(april intro) WELCOME TO WAYWARD 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 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.

Comments

[bechdelpls]

one: the hospital;

Sarah is scared. She could make a declarative statement about that, if asked, but at the moment no one has. She remembers the accident, or thinks she does. She's certainly bruised and battered enough to have been in one.

And why does waking up somewhere strange with minor injuries seem so familiar?

Regardless, she's not leaving the hospital. Not without clearance from the doctors. But that doesn't mean she's not intrigued enough to leave her room to walk the halls barefoot in her hospital gown. She smoothes it down, feeling like the thing could pull a Marilyn Monroe on her at any moment, but not sure what that means any more than she's sure of where she is.

Curiousity is winning out. Slowly but surely.

two: around town;

She has a camera. She has a camera, and when she's holding it, looking through the viewfinder, framing the world, it feels so right that it makes her giddy.

As a result she's not exactly paying attention to what she photographs, not at first. Snapshot of a tree, snapshot of the chapel roof, snapshot of a garbage can, snapshot of - gasp - another tree. But as it starts to feel less instinctively right and more actively familiar, she slows down. Takes in the light, the shadows, the play of colors, twitches the shutter speed this way or that.

She's lining up a close shot of one of the notices with someone walking quickly away reflected in the window, when a shadow falls into the frame.

"Hey, would you mind just moving to my left for a second, if that's cool?"

two

[bulletfool]

He stops mid step and looks around when someone speaks, assuming that the words are directed at him. With his hands in his pockets and a slight hunch to his shoulders, Izumi supposes he doesn't appear too palatable for the camera, though the thought doesn't bother him overmuch. Minding where the lens is pointed, he backpedals a few steps without a fuss.

"Here?"

[bechdelpls]

"It's just the light--"

She takes a couple of quick shots, reorients, and manages one more before her reflected target is too blurry to distinguish any more.

Hopefully one of those turns out. She looks up and grins at him. "Thanks."

She straightens up, stretching, face turned toward the sun. "Sarah. You're--" The name comes at once this time, instead of her having to work for it. "Izumi, right?"

[bulletfool]

His response to her thanks is delayed as Izumi finds himself drawn to her face at a second glance. Maybe it's because he wasn't expecting to see a familiar face, but realization dawns on him that this is someone he knows or is supposed to know, and Sarah saying his name confirms that suspicion.

"Right. I know you, too," he says with mirth in his words, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "I haven't seen you in a while!"

[bechdelpls]

"Ha, nice to know some of it's coming back. Or never left, or something." She waves her fingers in a vague gesture at her head. "I guess there was this accident? I don't remember a lot, but they told me I should be fine. How are you? It's been too long for such a small town."

Which is... an odd thing. A true one, but an odd one.

[bulletfool]

Of course, it was an accident. Although Izumi isn't sure what to make of this knowledge in addition to the memories trickling back in, he maintains an easygoing smile. Chatting innocently is a much simpler task.

"I'm getting by. There's been a lot of accidents lately . . . Whatever it was, you should be careful so that it doesn't happen again. I was in one last month, too." He chuckles. "Isn't that weird? I don't remember it ever being that accident-prone here."

[bechdelpls]

"Really?" Sarah frowns. That is weird. "Was it just you? There were like, a bunch of us at the hospital."

[bulletfool]

"No, I'm pretty sure there were more. I didn't see anyone on the way out, but I met others later." He shrugs, any rising tension rolling off of his shoulders for the sake of keeping the conversation appropriate in public. "I don't know much about it. What's important is that everyone's better now."

Izumi gestures to Sarah's camera. "Are you working on some kind of project?"

[bechdelpls]

"Pro--oh, no."

She's still hung up on accidents, but she tries to shrug it off, unconsciously mimicking his action. "Just. Like. It feels right, I guess, so I'm doing it. Does that make any sense?"

[bulletfool]

"I don't see how it doesn't. Do you remember? You love photography. I think you're an aspiring art student."

The part about thinking isn't the most convincing, but what can he do? His memories are almost as jumbled as hers. For all he knows, he could have just described somebody else and be looking like an idiot right now.

[bechdelpls]

"Yeah... that seems right." She looks her camera over, biting her upper lip gently. "Is it weird that's what I remember? I mean you'd think I'd remember family, or like. Something important like that."

She looks up again. "What do you remember?"

[bulletfool]

He quirks an eyebrow, like that sounds almost funny to him. "How's that weird? You're remembering who you were. That's important."

With the conversation sliding into more familiar territory, Izumi slips his hands back into his pockets. "When I was discharged from the hospital, I didn't know much about myself. I remembered family, but I haven't seen any of them in town. That's probably weird, huh?" It goes without saying that he remembers much more now, even if there are still holes in his memory.

two;

[paragon]

"If it's for posterity you can get a whole stack of 'em at town hall."

He does move out of the way, though, which is probably a good thing if she's set on her subject; Steve's shadow is certainly sizable.

[bechdelpls]

She snaps a couple of quick pictures, recognizing the voice and recognizing also that its owner would want her to finish what she's doing before addressing him.

There it is again, that dumb sense of pride at remembering something basic.

She straightens and grins up (way up), at Steve. He's got almost a whole foot of height over her, after all. "Hey Mr. R."

Sarah settles her camera against her chest on its strap, reading the notice over again. "It's funny, I don't think I really paid attention to these before, y'know? I mean, I had to have noticed them, they're everywhere, but I never really noticed them either."

There's a reason she uses a visual medium and not a verbal one.

[paragon]

For what it's worth, she doesn't need to articulate it further for Steve to understand her meaning. His own glance at the notice as she speaks is brief but still seems to be enough to tense his jaw without the benefit of the wryness to his joke as a veneer. Must've been a thin one.

"Sarah, do you have any photos of the town from—" Before, he wants to say, but that won't make any sense to her, he thinks. Not yet. "Last month, maybe? Earlier, too."

[bechdelpls]

"From...? Of course."

She has to. The fact that she can't remember them right now is just... well, it's the accident. That's what they kept saying, that the memory thing was because of the accident.

Funny how they never got specific though, isn't it, says the part of her that never takes a break from asking questions. And what a weird one for Steve to ask. He would know. He--- he would know.

"I mean, didn't I turn some in?"

[paragon]

He nods slightly, but it's not exactly a confirmation. "I remember you turning them in."

Which is the truth — he can even recall a few in particular. A little over a month ago he'd gone through his collection of old assignments that hadn't been returned to their owners. He hadn't actually expected to find anything. A lot harder to forge art — even grade school art — than it is to forge a pink slip or an old heating bill. But they'd been there, just . . . off, from the work the same students have been giving him recently, in a way that can't be accounted for simply by improvement. Something a little paint by numbers about all of it.

He remembers Sarah's photography in that collection, and he doesn't remember it being off. But she also hadn't really been here when he'd looked.

What he remembers wasn't the point of the question.

"Try to find 'em when you get home. Let me know if it seems like anything else has changed." He gives her a small, tight smile, a poor approximation of a teacher who's only interested in his former student's progress.

[bechdelpls]

"Okay. Sure." She studies him silently, trying to figure out where that question is coming from, trying to remember something that would tell her why he's asking it. There's so much that doesn't feel right, here. The signs are just the start. The town feels just right enough that every wrong thing stands out even more. The air is too dry. The buildings not old enough. The people not wealthy enough. She doesn't understand those feelings, she doesn't know why on earth she cares about how rich anyone is here, but that smile just adds to the sense of something wrong that's been growing in her all day.

"What is it?"

She's not about to pretend things are okay. No more than she'll dance around her desire for answers.