( march intro ) WELCOME TO THE PINES!

[officialnotice]

INTRODUCTION LOG

waking up

There was an accident. That's basically the only thing you know for certain. Maybe a car wreck - metal and broken glass everywhere, and the sirens and the screaming. Or maybe there was an explosion. Maybe your bike hit a rock and you careened uncontrollably off a mountain path. You can't can't quite make out the details, not who was at fault or why. Try as you might, the chaos is all you can remember.

It's also the last thing you remember from before you wake up here.

When you open your eyes, the accident is gone. Instead, you're in a hospital bed. You're sluggish, covered in a scattering of minor injuries you only vaguely remember getting, not to mention the vaguely-healed remnants of any wounds you might've had before.

It's a shame you won't be able to tell the difference between the two. Your memories are an indiscernible fog if not absent altogether, only a few standing out in your mind with any kind of certainty.

Whether or not the room's 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. Welcome to Wayward Pines, 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. The hospital's population is quadruple the usual, and you get the impression the nurses are working themselves ragged just running damage control. You can even leave your room without much fuss - whichever doctor or nurse intercepts you gets called away almost immediately to deal with something even more pressing.

Mingle, visit your fellow patients, even poke around for a few basic answers. Or maybe, maybe just stroll right on out the front door.

heading outside

One step outside and it's perfectly clear that your hospital gown simply isn't going to cut it for long. the sidewalks and buildings covered in snow and a crisp winter wind whipping at you through the thin cloth. It's like a scene out of a holiday greeting card or a snow globe, picturesque and nearly untouchable. And yet you're here. Touching it all. Dressed in nothing but a hospital gown. You should at least think about getting some mittens if you're going to keep, you know, touching it.

Trees line the street at regular intervals, carefully manicured and coated in a thin layer of pure white snow. Cars cruise by at a safe and respectable speed. Pedestrians spare you glances, some wary and some concerned.

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 and one that you might: Wayward Pines Police Department. Whether you asked for yourself or simply overheard, you've likely caught wind by now that all of your earthly possessions now lie with the Sheriff until you see fit to claim them.

Might as well head that way, right?

items reclaimed

So you've visited the Wayward Pines Police Department and reclaimed... well. Most of your stuff, anyway, though you can't quite remember what's missing. Best to put it out of mind, as you head down the steps toward the Main Street sidewalk. At the very least, pedestrians have stopped looking at you like you're sick or crazy. (Then again, depending on what you're wearing, maybe it's gotten worse.)

The sheriff also forked over what looks like the key to a house ("A cozy place to stay while you're here in town."), plus the address that it belongs to. You could check it out, see what kind of digs they're putting you up in.

Or you could stick around Main Street and sight-see a little. Also a perfectly viable option. Hell, maybe it'll jog your memory a little. A few of the shops do feel inexplicably familiar...

( ooc notes )

Welcome to the second newbie mingle log! We apologize for the delay.

This log is meant to cover characters' first day in Wayward Pines. For the most part, only the five memories detailed in your character's application are remembered throughout the duration of this log, although the first couple of false Wayward Pines memories might begin to surface (in those who've opted to utilize this mechanic) as the day 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.

Any questions about the log or its contents can be addressed to our FAQ or the intro log's designated Plurk.

Comments

[onteamdyson]

She stumbles when he knocks her with the bag, laughing as she catches herself before face planting into a snowbank. It snaps her out of any melancholy she might be falling into and she looks up at him with a brighter expression and no more blushing.


The way he describes the memories really sum everything up. Yeah. Yeah, she gets that entirely. Some things are like BAM! Crystal clear. Other things are like looking through a really dirty window with the lights all dim. He's also hella reassuring. Like he totally knows what's up and is wise and stuff. It's weird how he's been able to put her completely at ease since she got home.

Weird, but nice. Really nice.

"Good point." She nods, looking up at the darkening sky. After a moment, she gets another urge to just blurt something out. "Do you remember seeing my tits?!"

