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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Waking up.
[ When Corstine's eyes snap open, in this strange and alien place, she doesn't take the time to question where she is, or what happened, or any of the other pertinent questions. They don't even come to mind, at first.

No, the first thing to come to mind was 'oh shit, I was asleep.'

Followed shortly thereafter by 'oh SHIT. How long was I asleep?'

She bolted upright in the strange bed, straining the still-healing wounds on her body slightly, and began desperately searching for her belongings. Under the blankets, under her pillow, on the bedside table - but the item she was looking for was nowhere to be found.

So she started yelling. ]

Hey! H-HEY! WHERE'D YOU PUT MY SHIT?

[ She isn't even sure who she's trying to attract the attention of, honestly, but she's the sounds of other people out in the halls. ]

There should be a flute here, somewhere! Where'd you put my fucking flute?

[ Her eyes are wide, and she's out of bed now. She can't remember much - not how she got here, or what sort of place this is - but one of the few things she understands deeply in her soul is that she needs to get her hands back on that instrument, or else something terrible will happen to her. ]

Hey you! Y'seen a flute anywhere? S'bout yea long? I think someone here took my shit, and I need to find it quick.

Items Reclaimed

[ Once someone managed to explain to her that her items could be found at the sheriff's office, Corstine didn't waste any time running there. Barefoot, outside in the cold, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The only pauses she took were to get her bearings a time or two, and even that was only for a moment.

The look of relied on her face when she gets it back from the sheriff, though, is palpable. She doesn't even waste time putting her clothes on before she snatches the silver flute from the deputy's hand and played a few bars.

She honestly isn't sure why she had been so close to an anxiety attack. She just knew, in the pit of her stomach, that she was so much safer now that she'd managed to get her hands on her instrument.

It's only after that, that she throws on the clothing provided by the sheriff. Bots, a cotton shirt and breeches, a vest made of fur, and a simple iron breastplate and helmet. A bit different than what everyone else had been wearing, but it was a hell of a lot warmer than that gown had been.

And besides, if she really had been in danger, a little bit of added protection couldn't hurt, right?

And so, not even an hour after that display of screaming and panicked running, Corstine can be found walking down main street, away from the sheriff's office. Fully clothed, and far more confident. The woman brings the shiny silver instrument back up to her lips and plays.]

[The Griffin did stay still for a bit as he tried to figure out if he'd actually been injured, but soon figured that whoever had been looking him over had no idea how to diagnose injuries. So now he's walking down the hall, still trying to get his bearings. He stares at the screaming woman.]

I have not, although I admit I have not been looking at whatever small objects might be left around here.

Waking up - visiting other patients

The explanations from the nurses leave much to be desired but the pain in her back and neck, along with the scrapes on her face and arms must mean she's been in an accident. Could what they say be true? Did she just forget?

After lying in bed for an hour, she decides enough is enough. With the doctors and nurses distracted, she slips out of bed, bare feet touching a chilly floor, and pads out of her room. She keeps her arms wrapped around herself, both from the cold and from how alone she feels. She remembers a family - a baby girl. Where are they?

She begins to visit every patient's room, knocking politely before giving them a worried but friendly smile.

"Hey. I'm sorry to interrupt but I needed to talk to somebody. Do you mind if I come in?"

Items reclaimed - asking directions
She excuses herself quickly upon receiving her items - her clothes and what appears to be a triangle of three coins. The gaze and words left by the sheriff and personnel unnerved her and as soon as she's changed, she leaves, not bothering to pick up the hospital gown after her.

She walks along Main Street, looking around, trying to jog her memory but the more nothing clicks, the more her frustration shows in a furrow of the eyebrows.

She browses the shops, idly running her fingers across the glass windows, pausing when she sees something of interest. Mostly, she can be found in front of the school and while searching for the house assigned to her.

"Excuse me, do you know which way to--" she indicates the address written on a piece of paper

Items reclaimed - injuries
She grimaces as she walks along Main Street, shoulders hunching suddenly as a sharp pain shoots up her spine. She tries to cover it up but after a few more agonizing steps, she has to come to a sudden stop against a lamp post, leaning heavily against it as she tries to catch her breath. The nurses did say to take it easy but she didn't think it could get this bad.

She shuts her eyes, trying to ignore the feeling that there are people staring at her. This pain is the least of her worries. She has more pressing matters.

