pineslog | (april intro) WELCOME TO WAYWARD PINES!

(april intro) WELCOME TO WAYWARD 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 looking a bit tired and worn at the edges, like a blurred photograph. They take your vitals and ask your name and anything else you might remember with an air of exhausted distraction about them, and maybe even eye your bed with a look of vacant yearning for a moment before managing to rouse themselves again. 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... though it might be awhile. 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.

There was an outbreak last week after all, some of the more chatty staff might be persuaded to share. Oh, nothing to worry about now, it's all been taken care of, but there's always so many details to take care of after a scare like that and, look, you should probably come straight back to the hospital if you start feeling sick, okay? Just in case. But honestly, you have nothing to worry about.

Mingle, visit your fellow patients, worry a bit anyway, even poke around for a few basic answers. Or maybe, maybe just stroll right on out the front door.

heading outside

One step outside and it's perfectly clear that your hospital gown simply isn't going to cut it for long. A crisp winter wind whips at you through the thin cloth and all around your is the slowly melting evidence of an earlier snow storm, clumps of dirty snow along the edges of buildings and sidewalks, sad misshapen snowmen sliding into slush across a few front lawns. You're probably standing in a small puddle right now, just by a simple law of averages. Geez that water's cold.

Trees line the street at regular intervals, carefully manicured and lightly dusted in snow. 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, and asking the sheriff only gets you a harried look and a form to fill out if you have any concerns. 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."), and a general direction to start looking for the house that key belongs to, the sheriff pulled away to deal with some other pressing issue before he could give you more detailed instructions. You could check it out, see what kind of digs they're putting you up in. If you can even find it, that is.

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...

MOD NOTES

Welcome to the third newbie mingle log!

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.

PLEASE INCLUDE IN SUBJECT LINE: Character Name, location, and Open or Closed, to help keep things a bit more organized.

If you have any questions regarding this intro log, feel free to ask them on the FAQ or the relevant plurk.

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1 - open - later in the day, main street or wherever you'd like to bump into him

Sam is one of the lucky ones, seeing as his friend caught him at the hospital before he could go wandering around getting himself into trouble. He has an idea of the kind of weirdness that's going on, but is determined to get the lay of the land for himself anyway.

After checking out their house, taking stock of what was in the spare room, and getting as settled as he was going to be at this point, he borrowed some money and headed downtown to see what kind of shopping was available. He's mostly looking for some simple clothes, since all he has to wear is his uniform. He left the wings and goggles at the house, since the uniform itself is conspicuous enough in this place, and he'd pitched the prison clothes he'd ended up with from his time on the Raft.

Even though his memory is still full of holes, Sam isn't shy about chatting up some of the people he sees out and about--locals and fellow amnesiacs alike. Not that he can really tell the difference until they start talking. Maybe you catch him in the general store picking up a toothbrush and other essentials. Maybe as he's trying to figure out where to find clothing that isn't completely terrible, or standing in line at the cafe or deli.

2 - closed - continuation of tdm thread with steve

"I don't know, man. I don't remember leaving with them." He doesn't really remember leaving, period; just that Steve had come to get everybody out. And then there had been... an accident. Had it happened while they were escaping? It's a lucky thing Steve is okay, and here. Hopefully he can help Sam shake away some of this brain fog.

He hops down from the ledge and heads over to the access door to wait.

"What happened, Steve?" he asks, when he emerges from the building. Sam gives him a once over, looking for signs of injury and evidence that he might have been caught up in the accident that had landed Sam here. "I don't remember much after you came for us. Are the others okay?" Not that he specifically knows who he's talking about--just that their teammates had been on the Raft, too.

3 - open - wildcard. come at me with something else if you'd like!

