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.
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pineslog2017-04-30 08:52 pm
INTRODUCTION LOG
no subject
this guy is definitely one, and his embarrassment is kind of cute. amusing, too. dutch will take pity on him soon, really, she will. but first, she's got to ask: ] I'm guessing the blue is your version of a blush?
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Still clutching at the cloth, he turns a look on the human. ]
I'll give you the damn discount if you never tell anyone you saw that. Ever.
[ Yes. Yes that was definitely a blush. ]
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[ after a moment, she adds: ] You realise I never asked for a discount, don't you?
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[ Aaaand that was a squeak. You are killing him, Dutch. Literal murder.
He's also been slowly sinking lower and lower behind the counter the longer this went on, which is a pretty impressive feat when you're as tall as he is. ]
Do you want the drink now or not? [ he grumbles, almost at eye-level. ]
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Oh, yes. [ and after the slightest pause: ] Please. Something with whiskey in it.
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Emerging somewhat from the safety of the countertop, he moves to nab the bottle of whiskey off the shelf. ]
We've got 'Fancy Bean Water', which's got coffee, cream, whiskey and mint in it. Sound good to you or we going more for a custom blend here?
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Skip the cream and mint for me, would you?
[ coffee and whiskey sounds just about right for dutch. something dark and strong with a little bite to it, perfect. ]
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[ Pouring out a shot, he then sets the bottle of whiskey down and turns to fetch the coffee he'd brewed for some previous customers, still warm on its hotplate. ]
You want some sugar?
[ Making cocktails was a far more familiar territory than interspecies flirting and Lantar eases back into the safe role of barkeeper for the time being. He's still practically glowing blue, even under the head wrap- but at least he's fully emerged from behind the bar. ]
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[ dutch isn't looking for something sweet tonight. she might have still found it in him because yeah, that flush is still there and it's unexpectedly cute, but that doesn't mean she wants her drink to taste sweet. ]
Been around here long? I usually end up hanging out with Eliot. [ befriending bartenders is, apparently, a particular skill of dutch's. though this might not count as befriending. befuddling, maybe. ]
no subject
Eliot's my employee. I'm usually afternoon-evening shift.
[ Cleaning, checking through stock, judging the early drinkers. The boring, slow shift. He doesn't bother trying to explain why she never saw him before in all of the year that Weaver's has been open though. ]
I'm Lantar. [ The smell of coffee wafts up, thick and bitter, coiled up with the whiskey as he gives the drink a brief mix with a spoon before setting it in front of her. ] And before you get your hopes up, it's not happening.
[ Just. It wasn't as gentle as he'd like, but he's not really sure how else to go about it.
Like, yeah, she's a cute human, but he's not- it's not happening. He's got a list of Issues a mile long and if she knew what even half of them were, she wouldn't be looking him like that. ]
no subject
[ dutch doesn't need gentle. in fact, she prefers it when the lines are clearly drawn instead of blurred, and even with the holes in her memory, with so many things unclear and so many others she's drinking to forget at least temporarily, dutch knows that gentleness hasn't been a big part of her life so far. so there's nothing insulted in her posture or tone, just a slow drawl of someone who isn't terribly bothered.
a little disappointed, maybe, but not terribly so. ] I got the message when you hid behind the bar. [ by now, any and all flirting is just to fuck with him. and because his reactions are fun.
and maybe because she just generally enjoys flirting. ]
Dutch, by the way. [ she lifts her drink in what could be a toast, or a thanks. ]
no subject
[ Nope. Totally wasn't. He was just bending down to get that cup, dammit.
Still, there's visible relief written in the minute slope of the Turian's shoulders under the poncho. He did not come prepared for dealing with potential interspecies stuff tonight- and he's pretty damn thankful for the understanding.
Like, fuck, he's still not over how awkwardly that'd gone over with his... Ex? What did you even call a relationship that'd been entirely fabricated? ]
Dutch, [ he echoes with a nod. ] So, if you're still looking for better game, why not try for short, dark and broody in the corner there? With the, uh, hair.
[ Lantar does not know what an 'emo swoop' is. ]
no subject
she glances over to the guy he's pointed out. ]
Too into himself. [ she comments after a moment's consideration. ] But don't worry your pretty green head about it. I can find a dance partner if I'm really looking.
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The gal was here for drinks and small talk, not corrections on why he wasn't exactly the pinnacle representation of beauty in his species. The conversation was already awkward enough as is. ]
So like, what's the criteria here? [ Lantar says instead, genuinely curious. ] It's not the hair? Because I always thought it was the hair with you guys. There's a whole aisle in French's just for hair stuff, figured it was kind of a Thing.
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Hair can be important. [ honestly? dutch spends way too much time on her own hair some days. ] But hasn't anyone ever told you it's personality that really matters? [ and yeah, that's absolute bullshit. dutch doesn't care about the personality of anyone she's gonna pick up in a bar; she's not looking to make friends so much as looking for a distraction, a way to take her mind off things for a little while. sex is good for that, personality doesn't really matter. ]
no subject
He's awkward and gangly in appearance by Turian standards and there's a pronounced asymmetry in the right side of his face, the mandible hanging a bit oddly under his cheekbone. His face paint is a faded mess, he's pretty obviously underweight- not to mention the scarred over bullet holes in his head on display before he'd pulled the cloth over it.
Just. All in all? Not any sort of looker to begin with and only getting uglier. ]
Personality? [ Lantar rolls the word out like he's just heard it for the first time in his life. ] Personality?
[ He plants his chin atop his palm with an expression of great faux thoughtfulness, eyes squinting into the middle distance. ]
No, no, I distinctly remember all the human sorts I've talked with telling me it was hair. Hair and butts.
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at his incredulity, dutch laughs, head tipping back. ]
Yeah, all right. I don't give a rat's arse about personality, you've got me there.
no subject
[ There's a momentary pause as he's distracted by another customer coming in. He returns about a minute later, picking up used cups, bills and change with a slightly more pensive expression. ]
How do you guys even court without being able to properly smell someone, though? I mean, I don't exactly have the sharpest nose of my species, but I can still, you know, smell your guys'... you know. Smell?
[ Pheromones. Pheromones is the word he's looking for. ]
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he does, and his question makes her eyebrows rise up. ]
Not telling me I smell bad, are you?
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[ Take that how you will, Dutch. ]
But like, can you even smell me? Cus all the human I've talked with don't even seem to get a whiff of me unless I'm sticking a finger under their nose.
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but, somewhat more seriously: ] What should I be smelling?
no subject
Uhm. Like- uh. Like an alien, I guess?
[ Here's where the translator isn't going to help any. Turians smelled like Turians and Humans smelled like Humans and nothing smelled like anything else when your space station drew people, critters and things from every corner of the galaxy. A homeworld Turian would probably say that humans smelled like some Kullium root or the musk of a Runturis. Something.
But Lantar? Lantar's got no context.
Still, if Dutch does decide to really lean in she will get a whiff of something oddly raspberry-like under the cloak of alcohol. ]
no subject
it means she can smell the raspberry underneath the alcohol-scent of the bar, when she takes a deep breath. raspberry isn't particularly alien to her. ]
Not really, no. You smell like berries, not like alien. [ what would alien even smell like? ]