So she tries to take a step and this time has to bite back a cry. Looks like she's going to be friends with the lamp post for a while.

Edited 2017-02-01 13:39 (UTC)

heading outside

[ Even making her way out of the hospital, her head is still full of the blare of alarms as her ship lost altitude. Her ribs and the back of her head ache; that lines up with the clear memory of being smashed against the ceiling as it plummeted. She tries to slot it all into place in a wider context, and finds a whole lot of nothing when she reaches for it. But the nurse bustled off without giving any satisfying answers and Aranea wasn't about to wait around for the doctor, so... off for the sheriff's office. When the doctor's seen you and you're feeling up to it, the nurse had said, but nothing's going to make her feel more up to it than being in something other than a crinkly hospital gown.

The town is weird. Bright enough to make her shield her eyes, all full of little cookie-cutter buildings and trees that've been told how to grow. Even with the scattering of snow there's a warm, cozy air about it -- but that does fuck all to help her feet, which are freezing.

The faster she makes it to the sheriff's office, the faster she's dressed. That's enough to propel her along at a speed that means she misses a lot of what's around her, hand occasionally straying to her banged-up ribs, the occasional un-neighborly curse dropping from her mouth. ]

items reclaimed

[ Back in black. There's more, but it's hard to be too angry about it when she's finally dressed and has some damn footwear. Better to find this house before she kicks off about it; a house means somewhere to keep her shit. Raising a fuss means risking not getting the shit at all, and possibly having the offer of the house rescinded. She heads off in the direction advised, her posture totally different now she's back in her own gear; not hunched and hurrying, but shoulders back, hips forward, the heels of her red boots ringing in her wake.

Her ribs still hurt like a bitch, but you wouldn't guess it from her face. That's mostly devoted to giving sideways glances to all the creepily cute trappings of the town. ]

a » items reclaimed

( the temperature, while not low enough to be frigid, is felt extraordinarily keenly all the same - while the hospital gown provided little to no guard against the cold, the blond is a hundred percent sure he was never dressed for the weather to begin with. rubbing at his upper arms is the only way to attempt generating some meagre bit of warmth, and as he wanders around trying to find his bearings he can't help but marvel at how perfectly quaint the town looks - like something right out of a postcard, and in the time prompto's taken to cross two streets he's already come up with six ways to frame this snow-covered suburb.

welp, he might be looking for his place, but there's no time like the present when it comes to photos. besides, his camera's got some battery in it, and if he doesn't do it now then variants on lighting and weather conditions on other days might mean he'll miss the chance altogether. he'll just be clicking away, then, despite the cuts and abrasions and bandages wrapped tightly around his left wrist. in clothing entirely inappropriate for the season, he stands out like a blot of grey and gold in a sea of white. )

b » wildcard!

( prompto will likely be taking pictures around the town and ducking into cafes and shops for warmth before popping back outside. feel free to run into him if you feel like doing other stuff that isn't listed! if you have an idea in mind, lemme know and we can plot something c: )

[Corstine raises her single eyebrow at the sight of the creature before her - almost flinching back at the sight of it, before realizing that, no, this thing isn't what she's so afraid of.

She's still not entirely sure what it is, specifically, that's causing her so much stress, but there's no doubt in her mind that something awful is going to happen if she doesn't get her hands on that flute soon. ]

What the hell have you been doing, then? We need to find it, and fuckin' soon.

waking up, in room ]

[ Vampires tend to jolt upright, regaining consciousness being a sudden action. The grogginess is unwelcome and unfamiliar to Damon, as are the brief aches from blunt forced trauma he's told he endured. When he comes to, all at once he has two thoughts - where is he and where is his brother. Throwing the blanket aside, he seethes when his arm passes a beam of light, leaving remnants of the momentary sizzling in the air. Immediately knowing what this means, he brings his left hand up. His middle finger bare, he gives a quick look around, but before he can do anything he's accosted by nurses and, maybe a doctor. He's weaker, probably from whatever accident had occurred, and maybe that's why he doesn't send the nice orderly flying. Playing along, he takes snippets and files them away.

He's in a place called Wayward Pines, and he needs to make a recovery. Or, he will.

The doctor tries to check his pulse and his wrist passes another beam of life. Damon flinches, yanking his arm back. The doctors converse and as fast as they swarmed on him, they're gone again.

Two things now are on Damon's mind: finding his brother and finding his daylight ring he knows he needs.