Just outside of the general store, staring up at the sign like it might explain the meaning of life to him or something as important, is an exceptionally large gentleman in an old-style military coat with a pack over his shoulder and a bandage visible on the side of his neck under the coat. Despite the fact that the weather isn't that cold, he's got gloves on and there's a nasty scar on his cheek and across the front of his face that looks like it's been there for a while. Sam walking out startles him a little, since he'd been concentrating so firmly on trying to remember something but despite the fact that he startles away from Sam and doesn't actually do any harm, he offers an apologetic little wave of his fingers as he settles again.

His eyes widen when he steps out of the store and spots one of the tallest dudes he's ever seen in his life. Or, at least, probably. Sam can't really be sure, since his memory is pretty spotty. This guy is bigger than Thor, anyway, and that's saying a lot.

There's also a lot to be said about the other guy's reaction, the way he jumps and looks apologetic about it; especially coupled with the old scar and the military dress. Sam can draw conclusions based on something he actually is sure about. Before joining up with the Avengers, Sam remembers counseling war veterans, and this guy reminds him of a lot of the people he'd met in that line of work.

His surprise quickly fades and is replaced by a friendly smile as he returns the wave. "Hey man. You look kind of lost." There's a lot of that going around today, he's found. "Need any help?"

He blinks at the question a little before ruffling his own hair and glancing around.

"I'm all right. Sorry to worry you. I'm just trying to remember something."

And nothing, so far, seemed to be coming through. Everything just looked strange, not even just unfamiliar but legitimately alien. When he thought of a storefront, it didn't look like these. Or when he imagined a man, he was dressed so much differently. Nothing looked right but they'd all been very clear that this was his home.

"Nah, it's okay. I hear it's pretty common for people to not remember much, after an accident here." And that is a pretty loaded statement right there, considering what Sam's been told so far. It might even be pushing it, as far as 'what's allowed,' but this guy looks 100% lost and confused. His uniform is completely foreign and as out of place as Sam's own.

"Anything specific, you're trying to remember?"

That gets a faintly wry, crooked sort of smile in reply. Pretty common? Everyone he's talked to seems to have this story somewhere. And there sure are a lot of accidents. But mostly, he's tilting his head to point out-

"It's a little hard to know what you're trying to remember until you remember it." All the same, he understands the spirit of the question. "But no, nothing specific. Just... something. Nothing is ringing any bells."

And yet, he catches something else.

"You 'hear'?" As opposed to having experienced it. "Are you..." new here too "fresh out of the hospital too?"

"Ain't that the truth," he replies with a snort. He's no stranger to amnesiacs, having dealt with them before on occasion in his previous line of work; and also, disconcertingly, he happens to be one at the moment. One of the few things he remembers for certain is a vague sense of his time as a councilor at a VA hospital, which introduced him to all sorts of people.

He's not very conspicuous about the fact that he glances around at the buildings nearest to them, where cameras might be hiding. But he does it anyways, and then replies, "I was in an accident, if that's what you mean." The gesture he makes with his eyebrows is even less conspicuous.

"Yeah. I had a pal from home meet me in the hospital. He told me a few things." And suddenly, Randel doesn't seem as confused as he did at first, if those hints he's dropping are what Sam is picking up. "I can fill you in, if you want," he adds, with a very obvious flick of his chin toward the residential district. There are rooms in Steve's house that supposedly don't have cameras in them. He'll gladly tell anybody and everybody about what is going on here, as far as he knows, if they'll follow along.

"That would be nice," he says, as if he's accepting an invitation for tea or a round of beers. Casual. Not at all like he's accepting a clandestine information drop. He's never been particularly good at anything terribly complex when it comes to anything secretive, but he can do something simple like this. He's had to maneuver around difficult situations before.

"Should I pick up some beer or something before I head over?"

And that is pure Pines-memory right there. Randel, for a multitude of reasons, does not drink except to stave off the occasional chill or as part of cough medicine. But the Randel who was on the basketball team, who knew Damon and was friends with Katherine and Pepper...

That one had the occasional beer.