[comesfrompain]

Watching to make sure Kenzi doesn't upend herself in the snow, Rumlow scoots over slightly to give her some more room on the sidewalk. They're only about a block away from home now and Rumlow's eager to get inside. The jacket's warm, but his hands are cold. No gloves. He really just wants to be front of the stove where hopefully he doesn't end up having another Alzheimer's moment.

Kenzi's sudden question breaks Rumlow from his thoughts and he blinks over at her before barking out a laugh.

"What? Jesus. I mean." He tries to remember. Nope. Nothing. That fucking sucks. "No, I don't. I'm gonna guess it's a combination of the booze we drank that night on top of our mega-amnesia causing that because there's no way I'd willingly forget those."

Kenzi might not be stacked, but that's never stopped him. Boobs are boobs. He's sure hers fit nicely in his hands. And yep, there goes the brain. Amnesia apparently has no effect on the imagination. Sorry for the slightly glazed over look in his eyes, Kenzi.

[onteamdyson]

Flattery is definitely the way to go with her, Rumlow. She appreciates the comment, especially since she's always been a little insecure about the girls and their size. She grins wider, though, when he laughs. When he says he wouldn't forget them. It makes her feel better about not remembering every detail about his seemingly-fantastic bod.

"Right? Like, we must have fucked a thousand times and I can't even remember once which is just-- I mean, it's a goddamn tragedy." It's like a weight has been lifted! The awkwardness between them is gone now that she can swear and talk so blatantly about boning and not be shy and weird, because obviously they've fucked. You don't marry someone this hot and not fuck them. Even for a green card.

She rushes up ahead of him to set one of her bags down so she can unlock the door and let them both in. Maybe not all the shyness is gone. She's still feeling a little shy about it, but that's just because she's never been amazing at flirting or getting dates with anyone but scumbags. Rumlow doesn't seem like a scumbag in the least. He seems like a great guy.

If she wasn't so hungry and eager to actually eat something a little more filling than his junk, she'd probably jump him as soon as they got through the door. Hunger overrides her thirst right now. She should just let the man get to cooking.

"I'll put this junk away if you start making dinner?"

[comesfrompain]

A thousand times, hunh? Well, Kenzi's not wrong. The thought is a tragedy. They must have fucked on their wedding night. Even if they were drunk and he probably had whiskey dick. But they could have before then -- Rumlow doesn't feel like he's the kind of guy that waits, and neither does Kenzi. This selective amnesia sucks.

As Kenzi unlocks the door, Rumlow gives her a murmured 'thank you,' and makes his way into the kitchen. He deposits the bags and starts to unload them, putting the ingredients on the counter and letting Kenzi put the rest away. They might not have had food, but at least they've got crockery, Rumlow thinks as he pokes around in the cabinets to find a pot and a cutting board.

"You can watch if you want," he remarks, feeling a niggling sensation that they've been here before. He reaches for her while she's near, putting an arm around her waist and drawing her up against him. He kisses the crown of her head because that feels so natural and smiles because it makes him happy to be near her.

[onteamdyson]

"Yeah? Do you like when I watch?" She laughs as he pulls her close, not settling for that kiss in the least. There's no cashiers watching now, no little old ladies buying groceries, it's just them. In their kitchen. She holds his face in her hands and pulls his mouth to hers. This kiss is far from chaste.

It simultaneously feels familiar and new. The way she tilts her head to invite him in, the way she sucks on his lower lip before going back for more. It feels like they've done this so many times, but this is the first time she can actually commit to memory. It's so strange, so surreal, but all the more exciting.

When she finally pulls back, she's beaming at him. Nothing but adoration on her face as she strokes his cheek. "There's more where that came from." Aaaand boops his nose with her index finger, "Dinner first."

[comesfrompain]

There's no need for a clever retort. Not with Kenzi pulling him into a kiss that's a lot more than cute. The arm around her waist turns into hands at her hips, keeping her flush while one kiss turns into two and then more. She pulls away and he actually makes a noise of discontent. She reminds him about dinner though and he accepts the responsibility with her promise for more.

At least, until she pokes his nose. That earns her a smack on the ass. Nothing hard, just enough to make her jump.

