officialnotice: (welcome.)
the pines mods. ([personal profile] officialnotice) wrote in [community profile] pineslog2017-05-31 09:13 pm
Entry tags:

(june intro) WELCOME TO WAYWARD PINES!

INTRODUCTION LOG


JUNE 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.


JUNE 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.


JUNE 5TH
GLUG GLUG'S GRAND OPENING!

Town hall is listening, and town hall has heard you loud and clear (their surveillance equipment is of the highest quality, after all). While there appears to have been some... clerical issues and red tape concerning the highest voted name, when the fifth rolls around the newly completed and lovingly anointed Glug Glug's opens its doors to the public for the official grand opening!

For an old diner, this place has undergone an amazing transformation, with a ground, second, and basement floor all open to the public and offering a wide variety of entertainment options within:

The ground floor features a long bar along one wall where one can order coffee, tea, soda, hot chocolate, whatever your little caffeinated heart desires, as well as alcoholic drinks 10% or under — provided you can show some form of ID, of course. Linda, perched at the bar with a mimosa in hand, will tell anyone who listens that she voted for Pubby McPubface, but honestly, who's listening to Linda, anyway? Pastries and small appetizers are also available at half price for the special event, and card and board games make inviting and colorful centerpieces on the tables scattered around the room (there are classics like Monopoly and the rousing game of Jenga in the corner, amongst less common fare you may not have played before, like Cards Against Humanity and Settlers of Catan).

A lounge on the second floor overlooks the ground floor and features plush couches and chairs, ambient lighting and a pleasant, relaxing atmosphere to contrast with the low buzz of activity below. A small balcony out back provides a peaceful, quiet view of some of the very pines after which our town was named.

The basement is where anyone interested will find music, dance, billiards and booze. A small stage on one end features regular local live performances, with a vast stretch of the room devoted to a dance floor and just a few private booths set into the wall around the edges. The bar down here serves the harder stuff to those that can prove they're old enough to be handling it, and one corner of the room is devoted to a billiards table and two large pinball machines.

Technically the basement level is open to all ages, but getting down there requires showing your ID and getting your hand stamped, and anyone under 16 is highly encouraged to be accompanied by an adult. And, of course, anyone caught sneaking drinks to minors will be summarily kicked out, as well as reported to Sheriff Griffith for a good talking to about, you know, civic duty and such. It's honestly not worth it, you know how he goes on.

Today is supposed to be a party after all, let's not spoil it just yet.


MOD NOTES

Welcome to our fifth 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.
cacoethical: (you ever feel directionless)

Dirk Gently | 1st-5th | vicinity of L18, Glug Glug's | OTA

[personal profile] cacoethical 2017-06-03 05:24 pm (UTC)(link)
ii.
It's brilliant. It's perfect. It's everything he ever could have wanted. Where Dirk ever could have gotten that impression he's not entirely certain, but there it is, poking through the fog in his head with an oh, hello; been a bit, hasn't it? and a bit of a jaunty wave. Dirk doesn't know. All that he really does understand is that he gets the impression that in another life, presumably the one he had before someone scooped out the contents of his skull, blended them up, and put them back, he loved this place. Would have loved this place?

Maybe he doesn't understand a bit of it after all.

Maybe he also doesn't understand that he's apt to look a bit suspicious, being a man in a brightly-coloured leather jacket and with a slightly manic smile on his face, circumnavigating a mobile home -- his home -- as though he's attempting to work out, indeed can't quite determine, how to get inside.

Dirk still feels fragile under his skin, like maybe he's not ready to go back in and face the pieces of a life he can't remember. At the same time, though, he feels oddly delighted to have one. That has to mean something. Everything is connected -- that phrase is one of the few things he can remember with any conviction, so it must be true. He makes another round, stopping to admire the post box with his name on it. Okay, actually kind of delightful. Reassuring. Legitimizing. It opens and shuts, when he tries it, with a satisfying squawk of metal on metal.

Dirk cranes his neck around, seeking the eye of any passers-by. Are you seeing this shit? his expression asks. I have a house. Sure, it's not very big, it's nothing special, but it's a house as opposed to... as opposed to what, exactly? There's a gap there, something he should be remembering but can't grasp. That's fine. Dirk gets the distinct impression he's never been one to pass up an opportunity to be delighted.




iii.
Fortunately, Dirk can't remember that under his own volition, he doesn't get out much. He can't remember that he's generally avoided drinking since St. Cedd's, partly because nobody has been as inclined to buy all his drinks for him since St. Cedd's. He doesn't remember why it's a bad idea, or indeed that he ought to be concerned about such things as whether his ideas are good or bad as he was recently elsewhere and now is not, which is very much worth investigating.

