pineslog | ( 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Butch Flowers," he says brightly, gesturing to the other empty bed opposite of him for her to sit down on. Those scars didn't look like the sort she should be walking around with. "I only got my own name back about a day ago, so don't worry sweat it! It's been an awful confusing week so far."

Her question gets a slightly confused look.

"Not the ward for babies, unfortunately," Butch murmurs contemplatively, tapping his finger against his chin. "Pediatrics is a level down, I think. Might be worth asking there?"

She sits, grateful for the invite if only because the injuries that bother her the most are her back and neck. One of the scars that line her face appear to have been tended to as well, along with her bandages on her arms.

"It has," she agrees. "And I did. My baby wasn't there. I thought I'd ask around here. Before I go to the sheriff." If nothing else, she seems tired.

The sheriff probably won't help. Butch doesn't tell her that, though. Not out of any real sympathy, but more a need to maintain some semblance of outward... compliance.

"Haven't seen any manner of toddler around here, unfortunately," he offers instead with careful sympathy. "Youngest I saw were some harried looking teens. You have a more detailed description maybe? I'll be sure to keep an eye out."

Well, that sense of needing to maintain a semblance of compliance won't truly hit her until she's out in the street, so for now, she's more concerned with being a good mother. A good mother with a missing child.

"She's a new born with light puffs of adorable little brown hair," she can't help but smile fondly at the memory. She lets out a breath. "I'm sure my husband's with her. They could be home right at this moment."

"Awww, that sounds downright precious," Butch says, cupping his chin, his eyes lighting up. "I'm sure she's alright if she's not in here with you, yeah? The staff would've had to tell you if you came in with a baby at least."

That seems right, right? Medical folks need to disclose that sort of information, right?

But none of the patient forms he managed to get his mitts on had any family contacts listed. Something else, some older, formless instinct, tells him none of the folks here were going to be giving any of them any answers at all.

He'd been about to climb out that window for a reason.

"You just gotta give your brain some sorting time. Did you wake up remembering that you had a daughter or was it something you got back in a bit?"

She smiles warmly at his reaction, genuinely happy to finally receive any kind of positive response to her mention of family. "She is. Very precious." At the question, she nods, "I remembered it upon waking. It's... one of the few things I remember."

She shakes her head, "But this just means I must go to the sheriff's office. The nurse said my belongings are there and he'll know where I live." Which, well, let's not wonder why the hospital either doesn't have a record of that or can't be bothered to tell her.

"It could very well be that we're here temporarily?" Butch offers, tapping his chin contemplatively. "Maybe that's why there's all this weirdness going on."

Again, something that he seriously doubts. The nurses act like he'd always been here and that he was supposed to have always been here despite all the missing pieces. He hadn't directly asked, of course, but the implications were there.

"Either way," he says, waving it off. "You should definitely try calling the office before you go anywhere. You're not looking in any shape to be running around in the chilly subzeroes there."

She smiles wryly, looking down at her bandaged person. "I'll be fine. I think I just need to get out of here. Thank you for being patient with me. Hopefully the next time we meet I will have a name to offer."

Butch shrugs. Honestly, he's not going to be the one to stop a badly scarred person from wandering around in the cold snow and ice if they felt like it.

"Oh, it's no problem at all," he smiles. "And I look forwards to hearing it! Maybe we can have some tea together?"

Assuming she survives the cold anyways.

"That would be lovely. Take care." She'll survive. She's an angry mother. They can survive anything. Probably.

( february intro ) WELCOME TO THE PINES!

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