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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Clary watched him stripping with a look of confusion. She had no idea what he was doing until he handed her his sweater. It was huge and baggy and perfect. She took it with a smile pulling it over her head. It fell to her knees and then six inches past her finger tips.

This was the best thing to happen to her all day.

"Thank you." It was already warm and she couldn't help her smile. "Oh, I'm Clary Fray."

"Randel." And since she offered it, he adds- "Oland. Randel Oland."

Then he's carefully putting the coat back on; honestly, he might have given that to her if it wouldn't have swept the floor. And if he hadn't felt such a strange attachment to the patch on the arm, the jack-o-lantern and the shears. But the sweater, that he doesn't mind giving up. Especially for someone cold.

He offers her a warm little smile.

"Better?"

"Yes."

She's just happy to be warm and in something that hides the fact that she's a stick with arms. Clary smiled up at Randel. "Where were you headed?" It looked like he had somewhere specific in mind which was very different from her.

Clary wasn't sure where she was going.

"Oh, I can wash this and give this back later." She didn't want to keep his sweater forever.

Randel didn't either, honestly. He's been wandering around, hoping to see someone or something that made him feel familiar, like he actually is home like they kept telling him. So far, nothing. The only place he'd been heading was, eventually, his 'house'. Though he didn't look forward to actually going there.

"No rush. I've got my coat. And I don't feel the cold much anyway."

Clary's eyebrows furrowed. She didn't look convinced. "You don't feel cold much?" She glanced around at the snow and then looked back at Randel.

"Do you feel ice much because it's a little ways past cold."

He shakes his head. He doesn't feel much much, honestly. He's not sure why that is, but he guesses that it has something to do with the huge number of scars he has. Doesn't scar tissue feel less than other tissue? Or maybe it's just because he's so big. There's also the coat, which is pretty warm by itself.

"I'll be all right."

He hitches the bag on his shoulder.

"I've got a sleeping roll too."

Then, a moment of realization.

"...and a house."

Yeah, that's still weird.

Clary held up a key in her hand. "Me too." She hadn't any pockets so the house key and the witchlight was held in her palm. It was a little annoying to carry around but she didn't mind now that she had a sweater.

In fact, she'd be fine with most things at this point. "Are you nervous?" She asked curiously. Clary got the distinct impression that she shouldn't go home, that she couldn't. Might as well use this to delay having to face that.

"We can go take a look together if you want."

He considers trying to be brave before finally giving a nod. Yes, he's nervous. It feels wrong. Having a house, living in a house. He understands the concepts, but they're not... they don't feel right. He keeps looking throughout the streets, noticing a particularly nice little alley or a spot under a bridge in the park that would be nice to sleep in.

"Okay."

"What's your house number?"

She stepped up next to him, her fingers curling around the long thick sleeves as she moved. Clary could feel the dresses uncomfortable length and then the brush of the sweater covering her the rest of the way to her knees.

She will never stop adoring the feeling of being in something lose and easy to wear.

He reaches into his pocket to pull out a keychain with a few keys which he shuffles through for a moment to show off the key: 5051. He shifts his hand over so she can see it.

Clary looked at the number on his key before glancing at her own. "Mmm." She mused softly. "Mine has an L in front of it." She wondered why her number was different; maybe they were in different parts of town. She didn’t exactly know her way around however the sheriff had pointed her in the rough direction of the houses. It had most likely been a ploy to get her to leave quicker but she trusted the law enforcement anyway.

"I think it’s this way." She pointed towards the south, hoping that she hadn’t gotten her directions turned around.

Clary remembered something else about this place. Don’t talk about the past. She was never very good at doing what she was told but she wanted to think of a more clever way around it. Her bright green eyes looked up at Randel as they set off towards his house.

"How old are you? Are you a student?"

He was just walking along as she considered the topic, making sure to keep his strides short and slow so he didn't outpace her or make her uncomfortable. When she pointed, he nodded and decided to follow; if he brings her back to her own home and she's tired or wants to stay inside, he can just head out again on his own. He'd like to know she's all right, and a little less cold, after all. But to the question, he blinks, staring down at his gloved hands as if they could tell him, as if they had rings like a tree.

"I don't really know. But I don't think I'm a student." He could read all the signs and the paperwork he'd been asked to put his name to, could write his name back, but it wasn't something comfortable and easy.

"I think..." and his eyes flicker to the patch on one arm, to the lantern at his hip. "I think I'm a soldier. Or I was, anyway."

This place didn't look like it'd even seen war, let alone been a part of it.

She’d be flattered to learn that he was slowing his pace for her. Standing at just over five feet tall made it difficult to keep up at times. She had the feeling that she was used to running after people but like many things about herself it slipped away. Her arms wrapped around her torso, despite the fact that the sweater was keeping her warm. It was a comfortable position and it made her forget that she was cold from the knee down.

A soldier? Clary eyed him curiously. There had been wars in the past, she couldn’t recall them but she didn’t remember being up to date on current events anyway.

"Well, welcome home if no one has said so." She kept walking, falling back to his side. A few moments of awkward silence feel between them before Clary spoke again. "What do you like to do? Hobbies or anything… camping maybe?"

He looked like the type. Clary didn’t remember ever caring for camping but she wasn’t particularly sure of anything right now.

