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.
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pineslog2017-05-31 09:13 pm
INTRODUCTION LOG
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ah, but there's a ridiculous sort of dorky chuckle that filters up at the first of her words, and the quirk of a brow at the second. ) Peppermint. Hell, we've got ourselves a regular daredevil here. ( oh my god. this is already disgusting. ) What about cinnamon?
( the fuck is even happening. )
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I've been bold enough to try cinnamon, but that isn't my favored spice. Though! I would not protest a spicy hot cocoa in the future. I think I might enjoy that.
[ the mug set before her is just perfect and elsa looks upon it like she's been reunited with an old friend. and, well, she has been. the bartender says nothing about the bill and she's momentarily forgotten it in favor of bringing that whipped creamed confection to her face to take a sip. naturally getting a tiny bit of cream on her nose inthe process. ]
Mmhm.
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( oh. )
and he's in the middle of thinking that he might just order a cup of cocoa for himself ( despite having a tendency for something a little bit harder ) when she takes that first sip, when he notices the dot of white at the end of her nose and. damn it. he snorts out a laugh and reaches out with a reaction that feels like he's done it a million times before — ) Got a little somethin' there — ( and. yep. he's wiping it away with his thumb which is them absently wiped on a napkin, and he does take a second to turn and wave the barista down long enough to order one of the same. ) But with cinnamon. ( he makes a point to add, with something of a wink in elsa's direction. )
So, what is your favorite spice?
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Oh!
[ she covers her mouth with one hand ever so daintily, ever so mortified to look even the tiniest bit silly. but that feeling soon dissolves into nothingness because when he laughs, so does she, muffled behind her fingers before she drops her hand to swipe the bottom of her lower lip to take care of ( nonexistent ) cocoa and stray lipstick.. ]
Nutmeg, I think. [ she wrinkles her nose, folding her hands beneath her chin. ] I may have to return to this subject on a later date when I have reconfigured my thoughts. [ that whole thing. it's been an odd few days, waking up, having a roommate who thought she was robbing her upon reentry. ]
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though, that little noise she makes? it's. cute, damn it. and he doesn't stop himself thinking it even as he wipes his hand on a nearby napkin. ) Be careful, hm?
( but there she goes, and there he goes in regards to pulling all of his appendages back into his personal space, and he takes a second to sip his cocoa when it arrives with a small, pleased sound and a lick of his bottom lip before training his attention back to her again. ) Nutmeg. That — sounds like you. ( he says it without thinking, and then he looks at her a bit more carefully, eyes narrowed. ) You okay?
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[ she watches him out of the corner of her eye, as if she has made that cup herself, assessing his reaction to hot chocolate and only looking away when he licks his lip. yikes, elsa. time to busy herself with another long sip of her drink, careful to consume the drink and whipped cream instead of getting it on her face. ]
I ought to be alright. [ there's a knot in her brow and she returns to resting her cheek in her hand. ] It's been but three days since I have recovered from my injury and things are very. Off. [ exhaling a private confession feels right as rain too and she turns her head to peer at him. ]
Spotty seems to be the right word.
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… eh. ( right? ) there are worse things, than the association of a spice with a human being. ( have weirder things ever been thought, maybe, but we aren't about to get into them. )
he's heard enough about injuries and recoveries that that particular statement doesn't faze him — at least, like it had when he'd first woken up from his own incident — but it still has his expression pulling into something more … hn. what's the word we're looking for, here? concerned. pinched? worried. that ain't it.
it's something, and that's all we've figured out. ) Ought to be ain't the same as is. ( well, it ain't. ) What happened?
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I'd fallen from a faulty ladder. So they say. [ she rubs her temples with both hands and straightens in her seat, leaning against the low back of the stool. ] Nothing to worry about, nothing to worry about. Except I've very few answers. It seems as if I am not alone in this —
[ her voice, without realizing, has dropped to a whisper meant for his ears only. ] Forgive me. [ her hand presses against the counterspace between them, nails unpainted and skin unadorned. she nearly reaches for his shoulder instead but that seems like a bit too much. ] I must know you, but, ah. My poor mind.
