( 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

[paragon]

Yeah.

[ But he's just glanced down, distracted from the way she'd looked at him by the spot of red at the corner of his eye, and Steve reaches down to grab her hand and hold it up between them for a better look. ]

Did you take the IV out yourself? [ She's wrapped her hand with gauze, but it's already been bled clean through. He meets her eyes again, doesn't say, That was stupid, doesn't even really wait for an answer. He knows, somehow, that she ought to know better, but he's already got the bandage unwrapped before he can even wonder at that. He inspects the back of her hand, fingers curled loosely around her wrist and palm bumping against hers as he confirms for himself that her veins are all still at least beneath her skin, his jaw tense. ] We're not going there yet.

[ He pokes his head out from their alcove, unconsciously lowering her hand between them, still holding onto Natasha's wrist. He checks to make sure they're not being watched before turning back to her, out of sight again. ]

Did they have supplies where you got the scrubs?

[vdova]

[ Her instinct is to pull her hand away, but his fingers are gentle and warm, and she can't bring herself to do it. The attachment she'd felt when she'd heard his voice for the first time hasn't gone away, and there's a sense of deja vu here that she can't shake, that memory of him being angry (but about what), a fleeting sense of being open and raw and accepted despite it. He has her off guard, and part of her is telling her this is bad, that she shouldn't get attached, and part of her is telling her that she can trust him, even if he's being kind of a judgmental jerk right now.

Her jaw tightens, and she follows his movement to peer out of the alcove herself, their hands falling between them in a movement that feels natural. ] No, it was the laundry room.

[ Somehow she knows the protest is futile. Once he gets a notion in his head it's very hard to dislodge it, and if he thinks she needs proper bandaging, then that's where they'll go. ] Pretend you're my patient and pray no one notices we don't have shoes.

[ BEcause if they're gonna do this, they're gonna do this without getting caught, and for that he needs her help.

And that gives her a sensation, and she looks up at him out of the corner of her eye, mouth tingling, just a little. She turns her hand, links their fingers together. She thinks, maybe, she's starting to understand what he is to her. ]

[paragon]

[ He remembers kissing her. Just like that, like the press of her lips to his, without preamble and slotting into place like it was there all along. He's still not entirely sure what to make of it — there was more to it than just a kiss, he knows, but without being able to make sense of how it doesn't seem to matter so much. He'd liked it. He likes her fingers between his. That feels familiar, too. That feels like he knows what he's doing.

If her glance is sly, his own gaze on her is wide-eyed and unapologetically direct even as he moves his thumb to press against the back of her hand. Applying pressure where the needle had come out. He's not fooling anyone, and somehow, he knows, her least of all. But that's not the point. ]

Lead the way, [ he says, because it feels right to trust her. Even though, if she wants her ruse to work, she'll have to let go of his hand, and he'll have to let her. ]

[vdova]

[ There's no sign of her reluctance to let go of his hand. His palm is warm, comforting, someone steady she knows she can rely on (just like that; Natasha doesn't remember much, enough to be paranoid, enough to know that she can't trust anyone but herself except when she can, right now, here). There's an ulterior motive to that squeeze, and she knows it, knows he knows she knows it, but that's all the thought she gives to it.

Natasha doesn't know where the storehouse for the medical supplies is, and they don't have time for her to canvas the place to find it. So the nurse's station it is, and she passed by one that was blessedly empty. She hopes it still is.

But the reluctance is there, perhaps evidenced by the way she moves that hand to the small of his back, ostensibly a nurse guiding her patient back to his room, but partially to hide her bloody hand, partially as an excuse to keep touching him. She's used to touching him, she thinks. Or, at least, she's already aware of just how well her body can slot against his — all the ways they can fit. ]

I'm guessing you don't remember anything either?

[ She pitches her voice low, just loud enough for him to hear. ]

[paragon]

[ Her hand on his back is small but warm, though something in him chafes at being led around like an invalid, even if it is just for show. Even if he supposes it's true, considering the state of his head, but there's more memory even at that, or at least the right angle to dig for it: another hospital— no, a recruitment center, with doctors, including Erskine, a test and what he guesses was the right answer. He was right; he used to be smaller. He's not sure how it was possible to be that much smaller, but the answer seems to be contained in there somewhere even if he can't grasp it yet. ]

Here I was gonna ask you to tell me what I'm missing. [ He doesn't mention that being around her seems to help anyway. He matches her tone, save for a little rueful honesty, and when they get to the station Steve pulls away from her to look for what he needs. He's not as inconspicuous about it as she would probably be, but he ducks down and curls in on himself fairly effectively to go through the drawers while she covers him, somehow knowing what he's looking for and what he's looking at when he finds it. There's no one so much as glancing in their direction anyway. ] C'mon.

[ He unfurls from his crouch even as he pulls them both into a nearby room, looking around quickly for a patient already in residence that doesn't seem to be there before he starts pulling apart sealed plastic to get to the bandaging. ]

[vdova]

[ She slides into place at the station like she belongs there, casually going through what she can find on the desk — not much. A timetable of medications that need to be passed out, a list of rooms and their occupants, a binder of records that she flips through slowly. Nothing she can use, but she files it away mentally anyway. The binder is thick enough that there should be at least a year's worth of patient information, but Natasha can't find any dates that aren't more than month and day. It's odd, and she's concentrating so hard on that that she doesn't see him reach for her until he's already got her by the wrist, dragging her into the closest room.