None of that comes to his conscious mind, and he's happy to let the unconscious take a bit of a bludgeoning from whatever's in the brightly-coloured, umbrella-adorned drink in his hand, which he'd ordered exclusively for its appearance, a choice he isn't regretting, even if it is deceptively gentle on the tongue given how readily it's swung into action, belligerently waving its fists about, upon reaching his brain.

There's an awful lot of life here. This thrills him. A warier, less tipsy Dirk might even manage to take it all in reasonably quietly, to observe rather than taking part. It's not likely, but it's possible. As things stand, though, he's his sights set on whoever has the misfortune to be standing nearest him and also unengaged in other conversation. A look comes into his eye, a glint of trouble. His expression, the tilt of his head, prove that he's up to no good, that he's about, in fact, to do something nobody ever asked for and, in all likelihood, never wanted in the first place: he's about to introduce himself.

Dirk extends his hand. His smile is warm, intolerably genuine. "Dirk Gently. I live here, apparently. Well, not here here, but here. Which is the sort of thing one is supposed to remember, I think, but maybe I'm misremembering that too."




x. wildcard!
(If you've another scenario in mind, feel absolutely free to lay it on me, or contact me on plurk to discuss! Generally speaking though, Dirk being Dirk, I can find a reason for him to be juuuust about anywhere, so run with what tickles you. Also, as a general note, feel free to use actionspam if it's preferable to you; I'm reasonably equanimous.)
alizes: (that while I was away)

glug glug's

[personal profile] alizes 2017-06-03 05:50 pm (UTC)(link)
[It’s been a few days since she woke up at the hospital. So by now Iris is kind of… okay, no. She’s not used to it, she definitely doubts she will ever (ever) get used to the feeling of having no memories. But she’s definitely getting the hang of navigating this uncertainty and the familiar feeling of knowing someone but not really knowing how or why.

So as soon as she spots Nyx and she gets a feeling of… familiarity, of being protected, of respect and admiration mixed with the exhilaration of having fun? She gives him a nervous smile as she approaches.]


Uhm, hi? Does it sound crazy if I ask if I know you?
blaiiines: (Headache)

[personal profile] blaiiines 2017-06-03 05:55 pm (UTC)(link)
[Blaine runs all these possibilities through his head. Something big like a building or a natural disaster makes sense in theory, but then why wouldn't the staff just tell them? Being shady about it makes it more suspicious. Either tell the truth or make up a lie believable enough that the people don't ask questions. That's his logic]

That looks promising.

[he points. It seems they've meandered their way to an exit] If it was something big like that, we'd see it out in town.
alizes: (Default)

i.

[personal profile] alizes 2017-06-03 05:57 pm (UTC)(link)
That's so cute!
[Have a teenager basically squeeing as she spots bb-8, Poe. Look, she’s a sucker for cute things and the droid definitely qualifies, so once she spots it the drink she was having is forgotten and she just jumps to meet BB-8. Then she looks up to see the man it’s accompanying as she grins at him.]

Is it yours?
aeturnus: (pic#11384441)

[personal profile] aeturnus 2017-06-03 06:58 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He isn't here to drink, mostly heading in and out of places of business or spots of interest to jog his memory. Today is one of many things coming back to him at once and it's frankly enough to dizzy him now and then. He knows he can't keep on this trip for long, Iris would be home any minute now, but he does linger inside long enough to see a familiar profile.

Well, a few minutes hanging out couldn't hurt. He sidles up alongside Frank and makes sure not to hide the approach at all as the memory in his muscles, the memories he hasn't lost, insist that he does. ]


Hey. ... something with an F. Right?
givethemhale: (hair)

Cora Hale | OTA | Various Locations & Dates

[personal profile] givethemhale 2017-06-03 07:05 pm (UTC)(link)
One | After the Accident
It's a mixture of the sounds and the smells that pull Cora into consciousness; everything around her is sterile and dry, mixed with the incessant beeping of machines and the only slightly dulled footsteps and voices in the distance. It's annoying and the teen can't help but lift her hands to her ears, covering them with annoyance pulling at her face. The mechanical sounds, in particular, are the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard to the young werewolf's senses. Squeezing her eyes shut tighter for a moment, trying to block it all out and focus on something specific in the noise...something familiar, she comes up with a big 'ol blank.

