pineslog | ( february intro ) WELCOME TO THE PINES!

( february intro ) WELCOME TO THE PINES!

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

Outside, the birds sing a joyful song, and though the air is awfully crisp to be wandering around in your hospital gown, the sky's as sunny as you've ever seen it. It's bright enough to make you squint for a moment before you feast your eyes on the quaint little town of Wayward Pines, though that might be in part because of the glare off the scattered patches of snow along the sides of the street.

Trees line the street at regular intervals, carefully manicured. 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 first newbie mingle log! We apologize for the minor 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.

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[ Is nothing sacred to the Salvatore bros?

What she perceives as snark is answered by way of a light shrug, her gaze holding with his to determine the sincerity of his answer. ] Okay. You promised. [ Malia. You...don't have to remind someone of something they just said. Is there a tone of threat there though, if this promise is broken? Yep. Sure is. Light, clear, but apparent. ] You should be able to know what you are too. [ Aww, she actually cares.

Her breath holds for several seconds before she makes a simple statement. ] Werecoyote. That's what I know it's, I'm, called. You remember if you ever heard of that before?

[ He hasn't. And he won't pretend he has. Better off for the both of them that he hasn't, however. ]

Not a lick. [ Hm. ] Poor word choice. I don't, no. Nothing comes to mind. Coyotes, sure, they're animals. The wer part eludes. As does, literally everything else about me. But, maybe, that's one more step to finding who you are. Malia. The wercoyote. [ It rolls off the tongue. ] Your blue-eyed secret is safe with me.

[ It honestly takes Corstine a solid minute to understand what the hell is happening here. Is this child... this tiny, one armed, horned child threatening her?]

What?

[ And then it occurs to her what this kid (young woman?? How fucking old is this girl?) is actually doing. She isn't just threatening Corstine, she's trying to mug her. ]

No. I ain't got money.

[ Sorry, she's not really intimidated by... whatever this weirdo has going on.]

Edited (LAST EDIT I PROMISE) 2017-02-04 07:28 (UTC)

[ Malia rounds back to the hospital after a basic sweep of Main Street. She's left feeling almost entirely the same as when she awoke. Anyone she's spoken to that hasn't come first with a smile has had a set of non-answers for a situation they all seem to vaguely share. Being in an accident and coming out on the other side with little memory. Not cool.

She returns from an instinct that she attributes to wanting to find out if her family might be admitted too. Part of her return may in fact be because it's the first place she remembers after waking up, and some habits transcend even severe memory loss. Backpack over one shoulder, she spots a guy with a different attitude than the rest of the staff, looking like staff, and that draws her in. ] Hey, where were you an hour ago? [ Give or take. What is time, even. She looks at the person he's given a set of scrubs too as they move, apparently, back to their room. To change? Whatever. She doesn't care. ] I coulda used those. It's chilly outside. [ She's in clothes that maybe fit the overall feel of the town (what does she know?) -- an over-sized, plaid button-up shirt, denim shorts, and dark brown, shin high leather boots.

Her hair's still pretty mussed, 'cause who has time for brushes, and her head tilts, forehead creasing as she gets a better look over him. No recognition of who he is, just -- ] Hey, you don't look so good. [ She sees the name on those scrubs then, brows popping. ] Debbie.

[ She instantly frowns at that. Lick. Literally?? What? Anyway, she listens, unable to stop a tiny nod when he points out which part eludes him. Uncertainty flashes through her eyes, unclear if all he's saying holds true to what he feels or if he's just entertaining her. Certainly a guy she just met doesn't really care about who all she actually is.

He ends with that, and her lips press tight together, one firm nod. ] Thanks. If it helps, I don't know why I'm one, or what it means, or...anything really, at all. Mostly just that I can shift into a coyote. [ And that she doesn't always act very human at all, but maybe Damon just thinks she's an awkward teenager. ]

When you find out more about that -- [ she nods at him, a jerk of her chin, emphasizing his entire form ] who you are, maybe you can tell me. Over a sandwich. [ She's not one to linger when a conversation has run its course, and after dropping that info bomb and knowing Damon hasn't got much else to say in the way of answers? It's a heavy time to go, sure, but maybe that house is calling her back. Someone else could've 'gone home' there, too. ]

[ Well that's something to know. ]

When I do, you'll be the first to know. Maybe second. I do have that brother of mine. [ Implied: whether Stefan knows what he is. Spoiler alert: it was obvious in the lobby. Malia doesn't know this. ] Take care, Malia. { And despite outright lying, he finds he wants her to. She should. Nobody here who's woken up has the memory truly backing what they're doing here which leaves him unsettled. But, this benefits him more than her. She's now on the line. ]

[ Maybe honesty paves the way for sharing information. Couldn't hurt to try (could it?), and the shifting detail sort of tumbles off her tongue, anyway. ]

No. Right. If we run into each other again, then. [ Vampires, and their secrets. Why don't you find a diary to go spill your heart into? She gives Damon the start of a smile that fades into neutrality smoothing into acceptance of being on the same page. Or, that's how she sees it. A nod. ] Thanks. You too. Damon. [She gives him another look then turns, heading back in the direction she came from, toward the house that she's been so generously gifted. What a day. ]

[ dont forget her fangs, cor! berserker bares them now in a sneer, palm upturned as she waits for tribute. GIVE IT TO HER, STRANGE WOMAN, SHE AINT FOOLED. ]

You lie. All humans have money! Why else would they fight each other like dogs after a bone? You could not bear to not be prey, so you found ways to hunt each other!

