain path. Maybe something less mundane, even impossible seems to have happened to you. You can't quite make out the details, not who was at fault or why. Try as you might, the chaos is all you can truly remember.
It's also the
last thing you remember from before waking up.
When you open your eyes, the accident is gone, replaced with white sterility. Perhaps somewhat alarming at first, until you blink at your surroundings and realize that you're in a hospital bed. You try to move but are sluggish, covered in a scattering of minor injuries you only vaguely remember receiving, not to mention the possibility of the partially healed remnants of other, seemingly older wounds.
It's a shame you won't be able to tell the difference between the two. Your memories are an indiscernible fog where they're not absent altogether, only a few standing out in your mind with any kind of certainty.
If the room happens to be 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. Don't worry, 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. Or maybe you'll find yourself visited by loved ones: family, or friends. You've lived here much or all of your life, so of course you have those things. Of course they already remember you being here, and may remember visiting you in the hospital while you were still unconscious.
Either way, the hospital's population is quadruple the usual, and you get the impression the nurses are working themselves ragged just running damage control. You might hear talk around the hospital of other small population spikes over the past few days, though many patients appeared to be well enough to be released the same day, and the same might be said of you. Or at least the staff doesn't seem to be too concerned. You can even leave your room without much fuss, any doctor or nurse that might try to intercept you getting called away almost immediately to deal with something even more pressing.
Of course, it's not so unusual to settle in until you're discharged, either. You may choose to wait for loved ones to come pick you up, even speak to your fellow patients, whether roommates or others wandering the halls. The more enterprising and suspicious might even consider it an opportunity to poke around for a few basic answers.
MAY 1ST - 4TH | GETTING USED TO HOME AGAIN |
However you get there, outside the birds sing a joyful song, and though the air is just a bit crisp, 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 mountain town of Wayward Pines, though that might just be some sort of side effect from your accident. Trees line the street at regular intervals, carefully manicured and slightly waterlogged from the recent flood. Cars cruise by at a safe and respectable speed. Fellow pedestrians spare you glances, some wary, others concerned or just friendly. It probably depends on how clothed you were when you left the hospital.
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 (could be a good direction to head in, though — maybe it'll jog your memory), and one that you might: Wayward Pines Sheriff's Department. You've likely caught wind by now that any clothing or other items you had on you at the time of your accident are being held by the Sheriff until you're well enough to claim them. Not to mention the keys to your home, kept locked and safe at the station for you. That should probably be your next stop, though if anything's missing in what they hand over you'd be the last to know.
It's time to get home, to recover from your ordeal and try to sort through your memories. Do you remember this house, the pictures of family on the walls and how to navigate to the bathroom in the middle of the night? Maybe it's easier with loved ones living with you, helping you get settled, or maybe you're on your own. Either way, over the next few days it's a good idea to try to remember your routines, to get out and finally visit Main Street if you haven't already. Maybe you even remembered that you work in one of the more familiar sounding shops, or elsewhere in town. Makes sense they'd give you some time off to recover and get reacclimated to your life here, but eventually you should probably get back to work. You haven't seen your co-workers in a few days, and besides, you have to be able to put bread on the table.
Or at the very least some of the delicious treats at the school bake sale you're seeing flyers for all over town!
MAY 5TH | ANNUAL BAKE SALE, PRESENTED BY THE PTA! |
It's that time of year again. The time when everyone digs into their wallet, ignores their diet, and spends a little time supporting the local school bake fair. You know, for the good of the children. Or, in this particular case, the hospital. There's no denying the hospital has had a hard time of it lately, between the steady influx of accident victims at the start of each month and the recent outbreak scare, and the Wayward Pines Academy PTA has come up with the perfect solution to show their support to the hard working hospital staff by vowing to donate half of the proceeds for the sale today. Maybe the hospital can see about finally getting the staff breakroom a decent coffee machine!
And it doesn't hurt that Linda's Blondie recipe is honestly to die for. The PTA has pulled out all the stops this year in the hopes of encouraging a good community turn out, posters advertising the sale plastering every street corner and flyers stuffed into every mailbox for a solid week leading up to the event, and today is finally the day.
