JULY 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 a quiet, pensive look and a gentle suggestion that you avoid trying to force any memories or hazy impressions, that everything will be explained in due time, after you've had the chance to sufficiently recover. 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. Of course you have those things. And of course they already remember you being here, remember visiting you in the hospital while you were still unconscious. You've lived here much or all of your life....
As far as you can tell, anyway.
Either way, the hospital's population is busier than you'd expect in a small town, 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.
JULY 1ST - 5TH | GETTING USED TO HOME AGAIN |
However you get there, outside the birds sing a joyful song, the sky is clear, and the warm sun on your skin is a pleasant contrast to the pervading chill of the hospital now at your back. 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.
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. Or maybe that has more to do with the fact that this once idyllic, peaceful community appears to have just suffered from some sort of full scale invasion.
Once carefully manicured trees lining the streets now each have their share of scorched or shattered limbs, even one or two instances of deep dragging claw marks in the bark, for the more keen eyed individuals. The streets are mostly empty, the few cars that cruise by at a safe and respectable speed looking like they've been used as a battering ram recently, or perhaps been on the receiving end of one. One building in the periphery appears to have
exploded even, if the crater of splintered wood and foundation is any indication. What exactly happened to this place while you were in the hospital, anyway?
This isn't even the once 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 help clear up some of those conflicting memories), 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 you'll have plenty of time to try and sort through your confusion and misgivings. Maybe your friends and family in the town are just as confused and unsure as you are, maybe their familiarity is jarring, but somehow still some sort of comfort when
so much still remains unfamiliar and strange to you. Or maybe they take you aside with a knowing look in their eyes and start to explain. The memories and the destruction and the confusion.
Either way, it might be a good idea to get out and finally visit Main Street (looking just as battered as the rest of the town) if you haven't already. Maybe you even remembered that you work in one of the more familiar sounding shops, or elsewhere in town. Whether you trust those memories or not at this point, it probably wouldn't hurt to get back to work some time soon. Your co-workers might have some explanations for you as well, after all, and you have to be able to put bread on the table
somehow.
If there's one thing to be said for Wayward Pines it's the town's resilience and staunch refusal to give up on the image of a picturesque little town, and July 4th this year has the community putting it's best foot forward in this regard with its annual 4th of July picnic and fireworks spectacular.
To hear anyone (Linda) familiar with the town talk (complain), this year is a much more sedate affair than any of the years prior, but in a lot of ways today is a very good opportunity for people to reconnect with their neighbors; chat quietly at a table, share a recipe, play some catch, or argue with Jerry over the proper way too cook a burger. Jerry never listens, of course, but thankfully the whole event is a pot luck so there are plenty of other, far more edible options for those with a more... discerning palate.
The day passes pleasantly, and the night? The night brings the fireworks. A beautiful cascade of bright colors and lights in the sky. Sparklers are handed out like party favors while everyone is strongly encouraged to play safe by a long-suffering and weary looking sheriff. After all, the town has had quite enough excitement by this point, don't you think?
MOD NOTES
Welcome to our sixth 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
4th, 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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pineslog2017-06-30 08:52 pm
INTRODUCTION LOG
Buffy Summers | Multiple Scenarios| Open
[Buffy wanders through main street hunched inwards, gaze skittering over the burnt and torn remains of the town. There's a familiarity to this sight, something that makes her want to crawl inside herself and shut it out. Her eyes are wide, but her walk is brisk and steady. If nothing else, at least she knows her name and has somewhere to go. She'll get her things and go home, and maybe wearing real clothes will make her feel better. She can barely believe that the hospital would just send her out in a gown she has to clutch to keep closed, even if it's not a long walk.
The clothes do help a little, and oddly so does the stuffed pig. Buffy carries it in both hands as she heads back out onto the Main Street. She should get to the house, she knows, but she can't help slowing down. She takes one hand off the pig and touches a scorched tree, watches the beaten-looking cars as they head past her. Without near-nakedness to give her urgency, Buffy can't help being distracted by the ruin around her. That in itself seems as familiar as the fact that there is damage to be fascinated by. It seems less overwhelming than her initial walk through the town, even if the deja vu remains unpleasant. Something about the curiosity, even the smallest bit of investigation, seems right. An image materializes: the sheriff showing her a sharpened, curved stick he'd be keeping for the next month. She pushes it away.
As she pauses, Buffy hears another pedestrian pass by; the footsteps make her whirl around to stare in silence at first, completely still. Then--] Sorry.