Peeling her eyes open, Cora isn't surprised by the nurse walking into the room, or her 'gentle' attempt at comforting the teenager. Cora isn't interested in being coddled. And the nurse obviously doesn't know how to take the brusque nature of the teen The second one doesn't either, as she bustles in to help. There's too much going on for the foggy werewolf. So, it's only natural for Cora to snap, startling both nurses with the gleam in her eyes and the growl to her voice, "Back off!" Cora doesn't care if it's the snarl, the glare, or another detail that has the nurses backing up--all the while telling her everything will be okay, half explaining the situation through their fear, and that she should rest and they'll give her time to do that (details that Cora hears and files back but can't focus on now).

The moment that the nurses are gone her frustration spikes and she kicks her blankets off and gets up on her feet. It doesn't matter that she's bare-foot. To the door she goes, peering out at the activity going on outside of her hospital room; it's busy, and the place seems...swamped, not quite able to control the flow or something. Either way Cora shuts the door and rakes a hand through her hair as she starts to pace. Her forehead hurts, but she's not sure that she can stand to wait in here, not with so little space and definitely not with all of the different people and sounds.

Continuing on her path across the small room, Cora notices the claws on her right hand and the knowledge springs to her mind without a moment of hesitation. Her senses, the claws...she's a werewolf. Her name is Cora Hale. Her family died in the fire, save for Derek. And....here she was in an accident, according to the nurses. It's frustrating to know she's missing some pieces, that her head hurts, and to be boxed in like this. So, Cora does the only thing she can...she paces and she listens--hearing the nurses speaking with one another, with other patients.


Two | Getting Used to Home
[She's out of the hospital now and Cora couldn't be any more relieved by that fact. The sounds, the smells, they were an assault on her senses. Plus, being left in such a small room...with all of those people; she couldn't have handled thatany longer than she did. Not without losing it, and that wouldn't have been good for anyone. So, leaving that place behind is a positive for her.

A werewolf out of control is bad; she knows that, much, even if she doesn't quite know...everything that she knows she should. And that's frustrating as hell. The headache that has her glowering is probably from her strained efforts to remember while pacing back at the hospital. She's definitely not doing herself any favors, but she's not thinking about that as she stalks down main street.

Her clothes feel right, she knows that much. So, she's glad that she picked those up quickly, but where the hell she's going now...what she's going to do....she hasn't got a clue. The young werewolf is wrapped up in her thoughts, but not quite enough that she misses the slightly dampened hisses as she walks passed a...cafe or some sort. Turning her head toward the sound, Cora's face remains unchanged. Staring at the cats with their hair on end, on edge, because of her presence she can't hold back the eyeroll as she moves to head onward. Stupid cats.

The sound of hissing cats still behind her, even after she's gotten out from in front of the window, and Cora turns back to look at the cats.]
Give it up already! [She mutters in what could almost be described as a low snarl, her feet still moving as she turns forward, annoyed. Then again, she was already that. Where she's going...she's not sure, but she knows that her limbs are practically itching. She can't just...stay put. She's got to move, to figure something out.]


Three | Glug Glug's Grand Opening
Glug Glug's is a stupid name. [Cora mutters, not entirely sure why she's even here to begin with. The amount of people that are around aren't exactly a comforting thing for her. The different aroma's, though, aren't bad. The smell of the coffee, aromatic as it is, almost drowns out most everything else. Though, as she inhales she can get a hint of the pastries too.

The crack of the balls below is intermingled with music, clanking of bottles, and other sounds. Loud. Not so much that she can't handle it, but Cora only makes it as far as the entrance to the basementbefore she turns away, a glare her only answer as to the possibility of stamping her hand with anything. She can't get drunk anyway, so why would she bother?

The basement having been avoided, the petite young woman winds up on the second floor, taking in everything. And ultimately Cora finds a spot out on the balcony, taking in the air and the view with her arms crossed and her hip leaned up against the railing. She still doesn't know what she makes of this place. For now, though, she needs this break out in the fresh air.

Maybe later she'll get a coffee...or something.]


Four | Wildcard
[If you have something else in mind, leave a starter here and we'll do it up. You can also reach me at [plurk.com profile] schmer if you wanna hash something out prior!]
Edited (quick addition!) 2017-06-03 19:07 (UTC)
alizes: (Hey guys it's me!)

[personal profile] alizes 2017-06-03 07:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[She nods, perhaps a bit too eagerly.] It's not just you, no.

