( 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

[overdraws]

[ She doesn't let go. She waits for Lydia to count her fingers, stays patient while she lets Lydia run it through her head, because she's done this before. Coming back from the dead doesn't get any easier. BUt she also can't keep Lydia here, naked save for the thin sheet of fabric they call a gown at the hospital, no shoes, nothing. It doesn't even take her any time to make the decision — what decision is there even to make — and Allison steps back far enough to grab Lydia by the hand. ] Come on, I'm taking you home.

[ She tugs Lydia backbehind the counter, grabs her coat and throws it around her best friend's shoulders before taking her through the back to where her car is parked, shouting towards the area where Howard's office is that she's leaving. She doesn't wait for a response, just heads outside to her car. ]

[banshe]

[ Once the fingers are counted, she doesn't know where to go from there. Because what could she possibly be seeing, some false fantasy and what could be if her best friend was still alive? She knows this must have to do with who she is and the torturous ability of having death constantly surround her. But it's never been like this, seeing someone dead be so solid, speaking to her, touching her.

Or has she — ?

She saw Aiden once too, hadn't she? Except it hadn't been Aiden. It'd been a trick of the mind, something to comfort her with false hopes when everything else had been tearing at her in the inside. She can't recall the rest of the details, not where she was, what she was doing, only how she felt. She'd felt like this. ]

Home? [ What was that? Of course she had one, of course she would, but who was that with? A thousand questions pound into her head as Allison takes her hand she lets her. But the rest of her fingers slide against the side of her head, pressing her palm to her ear like that might ease the mental pain that throbs there.

She doesn't try to escape, doesn't know where she'd even go if she would. Her feet are still bare, tracking across cold ground as Allison drags her out. Even if the coat helps, she's still not physically prepared to stay long in this weather. ] You're not here. I'm not here. [ It's mostly a mumbling voice below her breath now, her eyes wet and crazed, fighting an inner battle with reality and fantasy. ]

[overdraws]

[ There's a blanket in the backseat of her car; Allison's always prepared, now, for the inevitable, and the recent blizzard coming out of nowhere had taught her she was going to need something if she ever got caught in the snow in her car until someone could come for her. It's not particularly pretty, but it's an extra layer, and as soon as she's got Lydia in the passenger seat of the car, she's leaning over her to grab it, shaking it out and bundling her up in it, making sure her feet are wrapped up. Frostbite is a bitch, and she's pretty sure that Lydia will be pissed if she has to get her feet amputated.

She pauses, for a second, when she realizes what Lydia is saying, and then resumes tucking her in and putting her seat belt on. ] I promise I'm here, Lydia.

[ She's not sure what else to say after that — either Lydia will believe her or she won't, and Allison isn't going to push. She remembers her first days here, dazed, confused, two conflicting sets of memories pushing their way through her brain (werewolves? Space? Werewolves in space?? She's dead but not anymore but never was in the first place???), and considering Lydia's powers— well. No wonder. She makes sure Lydia is secure, and then closes the door gently, making her way around to the driver's side of the car. The chill in the air is biting, and she shivers a little as she climbs into the car, her only thought that if she's cold, Lydia must be nearing hypothermia. She needs to hurry. Allison starts the engine of her car and drives out of the alley. The roads still have snow and slush on them, and she's not used to driving in it, so it's slow, but her house isn't far.

Well. It's their house now, isn't it? ] Stiles and Malia are here, too.

[ She says finally, casually, trying to fill the silence and bring Lydia out of her stupor. ] I'm sure they'll be glad to see you.

[banshe]

[ Her lip quivers and she can feel the rushing cold still brush over her face and neck even as Allison tucks the blanket over her. There's no such thing as making everything all better, not in her state, but it is an improvement. There's an appreciation towards false Allison even if she isn't quite sure how to order or sort in thoughts right now. Reality and dreams have always been hard to differentiate for Lydia even if she's sure it must have gotten easier over time. Maybe. Recalling just how doesn't really feel possible this second.

But her eyes trail over the fake, trying to find some proof of falsehood. The silk of her hair, the pink of her lips, the darkness of her eyes, it's all so vivid, nothing like a hazy memory. It's real and exactly as the Allison she remembers. Exactly as the best friend she's missed in all her aching moments of feeling loneliness and misdirection, needing her there.

And now she's here. Possibly.

Lydia doesn't say anything for a long time as Allison gets into the driver's seat and puts them into motion. Even she realizes how strange it feels to be at a loss for words, when Lydia always has something to say about practically everything. But her body keeps shivering under the blanket and she knows fear coats her even if she isn't willing to admit as such.

Slowly, her head turns to fake Allison, simply watching again. ] They're safe? [ Were they in danger? She thinks so. She feels it so. ]

[overdraws]

Safe as they can be.

[ She's a little distracted, just because she's driving. Whatever attention she can spare towards Lydia is freely given, and she hazards a glance over at her friend for a brief second. ]

Lydia, what happened to you?

[ She asks the question quietly, concerned and maybe a little angry. She doesn't have the most clear memories from what she was told during her time on the spaceship, but she knows enough to know Lydia was never this distraught. And Lydia never accused her of being fake. The Nemeton maybe?

Something worse? She spares a brief thought to Peter Hale, and how traumatized Lydia had been after that. If he's done something to her, he was going to wish all she did was shove a stun baton up his ass. ]

[banshe]

[ Good. The others were okay. She knows she must have done something that risked that. She knows she was screaming somehow, feeling it in her head, in her throat, the slight hint of a scratchiness still lingering there.

Her cold fingers tighten on her knees with Allison's question. Because she wishes she knew. She can recall the hospital but what else was there. How had she gotten there at all? Wishing she had the answer for both herself and the girl sitting next to her, she shakes her head, fighting back another panic. ]

I was losing control. All the voices in my head, I couldn't keep them away and — [ And what else? What else was there beyond that?

Her teeth chew on her lip, eyes on the dashboard. There's only one memory that comes, even though she isn't sure it's even connected at all. ] You were dead. [ I thought, she almost says. Except she's so sure that she was. But then why would Allison be here at all? This had to be inside her head. But she'd confirmed she wasn't dreaming. So what was it? ]

[overdraws]

[ Allison's mouth forms into a thin line, coming to a slow crawl before turning into the driveway of the house she shares with Malia and Stiles. She doesn't think either of them are at home; Malia has school and Stiles has his own job. It's probably for the best, she can warn them about Lydia when they get home.

She sits for a moment at Lydia's accusation. There's no good answer for that — it's not wrong, but it's not entirely right, either. She's still, technically, dead. But she's still living, breathing, has been since she woke up in that tank covered in space goo. She swallows, looks at Lydia. ] I was. I'm not anymore. I promise, I'll explain, but I need to get you inside and find you some clothes.

[ She doesn't wait for an answer, instead climbing out of the car and heading back around to Lydia's side, opening up the door and collecting her. ]

[banshe]

[ I'm not anymore. How is that possible? Allison was gone, how could she be here again? And for how long? Had she already been here before her own memories had begun to play tricks on her as a result of the banshee side effects? Was she reliving finding Allison all over again and she just couldn't remember? Or had her mind just simply been gone for that long?

It was too much. All of this was too much.

When the passenger door swings open, she can feel the terrifying chill of the air come creeping on her again. ]

Okay. [ She manages to choke out as her mouth quivers again, a tinge of purple on the swell of her lips. Following Allison's gestured cues, she weakly climbs out of the car, pressed slightly against the other girl's body. ] Okay. [ She says it again, not responding to anything in particular this time. ]