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
Anders | June 4th and 5th | the streets, Thistle Do Nicely, Glug Glug's | Open
A couple days in, Anders remembers his job. Or...he thinks he does? He still isn't sure what to feel certain of, here. Aside from his cat, of course. Ser Pounce a Lot is perfect and absolutely the one excellent certainty in his life. Therefore, he brings him with him, on his shoulders, the enormous ginger tabby draped casually around the back of his neck as he walks to Main Street.
He's planning out what to say, how to convince his...his boss? that his cat is an absolutely reasonable addition to the shop when he reaches Thistle Do Nicely and his planning turns out to be pointless. The door is closed and locked, the lights are off, and some of the plants in the window are drooping slightly. Odd. When he notices an envelope taped to the door, he pulls it off. No sense in hesitation when there's a mystery to solve and he's meant to be here, after all. Probably.
Definitely, it turns out. Inside the envelope are the keys and a short note letting him know he's the new owner. How does that work?! Anders unlocks the door and goes in so that he at least has a space in which to come to terms with having an entire business he's going to have to fake understanding. He lets Pounce hop down and explore while he begins to at least tidy up and water what seems to need watering.
By the time the lights are on and the place is more or less...ready, Anders is sitting on a stool behind the counter, Pounce on his lap, frowning slightly as he tries to understand the various binders of information about the business he found tucked in a drawer and occasionally reading various plant guidelines aloud incredulously to Pounce. God, he hopes more of it will come back from just hanging out in here. It's a good job he's in charge now, though. This way, if he finds out later in a binder there's a dress code he can make the executive decision to overrule it. They can pry his earring off his cold dead ear. Or not, really, he'd probably just let 'them' take it, if it came to that. Steal it back later.
June 5th
Theoretically, Anders is sure he must have had hot chocolate before, boozy and otherwise. It doesn't seem to be something rare, or out of the ordinary, but he is definitely experiencing it as if it's the first time he's had anything like it. Which, really, he's all about. If he can take advantage of this weird memory loss to experience more amazing things for the first time again it will be almost entirely worthwhile.
He drifts a bit, drinking it as slowly as possible, leaned back into one of the couches on the second floor. Hopefully it's in a shop somewhere, and he can bring it to his home (another normal thing that has no right feeling so amazing to him) and have this whenever he wants.
It has gotten a bit cold now, though, from how slow he's been drinking it. Lukewarm. Too comfortable to get up, he settles on the obvious solution: a controlled fireball.
Definitely the best idea, and not one that immediately backfires on him, almost quite literally.
His fingers spark, a small orange flame shoots down from his hand and into the cup, the force displacing half a cup of hot chocolate up into the air and onto his sweater and face.
"Ah," he says to himself after a short moment of shock, dripping. "Not brilliant, in retrospect."
June 4th
And maybe it's just the decorative sort of flowers. And maybe it isn't.
She lets herself in, frowning a little as she comes inside. There's something far more mystical going on here than she expected, and it's not exactly what she expected. She doesn't think she likes it, either.
no subject
"Hi!" he says. Pounce kindly steps off of his lap and onto the counter so that he's now permitted to move. He pushes himself off the stool and tucks the binder back under the counter. He can only see half of the person at the door through the sheer amount of weirdly laid out plants at the front of the shop, but he waves over them in case that's what he's expected to do. He's only really found the bits in the binder about what various plants need so far. "There should be labels on everything but if not I can run out to the library for a book with pictures to peer at them with. I'm sure you're at least as trustworthy as I am. Probably more, if we're being honest."
no subject
"I was wondering what sort of plants you had," she says, then frowns, points at Pounce or rather in the direction the cat has gone. "Is it yours?"
Aloy sounds baffled, more than anything.
June 4th
So, naturally, this absolutely has to be the place.
Dirk pushes his way into the shop to the tinkling of bells -- just awful -- and pauses as he's roughly accosted by the scent of incense, shaken down, and released to go on his way.