But I don't remember? Not... not fully, anyway. I just get this feeling. [She bites her lower lip, unsure on how to continue. It's a relief, of course that she isn't the only one feeling that pull, that sense of familiarity with him. She's trying very hard to stay on edge, to look for exit routes and possible weapons just in case because one of the things she remembers, one of the things she knows for sure is that she's been trained to protect herself. It's what she does.

And yet she doesn't feel in danger. She knows she's safe, in here. She's safe with him.]


I think you're like... family, to me.
aeturnus: (pic#11384443)

[personal profile] aeturnus 2017-06-03 07:42 pm (UTC)(link)
[ His shoulders slump. Relief. He's not able to really process everything going on but if this feeling is mutual, if this feeling is real, then he's got an anchor here. Family, she says, and it cliks in his head. Solidity. There's only one real way this girl could be related to him and he's sure of that. He smiles despite the edges being worn down with tiredness. ]

Yeah. I think I'm—

[ This time the pause is borne of a different realization. She doesn't remember him and he only knows their relation more than remembers the events of it, but he's only as physically old as her brother—his son, and boy does he need to make a call once this is settled—and without the context, that's not normal at all. So, start with the facts and see if she makes sense of them. ]

I'm... older than I look. And this feeling we have, being family... I'm your father. That feels right.
unweaving: mooglepalooza@tumblr (a woman in love can't be reasonable)

iii!

[personal profile] unweaving 2017-06-03 08:37 pm (UTC)(link)
He looks like a bird.

It's kind of a stupid first impression to have of someone, especially when half the people she knows in town are rocking hairstyles that could be more accurately described as plumage, but between the bright jacket, the tilt of his head and that beady glint in his eye, he makes her think of a parrot with a tiki drink. And then he speaks, and she squashes the brief, insane urge to ask if he wants a cracker and instead shifts her beer to her left hand so she can shake.

"Aranea Highwind." And her eyes slide probably too conspicuously to where experience has told her there are likely to be cameras before she amends - "Highwind-Argentum. The remembering thing gets easier."
alizes: (The biggest disappointment you know)

[personal profile] alizes 2017-06-03 09:27 pm (UTC)(link)
[That feels right. ...And yet it doesn’t? In a way. Because she doesn’t remember her father, not really, but she does remember that something happened to him. Something bad, something that filled her with sadness. It’s definitely frustrating to be able to just remember bits and pieces, small parts of her entire life and not even be sure of who she really is.

And she doesn’t seem to be the only one, if the way the man in front of her is reacting is anything to go by. She reaches for his hand, just squeezing it gently to try to find some kind of reassurance in each other.]


My father. [She tests the words out. And yes, they fit. This is her father. The more she thinks about it the more she’s sure of it- and yet. It’s like a puzzle piece that fits where it’s supposed to fit, and yet the colors seem all wrong.] Yes. I… I think you’re right.

But I remember something bad happened to my father. Are you alright?
aeturnus: (pic#11384486)

[personal profile] aeturnus 2017-06-03 09:34 pm (UTC)(link)
[ That touch emboldens him and he moves closer, squeezes her hand back and smiles. Shifts to sit next to her without being totally in her space because it feels correct. There shouldn't be this weird distance between them, even though he knows their lack of context makes it weird. It doesn't have to be weird. ]

I'm fine. I don't... I don't remember anything specific like that, except... I bounce back really quick. [ He motions to himself. ] See? Not even a scratch on me after some kind of accident. Whatever it is you're thinking about, I'm fine now. I promise.
royalpassport: SB (ouat0117br-0790)

III

[personal profile] royalpassport 2017-06-03 11:05 pm (UTC)(link)
[ That... is Prince Charming.

Prince Charming (David Nolan, formerly a comatose John Doe), husband to Snow White and father of Emma Swan. Somebody who might, if he remembered anything outside of his cursed life, take issue with that whole... kidnapping thing.

(All right, so he'd probably take issue with it regardless of the curse-- if he knew about it.)

Frustratingly, as Jefferson watches him, he starts to recall other things about David. Like... the fact that he's Emma Swan's brother, apparently, and a frequent customer at the tea shop. Earl grey is his favorite. And-- wait. He's drinking tea. Right now. Here, instead of at Jefferson's shop! The betrayal...

This is why he didn't want this damned business to open in the first place. Marching over to David, Jefferson sidles up right beside him and leans against the bar. ]


How's the tea? [ His voice is laced with an implicit accusation. ]
Edited 2017-06-03 23:06 (UTC)
sospita: ( starboard ) (withdrawn.)

