pineslog | (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

[ He jerks back slightly, several thoughts occurring and colliding at once.

Maybe that's why he thinks he works for the president--/--Uncle, he can't be an uncle, he doesn't have a--/--sister.

The knowledge of her crashes down on him. He puts out a hand blindly, misses the door frame, feels for it again and hangs on.

No, he doesn't have a sister. He couldn't forget a sister.

But forgetting a nephew is reasonable?

He has to close his eyes for a moment to gather himself. God, how is he supposed to be responsible for anyone right now when every new memory hits like a truck?

What happened to his sister? ]

Chase, I swear-- [ The words are annoyed and natural and utterly, utterly wrong. ] Excuse me a minute.

[ Sam retreats, first to his room, then to its bathroom.

Where he throws up his half-finished sandwich into the toilet. ]

What're you--

[ Sam's reaction is... not even remotely what Chase expected, and when his uncle (?) recoils, he's left sort of frozen, his brow lifted in bemusement. Like many teenage boys, Chase has no idea how to react when an adult falls apart-- they're not supposed to get weird and run away.

After a few moments, Chase manages to shake himself out of his state of stunned confusion and follow after Sam. On his way out, he catches sight of the half-a-sandwich on a plate, and so he snatches it up, investigating it briefly before he takes a bite, himself.

What? He hasn't had dinner yet.

Anyway, sandwich in hand, he heads into the master bedroom, expecting to find his uncle. Instead, he's greeted by the sounds of retching in the adjoining bathroom. ]

You okay in there? [ Wait. ] It wasn't the sandwich, was it?

[ All right. He feels. Moderately better. Puking apparently helped, huzzah for him.

He even manages a tiny laugh at Chase's question, as he moves away from the toilet to sit on the floor, his back to the wall. ]

It wasn't the sandwich. Come in here a minute, would you? Actually, wait--

[ He gets up just enough to reach the toilet handle, flushing his mess. And then he sits back down, reaching up to flip the switch to turn on the bathroom fan. ] Okay, now come here.

[ ...why is he being invited into the bathroom? Cautiously, Chase walks over to it, lingering in the doorway. He takes another bite of the ill-gotten sandwich, watching Sam.

Yeah. The guy definitely just puked. ]

So, uh... What happened?

I remembered Theresa.

[ A pause, an ache, an old wound he hasn't the context for yet. ] I started to. I'm starting to.

[ Sam closes his eyes just long enough to regiment his thoughts again. ]

That might be happening for a bit. I, apparently, had an accident, and like numerous others am having... mental blowback, shall we say. But you know that, don't you.

[ It's like when one person yawns, and everybody else has to yawn, too. At the mention of his mother's name, Chase goes a little more solemn. His mother's dead, and he knows it, and it feels like it happened so long ago that he shouldn't care, and yet here he is, grief and anger boiling up inside of him as if it's still a fresh loss.

It at least takes the wind out of his sails enough that Chase doesn't bother with a smart-ass answer this time. (For once? It seems like when in doubt, he always goes for the smart-ass answer.) ]

Yeah, me too. [ Murmured, with a bit of a scowl on his face. ] They said it was a car accident.

Must've been one hell of an accident. [ That, more to himself than to Chase. How many cars involved, how many people? Where, when, what evidence exists?

An echo of a question from earlier in the day: Who gains?

Sam shakes it off, mentally if not physically. ] Right. So we're both in... a shitty boat, one that metaphorically is probably full of holes. [ And he's not sure where he was going with that thought (keeping their heads above water? sinking fast?) so he's going to let it go.

He studies Chase, seeing hints of Theresa there without remembering her face. He can picture Chase yelling at him, laughing at him, sneering at him. He feels the weight of exhaustion settling in around his heart when he looks at this kid. An unwinable war, old battle scars. How am I supposed to do this, Theresa.]

I'm your uncle. We both know that much. Until we learn more, it seems like we have two options. We test each other-- or we trust each other.

[ He exhales a tiny sound that's almost a sigh.] So. Just for now. Do you trust me?

Edited 2017-04-07 02:17 (UTC)

Maybe it was a sixteen car pileup. [ Chase's suggestion is pretty obviously facetious. That kind of thing isn't likely in a tiny town like this.

Just as Sam studies Chase, so, too, does Chase study his uncle. The two of them, they've both got brown hair, blue eyes, similar builds, a similar enough complexion, though Chase is paler... He doesn't even remember his mom's face, but he can believe that there's a family resemblance. And what's more, he can look at Sam and feel it.

They're family.

And yet, the proposal-- to trust each other-- that gives Chase pause. The leeriness that stirs in him is like a reflex, and his jaw twitches a little as he thinks on how to answer.

You can't trust anyone. Not even family.

It's an intrusive thought, like there's somebody else whispering in his head, but though he might not remember why he shouldn't trust anyone, he knows that the hateful voice in his mind is his own.

And then, just as naturally as the reminder not to trust comes to him, another impulse rises in Chase:

Lie. Act. Pretend.

So he nods. He even offers a smile. ]

Yeah. I trust you, and you trust me. We're all we've got, right?

[ And something small and hopeful in Sam dies.

He knows it's a lie, somehow. Even if Chase were better at lying, Sam thinks he would probably know. Chase's lies are as familiar as breathing, and he never seems to get more convincing. It's like a taunt, almost, the way this boy does it. Rubbing in the fact that he can't be taken at his word, that Sam has no choice but wait for the bomb to go off, no matter the fuse that's been lit.

Wait and see and clean up after. That's his life, and in quiet moments with nothing to distract him he resents it so strongly that only guilt can match the feeling.]

We are all we've got.

[ He might as well have said please. ]

(april intro) WELCOME TO WAYWARD PINES!

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