TEST DRIVE MEME, FEBRUARY 2017.

[officialnotice]

TEST DRIVE MEME

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 – the nursing staff greets you with a cheerful smile.

Welcome to Wayward Pines, they tell you. You'll make a full recovery here.

option one       WELCOME TO WAYWARD PINES

The hospital staff had seemed very friendly, but ultimately unhelpful when it came to answering your questions, insisting you shouldn't worry about such things, and that it was smarter to just rest until you'd fully recovered.

That was some time ago. You've since managed to leave the hospital – either via escape, or simply by waiting patiently and filling out paperwork until they finally agreed to release you. Now you've found yourself in the small but hearty town of Wayward Pines, Idaho. It's a charming little place, and the people there are all friendly enough, more than willing to greet you on the street, or give you directions if you need them.

Unless you're asking for directions out of town, of course.

Some will simply smile and give you a hearty pat on the shoulder and ask why you'd ever want to do a thing like that? Others will get quiet for a moment, and direct you to the nearest sign posted near the doorway of every building.

Don't bother taking the road, either. Whether you walk or get your hands on a vehicle, you won't get anywhere. The road simply takes you away from town for a short while before looping around and bringing you right back in.

There's no use questioning things, and it seems pretty useless to try to leave. So really, why not stay a while? Everyone's convinced that you'll find something to love in Wayward Pines.

(For the purposes of this test drive, you're welcome to handwave the existence of basically any local business or activity.)

option two             INTO THE WOODS

You've just heard a scream from the woods.

I mean, it could've been an animal. There's bound to be some kind of wildlife amongst the trees, right? But then again, it did sound awfully... human.

Though all of the locals nearby conceal a flinch at the sound, they'll assure you it's nothing, if you ask them. Why, you're probably just hearing things! (But with an anxious undertone of stop asking questions.) If you're curious, though, and brave enough to go see, they won't make any move to stop you from going into the wooded area surrounding the town.

The trees are tall, and their branches are thick enough to block out a significant amount of sunlight from breaking through the canopy, leaving the forest floor a little dimmer and cooler than the streets of town.

Whatever the source of the scream was, you won't be able to find it out here. An experienced hunter might notice some signs of a struggle, and a few faint boot prints, but they don't really seem to lead anywhere in particular.

What you will find, if you walk far enough, is a fence. A big one - at least 30 feet tall, made of metal and concrete. It goes on quite a ways in either direction as well; follow the wall far enough, and you'll see that it connects with the steep, sheer cliffs that surround the rest of Wayward Pines, effectively boxing the town in.

In actuality, you'll probably feel it before you see it. A full 500 yards from the wall, when it's hardly a shadowy smudge through the trees, you start to feel a little bit tired, a little bit weak. Trouble is, the closer you get, the weaker you feel - like the wall itself is sapping the strength out of you, and the closer you get, the worse it feels. Any powers you may have had grow weaker in kind as you make your way to the fence, but even ordinary humans will find their strength sapping away. By the time you're close enough to read the signs and to feel the crackle of electricity radiating from the thick wires criss-crossing the wall's metal surface, you're too weak to stand.

Do you crawl closer still and risk electrocution, or do you crawl away and assess the situation once you're far enough from the fence to be able to stand?

option three         IT'S A COUPLE OF FLAKES

There's nothing particularly insidious about the inch of snow that settles over the town one night while everyone sleeps. Kids run outside to have snowball fights and make snow angels, neighbors wave across to you as they shovel their driveway, the local coffee shop runs a 2 for 1 deal on hot cocoa. Snow crunches under your feet at your walk down the street and the cold bite in the air is revitalizing.

The next morning, there's a few more inches of snow. And then a few more the day after that. By the end of the week the snow is a good three feet deep and the entire experience has lost its novelty. Wayward Pines only has a single street plow to its name, and even when the streets are clear, surprise patches of black ice make travel downright dangerous if you aren't prepared. No special sale on hot cocoa can possibly be worth trudging through knee high snow drifts (even your most consciences neighbors can't keep up on the shoveling anymore).