JUNO STEEL ( JUNE 5 ), THE BOOZE BARN. OTA.

[personal profile] sospita 2017-06-04 01:17 am (UTC)(link)

[ Juno makes himself scarce, those first few days.

There's little comfort to be found; he's injured, hungry, mourning the loss of his favorite coat ( you know the one; every proper private eye has one ), and has a -- he has a spouse to take care of. One that's in worse shape than he is. There's also that jarring sense of amnesia, some sort of looming thing that he feels he's neglected by forgetting. A hovering, frustrating sense that keeps him jolting awake at night, and generally makes him unpleasant company to be around. Unless you’re into scruffy, maladjusted detectives. Some are???

I. BASEMENT. First thing's first. Once he’s back on his feet, once he’s taken a few days to lick his wounds - he finds the bar, and things feel a little better. Or, they don't feel better, it’s just that a few rounds of solid proof sure goes a long way towards take his mind off of things. The gaps in his memory, the instinctive need to keep his shoulders squared and his eyes roaming ( watchful; observant ) throughout the gathering of the freshly-released and the established residents. There’s no effort to disguise that he’s getting a lay of the land, studying those who are present --

Working through his third glass of neat whiskey. ]


Have a seat, [ he says, twitching his head to the seat besides him. ] Let’s you and me have a round. I think we’ll have just enough to talk about, to make it worthwhile.

[ II. BILLIARDS & DARTS. And once he’s been pickled, Juno takes to the basement games with the single-mindedness he shows towards anything that he’s half a mind to enjoy. Billiards is a task that he tackles with sore hands, a clever eye. Tongue poking out between his teeth. It’s an okay experience; he’s a fair challenge at a game he must have spent plenty of time playing, but can’t puzzle his way through the missing memories. How’s he holding up against you?

Because he’s frighteningly good at darts - spinning steel-tipped darts between his fingers with only a fraction of discomfort shown in the way he winces when he catches tired muscles and bruises at just the right moment. ]
Tell you what, [ he points with the dart, straight at the red core of the dart board ] I hit that center with these last three, and you pay off my tab.

[ DO NOT ACCEPT; he’s got the gut feeling he’s done this before. Tricks, for treats. And he's a good shot. ]

III. WILDCARD.

[ For anyone who wants threads in-hospital or at other locations: HMU at [plurk.com profile] forzare or just leave me a comment! ]

sospita: ( entreri ) (battered.)

CLOSED ( “PIERCE STEEL”. )

[personal profile] sospita 2017-06-04 01:18 am (UTC)(link)

[ The first of his waking hours, he spends his time pressing his hands to his ribs - sore, just like every muscle in his body - feeling alive, if not “all there”. There are gaps in his mind that worry him, blank spaces among the precious few things he can remember and far too many emotions to cope with in this moment. He thinks, somewhere along the line, that someone mentions his brain. And then he wakes again, after a round of painkillers and a solid forty-five minutes spent staring at the bandages wound around his fingers.

The nurse asks him if he knows where he is, and he figures “the hospital” is a good enough answer. She asks him if he knows the date, and he doesn’t. His name? He tells her “Juno Steel”, and barely resists tacking on “I’m a private eye”. Like it’ll make a difference, like she’ll stop tutting and writing her notes about his condition. ( He can’t remember much, but it doesn’t seem to set him apart from the rest. )

Oh, the nurse says, as though she’s just remembered, your husband is okay.

He sure as HELL doesn’t remember a husband; but he remembers there is someone out there, who’s wily enough and audacious enough to take a name, as easy as he takes -- everything else. The memories aren’t all there, he knows. But, the feelings are. A whole mess of them, and they force him from his hospital bed and into the hall. The nurse, sympathetic and direct all at once, points him down the way - that room, three down and across from the station.

Juno does his best not to limp into the room, but if he has to press his hand against the door’s frame when he catches sight of Peter - as battered and bruised as he is, but worse still - he’ll argue that it’s because his legs hurt. Not because his knees quake, and his ribs twinge at the same time his heart gives a big, stupid thmp. ]


You took my name.

[ Accusatory, but relieved. You stupid, stupid thief. There were far better things to steal than his name. ]

cacoethical: and SO interesting (i'm sorry that's terrible)

[personal profile] cacoethical 2017-06-04 01:31 am (UTC)(link)
Dirk's handshake is as warm and genuine as his smile. This has in no small part to do with the fact that he's no idea of the impression he's apparently making. He has nothing against birds in general -- ongoing acrimony, certainly, with a particular bird, but nothing against the class as a whole -- but the comparison still isn't a wholly flattering one, and really, it's for the best that he's ignorant of it.

