( february 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

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.

Comments

Emily Grey | OTA haha it rhymes

[greyaria]

waking up/heading outside

[Hospitals always have closets full of scrubs. Emily's not sure how she knows that, but she knows it. The metacognitive implications of the matter keep her occupied for a good minute, minute and a half while she's in a linen closet, "borrowing" a set, and a pair of those socks with the grippy bits on the bottom. (Obviously it's not theft if she fully intends to return what she took.) Then she remembers that of course she knows where they keep the scrubs, because she's a doctor. Not at this hospital, though. Everything about it is off to her in a way she can't place, and she stares blankly at a folded stack of tops (green, XXL) while waiting for something else to surface.

Nothing does, and she can't stand around in the metaphorical (and literal--it's a closet) dark all day.

Now in a condition to avoid arrest for indecent exposure, Emily pads on out of the closet, and then straight out of the building, stuffing her hospital gown into a laundry bin as she passes. With only a glance at the helpful sign, she's off towards the police station--who can't figure out gridded streets, really? She looks reasonably like she belongs, as long as you don't get down to her unshod feet. Confidence can sell just about anything, and a person in surgical scrubs isn't a hard sell a few blocks from a hospital.

Progress towards her goal is impeded by the fact she keeps stopping to pet people's dogs and then getting drawn into small talk with the owners. Any eavesdropper will be able to tell she has the same amnesia as so many of them...but she's very cheerful about it, at least on the surface.]

items reclaimed

[It's very kind of the desk sergeant to direct her to the bathroom, and Emily tells him so. She goes in wearing scrubs and carrying something black and shapeless draped over her arm. She comes out a few minutes later covered in a chin-to-toe, skintight suit and a holding neatly folded stack of scrubs, now looking wildly out of place in something straight out of science fiction. The impression is only strengthened when she drags a large plastic bin over to the bank of chairs on one side of the lobby...and starts fishing armor plating out of it.

It's odd. Emily knows the armor is hers, but she doesn't remember how to put it on, and she certainly doesn't want to lug the set across town when wearing it would be so much easier. A simple enough problem; there are only so many ways to protect the human body, and the contacts on the pieces will have to line up with those on the skinsuit. Once she gets a boot around a foot, her hands move on their own, snapping the connections into place and reaching for the next pieces to fasten them around her lower leg.

Then Emily realizes what she's doing and everything becomes awkward again as her conscious mind gets in the way.]

Ugh, procedural memory.

["Not thinking" is the one mental feat she can't perform, and for a moment she's at a loss until she remembers another detail...and starts singing quietly in Italian, occupying just enough of her mind that she stops getting in her own way.

So yeah, there's a woman in the police station singing opera under her breath while putting on high-tech space armor; welcome to Wayward Pines, maybe you hit your head harder than you thought.

Having reached the breastplate and collar assembly, Emily looks around for help. She's pretty sure there's supposed to be a rig for this.]

Excuse me! Would you mind giving me a hand with this?

OOC: Feel free to run into her at any point during her clothes-stealing/dog-petting/armor-donning adventure--idc if she meets five people in the linen closet or whatever; it's a game and that's what handwaving's for. Also I'll match format if you prefer prose, and this is just...basically prose with brackets around it. >_>

armor donning

[oncekind]

[Jiaying on the other hand hasn't considered clothes stealing so she's entering the sheriff's office barefooted and in a hospital gown. The singing and the sight of the partally armored woman is... interesting to say the least and Jiaying finds herself touching her forehead slightly to make sure she isn't losing it. Only briefly though because the woman is looking and it's rude to keep them waiting]

Of course.

[she comes over, stepping carefully and elegantly, mindful of the aches and pains in her body as she reaches for the hopefully not-too-heavy armor.]

What would you like me to do?

[greyaria]

[It's not theft. It's borrowing.

...And good question. Emily looks a bit distant as she considers it, autopilot useless now that she's hit a part that differs from routine. If she were designing the system, the backplate would be lowered into position...]

Hmm, if you can just get it over my shoulders, I think it'll lock into place by itself.

[She's holding out a large section that at least appears simple enough, with two curved segments that seem like they're meant to extend over the shoulders. The pieces are substantial, but not as heavy as they look like they should be, and Emily kneels down in front of Jiaying to make it as easy as possible. (It looks like this, incidentally.)]

[oncekind]

All right. Let me take a look. [She takes the section and moves around behind Emily. After giving her back and the piece both a once over to make sure she has the orientation right, she lowers it into place.]

[greyaria]

[The second the contacts on the armor touch the ones on the skinsuit, there's a click and the piece pulls itself those last few millimeters into place. Emily's mirroring the gesture with the breastplate, and the two sections join themselves together around her torso.]