And the power starts to fail in some of the houses. Sure, the repairman promises to stop by as soon as he can, but you're hardly to first person to call him today and he won't be able to pencil you in until tomorrow at the earliest, and what are you going to do about the cold until then? Maybe your neighbor's heat is still on, or maybe that trek to the coffee shop is looking more appealing by the second.

Either way it's time to layer your clothes, watch your step, and hope that Spring to comes early. And try to ignore that kid double dog daring you to lick a flagpole, it just won't end well.

option four            ON THE NETWORK

Though it's not as high-tech as you might be used to (or hell, maybe you're ren faire and it's centuries beyond anything you've seen), but Wayward Pines does in fact have a network to accommodate its citizens.

Go ahead, post a network post! Just note that the network, at current, is audio-only and can only be accessed from the telephones in each character's home.

( a few notes )

Welcome to our second test drive here in The Pines! Just one important thing to note this time:

Upon arrival in Wayward Pines, characters find themselves struggling to remember entirely who they were or where they came from. Memories return progressively over the next two weeks. You're welcome to play with this mechanic in any of these prompts, but it's definitely not mandatory! For more details on this temporary memory loss, see our FAQ.

Comments

Sam Seaborn | The West Wing | Option One

[fidelis]

[ My name is Sam Seaborn. I work for the President of the United States.

It makes sense when he says it to himself. It sounds real when he says it aloud. There’s no reason to suspect that it isn’t true, except that he can’t remember anything else and when he asks if the President is in town he gets indulgent laughter and people saying “Take it easy, Sam.”

My name is Sam Seaborn. Fact.

I work for the President of the United States?

He’s sitting in a diner, staring into his coffee, trying until his head aches to remember anything else. ]

I work for the President of the United States, [he mumbles, and then buries his face in a long drink of coffee, feeling naked and idiotic at the same time.]

[dragoness]

You sound pretty sure of yourself!

[ a call comes over from a few tables away, the voice easily heard in the mostly-empty diner. having been in this same position less than two months ago, one would think that eliza would be more sympathetic to those in need of a little support while they get settled.

maybe someone else would. not eliza. she doesn't quite get that whole "sympathy" thing. or empathy, for that matter.

she leans forward in her seat on the counter (on, because she can't be bothered to do anything normal for once), claws curled around the edge and the tip of her tail flicking like a cat's on the hunt. for once, her horns are hidden behind a giant pink-and-white striped hat. ]

But are you sure that's real? There's a lot about this place that'll mess with you.

[fidelis]

[ This person has claws. She has a tail. Sam rubs his eyes for a moment, looks again, blinks several times, and wonders if he can get away with putting on his glasses before she calls him on being weird or rude.

She has claws and a tail, and he works for the President of the United States. These things seem, for a moment, equally possible, before both seem entirely ridiculous. ]

I'm not sure anything's real, at the moment. I'm not sure that I'm not dreaming or in a coma or possibly high. This is a stupid question and I'm aware so you don't have to tell me that it is, but do you have a tail?

[dragoness]

[ ah, but she doesn't mind the looks, multiple though they are. everytime this guy looks back at her, her grin gets a little more slanted, a the tip of a fang peeking from under her lip. ]

Hmmmm? [ it's sing-song, and a thoughtful look then crosses eliza's face before she glances behind her. said extremity darts down behind the counter to hide itself, and the young girl gives a carefree shrug. the claws, however, are more difficult to hide. ] A tail? No, I don't think so.

[ eliza that's mean. don't be mean. but maybe if she's mean he'll pay more attention to her, and that's what she really wants. attention, even if it's just some small talk in an empty diner. ]

Maybe you're seeing things! Maybe this is all one big hallucination!

[fidelis]

[ Sam sits back and closes his eyes, a blossom of worry growing in his stomach. Maybe something really is wrong with him, if he's hallucinating like this. Imagining people have tails and thinking he works for the President.

