(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

[bastardofipswich]

Maybe? [ Chase shrugs with a laugh. ] I'm Chase.

[ And he's half-tempted to ask about who these guys are, like. Maybe they're his family or something? It'd be pretty nice if he could even remember that, but whatever. At least Kenzi's offering him a distraction from his confusion. ] What're my options? I'm thinking something with a little more flair than solid black.

[onteamdyson]

Chase. [She repeats the name with a smirk, fairly certain she definitely doesn't know this guy. But she'd like to! She leads him to her station, patting a vinyl-covered chair, indicating he should take a seat.]

Flair just happens to be my specialty. We can do studs, glitter, appliques, air brushing, some freakin'... badass artistic shiz up in here. Blacklight neon. Metallic! Here.

[She's got a book around here somewhere. Let her just dig it out from behind her little table. AHA! There it is. She flops down into her seat, across from Chase, and opens the book on the table so he can check it out and make up his mind.]

[bastardofipswich]

[ Chase makes a little face when she mentions appliques and air brushing, like-- come on, Kenzi. This is his first manicure (as far as he knows). Let's not go crazy here. But he flips through the book, letting out a low whistle as he sees her work. ]

This is seriously impressive. How much does this stuff go for?

[ Not that he really cares much about money. It's almost like he's never had to worry about it before.

Eventually, he stops at one picture of nails done in a black matte, with blue glitter. ] Hey, it's my two favorite colors.

[onteamdyson]

[Seriously impressive, huh? She shrugs, trying to hide the fact that she's totally beaming from the compliment.]

Depends. Most of these are full acrylic sets so they can get up to like, sixty-ish. You just need a buff and some shaping and... [She grins, looking over the picture he stopped at.] And some polish. Niiiiice choice. Ugh, how peeved do you get when people tell you black's not a colour? Technicality police please.

[Honestly, he probably won't even take that long as far as her usual customers go. She contemplates just throwing him a freebie... buuuuut something about CASH MONEY makes her rethink that horrible business strategy. Who does she look like? Jefferson?!

... Shit. Something about the goth kid that is willing to go for the glitter and has flawless taste tugs at her heart strings. What is this terrible feeling? Ugh. Empathy? Sympathy? Whatever it is, it sucks. She moves the book off to the side, leaving it open so Chase can see, and takes his left hand.]

First time customer walk in special extravaganza. It's on the house.