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( is that it? )
it dawns on him near-instantly — her name and what she means to him — and it is, decidedly, the one thing he's taken to without any sort of questioning on his own behalf, because it feels like they've been doing this for years, like they've always fallen short of the things they were meant for, and neither of them know it. ) No, it's fine, I wish I could say I didn't know that feelin', but I do. ( yanno, 'cause of his own incident. it still doesn't make much sense in his head, but —
you do, somehow. ) El … Elsa. ( he stumbles a bit, because el seems so much more real to him that the whole of her name, and he looks a bit sheepish. ) High school. Um. That ring a bell?
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faint memories of peeking around lockers and walking home after school fill her mind and she nods slowly, a quiet laugh escaping her. ]
Gladio. [ which is apparently the only way she says his name, half a sigh and affectionate. there is no hiding what she surely must feel there. ]
The only one who ever calls me El. [ both hands return to her mug because for some reason she has stopped herself entirely from reaching for him, even to touch his arm. she smiles over the top of her mug. ] I think I do remember some things.
HER FACE ugh i'm smitten
that laugh is a hell of a lot more reassuring than he thought any one intangible thing could be. good grief, but it feels good hearing it.
and they're both so instantly at ease with one another that anyone in their general vicinity is sure to be thinking jeez, get a room or something similar, but let 'em, because this is the first time he's really felt like things belonged where they were since he'd woken up in the hospital. hm. what's that say about him? ) Some things don't change, I guess. (even years later. there's comfort in nicknames, or something, okay. ) Glad your memory's joggin' a bit. It's … hell tryin' to remember stuff.
the cutest nerd!
[ this is an impressive leap so far, finding someone she believes to be an inextricable part of her past. ] My roommate does not know who I am and I scarcely remember her. [ there's a sadness that elsa always carries with her – not directly related to but inspired by the fact that her home does not feel like a home. without the core pillars that make her her, she is but a rudderless boat in the ocean.
thoughtfully, she licks her lips after another sip of cocoa. ] We all cannot possibly be so accident prone.
[ a beat passes before her hand, still somehow warm from the mug, rests over the curve of his upper arm and she smiles. ] Perhaps we can help each other with those memories.
PRECIOUS
( there are so many things, so many variables in this instance that both of them could focus on, but aren't, because they've found some measure of reassurance and comfort in a memory that they both accept. gladio still isn't so sure about the things he's been met with just yet, but there are even more things that are slowly coming back to him, and latching on to some memory of her seems like the most natural thing in the world.
she licks her lips, and he keeps watching her, even as that hand reaches to brace against his arm, like. he thinks it has so damned many times before. it rests there, and that same hand drifts up to very briefly cup her cheek, falling away almost instantly as he gives over some measure of a breathless laugh. little more than a chuckle, really. ) I'm here if you need me. ( ah. but what does that mean?
a hell of a lot more than either of them realize. )
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strangely, all she has to do is blow some air over the top of the mug to get it to really cool down to her ideal temperature. ]
I know we're not meant to – [ discuss, she doesn't say, instead shaking her head. ] – but it is worrisome. I'm glad to have found you again – ah, even though you weren't really lost. [ though who knows, really. some anxious whispers have reached her ears and she has tucked those away for more deliberation. ]
I am here for you as well. [ and she means it, even if they aren't entirely whole. something, at the very least, feels right between them. ] In whatever way I can help.
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he does huff out a bit of a small laugh, attempting to regain some of his previous nonchalance ( that had somehow disbanded the moment he'd touched her, funny how that happens ), the line of his mouth pulling into something a familiar grin that almost borders on a smirk. ) Ain't ever gonna be too far away, I don't think. ( from you, he doesn't say, but at least there's some measure of restraint here. sheesh. )
So we can help each other out. How's that?
