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
JULY 2
[ ever since he arrived in this bumfuck town, he's been looking for the exit. without his sister here, there's no anchor keeping him at bay. he's a ship that's restless, fighting against what's tying him to the dock, and despite his best efforts to free himself from what's keeping him there, nothing works. ]
[ it's when he hears some people are arriving in the hospital, a little confused, some worse for wear, he gets dressed, slips on that guard jacket he'd found among his possessions in the sheriff's station, and makes his way out the front door. the best way for a ship to find purpose is to set sail under the command of a captain. bellamy's just not sure who the captain happens to be here. ]
[ he doesn't get far. a foot on the threshold, he stops when he sees her. she's making her way up to the front door, looking a little disheveled, maybe a little pissed — truthfully, bellamy's not focusing much on her expression. there's a familiar swelling in his chest, hope starting to properly kindle there, and he forgets everything that he'd set out to do within those few hours of waking up and growing irritable he was still here. ]
[ taking a step forward, he doesn't so much as run toward her. a little taken aback, he almost doesn't want to disturb what could just be a fucked up hallucination. ]
O?
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It seems like ages until she responds, her mind and body slowing with disregard to the world around them. For as quaint and (formerly) picture perfect everything is, it means nothing. Suburbia be damned, this is what home feels like.
In reality, it's only a few seconds before Octavia takes a step forward, eyes locked on him, and speaks. Unlike his greeting, hers isn't a question. She's certain. She just knows.]
Bellamy.
[Saying his name aloud is the catalyst needed for her to all but launch herself at him into the inevitable hug both of them now need. She flings her arms around his neck and holds him as if he's the only thing in the world she knows, which right now, he actually is.
But it's enough. Octavia can temporarily shut out the rest of whatever's around them, happy to single in on this one big, crucial piece of herself. He won't be released yet, not until she's satisfied with this.]
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[ burying his face in her shoulder, he feels overwhelmed — tears prickle his eyes as he smiles, finding it impossible not to. ]
[ this feels familiar. there's walls around him, a crowd looking on, but he never felt their stares. all he'd felt was his sister in his arms — and he finds it again,
although his street is empty and there's no onlookers to watch them curiously. it's a memory that flits in and out, disappearing as he focuses on the now instead of what feels like a disjointed past. ]
[ the memories of her have been the most consistent. a slim girl, light eyes, dark hair, a ferocious strength. ]
Hey. [ he squeezes her — not too tightly — and pulls back, hands on her upper arms as he takes a look at her. he's still smiling, a little in disbelief. all ten fingers, all ten toes. bellamy's looking better these days, no longer bruised and no longer scratched up. ] You're okay?
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I'm okay enough. [It's only one they're separated and she's looking at him that she realizes she's still in the hospital gown. Scowling somewhat, she moves to step by him and into the house.]
Bell, let's go inside. I need a change of clothes. [There's a pause, where she considers something.] And an explanation or six. Please.
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[ dressed in the hospital gown, she looks smaller — much like the young girl he'd grown up with, wearing clothes that always seemed to be a bit too big for her. ]
[ it's strange, but he finds that where there had been gaps in his memory there aren't anymore. his life in pines had missed her, and now it seems to have been too full of octavia blake. ]
[ moving beside her, he touches her elbow lightly. ] You've got clothes. Come here. [ and he leads her toward a room that he's always figured was hers. ]
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Her head turns so she can look at him then the direction they're going.]
What do you mean I've got clothes? Since when?
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[ he offers her a shrug of his shoulders as he leads her toward her room. ] I don't really know. [ it doesn't feel like a good answer, but it's the one that he settles for for now. ] There's stuff that looks like yours in a room. I don't think Clarke would wear them. She hasn't really gone in there.
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[They're at the door to the room now, and she's frowning, partially from annoyance. This is the tone she uses when she wants answers, where she won't be satisfied until she gets something. Gown be damned, he needs to talk.]
Tell me.
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Get dressed. [ he stops by a room, door open. ] We can talk about it later. You have to remember I barely understand what's happening. And you're finally here — [ truthfully, that's all that matters. bellamy doesn't need answers if he has octavia here and she's going to stay. the best way to calm down an angry bellamy is to show him the most important person in his life is safe. ]
Can you just get dressed so we can try and figure this shit out?
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It's not entirely directed at him, not really. His own words and expressions so closely mirror her own feelings that Octavia's not sure how to react now. As far as she knows, Bellamy's always a kind of guidepost for her, showing her the way, an example to (mostly) follow. Seeing him like this is disconcerting, especially when she has nothing but a few hazy memories to cling to.
Soon enough, she's dressed in the least heinous clothes she could find. It was tough. Octavia opens the door and flings a brightly colored scrunchy at her brother's head with a small, sheepish grin in an attempt to lessen the tension. The door's closed behind her.]
I'm ready to figure some shit out if you are.