He pulls all the wires and the IV that's in him out, tossing them to the ground. Sliding out of bed without hitting the beam of light streaming through his window is a task, but he manages it. Now if only he weren't stuck behind it. ]

hospital hallway ]

[ When the angle of the sun becomes more forgiving, Damon doesn't hesitate to storm right up to the abandoned nurses' station. ]

Hello. [ He calls out, looking around himself. A nurse catches him, intercepting as he rounds the desk. ] Discharged or not, you can't keep a man's personal belongings from him. They aren't in my room. [ begins to scold him, trying to usher him away, but she listens to an inaudible page and she's off again. ] Hey. Personal effects. Effects that remain on someone's person!

[ Eyes narrowing, he rounds the nurse's station to find any information he can, like his chart, or where things are kept after they're cut off of someone. Because, logically, he's in a gown, his clothing must be in shreds. The first thing be notices is the computer. The manila envelopes. The familiarity of the decor and taking in the machines that had been plugged into him. Ransacking the desk completely, he tries to find evidence of the date. If the year is 1994 he is going to flip his shit.

More than he already has. ]

heading outside ]

[ It's not until night that Damon even makes it outside, and screw anyone who thinks he'll be found bare ass naked in a hospital gown. No, no, he'll be clothed by then, wearing all black. He finds himself down Main St, the lights of the closed shop garnering his interest. Damon's always been a curious one, but something else fuels his curiosity and sheer not having any of this shit stuck in the dark bull.

One storefront gives him pause.

Lagomarchino's, the confectionary and deli, seems to speak to Damon's Italian roots. It's as if, in looking at the menu provided, he can taste some of their sandwich selection. It's on the tip of his tongue even. Inexplicably, it feels like he's been here, mostly for lunch and in passing for a mid-day/late-afternoon snack. None of this tracks. Damon knows five things. One and two, he's a vampire without a daylight ring. Three, if it comes down to it and he needs to drink from the vein (from someone), he knows better than to let them go without erasing their memory. His brother Stefan, also a vampire, is here. And, he spent a significant amount of time in a town like this one, reliving the same damn day in 1994. And maybe that's what's making everything so familiar, just that experience. ]

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. >_>

items reclaimed;

[ There is a man. He is a tall man, well-built, with long, slightly unkempt red hair. It's hard to say exactly how old this man is, but he's walking around with the air of someone who is politely baffled by absolutely everything.

He also does not have shoes.

He has some clothing slung over his arm -- his, that he picked up from the police -- but he hasn't put it all on yet; he has slung his coat on over his hospital gown, but he has yet to find shoes. He is not sure why he wasn't wearing shoes when he was caught in his Accident, but he wasn't, and for the moment, he'll assume that makes sense.

It doesn't, but he doesn't have that much to go on, at the moment. He doesn't seem bothered too much by this. ]

A dozen shops at my fingertips and not a single shoe store to be seen.

[ Not that he has any money, actually, but. He gestures at the shops with something like exasperation.

Is he talking to you? ]

I have been trying to figure out where I have been taken in the first place. [He tilts his head] Why is this flute so important to you?

[ Steve's fine when he wakes up. Not a scratch on him, though he remembers — barely — the accident they tell him put him here. His body being jarred from his bike, nothing between his legs where a second before there had been engine and the familiarity of fitted metal, then momentary gratitude that the crunch in his ears wasn't his bones. The nurses who come to check his vitals say he's been unconscious long enough for his wounds to have healed completely, though they also make mention of some scar tissue on his leg, which he can feel when he maneuvers his hand under the covers and touches his fingers to the back of his thigh — he already knows where to press because the skin feels stretched when he shifts. It feels wrong, but what does he know? Not a hell of a lot, apparently, and waking up with a scar where there wasn't one before is probably supposed to feel strange.

(He does remember a fight, being hurt by that, too. Remembers Bucky. Bucky, who wasn't who he was supposed to be. He doesn't think it had anything to do with this, if only because he can remember it somewhat more clearly despite how many hits he'd taken. Steve wonders how long it took him to recover from that. Wonders how.)

He asks, of course, anything to fill in the gaps, but doesn't get many answers. It's only the nurses telling him anything, though. When Steve asks one of them to get him a doctor, the man nods with the acquiescing desperation of someone just given another task on top of a dozen others. He leaves and doesn't come back, and a doctor never comes into his room from the busy hallway.