He wonders why it feels so fake to say it, since those are supposed to be his memories.

From what he's been told so far, Sam figures it won't hurt to pull in somebody who seems to be in the same boat as he's in, himself, and help him out. Besides. Bringing home another stray amnesiac for an impromptu picnic in the bedroom is hardly the weirdest thing to happen at Steve's house.

"Yeah, that'd be great. You eat yet? We can grab some sandwiches or something, while we're at it," he responds, glancing around at the businesses lining the street. There are several candidates, as far as smalltown mom-and-poppish kinds of places go.

There's a likely-looking deli across the street, and he inclines his head toward it. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Randel," is the response, offered with a smile and a nod. Sam's a good name, even if it's not a familiar name. There's something about him that feels familiar, like he's falling into step beside

Beside another soldier.

"Sandwiches would be nice." He considers what he'd seen in his wallet when he'd woken up. Not much, not much at all. But it's hard to come to the idea of needing to pay for food in general. His brain keeps telling him 'rations will be distributed' but the rest of him knows that isn't true. "My treat."

Regardless. He'll be all right. And Sam was being kind.

As far as 'locals' went, Lantar sticks out like a bit of a sore thumb.

It's still a couple hours before Weaver's opened and he's out restocking on eco-sized bags of pretzels and lollipops for the bar.

Well, those and basic groceries. At some point, a Turian-food section seemed to have popped up in French's right out of spirits-damned nowhere. And that's where Lantar is now, staring down the little bit shelving space at the end of the Import Foods aisle, cart full of human candy and snacks.

If Sam listens closely, he can hear a quietly bemused, "What the hell...?"

What the hell, indeed. But Sam is far more astounded by the sight of Lantar than by anything he might hear him saying.

He shouldn't stare. He knows he shouldn't, because that's rude as hell, but what is even going on here? There's an alien pushing a damn shopping cart full of candy around. Forget amnesia, maybe Sam is actually going a little crazy or hallucinating.

Sorry, Lantar, but there's a dude staring openly at you with his hand frozen in midair as he's reaching for a package of pasta. "Holy shit," he mutters, as if staring isn't rude enough.

A mandible twitches vaguely in Sam's direction, followed by a slow turn of that avian head. Turian faces weren't expressive in the same way that human faces were, but the distinctly displeased way the inhumanly bright eyes narrowed is hard to mistake as anything but a glower.

"You either come over here and talk, or you can fuck right the hell off," he warns, serpentine neck arching in a bristle. "I'm not here to be fucking gawped at."

"Woah, hey." Holy shit. He gestures wide, not quite a handflap, but definitely something he tries to make look placating.

"I've never seen--someone like you." As far as aliens go, he's met Thor, a member of his superhero squad the Avengers; and who looks like any other earth-human even if he's anything but. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it, man."

He even comes right over to Lantar and offers him his hand to shake in greeting. Hopefully it's a universal greeting and isn't construed as a threat oh my god. "I'm Sam." He's still a bit shaken, but is clearly trying to make up for the offense he's caused.

Lantar watches the hand flapping, expression flat and exuding general unimpressedness. He's literally had this talk just about every day since his 'accident', and the start of the month up-tick in these encounters wasn't helping his outlook on things improve.

For whatever fucking reason, he woke up knowing what the hell humans were but they sure as hell didn't fucking know him.

Still, he can't... really hold it against them. Not here, anyways.

Expression easing into something resembling only mild discontentment, he drags in a slow breath.

"Lantar," he offers by way of accepting the apology. He doesn't take the hand though: that'd give Sam the mistaken impression that he was friendly and that was absolutely NOT what he wanted.

"You just get out of the hospital?"

"Uh, yeah." He lets his hand drop without comment. "I was in... an accident. I don't really remember much about it." From the tone of his voice, it might be inferred that he doesn't really believe that's the whole story. Especially not after having spoken to one of his friends from home who has been here for a couple of months.