There we go!

[Emily gets up, smiling, and slaps one of the pauldrons over her shoulder.]

Thanks a bunch. That would have been awkward on my own.

[Pause.]

...You want to borrow my scrubs?

[She jerks a thumb at the chair where she left them.]

[oncekind]

[Jiaying takes a step back as the armor clicks into place and smiles] You're welcome. [and after looking at the small group of people hassling the sheriff, reaches for the scrubs to wear over the gown] And thank you. I didn't think to ask for this back at the hospital.

Are you military?

[greyaria]

["Ask." That's so cute.

Emily continues assembling her armor as they talk. She's down to the gauntlets at this point.]

Military surgeon.

[Apparently military doctors where she's from get sophisticated power armor. Emily herself can't remember why, or any details at all really, but she's quite sure she's 1. a doctor and 2. in a military, so QED, she guesses.]

[paragon]

[ Sore thumb or not, there's actually something familiar about seeing the woman suit up. Steve couldn't say why with any certainty; he doesn't think he knows her, so it probably has more to do with the flag he calls a uniform in the swiss cheese of his own recollections. Different versions of it even, he now realizes as he glances away, listening to her sing (he understands enough to get the gist, which is another revelation) and waiting for his turn amongst the backlog of people trying to retrieve their possessions, most of them in hospital gowns, or stolen scrubs like himself. (Motorcycle accident, his foot.)

He thinks it's not just the look of the getup that strikes him, though. It's . . . the layers of the thing, the stops and starts in her familiarity with it and the military efficiency during the starts. She's a soldier, and while he doesn't remember much about himself, he remembers enough to know it's what he is, too.

Not that he's planning to say anything to her — it's a little hard to trade war stories when you can't remember the war — but it does keep him from becoming too flustered when she turns her head to ask for his help. Just slightly awkward. He steps out of what he thinks is meant to be the line, says, ] Sure.

[ He gives what she's already wearing a quick once-over before looking at the armor in her hands with a slight furrow in his brow, pointing at the attachments and making a motion to indicate its assembly with his hands. ]

Like so?

[greyaria]

Probably? I'm coasting on common sense and muscle memory, here.

[She shrugs one shoulder, not too bothered by the memory loss just yet, or hiding it well.]

It locks on once the contacts on the suit touch the ones on the armor. Sure hope I remember how to get it off later!

[She's very perky for an amnesiac in power armor. Or for anyone not actively teaching kindergarten right that second, really.]

[paragon]

Might need a rig for that.

[ He gives her a wry smile and goes about lining up the armor without much trouble — it could even be called efficient, for someone who's probably never seen anything like it. Maybe. Which doesn't mean he's not flushing slightly as he goes. He's not gonna mention it if she isn't, but that's yet to be determined. ]

Wouldn't blame you for having second thoughts, though. It's a lot to lug around.

[greyaria]

Or a blowtorch! If you see me storming out of the local mechanic's looking peeved, you'll know that's what it took.

[Still perky.

The flush doesn't go unnoticed, but it does take Emily a beat to figure out the cause. He's clearly not exerting himself to lift the breastplate, so why--oh. Breastplate.

That's adorable.

Fortunately for his equilibrium, minor fluctuations in Emily's high baseline levels of cheerfulness are hard to detect.]

I'm reasonably certain the back section contains a small power plant and the armor is self-supporting when fully assembled. That's how I'd design it, anyway.

[paragon]

[ If Steve finds her mood odd, he doesn't show it. Or try to get away, at least not until he's lined up the armor to the contacts as instructed and takes a step back to inspect his handiwork. ]

Maybe it'll fly, [ he suggests, already less red in the face. His tone is as moderated as hers is not, but it does make it easier to detect subtle wryness that way. ]

[greyaria]

Oh, I'm not sure that would be a good functionality to implement. Have you seen what most people do with only two dimensions at their disposal?

[She surprises herself by not thinking the idea of flying armor is that out there.

Okay, handsome, time for the back. Emily holds out the relevant section, sort of. It's a little heavy for her, and "holding out" is really more of "awkwardly hugging the piece like a small child trying to carry an uncooperative cat."]

[flowerida]

Now where on earth were those when I needed them?

[ Butch has taken time out of his busy schedule of ninjaing around in the almost nude to appear casually behind Emily and... admire the scrubs?

To be honest, it was the lack of proper shoes that attracted his attention initially. Nurses on break tended to have sneakers to walk around in after all. Nurses on break on a chilly day like this also tended to have proper coats. This was clearly another fellow patient.