When it gets close to the hour mark he's not willing to wait much longer. He'd looked fine when he'd thrown the covers back and taken stock of his body, and he feels fine. His eyebrows go up a little at what he sees when he steps out of the bed to go look out the window; for all the urgency of the staff, he'd expected a city, something to easily explain a hospital apparently overwhelmed by patients. But the streets below are quiet, the bit of town he can see beyond them small and picturesque. Steve turns away, reaching behind his back to make sure the hospital gown is at least cinched as well as can be expected, then pads out of the room on bare feet.

He's not stopped, but he doesn't head for the door right away. Not that he actually knows where to find the exit, but he hangs right like he knows where he's going (or is simply determined enough to get somewhere that it amounts to the same thing). He walks down the same hallway his own room is on, turning his head toward open doors, hoping to catch a glimpse of the other patients here. He's unobtrusive in his search, and if he were a smaller man (and he thinks he was, once) it might make him inconspicuous, but as it is the loose sleeves of the gown just skim the tops of his biceps, and there was only so much he could do to cover his backside. ]

( heading outside )

[ The more that Noah asked about "The Accident", the less information that he actually received. He felt like he was being led in constant circles, like all of the doctors and nurses in the hospital were only allowed to give him a specific set of answers and nothing more.

All the hospital had given him was a lot of nothing. They hadn't even given him his things! They'd sent him off to the Police Department for those.

It was frustrating. He wanted answers, he wanted to know what happened, everything in his mind felt fuzzy -- as though he was looking at all of his memories through murky water, unable to discern one from another. -- and trying to decipher anything in it made his head hurt (which also made the nurses give him a startled double-take.). Were his friends okay? He could remember them, their names right on the end of his tongue, but Noah couldn't manage to make them form any further. They had been going somewhere. Was that when The Accident happened?

His thoughts raced, Noah's attention focused on the sidewalk beneath his feet and causing him to completely miss the turn for the Wayward Pines Police Department... and the sign that had indicated it.

The road continues for block after block, Noah becoming more and more visibly confused and worried -- and perhaps just a little less visible as a result.

Weren't there supposed to be signs? The nurses had told him there'd be signs. That he couldn't possibly miss it. ]

Uh, hi. Sorry, but the police station is this way, right?

[ Because why wouldn't someone talk to some rumpled looking teenager dressed like an escaped hospital patient? ]

( items reclaimed )

[ By the time that Noah gets to the sheriff's office, he still doesn't understand exactly why his things weren't with him in the hospital. He'd attempted to politely ask a few of the townsfolks to explain and they all told him the same thing.

"You're coming from the hospital?"
(Where else would he have been coming from? Still dressed in the scrub-style "pajamas" that he'd been given.)
"All your things should be with the sheriff."

It was said in the most helpful tone that Noah could have ever imagined, and was anything but. He already knew where he could get his things, he just wanted to know why they were there.

And where he had hoped the sheriff would be helpful, would explain the accident and fill in some of the gaping holes that Noah felt in his memory. He didn't.

He didn't.

The sheriff asked for Noah's name, had him sign a few forms ("Press down hard, son. Five copies.") and after a few minutes of searching, unceremoniously dropped the teenager's things on the wood countertop.

Immediately he spotted the Aglionby crest on the flap on his messenger bag and it was as though something clicked together in his head. He remembered something.

Aglionby.

He looks between the sheriff and the embroidered spot on his bag and just as he goes to ask a question, the man ushers him away -- there's a line already building behind Noah, just like the hospital it seems to be an unusually busy day at the Wayward Pines Police Department as well.

After a stop off in the restroom to change into his clothes (which Noah immediately recognizes as his school uniform. The very same crest from his bag on emblazoned on his cardigan too.), Noah finds his way back out onto the street, stopping a few people passing on the street and questioning them about the school -- and each one hurried of nervously before Noah could get more than a few sentences out. ]

Excuse me, [ He's nearly about to give up and go check out the house he'd be given (which was pretty strange, admittedly. What sort of town just gave out houses?), but what the hell? Why not give it one more shot. ] Could I ask you just a couple of questions...?

[ His voice is quiet and the slightest bit nervous, his appearance typically smudgy, but there's something... off about Noah, like he's slightly faded around the edges. ]

( wildcard )

[ want something else? throw something at me and I'll go with it! ]

waking up.