She stumbles a little, catching her footing as she closes the door behind them, locking it so no one can get in. She holds her hand out dutifully, because protesting at this stage is pointless. ]

There weren't any years listed on those files.

[paragon]

[ For all that he'd dragged her in here, once he's got his pilfered supplies spread out on a small tray near the bed, his hold is gentle when he takes her hand. He swabs it with alcohol first while frowning at her statement, and his opposite fingers circle her wrist naturally, though he quickly realizes she doesn't need him to hold it steady. So he only presses the gauze to the back of her hand, offering his own underneath as support and resistance to the pressure. ]

I may not have much to go on, but that doesn't sound like how you'd wanna run a hospital.

[ He reaches for the bandaging and begins to unravel it. His thumb presses lightly against her wrist bone, turning her hand this way and that as he wraps it around her properly, fingers brushing against both her skin and the taut wrap covering it as he goes. He wonders absently if he might actually be a nurse himself, but mostly— His eyes flick up to meet hers briefly before he looks back to her hand. It's at once full of internalized thought and just as painfully easy to read. ]

You said you don't remember anything either. But you came to find me?

[vdova]

[ She’s silent through most of it, watching his fingers on her wrist, gaze cast low as he speaks. He touches her with care and practice but she already knows he's not a nurse. It doesn't fit right, the way he touches her isn't clinical or detached. It's not the care of a caregiver, but something else. She glances at him once, and that's when their eyes meet, her own gaze inscrutable. She drops her eyes back down to where his fingers are still curled around her wrist, and that sensation returns, of fitting neatly against him, of sticking close and the heavy weight of trust. Her reply is subdued; even she can't really tell what she's thinking. ]

I recognized you. Your voice, [ she clarifies, raising her eyes to meet his once more. ] I mean. I knew that I had to get you out of here.

[ Her brow furrows a little, scrutinizing. ] What do you think I am to you?

[paragon]

[ There's really only way to answer that, but Steve hesitates, because all he really has is the one memory to offer up as proof, and it puts all the onus on her. You kissed me. You kissed me. It really doesn't answer the question at all.

He parts his lips to say something, stops, tries again, and then leans forward to press them to hers. He's only quick about it once they're actually touching, giving her a chance to pull away, the kiss soft and brief before he pulls back again. ]

Hopefully the same thing I am to you.

[ Dropping his gaze from hers, face flushed, he reaches for the medical tape, lifting it to his teeth to tear off a piece so he doesn't have to let go of her hand. The edge of the bandaging held in place by his thumb. He thinks his hand ought to be shaking after that, but it's not even though he can feel it in his gut. ]

[vdova]

[ It feels like the moment lasts longer than it actually does; his lips are soft, maybe a little dry, and Natasha's eyes fall shut, her lips certainly remembering a moment like this, even if the actual events surrounding it are hazy. Kissing back is a reflex. Her reluctance to let him go when he pulls away is not. She opens her eyes slowly, watches the flush spread across his cheeks, watching him tape her hand up, watching him.

She has an idea of what they are. What they could be, certainly what her body seems to think they should be, and there are so many clues to piece together here, a puzzle where all the pieces are the same shape with no picture, so you can't tell how it's supposed to go together without trying to fit every single one together and hoping it works. She stays quiet until he finishes, doesn't wait for him to let go of her hand. She reaches up with her free one and pulls him back to her, parting her lips and encouraging him to do the same. ]

[paragon]

[ He doesn't need much of it; he breathes in his surprise and that pretty much does the trick. It takes him a few seconds to angle his mouth right to let her in — it's a real kiss, not the press of lips of a minute ago, and he figures the muscle memory just took a moment to kick in — but when he's got it, he's got it. He makes a sound in his throat and finally lets her hand go to move it to her waist and pull her closer.

She smells like— medical supplies and blood and ozone, a little, with her underneath, and it's so familiar to him he knows it's something he knows. He's not sure which one of them pulls away first, but he looks at her and thankfully doesn't say any of the inanities that come to mind first. Instead he just looks her in the eye and smiles, grins really while trying not to, open and happy. ]

Well, that answers that.

[vdova]

[ He presses her to his body and it's gentle in all the ways her body remembers it not being. He's always touched her more physically than this, hands firmer around her waist, but it doesn't make it any less familiar. One thing Natasha knows right now is that she was born and raised to trust her instinct, to hone it like a blade and wield it like a weapon, so to deny this intimacy made so casual by the familiarity of it seems folly.

At the very least, it's something she doesn't want to do anyway, and Natasha feels like she's the kind of person who doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do.

She doesn't know who pulls away first, either. His phantom lingers on her lips, her eyes slowly opening, going a little wide when she sees that smile. Oh, if she hadn't been gone before, she was now. She returns it, just as happy though perhaps not as wide, and she brushes her thumb over his jaw before dropping her hand to her side. She nods in response to his comment, remains standing still. ]

We should get out of here.

[ Despite making no move to do so. ]