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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"I think..." Hm. "I think things are already too fucko bazoo to discount the possibility." A pause. "And I need cigarettes."
This is true, but what he actually intends is, by way of the nearest convenience store, to get them somewhere out of directly on the main thoroughfare so he can test out in a more than just accidental way. Magic is one of a very small handful of things he does remember, although the associated recollection is--dangerous. Dark. But maybe that's just who he is.
"If you come with me I'll buy you a Slurpee," he offers, cajolingly. "Or. Introduce you to Slurpees. They're disgusting, but enjoyable."
no subject
"I know you're trying to distract me," she says, but there isn't a lot of weight to the argument. She knows perfectly well she's prying into probably-private-things that she's not supposed to acknowledge in the first place. Maybe a new space is all he needs. "But all right. Why would I want something that's disgusting?"
no subject
He really does does all these pauses for emphasis and whatever his own weird reasons are, the management apologizes. "And please, if I were trying to distract you I could come up with something a lot less humdrum."
Why be boring at someone you've just met? Or at any time. Ever. Is Eliot's feeling. "I'm trying to be subtle, about not being out here, and you're ruining it by being so plainspoken and no nonsense." This fondly, for, again, a person he has just met, and ridiculously longsuffering.
So! They traipse along to the store, said narrative godmodily, and lo: did Eliot acquire his disgusting cigarettes, and one bright green Slurpee the size of his head. He waits until they're outside the store before offering it to her with one hand, lighting his cigarette with a flowy little gesture with the other. Waiting. Expectantly. Embrace the neon goodness, Aloy!
no subject
The cigarette is almost more tempting. It's both familiar and unfamiliar, in a weird way that is becoming unfortunately common. The smell isn't familiar, but it looks like some sort of burning leaf. A drug? It seems a logical idea. Instead, she sniffs at the Slurpee, but it doesn't smell in any really recognizable way, just sweet. Well. At least she can reasonably certain that a store isn't going to sell poison ice. Aloy takes a sip of it, and when the taste of lime syrup hits her, her eyes all but bug out.
"It's," she says, blinking, "sweet." Oh, it's vaguely sour in the way of limes, sure, but it's mostly just sweet. "How can anyone drink this entire thing?"
Still, she goes back for another sip. Of course she does.
no subject
It follows he's so delighted by her experience he's probably, vicariously, having almost as interesting a time; he claps her on the shoulder with uh, an apparent total disregard for personal space, narrative is sorry about that, and throws her a big, beamy grin. "Olympic level sucking talent, sweetie."
Yes, sure, that endearment. Get it. "Pace yourself or you'll get brainfreeze."
Meanwhile, Eliot has been smoking long enough that nicotine no longer has any effect on him sans keeping him from becoming a terrible asshole when his body is craving it, but ...even he is not going to suggest giving her a cigarette, so they're safe there. He inhales, then lets smoke trickle out of his nostrils like a dragon, because he is Drama on Very Long Legs. "Oookay. Fortifications in hand? Let's find somewhere to talk."
It's hilariously shady to go behind the convenience store to do that, so of course Eliot is charmed by the idea. And there are benches and a single shade tree back here, so it's less stupid than it could be. He flops onto one of said benches and spreads his hands in an arch, whereupon ...a rainbow forms between them, because he is now at peak Showoff. "I didn't know I could do that until right this very second. Huh!"
no subject
She follows him behind the store cautiously, because she's unarmed and he's an extremely strange man. Not that she's lacking any other tricks, but you know. Still. Aloy takes another sip of the terrible and amazing Slurpee, watching Eliot with a quirked eyebrow. She'll stand for now, thank you.
"For someone who didn't know they could do impossible things," she says, "you're taking the discovery well." She puts up a hand to touch her Focus at her ear, because that's how she looks at new things of course, to check for tricks or sources of projection or anything. And there isn't anything. Water? Rainbows require rain, a lens to turn plain light into colours, something. And she can't tell what's happening here.
She doesn't like that.
"What I want to know is how."