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
no subject
( But, some nasty, niggling part of him laughs -- you remember nothing but his face, his voice, his name. ) So, it could be true. ]
It's not.
[ Impossible. ]
There was an - an opportunity, and you took it. I was glad that you took it, I'm still - [ No. ] I'm not glad anymore.
[ Not when he sees Peter like this. Even if there is a part of him that wants to put an end to this ( potential ) charade, he can't do it. It would leave Peter vulnerable, flayed open. The memories are not there, there is no support to suggest that there's sense in feeling this way, but his instinct tells him that's the way of things. Juno has learned, over the years, to make himself at home among his instincts. Instinct is what drives him to reach for Peter's hands, tucked so casually in his lap - inanimate and still, and he hates that, most of all. How fragile, in this moment, that Peter appears to be, as he fits his hand ( bandaged and wound-rough ) below his
husband's ( ? ) and presses down, cautiously. Thumb tucked between Peter's knuckles. ]
I hate that this happened to you. I'm going to do whatever I can to make it right.
[ Over his shoulder, one of the passing nurses peers into the room - Misters Steel?. Wanting to confirm the identities of the two, now reunited. Juno's eyes flick between her and Peter, and he nods. Just the once; it's enough of a commitment, for now. She leaves, with the mention of fetching their discharge papers. ]
All right. Let's figure this out, then.
no subject
it clings to him.
he wants it out.
peter glances down between them, the warmth of juno's hands are a godsend on his cold fingers, and he reaches out, splaying fingers, catching them up in raw knuckles, thumbing over calluses like he's searching in the dark for something. juno's hands are... rough, bandaged, scraped up and bruised. but he knows this touch, this moment, and he knows juno, knows how he pushes back and pushes back and pushes stubbornly. ]
My dear, dear detective... We will make it right.
[ his head aches as he curls his fingers over them fast. determined. peter, who can't remember the taste of panic, is feeling it rush over his tongue, but he is resilient, determined, though still stiff. he knows how to push just as well. he waits for the nurse to leave to retrieve their paperwork before continuing, softly: ]
We're a set, you and I, and I don't plan on going anywhere without you.
[ peter lifts his head at this. that much he knows. not a matching pair, but a complimentary one. his grip goes a little more lax now, one hand leaving to adjust his glasses just a bit. they sit crookedly. how embarrassing. but peter pulls it off in a manner topped to the brim with finesse. there's... no time for panic, even if it clings to him like an oil slick. there is juno sitting here, in the present with him, and that itself has begun to burn it away. ]
Perhaps once you have more than a bed sheet to your name, Juno, we can puzzle this out. [ a thumb over the spur of his wrist, contact, smooth, easy. ] As fetching an ensemble as it is. [ peter glances out the door of the hospital room, watching a pair of physicians mill past, another couple walking by, someone sneaking into the laundry hamper (damn that's a good idea.) he smiles and reaches up with a hand to touch juno's cheek softly, to pull him close and murmur in his ear. ] When we've less company to concern ourselves with. I don't quite trust our lovely hospital staff as far as I can throw them, wouldn't you agree?
no subject
Yeah, sure.
[ "we". ]
Apparently, the sheriff is holding our things. [ juno's tone makes it clear that he finds something distasteful about this.
there's some lingering, unknown animosity towards a man ( an institution? ), who's only doing his job. they'll have to make the trek to the station, to fetch whatever had been pulled off of them in whatever bullshit accident had occurred to land them - and many, many others - in this amnesiac fugue state. the injuries that he's seen have varied, and that makes him wonder, in the way that someone who was built, branded and handcrafted to ask rude questions that nobody wanted to answer, was wont to do. something was going on, and his guts were telling him that the pieces didn't add up. not even in the slightest. amnesia couldn't tear that, or peter nureyev, from him. ]
I know, I know. [ a suffering sigh, ] I'm still the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, wow, how is that I can rock a bed sheet so well. Heard it before.
[ HAVE YOU??? ]
I don't trust anybody right now but you.
[ the last bit is so quiet, it's nearly inaudible. a muffled admission that tastes bitter on the way up, but spreads through him like pure satisfaction. peter looks like shit, but he's alive. he's alive, and juno remembers him - he'll survive this, and juno will - well, juno will do as he does. he can hear the nurse re-entering the room with clipboards and pens and paperwork, but he takes the opportunity anyways, hooking his arms under peter's armpits and around his ribs ( careful, so careful ), spreading his hands across his back as he draws him in for a hug. it's a little overdue, maybe. depending.
still good. ]
no subject
his fingers curl in the material of juno's hospital gown fast, eyes catching sight of the nurse's figure in the doorway. she seems as though she's waiting for something and at once peter holds himself a little higher, holding one hand out while the other remains curled around juno's back, fingers sunken into the material. ]
Thank you ever so kindly, we'll take it from here, [ the words flow easily, without tremor, though his mind is still pitching a bit back and forth, trying to wring his brain for remaining details, grains of sand too fine to keep between his fingers. when the nurse takes her leave, he sets the paperwork down on the bed, letting his hand return to rest very lightly against juno's side.
it feels at home there, closest to his ribs, expanding, contracting. ]
Juno, [ he says, and it sounds perfect on his tongue, tastes sweet. ] Juno, [ he says again, even softer, and it feels like jarring a loose a tenaciously wedged stone that wont to move. the hand perched carefully on juno's back slides to his shoulder now, thumb brushing over the exposed slip of collarbone as he (just slightly (and reluctantly) pulls away to look juno in the eyes. very closely. almost nose to nose closely, but that's how you hold very soft conversations. ] Come, we'll take care of all this bureaucratic nonsense and pay a visit to our sheriff and see what we can extract from him. And the sooner the better, it's a little drafty.
but wait there's more.