One of the more potentially interesting ones. ]

[greyaria]

[War makes a girl hypervigilant...not that Emily realizes that's why her pulse spikes and she whirls around, hands instinctively balling into fists. Then her brain catches up to her nerves and her intensely focused expression melts into confusion. She blinks, surprised at herself for going all fight-or-flight on a pleasant downtown street.]

Uh.

[She straightens back up, smoothing her hair in an embarrassed gesture.]

There's usually a closet of spares every floor or so. The worst things come out of patients sometimes.

[Probably not the most tactful thing to say to a man in a hospital gown, but judging by the scars all over his exposed skin, he's leaked some unpleasant stuff onto doctors himself.]

[flowerida]

[ The reaction was just as interesting as he'd hoped!

For all that the woman looked ready to slug him, Butch barely bats a lash, his perpetual smile still present and unwavering. He has the courtesy to keep his hands in view and not move closer, at least.

Lingo sounded medical which went pretty well with the scrubs. That reflex suggested someone familiar with combat however, and Pines? Pines didn't seem like the sort of place you'd pick something like that up.

Which does bring up the question: where the hell did he pick up all this knowledge? ]

Oh, I can imagine! [ said with the confidence of someone who has been covered by all manner of gross people things. Nothing that he can remember right now, but he knows of them. ]

Sorry about the scare there, [ Butch offers his hand up for a shake. ] Didn't mean to sneak up on you like that. I'm Butch by the by. Butch Flowers.

[greyaria]

[Emily automatically accepts the handshake, eyes flicking down to the tattoos on his forearm initially, but drawn to the scars for a moment before she remembers her manners and looks him in the eye again.]

Emily. Dr. Emily Grey.

[The scars. Too many, too varied to be the result of one tragic accident. Fragmentation and burns at the same time? Sure. A long, clean blade incision and defensive wounds on his hands, too? No way. He's been injured over and over again.

Soldier.]

[flowerida]

[ That handshake lingers a second longer than the social norm and Butch could just about feel the way she was reading his scars, watches the minute shifts in her expression.

What did she see, he wonders. Something he didn't know, he's sure, and the fact makes the man feel just a little bit exposed. ]

A Doctor! [ Medical sort confirmed, at least. Butch beams and gives her hand another firm shake before gently withdrawing ]. It's lovely to meet you! I'm heading to the police station. You going in that direction too?

[greyaria]

In the absence of a better idea, yep!

[She's not getting far in too-large slipper socks, after all, and it feels wrong to be wandering around in just scrubs, in a way that's somehow more than the outfit feeling out of place outside a hospital.]

Seems like you need the trip a little more than I do.

[No one has ever fit in a hospital gown properly. No one.]

[malignans]

[The closet door swings open, and were it anyone else on the other side, she might have managed to nail them straight in the face with it. But even still feeling a little off-kilter from waking, Dio's reflexes are sharp. An outstretched hand stops the door from getting any closer to Dio, while still leaving whoever is coming out of the closet plenty of space to do so. Dio pushes it closed once Emily steps out in her scrubs.]

[He looks her over just once, and immediately spots the hospital gown still in her hands.]

If you're trying not to arouse suspicion, you might want to not be in such a hurry that you give someone a concussion.

[greyaria]

Concussion? Oh no, if you stop a door with your face, you're much more likely to break your nose.

[Obviously.

She notes the comment about "arousing suspicion" because who jumps to that? Someone up to something, probably.]

Sorry, though. Are you all right?

[Emily looks up at Dio, checking for damage more subtle than a broken nose. She prefers to only hurt people who deserve it.

...Wow, that was a weird thought to have. Kind of antisocial!]

[malignans]

[Despite the scarring on his neck — both the older scar that seems to wrap completely around his neck and the fresher scar that runs perpendicular to the older scar — Dio seems to be in perfectly healthy condition. As it so happens, he'd have left the hospital already if it were possible.]

I'm fine. [The answer is a touch terse.] Where are you off to with those scrubs?

[greyaria]

Haven't decided yet!

[Also none of your business, Mr. Nosy.

That is a very odd scar, and Emily's eyes linger for a moment as she tries to categorize what injury would leave it and not kill the patient. Could be a surgical procedure, she supposes. Maybe she'll ask after he's done interrogating her, which is likely to prove pretty frustrating for him, Emily being who she is.]

[malignans]

[Dio arches an eyebrow.]

You didn't think that might be important to have already decided?

[greyaria]

Nope!

[Her ultimate destination is the police station, but who knows what might happen in the meantime? Like needing to lose big guys with questionable opinions about their rights to other people's itineraries.

Emily starts on her merry, or at least perky way. Dio can follow or not, but she's not feeling particularly inclined to stand around in the hallway answering a stranger's nosy questions.]