"Hello!" Wave! Oh, God, he's just wafted some of it into his own face. "My name is Dirk Gently, and I work here, apparently."
A beat. "Probably you already knew that."
no subject
He climbs onto the stool on his knees to give himself more height over the tallest flowers, anyway, in time enough to spot Dirk, and catch the wave.
He knows this man's name, apparently. That is. Good? Definitely good, considering he works here, apparently.
"Oh, finally," he says, exaggerated exasperation. "Where have you been, I've been rushed off my feet!" Inching over slightly, he scoots onto the counter, swings his legs over and around, and sits on it with his legs swinging. There are impulse buy items that he's taken off onto the floor beside him to stare accusingly at them. They don't look like actual things. Also there's a bell you hit but he doesn't trust customers with that level of responsibility.
no subject
"Unconscious, apparently," he says, testy but still helplessly apologetic. He hasn't meant to leave anyone in the lurch.
"Hospital, I mean. They gave me a bracelet." He's been porting it around as proof, though it's probably time to cut the thing and be done with. All that's kept him is the fact that a few days ago he had a surprisingly nice conversation with a large bird, and maybe that's the sort of thing that would warrant checking himself back in. Maybe, on the other hand, he only thinks that because he doesn't remember how it's actually quite normal to have a bit of a chat with a hawk. Still, he lifts his arm and flashes the offending article: see?
That brings about another minor dilemma, though. After a few moments, Dirk's hand drops back to his side and he glances about the shop with some trepidation. "So what is it that I do here, exactly?"
5th!
pausing only long enough to snag a handful of napkins from the dispenser, she slides into a chair opposite the man now dripping in cocoa. ❱
How'd you do that? ❰ not typically an acceptable greeting, but hopefully her offering of napkins makes up for it. she's offering them out now, her other hand ready in case he wants to hand over the drink for a minute and clean up properly. ❱
no subject
A mixture of a lack of forethought and forgetting that fireballs have a lot of force behind them, mainly. Although I can at least blame it on brain damage, this time. I promise I'm usually less...this.
[He gestures at himself and then starts off with the important bit: mopping the cocoa off his face. Still time to make a good impression, maybe? Sometimes people find clumsiness charming! ...probably not this woman, though.]
I'm...I do magic.
[Still not very charming. Face down to at least just damp, he switches to dabbing as much as he can out of his sweater before deciding it's a lost cause, putting the napkins to the side, and pulling the sweater off entirely. He pulls his hair out of his tie and resmooths it into it before speaking again.]
I am, as far as I know, a wizard, and it's a pleasure to meet you, dear lady. My name is Anders.
[Probably the best it's going to get. He reaches out and reacquires his cup.]
no subject
anders, specifically. ❱
Raven, ❰ she offers in return, her tone suggesting the pleasure's mutual. on a personal level and also because holy shit. ❱ You're telling me you could do that again? That's-... ❰ a helpless laugh-breath and a slight head-shake, because she can't find the right word for it. 'fascinating' sounds so clinical. oh, there's the rest of her sentence: ❱ Actually really practical.
June 5th; Glug Glug's
That just happened.
Were Cassian the sort to thank powers that be he'd be thanking them now that he isn't standing here gaping; as is, he moves to the bar and manages to convince someone to give him a towel which he hands to Anders with a slightly raised brow.
"At least you didn't singe your hair." Or, you know. Anyone else.
HELLO I'm sorry for the lates
"Thank you..." and he stops. Tip of his tongue, god, he's sure it will come to him. "...Caaaassian?" Might be right. Might not. He's got some sort of head injury as an excuse, anyway. He adds another smile at Potentially Cassian to be safe as he dabs at his sweater, deciding after further analysis to make this one a bit flirtier. Worth a try. Head injury!
/mwah mwah
Andes? No. "How are you, Anders?"