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[ it is a bit funny, how it seems as if they have unlocked something by mere touch. not even in what is meant to be her own home as elsa been this comfortable and she is going to hold onto this for as long as she can.
her head is still swimming with conflicting thoughts because some of the things she dreams about do not align with what her life is here, with him in it. hm. and because she is so pleased to have this, she will keep turning in her stool to brush shoulders and arms, the contract acting as a sort of tether to what feels real. ]
How have you been keeping yourself these days?
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she keeps shifting, and — admittedly — so does he, so there's an invariable amount of tiny brushes of shoulders and elbows and arms as they continue to sit, to effectively play catch up when both of them are still striving toward what might end up feeling like the norm. ) Um. ( wow, that's friggin' eloquent. ) Well enough, I guess? Just been tryin' to get my own memories back where they belong. ( heh. yeah, it's been a while, but apparently memory is a tricky bitch, and she ain't having any of his nonsense. ) It's kinda slow-goin'. Especially with lookin' after my sister.
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[ she doesn't try masking that with a nervous laugh because none of this is easy for anyone living in this town with all these people getting concussions left and right. but as soon as she tries to picture his family, her thoughts begin to drift to her own, and it is strange to her that the pictures gladio's family better than she can imagine her own. she has never been adopted as far as she knows but there's something missing, something that –
she licks her lips thoughtfully once more, voice a dazed, half-pleased whisper as she realizes as she lifts her head to stop staring into the swirling hot chocolate below, ] Yes, I have a sister too.
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but isn't it funny, that they seem to recall more about one another than they do themselves, because his expression lightens a bit at the mention of her sister. ) Yeah — Anna, right? Have you seen her since you got out?
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[ distracted, she stares purposefully at her mug, lifting the spoon to rest it on the saucer below. anna. red hair. freckles. what else?
what else? ]
I hope the rest of her comes to me. [ dolefully, she shakes her head. there is a flash of desperation in her eyes when her head snaps up and she swivels in her seat to take a gander at the other patrons. ] I'm certain if I saw her, I would know ... [ elsa rests her hand over his wrist, lips pulled into an uncertain but nonetheless genial smile. her thumb sweeps back and forth over the back of his hand, which seems like something that she would do. has done. ] We all seem to be in search of something, I think.
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she turns back to him, and the hand that settles against his wrist is. something that feels right, familiar in the way that little else still does. fingers brush over the back of his hand, and he moves just enough to sweep the pad of his thumb over her palm. ) Seems like it. But hey, don't worry. You'll remember. The important ones are always gonna come back to you.
( ah.
is that why she'd near-instantly come back to his mind, the moment he saw her? )
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and she will also take holding hands since her much smaller one feels so comfortable against his. ]
Didn't we used to do this sort of thing? [ elsa asks, leaning in to speak in hushed tones; the rest of the grand opening hubbub seems to fade into another room. ] Just you and I?
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his fingers tighten, just the tiniest bit around hers, and he dicks his head to lean in a bit closer when she does, without even thinking. ) We did, yeah. I think so. It feels like we did. ( he hums out a small note, everything else around them forgotten, not that he'd been playing much attention to the background noise in the first place, anyway. )
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[ and now there is a buoyancy in her tone, a fluttering giddiness in her disposition that she can barely contain as she reaches deep into her thoughts for something else to off, to remind him of. ] Late nights, I think. Past curfew, but the – ah, the call of fries past midnight as too strong.
[ another laugh, brighter than ever. already, she can feel the homeyness of a diner booth and the squeak of worn leather and that smile she wears right now turned on him from across the table. that is something. ]
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absently, he picks up his previously forgotten cup and takes another sip from it. ) Mm. Plenty of late nights, though. I'm … pretty sure I had to drag you away from the books often enough.
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