"Hello, Aranea." His smile only wavers when he pauses to take another sip of his drink, set in motion a chain of events which will, eventually, lead to his receiving another sharp thwack in the cerebral cortex. Maybe not the best strategy for retrieving lost memories. Maybe not the worst. Maybe for this brief moment, Dirk is reveling in not actually caring.

"Are you speaking from experience, incidentally? I thought it was just me, not very surprising if it's just me. I get the sense that it's usually just me, actually. My lot in life, probably. Only this town seems startlingly accident-prone." Which is suspicious, though he manages not to sound suspicious, exactly. Dubious, certainly, but the sort of dubious people are when they're facing down something that would be impressive if it were the sort of thing it were socially acceptable to find impressive.

[personal profile] thieving 2017-06-04 01:46 am (UTC)(link)
[ peter nureyev does his best with what he's got, and right now, it's a whole lot of nothing.

just a pen and paper and a nurse inquiring about his name. frankly, peter has worked with less, so this isn't a big deal. there's a minor flub, but nothing he can't fix, and honestly, as he looks down at the name he's penned onto the pages of the identification sheet, he smiles to himself, small enough to be a secret, convincing enough to please his nurse into leaving him be for a bit. if one juno steel is here, he'll certainly come running with bells on with the indignation of a few dozen, wet martian cats in a bag.

he's looking at his fingers all bandaged up, the sting of shiny burns peeking out through the bandages on his wrists, occluded with something or other, when juno wobbles in, holding onto the door frame and glowering at him in just the way peter imagined. juno is all tired brows and sharp eyes and peter can remember (vaguely) the coat, the cat, the silhouette of him now made very narrow and raw.

for some reason, where all else is fog and empty little spaces on expansive shelves, juno is there. where he ought to be. bright. a beacon. peter wears his best smile, one made of teeth like little shards of moonlight. ]
So I did, [ the way his voice doesn't quite come out as smoothly as he'd like because his entire throat feels unbearably bruised. ] I believe we already had this discussion where you said my last name was far too garish so we agreed that I'd take yours, dearest. [ he hasn't figured out what pierce's "neé" is just yet, but it'll be hideous.

slowly, he places his palms on the bed, pushing himself up against the pillows with a visible wince. ]
holdmybeer: (pic#10218488)

[personal profile] holdmybeer 2017-06-04 02:03 am (UTC)(link)
Or spaceship. [ since that's the last place he remembers being. the milano. the name's stuck with him, but he can't really piece together the rest without prompting a headache. that, and the doctors and nurses were quick to dismiss space travel. ]

Red. [ he chimes in all of a sudden, his train of thought coming to an abrupt halt. this IS something he remembers at least. I remember those stupid red things on my passenger seat when I delivered for you. [ since he usually had them open, so he could pick at the food. ]

Say no more. [ he smirks, getting to his feet. ] Let's go. [ he's sick of paying for his liquor besides. ]
holdmybeer: (pic#10218469)

[personal profile] holdmybeer 2017-06-04 02:08 am (UTC)(link)
I hope so too, man. I mean, how awkward would it be to hate one of two people you live next to. It'd be terrible. I'd have to wave at'cha and say g'morning like I give a shit. [ he shudders. ] We're friends. [ when he hops the fence peter strolls over to the cooler his boombox is sitting on top of. he lifts it up, using the skimmer to snatch a beer he can hurl in roman's direction. ] Heads up, bud.

It is and, uh, of course. I'm gunning for party of the year. Just need to plan it out and clear it with the almost missus.
aeturnus: (pic#11384395)

[personal profile] aeturnus 2017-06-04 02:13 am (UTC)(link)
[ 9/10 for creative used of pool tools! He catches it and pops it open, saluting with the can, before he takes a sip and circles around the pool. He crouches down to put his hand in the water as if testing its suitability. It's still a little chill but the air should be heating up soon and he finds that he's excited for it. ]

I'll be sure to crash it with plenty of aplomb then. Gotta make it look good for the party of the year, right?
blaiiines: (I'm actually mocking you)

[personal profile] blaiiines 2017-06-04 02:17 am (UTC)(link)
[excuse you, Peter, those coolers were genius. They were obviously memorable, at least. Though there is a concern that if Blaine was out of commission and Peter no longer works for him, who was doing deliveries? Hopefully someone is taking care of it. Blaine's memories are fuzzy, but he remembers that it would be bad if the deliveries stopped for too long.

