bumfuckidaho | TEST DRIVE MEME, FEBRUARY 2017.

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TEST DRIVE MEME, FEBRUARY 2017.

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.

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.• hospital

[ The beeps remind her she's awake. It's like a siren ringing to alert her of the wires she's connected to, of the straps that keep her down tight against the bed. They say it's for safety. They've always told her that. But her safety or their own, that was always the question that brought her to reality.

She knows she's awake because in her dreams she isn't tied down. She's running through dark streets, worn hand-me-down shoes soaked from puddles, and her hand clutched tight within the fingers of a laughing boy. They run and run, fast as they're able, and they never stop —

— until she wakes.

Normally, it's the result of a nurse checking on her vitals, of an IV replacement, or something else that doesn't make a difference to her in this prison. But when her heavy eyelids spring open this time, it's to be told of a visitor. Visitors, when did she last have one? She can't remember.

But her groggy voice mutters as she gazes up to the ceiling. ] Let them in.

.• snow

[ She hears the irritated shouts of a man shoveling out the snow in his yard but a serenity courses through her as the chilling air brushes over her cheeks, red with the cold. Her boots crunch over the stray patches of snow on the street that's been scraped clear of most of the white, like an open pathway left for her to stroll through as everyone else worries about scraping their ice off their car windows.

Most curse it, but she likes this snow.

Standing in the midst of an empty street, she glances around at all the piles of white. Pensive for a moment, she raises a hand slowly, giving a swishing wave of her fingers as a flickering red light emits from them. It floats through the air, bouncing on the wind to the rhythm of a melody in her head before it swirls down into the snow, lifting up a scoop of it just as a solid hand would. The red light molds the snow, round and round until it forms a ball.

Wanda smiles at the floating snowball, letting it register memories she can't quite recall, before she jolts her head to look at the standing figure nearby that watches her. ]

[ Sam is utterly captivated.

He was going stir-crazy in his little house that he can't recall, its layout which is entirely unfamiliar. The clothes that look like they should belong to him feel like a stranger's when he puts them on. He can't shake the sense of wearing someone else's skin, which is part of what drove him outside.

Just in time to see those red lights start to dance.

It's her sudden motion that snaps him out of his own trance, though not so far that there isn't awe on his face. ]

That's... How did you do that?

[ They aren't supposed to see. That's what she's been told. Because it's too dangerous and the damage that could come from her curse could result in unspeakable consequences. And yet she always forgets, always has the instinct to let the magic slip out from her fingertips, to let it flow free as she's felt in her own dreams.

But this isn't a dream. It isn't allowed here. But she's been seen.

Immediately, her hand drops which in turns results in the disintegration of the red light, letting the balled up snow fall instantly back into the pile on the ground with a soft crumble. ] I didn't do anything. [ Her hands fall to her sides, fingers gripping the edges of her jacket as she looks away. ]

[ He falters at that. He was so sure--

But then he's met people who can change shape, who talk about the moon being a supercomputer and Holy Grail Wars and he's not sure what's real any more.

He steps a little closer, looking around now like he's not sure they aren't being watched. ]

Sorry, I didn't mean to... I wasn't trying to.... It's just, it was beautiful.

[ A hot lance of temper strikes him. He draws in a breath to condemn this place and how paranoid it's made him feel, but he lets it go with a long exhalation. It won't do him any good in this moment. It won't do her any good either. ]

Never mind. I must have imagined it. I've been imagining plenty of other things, lately.

[ He offers her a hand. ] Sam Seaborn. I'm told I'm a lawyer, which feels right, and that I do tax law, which feels boring, but there we are.

[ Beautiful. No one has ever used those words. Because it isn't supposed to be. After all, a witch is what they've called her and witches were only meant to burn, a curse living amongst ordinary men. Hearing such a contradictory word now, it makes her chest tighten now, like she isn't meant to believe such a lie. ]

The sun and the snow, it can play tricks on your eyes with the light. [ Probably not such a believable statement, not with the sort of red that had come from her hands, not with the way the snow had floated there for a long moment on its own.

But she knows better than to admit the truth.

He holds out his hand and she gazes at it for a long pause. She's been locked away for so long, she's almost forgotten what it is to meet strangers. Eventually she reaches out with a slow hand to shake it. ] Wanda. [ It's alright to say her name, isn't it? ] Do you always choose to do boring things, Mr. Lawyer?

