( 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

[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."]

[paragon]

[ Neither does he, though he's also mostly preoccupied with considering her question. ]

Granted, I don't have a hell of a lot to go on at the moment, but I'm pretty sure we've gone to the moon.

[ He gives her a small smile and relieves her of the armor, which he lifts in one hand like it's made out of feathers, really. ]

Huh.

[greyaria]

["Which moon?" jumps to the tip of her tongue, but that's a very weird thing to say, so she doesn't.]

Somebody drank all his milk!

[Much better.

The cheerful inanity coming out of Emily's mouth is belied by her sharp, analytical expression as she looks at Steve. Then it clears as quickly as it came, and she turns around to let him lift the armor into place.]

[paragon]

[ Which he does with continued ease, after looking down briefly from one arm to the other. It does explain some things about what little he does remember, but he's got no answer to the look she gives him. It's still the part he responds to. ]

If I did, I couldn't tell ya.

[greyaria]

[When the section containing the power plant connects, the armor suddenly starts supporting its own weight, and she stands a little straighter, her movements freer.]

You might be lactose intolerant, but that's rare in children and easily treated in adults.

[Okay, thanks Emily.]

Wow, thanks. Rolling around on the floor to get that in place would have been awkward!

[With the hard parts done, she goes back to assembling the armor pieces she doesn't need help with. It's down to the arms and helmet at this point.]