He hates being at the mercy of the people around him, but he might just have to deal with it until his memory gets better.

If it gets better. There's a nauseating thought. ]

My name is Sam Seaborn. [ He knows that much. He's going to cling to that crumb of absolute certainty for all he's worth. ] And you are too sadistically perky to be my hallucination.

[ Ha. That felt right too. ]

[dragoness]

[ her ears (pointed, though barely visible under that mass of pink hair) perk up at that description, and eliza's face lights up. ]

"Sadistically perky"? I like the way that sounds! [ and yes, she just got even more perky with how much she has taken to that phrase. ] I will have to use it more often, it's a lot more cute than "Fresh Blood Demonness".

[ with that, she hops off the counter, giant frilly skirt swishing around her legs as she walks. her tail curls out from underneath those absurd layers of fabric, the end curling vertical much like a cobra's head. ]

Well, Sam Seaborn, you may call me [ and she places a hand over her chest, puffing it out ] Lancer! [ then just as quickly she points at him, her claw several inches from the tip of his nose. ] It's not my real name, but only my Master has that privilege, so you'll have to satisfy yourself with "Lancer".

[fidelis]

[ He gazes at her claw, then at her face, with the serenity of someone who has decided that nothing matters any more. ]

I take it back. This is absolutely, one hundred percent a hallucination and I have lost my mind.

[ And then he toasts her with his coffee and takes a long drink. ] Nice to meet you, Lancer.

[orangeslice]

And I'm Ant-Man.

[ hi sam, were you hoping to have a peaceful morning alone with your coffee? unfortunately that's not going to happen because your new best friend Scott has just scooted in to the table seat, with a tray of scrambled eggs, two bagels, and a doughnut. why does he have a doughnut and two bagels?

electrolytes man.

but he sounds perky, way too perky for a normal guy who isn't on some kind of drug. that's just Scott though. to further complete the look, he has 'I AM ANTMAN' written on his hand several times, like it's part of his grocery list or something he wants to remember for later. ]

Trying to figure out if it's Ant man, ANTMAN or you know, just Ant dash man, because details matter. Ant-dash-man sounds pretty crappy anyway, so you can just call me Scott.

[fidelis]

[ Sam blinks. Then blinks again. ]

Ant-dash-man sounds like a very small Olympic runner.

[ While he's not entirely sure what to make of this guy, he's also very sure things like this are a normal occurrence in his life. Someone sits down, starts talking, makes as much sense as "I work for the President and live in Idaho," and Sam has to sort out context clues to figure out what the conversation is actually about. ]

Sam. Sam Seaborn. [ He doesn't offer his hand, because he figures Scott will need both of his own to eat with. ] Maybe you're an exterminator. Wait - you're. [ He gestures at his head. ] Also? Accident, vague-but-friendly explanations of head trauma?

[orangeslice]

[ oh ho ho, silly mortal. Scott scoffs, pointing first at himself, taking a bite, then back to himself ]

Does this look like the face of an Olympic athlete? Nah— Ant Man's a superhero. His best friend's are ants, and he takes serious offense to being called a terminator, Sam. Got a cool as heck costume and everything too, I think.

[ does he think it was cool or does he remember if he had a costume or not? yes. he thinks about Sam's last question for a bit as he chews, nodding his head every few seconds as if it requires deep deep thought ]

I apparently ran a car off a cliff. And I know that's patently false, because one, I'm a safe driver and always wear my seat belt, and two, my other best friends are felons and one of them does all the driving for me.

[fidelis]

No, I'm saying Ant-dash-man sounds like an Olympic athlete, I never said you looked like an Olympic Athlete.

[ Wait. ]

You're a superhero. And I thought 'I work for the President' was out there.

[ Still, it's weird. Two accidents, same time, same result? It doesn't make any--]

Did you say felons?