Mr. Seaborn. [ It's a cheerful contradiction. ] But call me Sam. No, I'm pretty sure I would choose to work for the President if I had the opportunity, because that's what I remember doing, but I keep getting laughed at whenever I bring it up.

[ There's another flicker of temper at that, but he's still smiling. He is, after all, a lawyer. How good would he be if he couldn't stay cheerful through outrage? ] What about you? What do you do?

You have confidence in your government then. [ It's a bit of a disgusted thought for whatever reason. Her memory remains a distorted thing, but somehow she's well aware that her approval for this country isn't at its highest.

She tries to keep her tone neutral but a bit of her feelings still leak through her voice.

When he asks about her, she stills, fingers wrapping around her wrist with a deep breath. ] I look for lawyers to discuss politics. [ She tilts her head with a raised brow before shaking her head. ] I ... am a student.

Well... yes. [ He's oddly confused and, even more oddly, hurt by her tone, and he can't put his finger on why. It's ridiculous. He knows it is. Isn't it?

Except it's his administration, or not his, but the one he's a part of.

Unless the whole thing is a trick of the mind.

He shakes his head, shoving that aside. There's more that isn't right here. The way she moves, the way she seems to brace herself every time she makes a statement. He can't help it. There's an inkling of worry for her rooting itself in his mind.] Student of what? If... you don't mind my asking.

That is quite rare. I don't know many people that do. [ Though she doesn't know many people to begin with. Or rather, she doesn't remember so many. But she can recall dissatisfaction. She can recall riots, signs held high and angry voices shouting at men in uniforms. Somehow, she gets the sense that it all ties together.

Her continued pauses of silence come as a result of needing to think, to process the memories that aren't in any sorted order. In her mind are images of floating blocks, blocks that come together to collide to form peculiar jagged shapes. ]

Sculpture. I work with my hands. [ Because in her mind, she sees her fingers constantly in motion, swaying back and forth as if trying to shape something together. ]

Well, with a local government like this-- [ He raises his voice at that part, though only briefly. He's angry, not... entirely stupid. ] I can't imagine why.

[ Works with her hands. His thoughts skip to that red light, the way her fingers moved as it did, and his scalp prickles with something that he writes off as the weather.

Seeing things.

He looks at the spot where the snowball landed and steps close enough to her that he can whisper, can hide his face from anyone who might be inclined to spy. ]

Was it really a trick of the light? You don't have to say out loud, just... shrug, if it wasn't.

[ The head that pokes into her room when the nurse leaves is a familiar one, hopefully. She's got a small vase with some flowers in her hands, slipping into the room silently, shutting the door behind her and locking it with a soft 'click'. No point in tempting fate; there might be cameras in here, but at least this way she can talk to Wanda without actual interruption. She sets the vase down on the table next to Wanda, takes a seat in the nearby chair. ]

How are you feeling?

[ She remembers her. Not in the how, not in the why, but there's that flash of red, the memory of an old jacket, and Wanda can accept that this is someone she's had around for some time. At the same time, there's a tinge of spite that comes with it. Natasha — yes, that was her name. Somehow, she feels at fault for this. ]

Free as a bird. [ She says with a sharpness in her voice, though the wires that connect to her veins could give away the sarcasm just as well.

Her eyes remain focused upward, resting still. ] Did you come to make sure I hadn't escaped?

If there's any time to remember what I told you about looking over your shoulder, it's now.

[ She's expecting this, so there's no resentment in her tone or posture, just casual aloofness. They're being watched and listened to, and if she wants to keep them both from getting into trouble, she has to be both very specific and very vague in how she says things. ] There's nothing to escape from, remember? You were in an accident. I'm actually here to take you home.

[ An accident. Is that what it is being called? Somehow, that doesn't feel right. Because she'd done something, she knows that much. She remembers the faint memory of arms grabbing at her, of cold metal tight around her neck. If there'd been an accident, she'd been the cause of it. If she was here, she had to be a prisoner. ]

I do not have a home. [ At least she can't remember having one. Would her memories feel as cold if one actually existed? ] This is the only place for me now.

[ Natasha glances down at her finger nails, sliding her thumbnail under her pinky nail, almost speaking to herself as she responds. ] I think Steve would be hurt to hear you say that. You know his home is also yours, no matter what.

[ She puts her hands back in her lap, looking back to Wanda. ] And I don't disagree. You've seen enough of places like this in your life, Wanda. You deserve to have a home.

