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
no subject
he just... waits, listening to the less than soothing chatter of the nurse, reminding himself that he's not going to end up stuck here in this room, this bed. ignis is on his way, and they're going to leave together.
when ignis does appear, everything gets lighter. he is, mercifully, as noctis remembers him; he finds a tiny respite in knowing some memories remain with certainty. his hair is more mused than what ignis would usually allow and his visor is missing from his face, but otherwise, he is the ignis noct knows. ]
Ignis. [ it's the only thing he can think to say in his helpless relief, his voice thankfully more than a simple croak. the nurse tending to his pulse, satisfied with her tests or sensing she'd best get out of their way, backs off and the second nurse leads ignis to the bedside. noct really only has a moment to be annoyed by the fact that ignis's cane has not been supplied, the need to straighten up only to lean closer into the safe space of ignis's presence as he sits pushing everything else aside.
every word from his mouth is reassuring—noct, all right, here—and noctis sighs a shaky breath, gaze flickering up to meet his eye, finding a perplexing comfort in the familiar color of a lake iced over. the scars on his face seem stark against what noct thinks is paler than usual skin, a result of lying in a hospital bed for... however long they've been here, but otherwise he seems unharmed. that does wonders in smothering guilt that will surely hang around for possible weeks to come.
for now, all his attention pinpoints to the shuffle of ignis's hand over the sheets, obviously trying to bridge the gap between them more concretely. in an attempt to banish this lost feeling in his head, noct's hand all but dives into the path of ignis's fingers, the promise of this touch holding solace rather than dread. ignis grips his wrist, and by some innate need, noct decides to slide his arm back and let palms touch, his fingers curling around to skim the back of ignis's hand.
at once, he experiences a flash of blossoming memory, kaleidoscope images punching through the dimness of things forgotten into shocking clarity behind his eyes, backyard camping trips and warm kisses at the nape of his neck and the smell of burnt coffee and a painful, longing embrace on someone's front porch that seemed to last hours. the thread that winds its way through every thought, taut and unbroken and holding it all together, is oh, you love him.
and he knows that's true. there is no mistaking it, would be no mistaking it even if a long history of growing up in each other's pockets was not unfurling itself before him, leading up to this holding of hands on a hospital bed.
he pulls in a sharp breath and his chest aches. ]
Hey. [ noct fumbles with the word, surprise and fondness and alleviation making it nearly impossible to get it out at all. the idea that he could possibly misplace this affection makes him hold on even tighter, his whole body gravitating towards ignis even more. ] You okay?
ha HA i fixed it
[ The relief of Noct reaching back hits him so strongly that for an instant that's all Ignis processes, not that it's not overwhelming on its own. Memories fluttering in like images from a flip book feel almost soporific in comparison, and after a soft indrawn breath, Ignis just lets them stream by in brighter than life technicolor detail. Sharing the same swing on the playground. Making up new constellations for Noct after he'd run out of real ones. A particularly muggy summer when Noct went away with his father, and Ignis' right side missed him all the time they weren't together. Kisses in cars and sitting on the same side of a diner booth, backyards and campfires and underwater in someone else's pool. That same porch, his head foggy with exhaustion and a haze of painkillers, something something terrible in his chest finally untying itself as he realized Noct's skinny hug was no less fierce than the last time they'd been here.
Of course. Ignis has loved him as long as he can remember. Everything else seems--unsteady, but that precept feels as solid as the bed he's sitting on. Naturally the thing to do is slip back into what semblance of relative normalcy they can have. ]
I've survived worse.
[ He contends, breezily, then, in more specific detail because Noct sometimes won't accept blithe, blanket assurances: ]
Merely the odd bruise and bump, nothing that won't mend itself.
[ Because of course they are as grotesquely solicitous as each other, Ignis manages to give the impression he's scrutinizing Noct's general state of health in great detail, from the messy top of his black hair down to his toes under thin hospital covers. He wonders for a second how different Noct might look from the last time he could see him. Never mind that, though, it's not relevant to their current situation; what is relevant involves Ignis holding Noct's hand with both of his, expression intent even as it reaches off into the middle distance. ]
And yourself? Forgive me for being elsewhere when you woke.
