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

_{[The better way of phrasing his admission would've been he hoped she might be his mother. Jack is getting used to the elation of rising hopes when he hears a voice or sees something from the corner of his eye that sparks to life a memory of fingers twined with his, hands grasped tightly in a manner of saying I'm here, only to realize a memory is all it is. Hope plummets to disappointment.

None of the disappointment he feels now shows on his face, however. Only an extremely perceptive person would be able to pick up on the fact the sheepishly happy-go-lucky smile he wears doesn't quite match his eyes.

It takes thousands of hours of practice to get good at something--Jack's been practicing the art of cheerfulness for a while.]}

Would you believe me if I said I did? _{[He reaches up to rub the back of his head, completing this awkward tableau. It's more like head tampering than head trauma, but it's beyond doubt these misplaced memories are coming from somewhere.]} Sorry if I freaked you out. You just, er. Seemed familiar.

_{[He knows who she reminds him of--Arecia's form is as clear as day in his mind--but the details of how he feels he knows her are still fuzzy, like he's trying to bring something a long way away into focus. Slight bemusement colors his smile.]}

Good question. I don't really know how to explain it myself. You ever get the feeling walking around this place like you've seen something before, but you don't know what it means? _{[The effect this town has is batshit, and trying to describe it more so.]} Have you ever... worked around children before? Like, um. Teaching?"

[If he phrased it in that way, that would be something that Ana understood. Missing Rex was still like missing a piece of herself in some ways and that was something that had an aching certainty in the pit of her heart. Now with her memory like swiss cheese, she still looked for him in the shadows that made up her life, and they had given her one of the few thing that Ana Lewis knew about herself. Her brother had died. Rex died, it was Duke's fault and that was something that was true.

But even with that trauma, Ana Lewis was something else: she was a spy and someone who paid their living studying others and she could see without thinking about it the difference between his eyes and his smile. It is a gesture Ana mirrors, that smile not quite meeting her eyes when he apologized, and she just made a quick shrug.]

It seems to be the thing to do these days, have all these weird not really memories. If I don't know better, I'd expect that we were all half-asleep still.

[Ana had pinched herself, it had hurt, but there was the possibility that it was just her brains telling her mind that. But thinking about it too much hurt so she just focused on the papers that were in her house, waiting to be assigned grades.]

Yes, I teach English at the school here. I'm Ana Lewis. [Maybe her name would register more with him than it had with her.]

So you're remembering stuff that didn't happen, too?

_{[Maybe he doesn't have to pretend as much as he expected to with this lady--she's already aware their heads have been messed with. That's a load off. Why he has a vague impression of her at a lecture podium or... some kind of hands-on instructor?... is still a mystery, but at least they can both agree it's not natural.

Jack nods in agreement. A living dream spun from half-baked fantasies and cotton candy is the perfect way to describe how a soldier comes to live in a place he's always wanted to live in--a peaceful, happy place. It's exactly like a dream. (But without them, dreams are meaningless, even the nice ones.)]}

An English teacher... I think I-- _{[Putting a hand to his temple, he wrinkles his nose, trying to clutch the thread hanging tantalizingly within reach.]} I feel like I've seen you teaching other things. What about combat lessons? That ring a bell?

(april intro) WELCOME TO WAYWARD PINES!

no subject

no subject

no subject