"The nurse said something like that," he admits as they walk, and while there's silence between them, it's not particularly awkward from his side of things. When she asks her question, he has to actually consider.

"I like cats," he says quietly, "and... dogs? I like spending time with animals."

He glances over at her.

"Apparently, I run an animal shelter here. I don't remember it." But he tilts his head at the question of camping, considering it.

"I think I like sleeping outdoors? Or... I do it. I don't know if I like it or not, but I keep thinking places look good to sleep."

A pause then-

"What about you?"

"Art student but I think I like animals too" What girl didn't love animals?

Clary felt herself smile. It was nice to talk about something simple. It felt concrete in a haze of unsure and cloudy thoughts. She loved art. It was something she knew from the bottom of her soul and nothing would allow her to doubt it. When she stopped to think about it, it was the only memory that she was certain of.

"I've always loved drawing and I'm taking extra classes here too." She didn't know where the memory came from but it settled comfortably into place, filling in a part of her past here in Wayward Pines.

"Is that way you don't want to go home?"

Clary had every intention of taking Randel to his house. To see what it was like. It shouldn't be to much further now. They've stepped away from the main street and towards a collection of domestic looking homes.

He frowns a little and tries to think of how to explain it. One hand pulls up the key and he looks at it, careful not to trip as he does (walking slow has it's advantages, at least) and he lets out a sigh of a breath as he tucks it back away.

"I feel like... I don't deserve to. I don't know why."

Clary watched Randel over watching where she was going. Her brow furrowed slightly at his reply and she thought about her own reservations about going 'home'. She looked forward just in time to walk around a lamp post instead of into it.

"I am going to make an executive decision and say that you are." She held up her hand and then pointed at the building towards the middle of the street. "There, I think that's your house."

It's a perfectly nice house. There's nothing odd or wrong with it from here and as they walk closer, he can see that his last name (that name feels so weird, fake, like an answer he adlibbed on a test for want of something better) on the mailbox.

Oland. O Land. Aren't last names supposed to be where you're from? Does that mean he's from nowhere? Or someplace starting in O. What places start in O. He doesn't know. Instead, he frowns and looks at Clary before starting to move towards the door. He invites her with one hand to join him, if she wants. More than anything, it looks like he's investigating.

Clary follows behind him, her bright green eyes shining curiously as she passed the mailbox and made her way inside. "My last name is Fary." She spoke absently, perhaps to add something to the silence that greeted them when they stepped inside.

She took a look around but stayed close to or behind Randel the whole way. This was his home and she didn't know if he lived her alone or not. She didn't want to tempt fate and have her come across someone when she wasn't supposed to be there. It felt like that would be her luck.

Her attention eventually turned back towards her company, her gaze curious. "So. You getting anything?"

He shakes his head and carefully pulls the key from his pocket out to put it in the door, more surprised than one might expect that the door actually opens. He pushes it the rest of the way, beckoning Clary inside, only turning back to smile at her as they make their way into what is obviously an empty house.

"Clary Fray is a nice name," he notes before seeming to accept that this is a house, it's his, and there's nothing that's going to jump out at them or police that will come after them for entering where they don't belong.

Trying to be polite (to himself? He feels like someone's going to yell at him about his boots in the house), he pushes off his boots and carefully lines them up on the mat near the door. Then he takes off his gloves, revealing a left palm made almost entirely out of scar tissue that looks rather painful and raw. It's healed but clearly, not well. The coat comes next and he hangs it on the knob which... looks a little short for it, but he supposes that other people use the coat rack and most of them aren't nearly eight feet tall.

He turns to Clary.

"Join me looking around? Then we'll go to your house."

Clary followed Randel's lead and took off her shoes at the front door. She was barefoot but she was honestly happy to get out of the black shoes that she'd been given at the police station. Her toes curled against the floor while a light smile tugged at her lips.

"Thank you." She liked her name. Specifically that one though she remembered having the last name of Fairchild as well. She can't say why.

She was going to keep his sweater no. She liked wearing more clothes than the flimsy black dress. "Sure but I can walk to my house. It isn't that far." At least all the houses were clustered together.

That gets a firm shake of his head.

"You walked me to my house, I walk you to yours."

Besides, some portion of his head was insisting, what if something happened to her? At least if he was there, he might be able to scare them off. He's not sure he can do anything else, but his stupid size should be good for something.

Clary's lips tugged into a soft frown.

"I did but I'm not sure what I'll find at my home." The more she thought about it the more small slivers of what felt like truth slipped into her thoughts. "My mother is away. For her art or something." It was hard to remember. How long had she been living in Wayward Pines?

Clary's face scrunched up, wrinkling her nose before flashing Randel a smile.

"Besides. I like to keep an air of mystery." She waved a hand, while a small theatrical tone seeped into her voice. She wasn't that confident but sarcasm could hide anything.

"Then I'll stay outside."

The inside of a house was mysterious, wasn't it? Yes, let's say that. He actually looks the firmest he's looked the whole time at that. He'll walk her home, just like she walked him home. Make sure she gets in.

Clary opened her mouth as if to argue and then firmly clamped it shut. After a moment she relented and nodded her head.

"I guess so. My house is L12." That was the big secret, where she lived. "Won't you have to then walk home again after walking me home?" She asked as she stepped through his place, her fingers running over the arm of a couch before looking back at him.

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