pineslog | (june intro) WELCOME TO WAYWARD PINES!

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(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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A. Hospital.

[Mike wakes up in the hospital with a cute nurse telling him everything's going to be alright. He just closes his eyes, sighs through a morphine-induced haze, and says sure thing, Jess; he doesn't remember any of that, when he wakes up next, though. Not names, memories, the town of Wayward Pines, nothing.

His eyes open and he sits up, just as the morphine begins to drift from him and pain pricks at the corners of his nerves like he's being dragged through a busted out window, shards sharp and intrusive and — where's a button? Hospitals have buttons, right? For that kind of thing? Wait, why is he in a fucking hospital? Why does everything smell like alcohol? Alcohol and blood, like it got stuck in his nose and refuses to get evicted. He moves to touch his head and finds his hand looks all wrong. Yeah, no, that's wrong. Very wrong. He unwraps the bandage that makes him look like the elephant man —

One, two, three fingers — three fingers. Three fingers?

His chest feels tight and his brain fuzzes on the edges a little.]

Aaahh... ahh — what the ffffuck, whatthefuck, whatthefuck...

[His hands roam his body, panic growing. Bruises everywhere, his neck is bandaged, hurts, his gut hurts, and it feels hard, like his muscles are revolting against him. He's missing two freaking fingers. There's a bandage on his stomach he dare not take off. Where did that come from? Where did he come from? His face hurts, and he can't think of a name to use to mentally calm himself. Come on, M_____-boy, his brain says. He limp-lomps over to the bathroom adjoining the room, using walls to balance, breathing through the dull return of pain from injuries he can't remember getting.

He looks in the mirror, and it takes him a moment to realize that's supposed to be him.

That's him, and he can't remember him.

And anyone who is wandering by will probably find this 19-year-old man who doesn't know he's 19. Oh, sure, he knows he hates coconut, and he knows how to ride a goddamn bike, and he likes stripes and plaid, and yeah, his name starts with a 'M', he's 90%... 85% sure — but that's about it, and he's bowed over the edge of the bed looking like he's about to go through a full-blown panic attack. Or maybe pass out from all the shit that's wrong with him. Throwing up sounds like a logical thing to respond with.

Mumbling like a potentially crazy person under fluorescent lights and a cold sweat:]

I'm sure everything is just fine. It'll all come back soon, right? Right. Yeah, no, everything's fine, everything's gonna be fine—

IN TOWN.

[Despite protests from the hospital, he decides to leave way earlier than expected, full of sutures and at least forced to take a bottle of painkillers by a pretty nurse he nervous-flirted with. Here's what he knows: he was hiking in an area that you shouldn't hike in; he was out where he shouldn't have been in the woods; very dangerous, you know! And something got him. They're pretty sure by the claw marks that it was the wildlife, though they're not exactly sure what, but they promise to notify authorities in case they might have some kind of predator problem. Who's he to argue that? It seems to make sense.

Also, the hospital lost his files or jumbled them up somewhere so he's still in the dark over a goddamn name. But sure, you know, that's fine. Fucking peachy.

He goes to the sheriff's office, a bit lethargic on medication but determined, and asks for whatever they found him with. He didn't have much on him, apparently. A lighter, his green jacket, some bloody clothing.

He can't freaking wear this.

So he walks with some uncertainty into a town he doesn't recognize, trying to figure out where the clothing place is. His stomach is growling, too. He doesn't have any money yet, uhhh. No change in the pockets. A lint ball. Great. Maybe someone will take a lint ball for $30 in clothes. He must look demented as hell in a hospital gown and an army jacket that reeks of gunpowder and wood, and he can already feel people staring at him from the corner of his eyes — ducking their heads away, and for a second he feels like a freak. He turns sharply toward the nearest eyes on him and loses his temper in the heat of the confusion and frustration:]

What are you looking at, huh?

[The answer is obvious. A weird guy who looks like someone rolled him in a rock tumbler. But he's still pissed off at everything, so growling at ya' it is. Take pity, he looks like he'd blow over in a stiff breeze. He'll probably apologize later; it's been a bad day.]

FOREST'S EDGE.

[Once he's fully clothed, he finds some stupid well of determination and, hiked up on those painkillers we briefly mentioned in this whole hot shit-fire of an ordeal, he heads over to the forest's edge. And just, y'know. Stares at it. As if the forest itself is absolutely what nearly gutted him. He puts a hand gingerly over the claw marks bandaged on his midsection, staring through one and a half eyes, bruising subsided enough that his uncertain stare is less of an ugly mess. His shoulders drop, he gets way too tired to actually follow through with anything absolutely stupid, and he ends up laying in a clearing with his jacket tucked under his head as he stares at the cloudy sky.

He actually almost feels better, stopping in time like this.

Talking to himself is a-go again.]

... What's even up with the black eye?

Did a bear coldcock me in the fucking eye?

[ooc: a c/p of his test drive meme, but anyone tagging there, feel free to have any thread canonical with his arrival here as well!!]

[ There's a whole lot of mumbling coming from this room as he passes by on his search for the hospital's exit. It's frantic and worrisome and he finds himself wanting to find out what's going on. There's too many people here all at the same time for him to not wonder what's going on; if this were normal, the staff wouldn't be so haggard and stressed. So. Investigating. Just a little.

He stands in the doorway, one hand on the frame while he tries to look unintimidating. ]

Hey... Should you be up?

[Mike gives a little shake of his head, trying to clear those metaphorical cobwebs that those deep sleep spiders had woven. Alright, alright, just relax, you've got this. What would you respond with, M? Well, he feels like blind confidence is his go-to. Right? He couldn't remember any memory of this mysterious blind confidence, but he feels it tickle the back of his brain, reminding him of who he is without showing him who he is.

It's fucking weird. He looks up, hand keeping him steady as he stands straighter near the bed. He's covered in bandages and gauze and bruising and he looks like he's plum flown out of a fucking car window. Breathlessly:]

Me? I'm aces. Never been better. Could jog around the place at least three times.

[No. No he should not be up.]

[ He sees it, takes all of the physical signs and the vocal tone and the kid's face and—all he can do is sigh and walk inside further while gently closing the door halfway behind him to block out some of the noise. Not all the way, not trapping anyone in, but maybe it'll add some calm. ]

I'm no nurse, but I'll wager to say sit down before you fall down. Or they'll probably keep you here even longer.

[His eyes flutter for a moment, but then he gains a bit more wits about him as the door creaks and the stranger wanders closer in. She is a complete oxymoron as she slowly sinks down onto the edge of the bed and says - ]

Like to see them try.

[ - as he remotely has the willpower right now to keep standing at all. His shaking hand reaches to touch his stomach - a bit higher than his gut, really - and hovers there indecisively. There's three fingers on this hand. He's still trying to wrap his mind around that. There should be five, and there's only three.]

... Who're you supposed to be, pal?

[Pal is more sass than actual friendliness, but maybe you'll cut him some slack, all things considered.]

Mike Munroe | OTA | Hospital, Town, Forest's Edge

hospital.

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Town

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Forest's Edge

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cont from the test drive

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FOREST'S EDGE.

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in town.

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forest's edge.

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in town;

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