(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

wanda maximoff | open

[magija]

.• hospital

[ The beeps remind her she's awake. It's like a siren ringing to alert her of the wires she's connected to, of the straps that keep her down tight against the bed. They say it's for safety. They've always told her that. But her safety or their own, that was always the question that brought her to reality.

She knows she's awake because in her dreams she isn't tied down. She's running through dark streets, worn hand-me-down shoes soaked from puddles, and her hand clutched tight within the fingers of a laughing boy. They run and run, fast as they're able, and they never stop —

— until she wakes.

Normally, it's the result of a nurse checking on her vitals, of an IV replacement, or something else that doesn't make a difference to her in this prison. But when her heavy eyelids spring open this time, it's to be told of a visitor. Visitors, when did she last have one? She can't remember.

But her groggy voice mutters as she gazes up to the ceiling. ] Let them in.

.• items reclaimed (1)

[ It's not the warmest weather to be wearing a dress, but once she gets her clothes back from the station, she changes in the building's restroom, feeling a sense of comfort in wearing them, like the caress of the cloth takes her away from this town, like there's something more she can't quite reach.

There's a slight chill on her bare legs, but the leather of the jacket satisfies her enough, tugging it tightly over her chest as she seats herself at the sidewalk's edge. Knees tucked in close, with her feet flat on the street, she watches the cars zip by, her thoughts roaming elsewhere.

Fingers dipping into her jacket pocket, she pulls out the photo — a man, a woman, and two children. She assumes the young girl is herself, the man and woman her parents, though the memories of such a time with a complete family don't seem to rise. The boy is a mystery too. But dark hair like hers, she imagines him a possible brother. Only not. Because how could she not remember a brother?

She studies the photo, long and silent, eyes focused even as people whisk by behind her on the sidewalk and light traffic continues on. The ongoing noise of it all, the breeze in her hair, none of it helps to surface the memories. ]

.• items reclaimed (2)

[ She doesn't know the hour. There's no watch on her, nothing to grant any indication of the time, except for the gradual darkening of the sky. Her feet shuffle slowly over the asphalt of the road, her gaze unfocused as she squints against the setting sun.

Breaths shallow, Wanda realizes she can't remember the last time she ate. No food, no memories, she comes to terms with just how empty she is today. Perhaps she should have stayed in the hospital. At least she had a purpose there, locked away and a danger to no one.

With shaking fingers, she staggers in her step, the focus of her sight shifting into a blur. Why can't she remember, why can't she remember. Even as she fights for the memories she's long since lost, nothing comes.

Nothing except the hard thud of the asphalt against her head as the weight of her body hits the road. ]

for logan.

[magija]

( continued from here )

[ Dangerous. It's difficult to judge what danger looks like. She never thought herself strong enough to harm anyone; at least she can't recall such a memory (not that there were many to pick from). And yet, she knows she could probably bring this entirely building down if she willed it.

With the slip of the claws, Wanda's lips part from a sharp intake of breath. She doesn't think he's out to kill her. Though she wouldn't judge him if that was his intention.

She merely stares at the way he studies them, like a curious creature who doesn't seem too aware of it himself. A sight like that is familiar. ]

So you're going to escape. [ Her focus gets lost on the claws for a long moment before they rise back up to his eyes. ] Are you going to fight your way out?

[adamantiums]

I'm sure as hell not staying in the hospital. [There's no reason, aside from the amnesia. He doesn't have a single bruise on him--and he'd question the fact that he was in an accident at all, except that he remembers crashing his bike. Plus, he'd already tested himself by nicking his forearm back when he'd first woken up in his own room. Aside from the claws, he heals really fast.

He hesitates, staring at his claws for another long moment before retracting them and looking back up at her with a shrug.] If I have to. You coming?

items reclaimed 2.

[ceoinstilettos]

[ pepper was out and about looking around town and hoping that something ( more like anything ) would jog her memory and help her remember her place here. she was conflicted, because wayward pines was supposed to be her home and yet... she felt like she didn't belong. running her fingers through her hair she sighed, the confident, well adjusted, and contented woman she knows she used to be inside her somewhere. ]

[ when she passes wanda on the streets she thinks nothing of it... at least not until she hears the thud of her abrupt collapse. she spins on her heels and hurries to her side, taking a knee and frowning as she works to carefully turn her over and make sure she hasn't seriously hurt herself. ] Are you alright? What happened? [ she looks up and down the streets for some assistance, but it's getting late and most people have started getting ready for curfew. ]

Don't move, okay, [ she keeps a hand on wanda as she speaks, her tone growing soft. she doesn't want her to sit or stand up, because the fall could done more than meets the eye. ] you took a pretty nasty fall.

[appetitive]

[Magnus has taken to wandering the streets in hopes of jogging his memory, recalling anything more than what he already has. But the stores hold no nostalgia, nor do the people walking in and out of them. The only connection he's made has been the strongest—a husband, some recollection of the past in the form of a history neither of them remember yet. It makes him feel as lost as he becomes when he realizes his feet have taken him somewhere without his mind paying attention to the route.

With the sun setting and night approaching, he knows he should get home. But as he passes someone on the street, he feels a tug on some part of him buried deep beneath layers of cobwebs and fragmented images. Turning to get a better glimpse of who inspired such a feeling, he sees her start to fall and rushes to help. Kneeling besides her, he instinctively reaches out towards the gash that's split open on her forehead, his fingers glowing with cool blue energy. It startles him, perhaps as much as it does her if she's conscious enough to notice.] Stay still, dear. I'll get you fixed up.

hospital;

[paragon]

[ It comes on a little differently this time. He's standing next to the sink, drying dishes while Bucky washes because their dishwasher tends to rattle around when it's being used, like it's got a life of its own. It doesn't really lend to a peaceful evening. So they prefer to do dishes by hand, especially when it just ends up being two of them at a time; Natasha happens to be the one working late tonight. Steve responds wryly to something Bucky's just said when it occurs to him that he still needs to go visit Wanda at the hospital today.

It's another second before he realizes the incongruity of it, and even then it's too wrapped up in his real concern for her not to feel it in his chest, to remember what it was like to hear she was in the accident and how she'd looked strapped to her bed, apparently accepting it when he was told it was for her own good.

He sets the plate down too hard, tells Bucky where he's going. He doesn't think he's ever been so furious in this place before, and it's probably no coincidence that it's one of the clearest memories they've put in his head yet.

The station wagon is more suitable for being driven into the river than anything, and the trek across town isn't a long one, so Steve takes it, walking toward the hospital quickly. When he gets there he doesn't remember the room number and nearly doesn't ask for it, his brow furrowing as he tries to recollect that part. He's not exactly unintimidating in this mood, but nurses are also not known for being easily intimidated either, and he's soon led to her door. Steve looks at her, lips pressed together and jaw set, the nurse barely out of sight before he's stepping up to the bed, reaching for the straps to undo them. He's entirely prepared to simply tear them apart if they give him too much trouble. ]