There's at least two dozen different tables set up with all manner of delectable treats, even one or two offering vegan alternatives for those inclined. Not to mention a few others catering to some of the townspeople's more... unique palates.
Maybe you've got your own table set up with your wares, or were simply lured to the park today by the appetizing scents wafting through the air. Either way it seems like the whole town has come out to show their support today, and why wouldn't they? Children are our future, after all. Or maybe it's just Linda's Blondie recipe.
Yeah, that's probably it.
MOD NOTES
Welcome to our fourth mingle log for newbies and oldbies alike!
This log is meant to cover characters' first five days in Wayward Pines. Characters for this round will appear staggered in the hospital between the
1st and the
3rd, and a CR building event will occur on the
5th, after everyone has had a suitable amount of time to get settled in town. For the most part, only the five memories detailed in your character's application are remembered throughout the duration of this log, although their false Wayward Pines memories may also begin to surface (in those who've opted to utilize this mechanic) as the week 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.
PLEASE INCLUDE IN SUBJECT LINE:
Character Name,
date,
location, and
Open or
Closed, to help keep things organized and make your character easy to find.
If you have any questions regarding this intro log, feel free to ask them on the FAQ or the relevant plurk.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
officialnotice) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
pineslog2017-04-30 08:52 pm
INTRODUCTION LOG
no subject
[ it's a dumb statement, but it at least has the effect of making dutch grin, her mind briefly going back to the time she discovered that he does, in fact, have a bed. it's far from a bad thing to recall.
instead of remaining crouched in front of him, dutch shifts in position until she's sitting cross-legged instead. ] But good to know you sometimes sleep in it, too.
no subject
I used to come out here with my dad.
[ That feels right. It just doesn't sound right, and he can't quite figure out why. ] Stargazing. You know, name all the constellations.
no subject
[ the question is more sincere than dutch would have liked for it to come out as. she doesn't know the constellations here. she never had reason to learn — but there are constellations out there somewhere in space that dutch knows like the back of her hand, star charts that she's studied and memorised. she's been amongst those stars, navigating around them.
none of it makes sense. ]
no subject
[ It's been a long time since he sat under the stars with his father. It's been a long time since he's seen his father at all, though it's oddly difficult to place why. Trying to remember just gets him shadows — a dark room, a dark face. Nothing good.
Her thoughts are quiet, but it's difficult to ignore them when they're alone. It's easier when he's in town, weirdly, to let it all turn into so much white noise. Not great for headaches, but good for respecting people's privacy. ]
You never studied them?
[ He thinks she did. Her thoughts don't make a lot of sense, but star charts are definitely part of them. ]
no subject
but memory tells her he's always done this for as long as she's known him to some degree, that she's asked him not to pry too deeply, that he can't really not listen in to what's at the forefront of her mind. she remembers that and dutch's anger is rarely a reasonable beast, but even she knows she can't blame him for something he can't change. ]
Not these.
[ and then, very deliberately, she thinks about being a killjoy, about another life. she's not supposed to speak of the past; this isn't speaking. ]
no subject
There's a clarity to her thoughts this time that makes him wonder, though. It seems deliberate, even if it also seems an awful lot like nonsense. David hears what she's saying past what she speaks, and he hesitates for a few beats before answering. ]
What's a—
[ Don't talk about the past. He makes the connection after a small delay, and his voice shifts over to a strange, clear echo in her head. ]
( What's a killjoy? )
[ This might be a mistake. He's only half sure this is what she was asking for, and he can't actually remember whether or not this is ground they've covered in the past. ]
no subject
for a moment, dutch almost shies away from it, except she doesn't shy away from things and this is her choice, her move. she's still in control and if she wants him out of her head, she can always punch his lights out. (that thought is followed by a quick and not entirely apologetic sorry, davey-boy.
instead of deliberately forming words and sentences, he gets an impression, images and sentiment intermingled, most of it determination, some joy, a hint of terror and loss in the mix. dutch taking jobs, the rac cruiser, johnny, delivering her warrants. ]
no subject
But she isn't shying away from it. She's leaning into it, even if it takes some obvious resolve. The thoughts are a little muddied. He can't get clear visuals and emotions in the same way he can get words, and it feels like it's being run through a filter. There are a few things that are loud, though: RAC, warrants, Johnny. David's brow furrows as he tries to build context out of a bunch of semi-related parts, and it only kind of works.
