( 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

[comic_relief]

We should try it. Can't hurt. The more "new" things we do, the more we might remember we've already done them.

_{[Jack, don't joke about cooking your mystery egg... There's another boy lodged in his memory, a different blond boy who likes to build houses of cards in between classes, who'd be very disappointed in his taste of humor right about now. Chocobos are friends, not food... outside of a famine situation, anyway.]}

But if we don't like eggs, this is a lot of egg to have to throw out.

_{[So maybe... they shouldn't? Maybe.]}

[sirnyxalot]

That's true. I'd hate to waste food.

[Although if he hated eggs then it's not like he'd be mourning the loss.]

Maybe it's some kind of mammal. It'd have to be huge. That's a lot of meat if we wait.

[comic_relief]

<sub>[With his shaky biology background, Jack's mind goes back to big birds. It always goes back to big birds. He has an impression of yellow feathers and long, hooked toes--but the details, like his understanding of biology, are vague.

He stops at a corner to let the traffic pass, the cars on the road stirring no such feelings of familiarity. Normally, one has to pry a joke out of Jack's cold, dead hands. But since when does normal factor into Wayward Pines? He doesn't remember to put up walls between what he thinks and what he says, so what he says is something closer to the truth.]</sub>

I don't know what the right thing to do is... _{[The humor in his voice drains out in a sigh.]} Getting rid of it would be the easy thing. The smart thing. But I have this feeling like it matters that I keep it.

[sirnyxalot]

[Nyx considers him for a moment. He understands the sentiment. Vague feelings are all that either of them seems to have anymore. It's weird how something so small becomes so important when you have nothing else.

He sighs. It's not a put down sound, more just a calming exhalation that doesn't even begin to encompass how either of them are doing right now.]

You do know the right thing. You already have your answer, you're just not sure how to go through with it.

[He studies the egg. He has no such familiarity for it, though you'd think he would have been with Jack when he first got the thing. It was important to him only because it was important to Jack.

Still made it pretty damn important, all jokes aside.]

We're going to figure out how to make sure it stays healthy in that thing, and once it hatches we're going to make sure it has a safe and caring home. Consider it the dog we never got to have.

[We. It's Jack's egg, but Nyx never has any doubt that he'll do whatever he can to help out. It's what you do for family, right?]

[comic_relief]

That's just it--is what I want the same as the right thing? _{[He rolls his weight onto the balls of his feet, then back onto his heels, rocking in place.]} Most of the time I don't even know if I can trust what I'm feeling or thinking. Ever since waking up in the hospital it's just been...

<sub>[A mess. A big, mentally taxing mess.

He trails off, seemingly unable to find his words. When it's safe to cross he starts forward, turning his head to shoot Nyx an apologetic sort of smile as if sorry for the heavy confession. The Jack who's been soldiering since he was seven would never have said it, not in the habit of sharing his thoughts if not in the form of a joke or a sarcastic comment; even now, there's a knee-jerk reaction to hide it behind a smile.]</sub>

Thanks, Nyx.

_{[A safe and caring home. Why does that leave him aching at the same time it makes him happy?]}

[sirnyxalot]

[He watches Jack, following across at a more sedate pace. The confession hits him probably as hard as Jack because he's in the same boat. But one thing he's learning that he's good at is getting up anyway to keep putting one foot in front of the other.]

You know, it doesn't matter how lost we are. It sucks, and we can't do a damn thing to change it. But we're still here. We're alive, [His voice catches a little.] and we're not alone. It counts.

You'll do right by this thing. I know it.

[comic_relief]

<sub>[His smile takes on a fainter, softer agreement as Nyx echoes his words from the other day. Yeah... yeah, that's right.

I'm so glad I'm not alone. Like a struck gong, the words reverberate through his body, almost something he can tangibly feel like the comforting touch of a hand. He has the vaguest impression the sentiment belongs to someone else, words spoken in a voice not his own, but they come with a feeling of whole-hearted clarity. If he still has breath in his body to complain and vent worries with, he can keep going. He can carry doubts about everything else, but not that.

And those other kids in the red capes... He can find them.]</sub>

Thanks. _{[He means it, more than before. For the vote of confidence, and for being here.]} I guess that settles it. I'm betting this little guy wouldn't want to be alone, either. Better he stays and knows he has a couple friends around, whatever grotesque monster he turns out to be.

[sirnyxalot]

[Nyx reaches forward to grip the back of Jack's neck: a reasurring touch that turns into a one-armed hug.]

So long as it's not a malboro. All bets are off if I have to deal with one of those... [He falters. The name had been right there on his tongue: the most disgusting creature he could think of. But as with everything else he couldn't form a picture of what it looked like or why it was so distasteful.] ...whatever they are.

[comic_relief]

_{[Jack closes one eye in a wincing expression when he's suddenly drawn into an embrace, Nyx's arm a warm weight along the back of his neck. Careful with those guns, Nyx, you could pop a guy's head clean off if you squeeze your biceps too hard.]}

You're gonna make me trip up doing that!

<sub>[He'll do no such thing, and a smile curls at his accuser's mouth, but as young on the cusp of adulthood, it's his duty to insist PDA is lame if it's not coming from a hot chick. With luck there are none of those currently watching Nyx baby brother him; he tends to be overshadowed when Nyx is around in all his rugged, scarred majesty. (It's not fair.)

As quickly as his adolescent chagrin comes on, mention of malboro disperses it just as quickly: rain, heavy sheets of rain falling like a curtain, making telling apart the fleshy green tentacles from the dark, water-logged foliage difficult, having to rely on sound and smell to pick up on its foul breath.

In the end, it's not the hug that trips Jack up, but the memory. His heel scuffs the concrete and he breaks pace to drag a step, blinking as the memory neatly slides into place.]</sub>

Tentacle monster with the teeth. I remember that. They belch fumes that smell like a septic tank.

[sirnyxalot]

[Sorry, bro, you're going to get smothered in affection and like it. Don't make him break out the noogies. Those were a 90s thing, right?

Nyx pauses as Jack actually does stumble a short step, recognizing the vague expression on his face. They've done a lot of memory searching this past week.]

...you're definitely not keeping it if it turns out to be some fanged monstrosity that'll live in your toilet.

[comic_relief]

_{[He'll tolerate it for now. Baby steps. Liking anyone near him who's not Arecia is brand spanking new territory, and Nyx is decidedly not... very Arecia-like. He has a gut feeling he'll have to navigate a lot of new changes before things start to make sense again.]}

I don't even have a toilet.

<sub>[Unless you count the hospital's toilet. Or... Nyx's toilet, maybe. Does he still live with Nyx? It's one of those grey areas in his memory he's not sure about and hasn't had to worry about with a bed of his own at the hospital.

He's distracted from thinking too hard about it by spotting a footpath trailing off into the forest on their right. He points to it.]</sub>

There! I think we can follow that a ways, it should take us there.

_{[Remembering man-eating malboro in a dark forest should give him pause about entering another dark forest, but if anything, the prospect of aligning the present a little closer to the past is a reassuring one. He's not weak. He doesn't have to be scared. That, he remembers intrinsically.]}