Edited (tfw ur brain moves so much faster than your fingers that you forget entire words and realize hours later) 2017-02-04 20:36 (UTC)

[ the girl malia approaches (and she must be a girl, to be so small, and so slight) shifts her gaze up when spoken to — and her horns finally become apparent, no longer hidden in the shadow of the gurney she is ducked behind. it looks like they have similar plans. berserker looks at malia with scornful bewilderment at the question, though, and her response is a hushed, sneaky tone of voice. ]

... You wish to lock yourself in a metal box. That is no way to escape.

[ her right arm ends several inches above her wrist, white bandages wrapped around the spot where her hand must have been taken off, but she still gestures with it before apparently remembering that part of her is missing. with a grimace, her right arm drops back down to her side, and she points with a clawed, red skinned hand down to the end of the hallway. ]

There is a window. It will be faster than a box, come!

[ i... guess she's leaving that way? berserker grabs malia by the wrist with a forceful tug, and starts to trot purposefully towards said window. ]

Edited (hey laure stop changing where you chop her fuckin hand off 2017) 2017-02-05 05:31 (UTC)

[The motion makes him tense, just a little, a reaction he doesn't know the reasoning for. This doesn't seem like a violent town--maybe wherever he's from is? Whatever the reason, he feels the urge to reach for his shoulder again, and again he misses whatever it is he used to carry there.

Her voice helps settle him, just a little; despite the armor, she sounds nice, and not at all irritated by his question. And even better, what she says actually clears some things up for him, too, as he pulls the rifle scope out of his pocket.]

I guess that makes sense. They probably don't want people who can't remember what's going on running around with guns.

[Although, maybe that's just him, so he hastily adds:]

Unless--do you remember how you got here?

[Knife makes him think, makes him reach back to touch his back pocket, empty of anything at all. He doesn't remember having a knife, but something about it just rings a distant bell.]

I mean--I can't remember much about before. They told me I was in an accident, and I heard a nurse saying something about other people with amnesia. Maybe they think we're gonna go nuts.

[That's reassuring, isn't it?]

Yeah. Exactly.

[10K stands there a moment longer, inventorying his clothing from boots to the goggles perched on top of his head. There are places that feel empty, for lack of a better word, parts of his wardrobe where his hands expect more than just fabric and leather. His right boot, a cargo pocket on his left side, the small of his back, his left shoulder. Sighing, he takes a seat on the curb himself, looking out at the street before shifting his gaze to the boy sitting nearby.]

Do you, uh, remember anything?

[If it's not just him, maybe there's something else going on here. His dad's voice sounds briefly in his head. Pay attention to your surroundings. Even the nicest places got a dark side to 'em.]

10K might not be able to remember anything, but he isn't exactly naturally talkative. He keeps his distance from the locals, watches and tries to find something that speaks to him, something that'll jog his memory. No dice.

What he does spot is a woman who's moving increasingly slower, a woman who--while he's watching--stops dead and clutches a nearby lamppost, nearly doubled over. He's moving before he even thinks to move, jogging across the street and reaching a hand out, even though he stops out of arm's reach.

"Hey--are you okay?"

[It's always a good idea to get the lay of the land. His dad's lessons have stuck with him, even if they're mostly instinct and less actual memory; and barring a tree to climb or a decently tall building with large, open windows, a map is a decent way to do just that.

10K stops a little ways behind the girl currently eyeballing the map, far enough to be polite, feeling in his pocket for the key and paper the sheriff had handed him as he looks over her shoulder.]

They, uh. They said they had housing open. For people who've ended up here, until we recover.

[10K is holding the slingshot they'd given him in his hands, studying it and trying to jog his memory, as the loud guy walks out of the sheriff's office yelling something about missing gear. He'd come back for that very same reason, sure something is missing from his stuff. He speaks up as the guy walks towards him, a dog following along behind, and thankfully he's actually facing Clint.]

Are you missing stuff, too?

[She leans in a little to look at his scope, hands clasped behind her back like a child in a museum who's been told not to touch anything.]

I walked from the hospital!

[Yes, Emily's aware that's not what he's really asking about, but she thinks she's funny.]

...No, they just told me I was in an accident. But if that's the case and I was in an accident bad enough to hospitalize me, why is my armor completely undamaged?

[It doesn't seem to have occurred to her that she might not have been wearing the armor at the time.]