"I don't remember much of anything, to be honest. But from what I've seen, that's kind of normal around here."

"Best not to ask about it," Lantar remarks, picking a jarful of what looked like silvery fish-eyes from the shelf. "Best not to ask anything about that at all, really."

And isn't that just cheerful?

Sighing, he places the jar in the cart and turns another assessing look at Sam.

"You got work?"

"That's what I've heard," he says, watching as Lantar puts the fish eyes in his cart. Does he even want to know what those are? Probably not. Then again, humans eat all kinds of weird shit, too, so. It's fine. This is fine.

His response is almost automatic, as if it's one of the things he's definitely sure of about himself: "Yeah. I'm an Avenger." Of course, that's pre-Pines life stuff and technically he's not supposed to talk about it. But just because he's here now doesn't mean he's stopped being an Avenger.

"That doesn't sound very Sheriff-approved."

In fact, that sounded like an awful lot of trouble. What the hell was an 'Avenger'? Sports? Military of some sort maybe? If he squints, he can kind of see it in the way Sam held himself, the same way Garrus-

Garrus-

Nothing Lantar wants to ask about anyways. Nothing that he CAN ask about, not when there were cameras all around them.

"If still need something, I'm looking for someone to help around the bar," he offers quietly, looking away. "Serving, barkeep, stocking. Part or full-time."

"Yeah, the others got back to Wakanda fine." Steve doesn't have a scratch on him, and hadn't even when he'd been the one waking up here with only a handful of memories to his name. Sam's seen him look otherwise, though — it's unlikely he remembers that, if history's any indication (and it always is), but Steve's pretty sure Sam would be looking him over regardless.

Steve doesn't. If Sam has any scratches himself, they didn't keep him from making his way up here, and there are no noticeable hitches to his movement. Steve's always been more willing to give the benefit of the doubt there than he's ever been prone to worrying. Still, he knows the story.

"They tell you it was an accident?"

"Good, okay." Priorities: his team. It's so ingrained, as far as his military training (and, honestly, his personality) goes, that knowing they're okay really goes a long way to making him feel okay. Or as okay as one could possibly feel in a situation where they remember pretty much nothing.

He looks kind of confused when Steve asks about the accident, because Sam can kind of remember it. "I mean, maybe it wasn't an accident, since we kinda brought it on ourselves. But it sucked." Breaking out of the Raft is the last thing he remembers, and then there was pain, and some kind of wreckage. It's really blurry.

The look on Steve's face, and the fact that he looks absolutely fine, raises an eyebrow. "What happened?" he asks again.

Steve somehow manages to both raise and furrow his brow at that, though it's by no means an expression Sam hasn't seen before.

"Nothin'," he says truthfully. "Believe it or not, Sam, we got off the Raft without a hitch." Just because the star spangled man's got a plan doesn't mean things always go according to it, but after Natasha had sent him the encoded blueprints and T'challa able to help decipher them, the rest had been relatively straightforward. "Whatever you remember happening to us, it didn't." He glances to the edge of the roof, a sweeping sort of glance that encompasses the hospital below them and the town beyond.

"I woke up here a couple months ago, too. They told me I got thrown from my bike, and I think I remember it that way too, but . . ." He looks back at Sam, expression unhappy because he doesn't really have an answer here for him. "You know me." Getting thrown from a moving motorcycle would barely slow him down at best. Then again, maybe Sam doesn't remember that part. It'd taken Steve a while to realize it himself. And explanation for another time. "Let's get you outta here."

"Hold on," he says slowly, letting it settle as well as it might. Which is, really, not at all. None of it makes sense, but then again, nothing has made sense at all since he woke up.

One thing, though, really causes his brow to furrow in a way that almost mirrors Steve's. "You woke up here a couple months ago? Geez, man, how long have I been out?"

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(april intro) WELCOME TO WAYWARD PINES!

sam wilson | various | open & closed

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