He smirks and follows Peter to his feet]


I bet I can score a few cases of beer even with my fuzzy memory.
zielony: (Default)

not... entirely sure how i managed to do that. my bad.

[personal profile] zielony 2017-06-04 02:52 am (UTC)(link)
( you'd think so. unless it was some terrible scandal that someone's paying to keep hushed. either way, a lie would be better than nothing at all. just saying " you'll be fine " isn't cutting it for her. in other words: she agrees with blaine's logic.

she follows his finger with her eyes and nods to him. )
Certainly does. ( finally. thank the stars. she heads along with him toward the exit and out onto the pavement outside. the sun burns her eyes. it's been a while since she's seen some natural light. at least that's what her body's telling her. )

True. Should we investigate or just try to locate the sheriff? Maybe the sheriff has answers. ( something tells her that's doubtful though. )
misruled: (37)

Leo Barnes | 1st - 5th | hospital town 5013 glug glugs | Open

[personal profile] misruled 2017-06-04 02:58 am (UTC)(link)
one: after the accident
[He hears the distant and steady pop pop pop of a gun going off as he blinks his eyes open. The sound of someone yelling his name, hands gripping his arms, fingers lacing through his own and holding tight. Then all too familiar scent of super clean hits his senses, the white walls-sheets-bed blinding him. He's used to waking up in hospitals, disoriented, needing time to figure out what happened and what brought him here - he breathes through it. Calm, even. He can't remember, but it's not important. It'll come back when he's had time to heal or it might not. The mind had a funny way of blocking out trauma.

Leo's not alone in his room. There's a curtain pulled shut a few feet to his left, the door propped open as nurses move in and out. He'll talk to his 'roommate' if they say anything. A few hours after he wakes up, Leo gets dressed and makes his way to the hall. He sees someone he knows then and calls out there name.

ooc: leo will only have his false memories for this prompt and the few things from his other life. those blend in so he won't think anything is amiss at first. feel free to come across him in bed, leaving the room, or anywhere in the hospital.]

two: getting used to home again
[The house was nice, a lot of space. Something about that unsettles him, doesn't seem quite right, but he's starting to figure out that something unusual is happening. It's been two days since he'd woken up in the hospital and he's starting to remember things that don't fit. A wife he never had, but a son who he'd lost, that's the same in both sets. He remembers becoming a cop, getting married, and losing his son. At the same time, he remembers growing up in Wayward Pines, becoming a cop, having a few kids, and losing a son. The new memories don't fit but they aren't completely crazy.

This life feels real. So does what he remembers of that one. He chalks it up to a head injury and tries to pick up the life he'd clearly been living here.

He's got one garage door open, car pulled out into the driveway, head under the hood as he tunes up a leaky carburetor that he'd been putting off. Leo's retired now, he remembers that. Pursuing his dream job of running his own bed and breakfast - he's supposed to meet a realtor later in the week to pick a spot, needs to hire a few employees. Leo steps back to wipe the sweat from his forehead, nodding at the person walking by.]


How's it going?

[ooc: leo is outside his house working on his car. he can be approached while doing that or sitting on the steps out front.]

three: wildcard
[By now, Leo remembers his Wayward Pines life and some of his old. He'll go by Glug Glug's, but won't stay long enough to strike up much of a conversation. People can grab him heading past, late evening, but for the most part he's walking the town. Each street, past each house and building. Looking at the places he remembers, trying to figure out why he's remembering things that don't fit. He'll be particularly grumpy during this prompt, but super open to hashing things out.]
misruled: <user name=starcandies> (7)

[personal profile] misruled 2017-06-04 03:14 am (UTC)(link)
[Leo almost skipped out on Glug Glug's grand opening. He'd walked past, opting to find something else to do when he'd seen a shock of red hair enter through the front door. He remembers most of his Wayward Pines life by now and what he doesn't, comes back steadily. It's not his weekend to have her, she should be with her mom, and while she's getting old enough to do this kind of stuff on her own, it's a bar. Club. Something like that.

He'd heard the place served alcohol and he hasn't been in to see if they're carding. They'd better be. He's a little overprotective, but it's part of who he is. He trusts her, though, to make good decisions but he doesn't trust other people to make them, too. He'll.. go in, say hi and then be on his way.