[ Plenty of accidents happen in, oh, wherever Malia comes from. She wakes up with a start, a gasp, and a quick rise in a bed that could use a little more comfort. There's no sign of wounds, only hair needing to be brushed, and wild brown eyes demanding to know what happened from the only other person in the room. A doctor? Nurse. Whatever. She gives the start of their vague explanation of an accident a low growl and is answered only with the suggestion of asking for a bite to eat if she feels up to it. Malia stares blankly at them -- are they freaking serious? She doesn't remember being in a place called Wayward Pines, ever. Then again, she can't remember any of the places she's been...

Maybe that head trauma comment holds weight. She brings a hand up to the back of her head, annoyance softening into a perplexed gaze as she's gently told that a doctor will be in sometime shortly to clear her. Then the nurse leaves, Malia staring after them.

She can clear herself, thank you very much. Nothing that she's attached to is any risk for her, she knows that. She can handle any pain, and everything that's there isn't enough to hold a werecoyote down. Which, is what she is, she remembers. She yanks an IV out of her wrist, tossing that down, feet hitting the floor, and she walks out of the room.

With the bustle of staff moving around, she tucks in close to the wall, looking around and walking slowly, one half step at a time, palms flat on the wall. When she sees someone who looks like another patient instead of a staff member, the question falls out of her mouth. ] You know which way the elevator is to get outta here?

items reclaimed + main street.

[ Well. All of the stuff that's given to her sure smells like herself. And, uh, someone. Something. Somewhere else, but she...can't connect the scents. It makes sense that they do -- even if she can't remember more than a few basics (the head trauma. werewolves, etc, can suffer from that...apparently), it's not like she's been alone.

Her dad, friends (everybody's got 'em, though most people can at least jot down a list of their names), and...she frowns at the items she's been given that aren't clothes. She can't remember the clothes either, but everyone wears clothes. ] Why do I need these? I'm not...gonna go to school here. [ Because she did, evidently, she remembers a glimpse or two as she clutches one hand around the brown backpack and waves the two highlighters, red and yellow, up at the sheriff. Maybe that comment comes from some other part of her -- maybe she does go to school there...

She makes a disgusted face at the key. ] That's not mine. [ But does he care about that? Well. Not so much. She's left with those items and giving a look around where she stands, she snatches the clothes up too and moves to a nearby chair. Tosses the bag and markers down, then proceeds to pull the denim shorts on, letting the hospital gown slide down to the floor with an unabashed couple seconds of nudity from the waist up, sports bra before a plaid button-up that's huge on her, before she's covered up and slides dark brown leather shin boots on.

She exits the station and peers around, putting the markers in the bag (why was she carrying around an empty backpack?? or maybe she wasn't. who knows -- not her!) She spots a map and moves over to look at that, standing there, head tilting as she pulls out the address for the key she's been given. Turning around, she says aloud to absolutely no one in particular ] Yeah, I'm...pretty sure this isn't mine... [ She starts to crumple up the paper before realizing she maybe shouldn't. She starts to wonder if, maybe, it belongs to her dad. She has one of those. Where the hell is he? She's not expecting an answer to that resoundingly insightful comment (but she'll stop if someone does try to talk to her.)

Walking down the street, she reads the sign names with no recognition, going and going, stopping only once she gets to a park. A dog's being walked past it, and she peers over at it. It's not unthinkable to see a kid in a park, but the brown-haired girl that's there makes me her start over, feet moving more quickly. Once her feet hit grass, she raises a hand, lips parting until her jaw closes. She...can't remember names, but there's a connection she assumes means she has a sister. A little sister. She calls out loudly. ] Hello?! [ Being there, it's getting disconcerting faster rather than making her feel more settled. What's that they said about full recoveries? ]

Edited 2017-02-02 08:17 (UTC)

[ Stefan jolts awake, a twisted tangle of limbs and sheets as he nearly tumbles sideways out of the bed and onto the hard tile floor of the hospital.

Salvatore. It's the one piece of personal identity he can grasp onto in those first hazy moments. His brother's name is Damon Salvatore.

The next 20 minutes pass by in a complete blur. His sudden thrashing movements attract the attention of the attending nurses and they rush right over to try and soothe away his worries. He was in an accident of some kind; a real terrible tragedy at the time but he's all recovered now. Free to leave, even, as soon as the doctor comes by again to authorize it.