[orangeslice]

[ he stops and stares at Sam, a stare that doesn't break for several seconds ]

Okay, that's a lot of questions in the span of a few seconds. Yes, superhero, and yes, felons, but important detail, he stole a smoothie machine. He's a really great guy once you get to know him.

[ the smoothie machine detail is important, because even if they were a band of master thieves, they were also a good and nice thieves, like Robin Hood. ]

And are you sure you work for the president? 'Cuz you don't sound that sure. Kinda wishy-washy, kinda like you're mumbling through your teeth.

[fidelis]

[ Sam bristles at that. ] I work for Josiah Bartlet, President of the United States of America. It's the one thing I am sure of, beyond my name, thank you very much, and me working for the President from the middle of nowhere, Idaho, is still more reasonable than you being a superhero.

[ A pause, because that was accidentally an insult. ] I don't mean you, specifically, I mean a general you. Superheroes don't exist.

[dehanded]

[ As sam talks to himself, a tiny blonde girl drifts by the table in one of the diner uniforms, a stack of dishes and cups on her plate. she's short, not even five feet tall, and is probably breaking the rules by not wearing shoes inside, but. well, maybe the red patterns on her feet make the skin more like shoes. like a hobbit.

but then sam says the magic words "president of the united states" and her eyes light up. without a word, ibaraki scrambles for the door to the kitchens, ignoring anyone else trying to get her attention or staring at her and her gross feet. ]

[ IN THROUGH THE DINER DOOR BURSTS A LARGE MAN WITH THE HEAD OF A PURE WHITE LION. ] It is I, Thomas Alva Edison, President-King OF THE UNITED STATES. [ bahahahaha! roar!!!! hahaha!!! immediately the lion man (mumford and sons intensifies in the background, but in aminor key because this is NOT a little lion man) slides into the seat opposite sam, ignoring any protest. ] Hello, my minion. You seem distressed. Perhaps paying your taxes will ease your pain. [ as a note, ibaraki (who is indeed the one pretending to be this large lion man) knows absolutely nothing about how america or government works. ]

[fidelis]

[ N......................o.....................

The coffee that was in his hand is now in his lap. It's burning his crotchal region. ]

I'm dead. I'm dead, and this is Hell. My mother was right.

[dehanded]

Ah, your elixir... That could have been your taxes... [ giant hallucination beefcat man looks genuinely disappointed, and not because sam might have injured himself. ]

[fidelis]

[ Sam takes up his napkin, closes his eyes, and hopes that the giant hallucination beefcat man will be gone when he opens them, because if not--]

Okay. First of all. President-King? Not a thing. Not to mention the fact that Thomas Edison was never a president, just a mid-tier inventor with brutally clever business practices, not to mention the fact that he wasn't ten feet tall and a giant lion!

[ He's on his feet now. BECAUSE THIS IS STUPID AND HE WILL NOT STAND FOR IT.

...Except the part where he's literally standing just. LOOK THAT'S NOT THE POINT. ] If I'm going to lose my mind does it have to be like this!

[dehanded]

[ there's a moment of silence, where nothing happens but the stupid giant light bulbs on beefcat lion man's shoulders blink on and off a few times, before he also stands up! and roars! ] ... This is copyright infringement! Treason! You dare doubt your President-King!? After he invented... the thing...! Cee-Dee currant! Yes! That! [ yes. that's absolutely what it's called. ] Archer put you up to this, didn't he? Tell that fool Tessa [ she means tesla ] that I will turn his hair into a rug should he--!

[ and... okay this is taking more energy than she anticipated. she cuts herself off right then and there, and... just like that, with a tired sigh, the giant lionbuffbeefdude sighs, sits back down without finishing his threat. his skin shifts, and the fur changes color until the tiny blonde girl, horns and waitress uniform and all, is sitting across from him, arms folded in front of her and scowling in displeasure. she's not sulking, but she's absolutely sulking. ]

That usually works on humans.

[fidelis]

[ Now he's looming over her and feels ridiculous.

Why did he not feel ridiculous yelling at a giant lion man thing with lights on its shoulders.