[Ellie glances at one of the passing people giving Ellie and Noah shifting looks, glaring at them until they turned away. Shifting her backpack over her shoulder, she shrugs a little.] Not exactly. I woke up in the hospital, and... I'll be honest, not sure where I'm from exactly. Or how I got here. Just that... I was in some accident.

I don't think I'm the only one either. Guessing you're the same?

[Ellie is pretty good at sneaking about places, even if she isn't entirely aware of it right now.]

Yeah. [She frowns. Her best friend, her mother's knife, the scar on her arm... they all come to her mind. But something as simple as her own name? Nothing.] Not much of who I am anyway. They... the nurses, they said something about an accident? No mention of that I guess?

Only mention of that. Cuts. Abrasions. Bruises. [ He opens a second file. ] You didn't happen to catch your room number, did you?

[ The funny thing is: waking up knowing nothing about himself beyond his name is actually something of an improvement for Bucky, in that he actually has a name this time.

Not that he remembers enough to appreciate that. Really, all he knows right now is his name's Bucky Barnes and he's been in an accident. According to the nurse, a car fell on him. Sounds outlandish, when it's put like that. Like cars are just raining from the sky. Apparently, what actually happened was that he'd been working on the vehicle, but the jack hadn't been secure, leading to... Well. The car falling on him.

That's all he knows, though, and it's not long before the nurse rushes out of the room to tend to another patient. They're busy today, or they're just understaffed. Maybe both. It's a shame that he can't remember anything or even get any answers beyond that brief explanation of his 'accident,' because he's got so many questions, chiefly: why does he have a robot arm? Where did it come from, and how did he get it? Once alone, Bucky tugs at his hospital gown, trying to get a look at where the metal arm meets the rest of him.

He's not prepared for the sight when he finally sees it, marred and angry, metal fused to flesh. He pulls his gown back into place, then tests the arm a bit more. It really is like it's a part of him, moves like his human arm. There's something strange and fascinating about it, but it doesn't keep him occupied for very long. Soon enough, Bucky's out of the bed and taking his first, cautious steps out the room and into the corridor--

Where he very nearly walks right into another man. Startled, Bucky takes a step back, looking him over. At least this face manages to pierce through the fog in his head, and recognition floods into Bucky's eyes. ]

I know you...

[ Steve. Steve-his-best-friend. Steve, who never had much luck with girls. He remembers that little tidbit, oddly. A double date that didn't go too hot. (He thought Steve was smaller. But this is still him. He knows that much.) Bucky looks his friend over, then his lips quirk and he almost laughs at how goofy the guy looks in that almost too-small gown. ]

[ Oh wow, those sure are some teeth. Corstine decides not to get up in this girl's face, just in case she knows how to use them.]

...nah, sorry pipsqueak. I'm fresh out.

[ And then: An idea begins to form. ]

I can tell you who does have money, though. You ca n try mugging them.

Heading Outside

Turians weren't made for cold. Turians weren't made for anything below 15c. Turians definitely, absolutely weren't made for the kind of temperatures that kept snow around, not even the mostly-gone, pitiable patches of it on the sidewalk.

Lantar barely made it to the station, miserable and shivering in his carapace, a blanket borrowed from the nurses draped over his shoulders. He's still shivering in the waiting room, sitting in a too-small chair, ridiculously long legs folded awkwardly up against his chest.

His current opinion (and first, though he doesn't know it at the time), is that nature? Kinda sucks.

You wanna try and strike up a conversation with a popsicle stick of a spacebird man?

Items Reclaimed

Getting some clothes on was a marginal improvement. For whatever reason, they were pretty insulating despite the rather light weight.

He still keeps the blanket wrapped firmly around his shoulders until he reaches the steps leading up to his...

Home?

Lantar's forgets the cold for just a split second, staring up at the single-story building, trying to find some sense of familiarity. He's still staring as he reaches into his chest pocket to retrieve his keys-

And then an ill-timed, cold-induced fumble sends them flying into a bank of snow.

"Shit!"

Wildcard

((OOC: Hit me up at

zapperkat if you wanna plot or something else!))

No shit. It's just another fucking thing I can't remember.

[ At the very least, she'd assumed that a car crash couldn't do such a thing. She only barely understands what a car is, but it didn't seem likely. ]

Doesn't that bother you? All the gaps? Something's going on here, and I don't wanna stick around for it.

I'm not thrilled.

[ Yes, of course it bothers him. But he doesn't know you, and he is not a fan of your eye-eyebrow-hair situation. ]

Yeah, well... [ There's a pause where she tries to come up with a smartass retort, and ultimately fails.] Me neither.

[ With that, she isn't sure she has all that much more to say. She turns and starts to leave. ]

...I hope you figure out what you're gonna do about it.

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Page 7 of 24

( february intro ) WELCOME TO THE PINES!

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inside, perhaps as he's getting closer to the exit.

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waking up.

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Main Street, map

Reclaimed

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