Sliding into the seat across from her, he sets a frappe in front of her, pushing it into her line of vision.]


The first words out of your mouth better be - yes, dad, the only thing in my cup is coffee.

[He raises a brow, the corner of his mouth curved. Leo doesn't smile at many people, but he loves her, she doesn't fall into the same category.]

peter nureyev ( "pierce steel" ) » 6/1-6/5 » housing/main street/bar » ota

[personal profile] thieving 2017-06-04 03:39 am (UTC)(link)
( nb / peter will be going by the name "pierce steel" in wayward pines for the time being ♥! )

1st - 4th june
a. [ peter's first couple of days in wayward pines find him quiet, adjusting and trying to work the chill from his fingers, turning over the images left in his mind, dregs of memory. he's bothered by this. someone who remains so on top of details and has a mind like an unrelenting bear trap doesn't. forget. but he's left for the first couple of days trying to figure out what's turned him into a sieve with just granular motes of memory clinging to his mind.

it's annoying. nevertheless, what time peter doesn't spend with juno inside the house they've been set with, he spends watching. peter, or pierce as anyone who asks would come to know him by, remains a rather pleasant neighbor, occasionally stepping out to take in the sunshine with a look of... weird relief on his face. he couldn't tell you why, he just knows he's missed it and all he'd like to do is sun himself out. there are some old lawn chairs stacked in the back of the house, two of which peter removes to set out on the grass. though he certainly looks like he's seen better days (a still fairly ugly looking set of coiled bruises around his throat, some bandages around his wrists and fingers) he still smiles at a couple of people he finds... oddly familiar, waving them over, gesturing to the chair beside him because wow, that's certainly a familiar face? too familiar for him to just let walk by (you only get so much conversation out of a grumpy detective.) ]
Hello there! Long time no see. Come, come sit! It feels like I haven't seen you in ages.

[ basically if you want some pines memories, here's how you get some. ]

b. [ peter can be found in a couple of places during these next two days, feeling that he's done being cooped up and can stand meandering around more without worrying much about the bruises he's sported. they haven't quite yellowed out, but that's what lipstick and concealer is for while he makes do with what clothes are in the closet for the time being.

after a brief pitstop at the library to check in on... a work schedule (how quaint), peter makes his way to main street where he's browsing some of the clothing shops in search of something in particular: a coat. he's searching through a rack of particularly nice-looking coats, ranging in shades of tan to taupe to brown. glancing to the side, he catches someone out of his eye. a quick wave or a brush to the arm with slender fingers to get the person's attention ensues, followed by peter's warmest tone, the kind that wraps you up quite thoroughly. ]


Pardon me, but do you have a moment? I'm trying to see if this might fit my husband and you're just his size. Would you mind trying this on for me?

[ if you're somewhere in the 5'7" - 5'10" height range, you'll do. every lady needs his armor and armor for a detective consists primarily of his coat. ]

It's a surprise, you see, so I couldn't very well bring him with me, now... do you mind slouching just a bit? I need to see what it looks like with hideous posture.

5th june
[ here's your vague-ish wildcard. peter's a slip of a man sitting at the bar in the basement, nursing a drink or draped into a plush couch up on the second floor, watching the goings on below. he pats the seat beside him: ] You look as if you're about to topple over. Have a seat, I don't bite.

[ his teeth say otherwise, but don't mind those.

if you have any other scenarios you'd like to negotiate or fake memories you wanna run by me, i'm on plurk at [plurk.com profile] wolvesmouth! ]
Edited 2017-06-04 03:39 (UTC)
gotbottle: (am i right)

[personal profile] gotbottle 2017-06-04 04:18 am (UTC)(link)
I--

[ She's not sure exactly what she's doing, to be honest. Some vague plan of keeping some vague eye on the hospital administrator who's on her lunch break and apparently spending it shopping. It feels like she's following some instinct that's just beyond her grasp, like it's something she should know how to do but she can't quite remember.

But honestly this is getting her nowhere, fast, and in the moment her attention is diverted by the newcomer the administrator has left the shop anyway.

What the hell.

She smiles, and shrugs the coat onto her five-foot-nine frame, half-listening as she buttons it.

Or tries to. It's just a bit too tight across the chest, the button straining as she wiggles around in it, trying to see if it will sit better if she shrugs--nope.

Rachel smiles up at him, raising her hand, one finger drifting back and forth at chest height.
]

Before I slouch: how's your husband's rack? If it's anything like mine you might want to go up a size.