July 4th - 4th of July
[The fireworks and the talking are almost too loud. Even more so after being targeted immediately upon her arrival by a woman with as many complaints as words of welcome. If Linda's commentary is accurate, Buffy silently thanks God that this year was quieter than normal. Words buzz around her, and she can't quite focus on any of them. She smiles anyway, until Linda's gone off to someone else.
Focus or no focus, she won't leave. There's a coziness to the scene, and she wants to be part of it. The longing and the distance, the sense of being a spectator, all feel familiar, although she doesn't understand why. So she's done what she can to contribute. She's brought homemade mint chocolate chip cookies, frosted with the red, white and blue of the day. Buffy brings them to what looks like a dessert table that's covered in the same colors. A giant, mishmashed edible flag, she thinks. Abruptly, to the next person who approaches the table--] Hey, it's a flag you can eat! [She brings back her tiny smile.]
[Later, Buffy wanders throughout the picnic. She tries to stop for a burger, but the arguing from...Jerry? Jerry and someone else over his cooking puts her off, just as much as the thought of the burgers being bad. She can't quite make herself stop at any more tables, though. Even her own cookies don't tempt her. After some halting attempts at chatting with anyone who'll approach her, she begins to head away from the festivities, absentmindedly dumping her sparkler as she goes. She doesn't notice the little sparks on the grass for a second. Then she frantically stomps them out, picking up the sparkler once more and hoping that nobody is looking in her direction.]
July 1-5th Your Choice
Any scenario you prefer that isn't one of the above!
July 4th (lmk if I should change anything!)
He supposes this is his community now. His home, with his neighbors and his makeshift family of Eliot and Kenzi. It's odd, how easily he accepts it. Or perhaps it isn't. After all, he had no attachment to Storybrooke, and even in the best of times, he never really had much of a sense of home in the Enchanted Forest, either. (That's wrong. He did, once, but he can't remember why, and trying to chase that notion always turns into a dead end.) Perhaps that's why he took so well to portal jumping, once upon a time. But that's in the past-- over 1,000 years in the past, apparently. Sometimes he wonders, idly, if the curse is still in effect. If he trekked all the way to Maine, would he find Storybrooke, still suspended in time? He can't imagine Regina would be anything short of completely mad by now.
(Good. He hopes she is.)
As somebody who's spent far too long observing his small slice of the world, rather than participating in it, Jefferson has a tendency to zero in on people who seem similarly out of sorts, even in this patchwork town of misfits. So maybe that's why he finds himself watching the young woman who wanders around the celebratory gathering with a sort of... detachment that doesn't seem to shake, even through attempts at conversations. Playing at normal when you know you're out of sync with everything and everyone around you. It's not unfamiliar to Jefferson. Or maybe he's projecting. In any case, he finally approaches-- overdressed for the celebration, because really, who the hell wears a scarf in July?-- after the incident with the sparkler. ]
I hate those things, too. [ A wry half-smile. Look at him, trying for normal and casual. ]
I am so sorry! I spent the last few days either outside or wiped out. Your tag is perfect.
Hate? Oh. I don't feel that strongly about them. It's a safety issue. Can't leave these babies lying around. [She waves it around a little, then frowns.] Which does make them kind of hateable. You go somewhere and people just give you things you didn't ask for, and they can get someone hurt. [Mini rant over. It takes a moment for Buffy to realize it was a rant.] Sorry.
[She looks down a bit, almost managing a smile. But only almost.]
July 4.
[ elsa is not exactly a social butterfly, chatting mostly with people she knows. she could stand to leave a certain someone's side once in a while and so she does, aiming to get herself a burger. well, she hoped to get herself a burger but it looks like that won't be happening anytime soon.
she grimaces from where she stands in line, slipping her hands out of the pockets of her denim dress to fold them over the skirt instead. she turns to the woman behind her, which happens to be buffy herself. ]
I'm afraid I've lost my appetite for the burgers.
Re: July 4.
Right? I can't really even think about them as food anymore.
Socializing; not an event that needed a battle plan. Not since...she couldn't think how to finish that sentence. The memory thing. Buffy tries to put that out of her mind, continuing to smile.
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[ how unsanitary, jerry! we'll have none of that. ]
I just realized I forgot to add the brackets last time. Sorry! :')
It is not to be stood for. I can't believe we're still in line for it.
np!
[ elsa gesture to the open space nearby, as crowds around the burgers begin to dwindle. ]
no subject