[ Asking the Ignis equivalent of you okay? with Noct is, as they both know, about more than just contusions and cuts. Ignis remembers how much he hates hospitals and strangers. ]
respect
and he's still alive, still here, already healing up as far as noctis can tell. a quick glance at the skin ignis's hospital gown leaves uncovered reveals only a few abrasions, but he's glad of the reassurances offered anyway. anything to ease the cacophony in his head, not that ignis simply being here is not doing an excellent job of that all on its own. ]
You don't have to be sorry. [ ignis will surely hear the slight lift of a smile in his voice when ignis's hands envelope his, warm and safe, in sharp contrast to the cold crispness of the sheets. noct doesn't blame him for not being here when he must have been lying in a bed similar to this one not long ago, also having woken to an unfamiliar place but of course lacking sight to even begin to parse his surroundings. it is like ignis to apologize nonetheless. noct's smile seems determined to hang on, driven by sheer force of fondness alone, but there is a short pause before he confirms: ] I'm fine.
[ physically, yes, he's fine, only bearing twin bruises and scrapes to ignis. he could say that he, too, has survived worse, but the idea itself threatens to tighten around his throat, and so he decides against it. he'd prefer not to get choked up when the nurses wait patiently nearby, but he fails to feel any sort of calm beyond that which no longer being alone brings. he glances again at the troublesome iv and then back to ignis. ]
Ready to go. [ his voice is soft but carries a note of urgency; he is really ready to go. he's had more than enough of hospitals. ]
more prose oh no
If Ignis finds himself back under scorching sun, sand in his teeth and a warning shouted too late ringing in his ears, it shows only in his grip tightening sharp and tangible, in reaffirming his hold on the lifeline that Noct extends just be being the here and now. Giving Ignis something to ground himself in. The injury and everything after have given way from constant frustration to simply life as it's lived, though surely he must have days even now when complicated things that were once simple seem to punch all air out of any hope of moving forward. Has he learned how to lean on those closest to him without embarrassment stiffening his spine? Most probably that's a work in progress, most probably forever. Case in point, while he's willing and eager to negotiate with staff on their behalf, after that he'll need Noct to be his eyes, given the fantastic inefficiency of the current location of his cane.
His mouth opens, about to inquire if Noct has at least been checked for anything serious (concussion, fractures, quietly insidious damage), and then closes again with a wry twist, good eyelid lowering to halfmast over milky iris. The impression of discrintly having decided not to say whatever that was comes across quite clearly. He's picking his battles. (Which is why later Noct will end up capital R resting while Ignis trots off back to work.)
"Very well." Again, that space where he's quite sure--there's something he would add here.... an endearment? A nickname? "I'll see how one goes about being discharged." Another wry look, chancing - with the help of one hand finding the side of Noct's face - touching their foreheads together without cloning their skulls together, "In the meanwhile I'm quite certain a professional would be more than happy to remove that, were you to ask."
How does he know Noct is fussing with his IV? Three guesses, and the first four don't count. The point is that some minutes later they're free to go, Ignis trying not to look as if he's bitten into anything unexpectedly crunchy as he reaches for Noct's arm.
shhh it's beautiful
He knows from the opening and closing of Ignis's mouth that he's reconsidering something, and in this case, Noct is glad he's decided not to pursue anything beyond getting them out. It's easier this way. If it's so important, Noct will gladly answer any questions later. Or perhaps not gladly, depending on the nature of the inquiry, but for Ignis's sake he'll do his best to be open.
"Thanks." His voice is a little thin as Ignis's hand cups his cheek, fingers skimming over his ear. He leans easily into the contact and closes his eyes, swallowing around a scratchy feeling in his throat. He breathes a surprised laugh at that very helpful suggestion. For a moment, he feels lighter.
"You know best," he says as his eyes open again in the interest of shooting Ignis the tiniest and softest of glares.
It turns out the nurses are well-equipped to remove the iv in much less hasty ways than he himself had been imagining, and before long he's up on his feet, walking fine, body cooperating in all the ways that matter. Thank god.
Noctis juts out his elbow so Ignis can more easily find his arm as he reaches out. He knows, even without that sore expression, that this isn't Ignis's preferred way of doing things, but that doesn't change the fact that Noct is happy to be able to help. Perhaps selfishly, the warmth of Ignis's palm is a welcome sensation.
"Let's get the hell out of here," Noct says in a conspiratory mumble as he leads them to the hospital's front doors, offering a gotta step down as he holds open the door and they find themselves in sunlight and fresh air. When the door closes behind them, he can't help a small sigh of relief.