As far as explanations go, it leaves a lot to be desired -- raising far more questions than it really answers. How does a vampire end up unconscious at an ordinary hospital? How long has it been since he last fed? Why are they just kicking him out when he can barely remember anything? Where is his brother?

But the nurses don't stick around long enough for him to try and press them for more useful information. They practically scamper off, to see the next patient he supposes.

The doctor, when he finally arrives, is not any more helpful -- barely even glancing at him before signing his discharge paperwork. Although it is strongly suggested to him that his next destination should be the police station where he can reclaim his personal effects. Including his clothes, it seems -- another oddity to add to the growing list of things that don't quite make sense.

Stefan doesn't make it as far as the lobby before he encounters his first floor-to-ceiling window, sunlight bright and streaming down the entire hallway, effectively blocking his path. Ordinarily, he knows that he wouldn't think twice about proceeding as normal. But something in his brain is all but screaming at him to remember and that's when he realizes that his right middle finger is conspicuously missing the weight of his daylight ring. If he takes another step forward, he will burn. Won't he? For a moment, he is suddenly plagued with doubt. Only the painful sizzling of his skin when he lets his hand creep forward is enough to reassure him that he isn't crazy on top of everything else.

And so he's stuck waiting there for night to fall. It's obvious that he's a patient rather than a visitor from the way he's still dressed for lack of a better option but none of the staff seems to pay him even the slightest bit of attention now despite the fact that he was supposed to be gone hours ago. ]

Edited 2017-02-02 06:06 (UTC)

[ Stefan is bored and becoming increasingly more restless; the remaining hours until the sun finally sets are whittling by at what feels like an inordinately slow pace. There is only so many times he can flip through the pages of the magazines in one of the family rooms, hidden safely away from the uncovered windows and the scalding pain they bring. His insistence on hanging around inside the hospital in his patient's gown when there's clearly nobody keeping tabs on his whereabouts might be odd if anyone was paying him even the slightest bit of attention. But Steve is the first person to so much as glance his way since he was officially given clearance to discharge. ]

The doctor has already come and gone -- taking with him Stefan's last hope of getting any of his secondary questions answered. He's currently sat on the edge of his bed, eyebrows furrowed as he reads over the discharge paperwork that had been hastily thrust at him, attempting to gain some more clues about whatever had happened to him. All he can remember about the so-called accident is the sound of crunching metal and a blinding white light.

At the sudden sound of a knock, he glances up in quiet surprise to be acknowledged by anyone -- although from the look of it, she is a fellow patient here. "Sure," he nods after a moment.

[Corstine all but sneers when she sees Prompto meandering about town with his camera, snapping pictures at everything to cross his path.

Honestly, she doesn't really recognize the gadget in his hand, or what he's doing with it - a part of her wants to say she's never seen such a thing, because of how unfamiliar it is, but that's a tough claim to make when she can't remember most of the things about her life.

Still, she doesn't like the idea that he's doing... whatever it is that he's doing in her direction. And she doesn't mind saying so, either.]

What the hell are you doin'? Don't point that thing at me.

[ Yeah, that'll show him. Snapping at a complete stranger because of her bad mood is definitely the right thing to do in a situation like this.

If Prompto decides to ignore Ms. Grumpy, of course, he could get away with snapping a few more pictures of her. It's not like she can really do much about it.

If he does, however, he may notice that any picture with her in the frame just... doesn't show up on the camera when he tries to bring it up. Instead, the entire screen is just black - the camera seems to know that a picture was taken, but it didn't seem to capture an image at all.

Of course, it'll go back to taking pictures normally if he tries t on something else. It's just when he tries it on her, that there's an issue.]

waking up:

[Consciousness comes all at once, and it isn't friendly about the visit. His eyes open wide at the sound of a door opening, and he scrambles to sit, wincing at the sudden, sharp pain the movement brings in his abdomen. Where is he? What's he doing here? Eyes lock on the...nurse? Entering the room. Can he remember his name, she asks, and that's when he realizes he can't remember anything else.. Ten Thousand, he tells her, and he doesn't get more than a single other syllable out of his mouth before she's explaining where he is and what's happened. He's been unconscious a few days, he was brought in after an accident--hunting accident, they say, to explain the ache in his abdomen, the ache in his head. He should lie still, he'd been shot in the stomach, unconscious for a few days now. Don't worry about the lack of memories, you had a concussion, you'll be fine. It'll all come back but it's better to not talk about it. Don't worry.

