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
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Eliot doesn't know what he was, yet. Just the hazy impression that won't go away of something he didn't want.
So if any hint of that flickers across the back of his brain, he ignores it in favor of grimacing as he swallows. Tomorrow will be BYOB day! "You too, Betty Ford?"
Not that kind of hosp--never mind, that isn't even the reason Eliot himself was in the hospital anyway. He's a sympathetic bartender, tell him things!
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She's a protector. It's what she does; and that feels as right as Eliot's perfect cosmo against the back of her throat.
"Me too, three, four, five." She raises her eyebrows and takes another long sip from her glass. "Some kind of big accident. You six?"
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Not that that feels like what he remembers. Though he supposes it could have been thrown from a car, that sensation of being slammed violently through the air, something deeply unnatural shattering in his spine, and then just--nothing. And the thing is...he's not sure nothing wasn't preferable. That maybe he just wanted to be done.
Apparently that's not allowed, so! Instead, drinking. It's hard to say how he would feel about this protective instinct, but: as established, he does bond fast. At the very least the atmosphere of friendliness he's filtering into the ambiance is genuine, as opposed to how Eliot is friendly when he wants something.
So. Maybe. Slowly. "I don't think I was in a car..."
i stg i will be faster with her this month
Sharon keeps her eyes steady on Eliot's face, her face and voice calm.
"I don't think any of us were."
It's a risk, to be so open about it. To say something so far from the party line. But here and there, risks need to be taken. The calculating part of her, the cool and distant, always-on-alert part of her, says she's honest with him because he's a bartender. He'll hear drunk talk and (she knows, how does she know?) pass it on if she approaches things the right way. The less cynical part of her wants him to know that he can be honest with her, at least. He can be honest with someone.
look i will cross oceans of time for you, it's all good
Uh. That will make itself relevant in a moment, the excuse that is genuinely coincidentally once he's used twice the past couple of days to avoid exposure. But as Sharon surely knows, such little vices are always good for distraction. He keys himself out of the register, and hurls a blithe "Breaktime for Eliot," towards whoever is in the back
back when he wasn't the single PC employee.As per he is doing with other lovely blonde ladies in other places, he offers Sharon his arm, although it's kind of a formality since she has to wind back behind the bar to follow Eliot to the tiny balcony, where he indulges his terrible habit when no one is hanging out drinking. He is, of course, still going to smoke, so once he's lit up a cigarette with that casual, magical gesture (yes, it's totally casual!!), he inclines his head at the roof of the balcony, which his curls are practically brushing already, ha ha.
"No cameras," he declares, with the faint brow raise of a person who doesn't yet really believe all of this freaky paranoia going around, but--still can't hurt to be safe. "Talk fast, Goldilocks."
Because. He also doesn't want to believe. He wants to just be Eliot, without gallons and gallons and weirdness, and the fact that he is opting to prefer the sedate life tells him whatever he can't remember must be an even worse alternative.
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"What's there to say?"
She crosses her arms behind her back and leans against the balcony rail so she can look up at him. God, he's tall.
(Calculate, weigh the options, take the risk.)
"I tagged every camera between the hospital and the police station. I know for a fact I could drop you and dump you off this balcony in three seconds or less if I needed to. I can guess the weight, skills, and lifestyles of eighty percent of the people in that bar and I can speak four languages that I know of, so far. And according to what I remember, I'm a nurse, who's lived here all her life."
Sharon spreads her hands, cheeks dimpling with a smile that's somewhere between cocky and sardonic. "I mean, I'm convinced. Definitely a nurse's skill set."
no subject
On a not unrelated note something in his mouth twitches when she says she could drop his largess to the ground, not because he thinks being a small woman would in any way prevent that, but--pending circumstances. If it weren't over a balcony it might be fun to see which of them won that particular contest. ...and if he weren't moderately distracted by a sourceless wave of defensiveness regarding Here and its suitability. The feeling his just can't shake that there is somewhere else to be, but that somewhere wants a lot more from him than just the ability to make a perfect cosmo.
"And I'm a bartender who can do magic," he kicks back, matching her for cocky and sardonic in the lilt of his brows, lazily gesturing cigarette. "Maybe this is just a special little shithole in Idaho."
It would probably take someone with Sharon's especial observational skills to observe the low-buried note of desperation in there.