"Brat," he retorts, but his tone is teasing. Quick enough he's back to business, getting everything prepped. He sets aside the vegetables and goes to find a knife and cutting board. A few minutes later and he's chopping up ingredients and setting them aside in neat little bowls. He's got the water on boil, ready to put in the fettuccine.

"You wanna hand me the box of noodles?" he asks.

[onteamdyson]

That smack does a little bit more than make her jump. Why you gotta go and make her regret bringing up dinner, Rumlow? She wants to hear him make more noises like that when she decides to actually be a brat. Now her mind is all kinds of occupied as he gets to work in the kitchen. She really lucked out with this guy.

"You love it." More snickering as she leans against the counter, jutting her hip out and as she watches him closely. He's good with a knife. She makes note of that right away. Amateur chef much? She wonders what else he can make, reaching for one of the little bowls to grab a piece of zucchini to snack on.

"I mean, I guess so. Gotta trust in your sauce to veggie ratio." She is never forgetting about the complete disregard for shells! You will NEVER live that down! Kenzi grabs the box and hands it over, peering into the bubbling pot from a safe distance. "Aren't you gonna add salt or something?" She vaguely remembers... someone... adding salt before cooking pasta. Maybe her mom? She can't tell. It doesn't stick.

Kenzi turns so her back is to the counter, next to the stove, and pushes herself up to perch on the edge so she can have a front row seat. Wait. She scoots over just a bit to avoid any splash-back because she is not all about adding burns to all her cuts and bruises today.

[comesfrompain]

Giving her a sidelong smile at her retort, Rumlow keeps her in his peripherals, enjoying the lines of her body while still keeping focus on the task at hand. No need to get distracted and cut himself. He tosses her a look as she mentions trust, brows lifting.

"Oh, you'll trust me when this's ready," he says, all confidence. He might have had a lapse of memory before, but this feels like riding a bike. "But nah, salt just ups the boiling point temperature so the pasta cooks faster. I ain't in a rush."

He's still got to prep the oils and the cheese. He finishes up the vegetables and opens the box of noodles, measuring out enough for the two of them and slowly easing the fettuccine into the pot, letting the heat bend the noodles so he can fit them in the rest of the way. He grabs the olive oil and adds a small dollop of that, however, taking a wooden spoon and mixing it in with the water.

"Keeps them from sticking," he remarks.

[onteamdyson]

How does he know all this stuff? Kenzi can barely boil hot dogs, while Rumlow is going pro-chef on veggies and knowing about boiling points and pasta cooking and how to measure it out so you don't end up with like five more servings of it than you actually needed! Kenzi watches in awe, not just of his cooking skills, but his life skills. His... experience, probably.

...Hahah, oh fuck.

He's likely got a lot of other experience. Dude this hot? How the fuck did he end up tied down with her of all people. She can't even remember fucking him, can she remember fucking anyone else? Barely. No, not barely, not at all. What if she's bad at it? What if she has no idea what she's doing and looks totally pathetic? What if he starts sleeping on the couch before eventually moving out and leaving her the entire house?

Or, you know, vice versa.

Get it together, Kenz. He's just making some pasta.

"Did someone teach you all this stuff?" He might know the answer, he might not. That's part of navigating this whole memory situation. She reaches for the spoon so she can give the pot a stir and let him get back to other things if he needs to.

[comesfrompain]

The question gives him pause. Rumlow stands, relatively still as he tries to remember, as if moving my somehow impair his thoughts. Eventually, he turns to her and shakes his head, looking a mix of disappointed and a bit frustrated. He really looks forward to having his memory back -- though, disconcerting thought, what if it doesn't return?

Rumlow refuses to think that and instead gives Kenzi a slight shrug.

"Probably," he remarks, "Or at least in part." Rumlow gets the distinct impression that cooking is a lot of trial and error. He turns and leans against the counter, now that the prep is complete, they just have to wait for the noodles to become al dente.

"Take it you don't remember cooking much?" he asks, deciding to continue the conversation in getting to know his wife.