( 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

[banshe]

[ She jolts as she feels the sudden bump that pushes the body in front of her, following a scene that leaves papers falling like feathers, a cluster of them showering down as she watches the unsuspecting passerby. Another patient, it looks like, nothing necessarily wary but Lydia lingers nonetheless. ]

Sorry. I didn't mean to — [ Her eyes get distracted with the flowing papers again, before blinking and snatching one from the air. She then bends down to begin gathering the rest. It's strange. She felt the need to rush a moment ago, but now everything feels like it slips into a pause. ] Sharp turns, those corners.

[bearswitness]

[ He watches her gather the papers, which is... inexplicably bizarre. He feels that should be his job. And at the same time, he's unspeakably relieved that it's not. So... that makes very little sense.

Irritated at his own confusing mash of thoughts, he opts to ignore them instead. He stoops quickly, gathers a few more himself, and sticks out an impatient hand to demand she hand over the rest. Her apology is neither acknowledged nor excused. ]

[banshe]

[ She watches him as he brings the papers together in his hands, expecting some sort of response and a bit off-put when one doesn't come. Mostly, it's a bit strange in pair with the afternoon's sequence of events. Not knowing why she's here, not knowing where she's going. There's too many questions in her mind, she craves some sort of response from something.

Squinting her eyes when he holds his hand out, she cautiously places the papers back into it. ] Are you a patient here? [ Her eyes fall upon the green mask on his face. Perhaps he's ill. ]

[bearswitness]

[ He considers the question for a little longer than might seem necessary, then shakes his head. He woke up here, true, and he supposes some of the employees here might want to think of him as a patient, but he's on his way out. Wearing a hospital gown as he is just makes him look like a liar, though.

He considers the board the papers had fallen from for a moment, spots large envelope that looks like a likely culprit, and stuffs the papers back into it. There. If they don't go there, doubtless someone else will fix them. That done he turns back to Lydia, regards her curiously, and makes an and you? gesture. Honestly he'd prefer to ask her name, but that one can be tricky to pantomime. ]

[banshe]

[ She finally picks up further on the lack of communication. His attention remains on her and his hands gesture which indicate he isn't necessarily ignoring her as she predicted. ]

You can't ... speak? [ Though she can seem to guess the answer to that question now.

Her hands wring at the edge of her own gown, thin and crumbled. ] I guess it's obvious for the both of us. [ Being patients. She tilts her head, chewing at her lip. ] I never did get to learn sign language. [ If he even knows it. She probably should have added it to the list of languages for her to study in any case. If she has time for Archaic Latin, that should have been an easy one.

She glances around before looking at the board, studying it. Grabbing a blank sheet from the back of the papers, she pulls off the pen hanging beside it before holding both up. ] Can you write?

[bearswitness]

[ Sign language. That's something he's never even heard of, but he can guess what it is by the name — and it's an intriguing idea. For later, maybe. For now, writing sounds like a great idea. He swiftly plucks up both pen and paper, and just as swiftly turns to hold the sheet against the board and scrawls a quick line in beautiful, looping handwriting: ]

Eshkol is my name. I was going to ask yours, but it seemed a little tricky to gather via gesture.

[ He glances over, dropping one shoulder to allow her to read it. ]