After a thoughtful pause: ]
( You're from space. )
[ The words are a little drawn out and clearly intrigued. He knows a few things about himself that aren't exactly vanilla, but being from space? Still cool. ]
no subject
nothing to see here. ]
( Yes. ) [ she confirms, surprise at his easy acceptance kept at bay in as much as she can within her own head. ] ( You're not from around here, either, are you? )
[ dutch is pretty damn sure telepathy isn't normal around these parts, either. ]
no subject
That said: he knows he isn't from space. There's a strange glimpse of something close, the memory of vast, empty spaces, and cold. And jazz music, which doesn't exactly fit. ]
( I have memories of it. Growing up here. )
[ That's more an observation than it is an answer. He's looking out at the trees, and he draws his focus back to her when he continues; it has a weird effect, eye contact when they're speaking without words, making it feel more intimate. ]
( They said I was in an accident. That I should remember everything, eventually. Right now it's— spotty. )
no subject
too many things about this town don't add up.
dutch holds his gaze for a moment, but — he's already inside her mind. as far as having him inside her goes, she vastly preferred it when it was inside her body, not her mind. (there's a thought of that, the memory of them together, to go with the thought.)
she looks away a moment later. ]
no subject
When she looks away, he hears her thoughts on that, too. He can't decide if that's embarrassing or flattering, but he's saved the trouble of deciding which by the flicker of another memory: blue eyes, blonde hair. Definitely not Dutch. That makes his focus stutter for a second, and his slightly mischievous smile fades after a distracted pause. ]
( Maybe we were all riding in a bus. ) [ David doesn't really think that's the answer. But being paranoid, suggesting wild alternatives? It doesn't quite fit, either. ] ( You think they're lying to us. )
no subject
[ but it still feels so real. dutch is almost sure that it isn't: too many accidents, the small bump under the skin of her leg that she knows isn't just scar tissue because she knows what scar tissue feels like, because she has plenty of that.
too many holes in either set of her memories, too. someone's messing with her mind, and she hates it. ]
no subject
It still makes him feel uncomfortable. David glances away, hands tightening slightly on his knees, the pause in his response more anxious than thoughtful. ]
( So you're saying space makes more sense than opening a dance studio. )
[ That's supposed to be a joke, but he isn't skeptical enough to really sell it. He can hear her conviction, and it's hard to doubt it. Still, even if someone has replaced her (their) memories— ]
( Why? )
no subject
( I intend to find out. )
[ she has no idea yet, but that won't stop her. and yes, a dance studio makes less sense than space. dutch isn't the most patient of teachers, she's pretty sure. ]
no subject
( You should be careful. )
[ Which doesn't mean "don't cause trouble". It isn't a challenge, or a warning. It's just honest, simple worry. He doesn't want her to get caught digging. ]
no subject
[ there's nothing but certainty in dutch's mind when she thinks it. it's not a statement meant to calm him and it isn't a statement meant to remind him that she's badass; it's just a fact. she can take care of herself, there's no doubt about that.
whether she can take care of others, too, now that's a very different question. ]
( Are you going to be all right? )
no subject
( Yeah. ) [ A quick answer, more comforting than confident. He doubles down on it, his expression hinting at what would be a casual shrug if they were speaking out loud. ] ( I'll be fine. )
[ There's a short pause while he considers digging further into her theories. The idea just makes him more uncomfortable, so instead he goes with a change in subject. ] ( I can teach you, by the way. What the stars are called. Our stars. )
[ Not yours, which at least implies he believes what she's said. ]
no subject
( I'd be more interested in exploring them. Don't suppose you have a spaceship in the backyard, do you? )
[ the response is dry, a little evasive — but then, so was his offer. ]