It takes all of five minutes after she bustles back out of the room for him to decide he isn't staying. There's someone he has to find, something important he was doing, and besides, being in a hospital is a bad idea. He vaguely remembers something his dad told him, the words 'big pharma,' but nothing else comes even as he strains. He keeps trying as he climbs out of bed, pulling the IV out of his arm and moving carefully. Nothing comes. Nothing except one thing, a name.

There's another person dressed like him ahead, another patient, he guesses, and that's as good a place as any to start. The nurses are too busy to force him back to his room right now, but that doesn't mean they won't if he starts asking questions and getting in their way. Pushing a hand through black hair already standing on all ends, he asks the other patient:]

Sorry--do you know anyone named Cassandra? I have to find her.

post-item reclamation

[Frankly, he hadn't even been sure what they handed him inside the Sheriff's office was his at all. The clothing looked like it had been through a war; worn boots, cargo pants dusty and worn at the knees, a vest with one arm ripped off, and was that....a license plate? Shoulder pad?? One thing's for sure, at least, he feels more himself once he's dressed (pants are a definite must, things have been a little too breezy under that hospital gown), and even better once he reclaims his slingshot, tucking it into the waistband of his pants where a little groove in his belt suggests he's carried it for a while. Not that he needs weapons in a place like this. There aren't any...Any what? Any dangers, maybe. He isn't sure how the rest of that sentence was supposed to go, only that he's sure that this isn't everything he had.

He's only more sure as he steps outside to take a better look at the town and one hand lifts to his shoulder to adjust a strap that isn't there. Didn't he carry something there? Maybe the rifle to go with the scope that's in his pocket? Someone else is standing not too far away, adjusting the rest of their belongings, and he ventures yet another question.]

Did they keep any of your stuff? Not give it back to you, I mean.

[Attracted by the sound of beautiful music, Jiaying follows it to its source and stands a short distance away to watch with a small smile on her face. Her hands are clasped loosely before her and she she politely waits for Corstine to notice or finish. At which point she claps.

There is something about the woman that seems familiar though it's just a thought niggling in the back of her mind]

Edited 2017-02-02 13:26 (UTC)

She lets a look of relief pass across her features along with a slight droop of her shoulders. "Thank you." She steps inside and, after a quick glance outside, closes the door behind her so she can lean against it to try to relieve the pain in her back.

"Were you in an accident too?"

[It seems Aranea isn't the only ones hounding the sheriff. Jiaying is there, waiting her turn to be seen as she stands in her hospital gown, looking a little pale as she crosses her arms in front of her. She looks up when the other woman enters and offers her a tired smile]

There's a bit of a wait.

Edited 2017-02-02 14:22 (UTC)

[Jiaying's clothes hold up against the weather thanks to the long sleeves and flowing pants. She has band aids on her face, right where the criss cross of scars on her face are, and bandages on her arms. She's stepping out from the sidewalk to avoid a local's particularly intense stare and bumps right into the younger man snapping pictures]

Oh. Excuse me. [she says apologetically.] Are you all right?

[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?

Edited 2017-02-02 14:22 (UTC)

[Lucky for him, the person who walks out of the room ahead is a fellow patient - a woman in a hospital gown with a bandaid lining a couple of the criss cross of scars on her face and bandages over her arms. She looks alarmed to see him and is about to step back into the room before realizing he too is a patient.

She smiles at him, warm and friendly despite her urgent need for answers]

I won't tell.

[Jiaying is exploring the hospital, curious to see what exactly is keeping the hospital staff so busy. She walks along demurely despite the hospital gown though no one seems interested in stopping her. She casually looks into Damon's room and is surprised to see him up and about as well]

Are you all right?

[It seems right to help. After all, the staff certainly aren't]

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Page 1 of 24

( february intro ) WELCOME TO THE PINES!

Corstine | Original | OTA

Waking up

no subject

Aranea Highwind | OTA

prompto argentum / OTA

Re: Waking up

Damon Salvatore l OTA

Emily Grey | OTA haha it rhymes

Ardyn Izunia | OTA

no subject

Steve Rogers | OTA

Noah Czerny | OTA

Malia Tate | OTA

stefan salvatore | ota

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Items reclaimed

no subject

Items reclaimed

no subject

armor donning

no subject

in room