Sam drops back into his seat, and manages to sit in a patch of coffee that got on the chair and not on his pants. ]

Patent infringement not copyright infringement and no, it wasn't, President-Kings do not exist, I believe you're looking for "direct current," I have no idea who Archer is, and it's Tesla.

[ He studies the horns contemplatively for a moment. ] So I was right about the whole Hell thing.

[royalpassport]

[ Jefferson isn't sitting with Sam, but he's sitting... back-to-back with him, on the other side of his booth. So he can hear the mumbling, the repetitious recitation of a name and job. And he'd be sympathetic to it, except that at this point, remembering (at least) three different lives and being unable to tell which one's real and which isn't, Jefferson's got too many of his own problems to worry about.

Like this magazine quiz he's trying to take. It's supposed to be a fun, easy, light distraction from the maelstrom of delusions in his mind... except he's been on the same question for fifteen minutes now, and all he can think is My name is Sam Seaborn. I work for the President of the United States.

Finally, he twists in his seat, folds his arms over the top of the booth partition, and leans in so that his face is right by Sam's ear.

Enjoy him suddenly speaking up now: ] And why did the president send you here, to the middle of nowhere?

[fidelis]

[ He makes a strangled half-noise and twitches forward, spilling his coffee in a brown fan across the speckled table top.

Sam takes a moment to gather himself before he scoots sideways and twists so he's not looking directly into the eyes of the guy leaning into his space. ] That's an excellent question, and one I would love to find an answer to. Unfortunately, no one else seems willing to provide one, or even to tell me where the president is except to say that he's probably in the White House, Sam, take it easy now and rest up until you feel better.

[ He picks up a napkin and drops it on the coffee mess before it can spread too far, attempting to corral the liquid as the napkin gets soaked through. ] Who are you please.

[royalpassport]

[ Cue Jefferson making a tutting sound as Sam spills his coffee. Really. ]

You probably won't get anymore than that from anyone here. [ Jefferson tilts his head, studying Sam. ] Most people like to aim high with their delusions. I'm Jesus Christ. I'm Joan of Arc. I'm the president. [ A thoughtful hum. ] I work for the president is a new one.

[ Not that Jefferson genuinely believes the man's mad. Well, he might... just a bit. But he's mad, too, so who is he to judge? ]

I'm Jefferson. I own a tea shop.

[fidelis]

Excuse me. [ Sam sounds like someone just bumped into him and he is very, very affronted by it. ] That's not aiming high? To serve at the pleasure of the greatest power in the United States, to be a part, a real part of the American experiment? To share an office with some of the finest political minds in the world. To be at hand when the future of the country is shaped.

[ His rising cadence is somewhat undercut by the fact that he's now yanking napkins out of the holder on the table and building a little napkin dam around his spill. ] You own a tea shop. I stand at Clio's back, watching the history that will never be written about unfold. You made me spill my coffee.

[royalpassport]

[ No, Sam, that all sounds rather boring. But then, Jefferson's never been particularly attached to the 'American experiment.' Though he knows he was born and raised in this country, he can't summon any feelings of really belonging here. It's more like he was... displaced here. ]

I suppose I'm not very patriotic. And politics only ever seem to lead to people losing their heads.

[ Take that however you will. Jefferson isn't entirely sure how he means it, himself. He does find himself laughing at those closing remarks, though, even if that's not Sam's intent. It's just... ]

Oh, I apologize. I didn't realize I was speaking with a friend of Clio's. But I happen to prefer fiction to history any day, so... could you put in a good word for me with Calliope?

[fidelis]

[ He gives Jefferson a look so flat it could be roadkill. ]

I'll pluck and give you a laurel rod, that you may sing of Calliope first and last.

[ In a fit of pique, he shoves all the soaked napkins into a single pile. ] Now why can I say that? Why can I pull out and mangle a quote from Hesiod and I can't remember what I had for breakfast before I, apparently, ran a car into a tree?