[ It's impossible to argue that truth. Steve has always been a constant presence, she senses that. When she thinks of the people who have stood by her, there's never too large a number but Steve's face is always there. A solid support holding a bulk of lost memories that nevertheless make her feel safe despite the haze of it all.

She sighs, eyes closing as she falls into a lost wander within her thoughts. Her fingers fidget with the sheets, her wrist giving a slight wiggle from beneath the straps. ]

Not everyone thinks so. I will be a danger if I leave. [ Always a danger. ]

[It's the name on the chart outside the door that catches his attention. He stops on his way down the hall and stares at it, even though it's none of his fucking business. Maximoff. Should that seem familiar? It... doesn't. But it tickles something in the back of his mind. He hates not remembering, but there's something disturbingly familiar about the sensation. He hates that, too.

He's about to move along, when he glances in through the crack of the open door. The girl in there is strapped to the bed like some prisoner.

Oh, hell no, that's not gonna fly. The images flash through his head again - scientists and doctors in lab coats, being hooked up to machines, restrained and submerged in a tank of fluid. Pain.

One of the nurses gives him the stinkeye, but allows him into the room. He doesn't know her, but he's itching to spring her from her bonds anyway.]

Why do they have you tied down?

[ She expects one of the others, the few friends that rise in her memory that needlessly come to see her. But the man who appears from the door isn't one of them. He's a stranger, an entirely unfamiliar face that has her, for once, taking her eyes away from the ceiling to give him a long bewildered gaze.

He isn't a doctor, that much is clear by the sheer look of him. His question doesn't provide any answers either.

She remains in a long silence as she tries to process whether he's from a lost memory or not. If he is, it isn't surfacing. ] Why do you care?

[He frowns as he actually takes the time to think about her question. He doesn't know her, so why is it any of his concern whether or not she's stuck here? If he walked away, would he be okay with that?

No. As hard as he tries, he can't make himself turn around and leave her. The sentiment seems at odds with some of the other more violent images swirling around in the mire of his brain. He doesn't know his name, but he knows for a fact that he can't just leave her to the mercy of doctors. Who knows what they're doing to her, here.

He snorts.] I don't know. Do you want to get out of here, or not?

Edited (i can words) 2017-03-23 01:22 (UTC)

[ What a strange man. He doesn't provide her with a real answer and yet, not many others have truly cared about how she felt about being here. She isn't so sure it's sentiment that brings him to ask her, but all the same, she's surprised to hear it. But then she doesn't truly have an answer of her own, does she?

She wants to say yes, but can't bring herself to.

So instead, she gives a soft shake of her head, lips pressed tightly as if still wanting to give an affirmative answer. But she doesn't. ] I'm too dangerous to be let free. I think I put myself here.

[She doesn't look dangerous. But then, when he'd caught his own reflection in a window, he didn't think he looked dangerous, either.

And yet...

He glances toward the door, peeks out to see whether there's anybody out there. When he decides that the coast looks clear enough, he shuts the door and turns back to her.]

I'm dangerous, too. But I know no part of me wants to be in this fucking place.

[With a sharp snikt, his claws emerge; but he just stands on the other side of the room and makes no move to harm her. In fact, he looks rather intrigued by the claws. He runs the tip of a finger over the edge of one of them, and the wound heals almost instantly.]

( continued here )

[ It's only Steve.

He's not dressed for the chill, not really, his leather jacket and the hands shoved in his jeans the only minimal concessions, though it would be a mistake to assume he doesn't feel it. He's never quite managed to remember the ice, but whatever stiffness the cold causes in his bones that can't be made stiff by the cold, he's happy to ascribe to contending with New York winters as a kid.

So he stands at the end of the driveway, not intruding on the space she's carved out in the middle of the street but looking just as out of place in front of the house as she does, in his own way. When she looks at him, he says, ] You've been practicing.

[ She panics at the sound of the voice, mostly because she heard one, always on edge from the mere idea of being around company these days. But as soon as the snowball falls to the ground, she immediately realizes there's little reason for it. It's only Steve.

Except, that's impossible to say because somehow she still feels uncertain around him, as if she's forgetting something truly important. And she knows she has, because there's too many holes, too many blocks of space that she can't quite fit in. She's almost ashamed to admit it. Because somehow she knows she's done something, or somethings wrong. Because what else can these hands possibly do? ]

Just a little. [ She wrings her hands together, pressing her lips together in a tight, modest smile. ] I shouldn't be doing it out here.

Good a place as any. You won't find many snowballs inside.

[ He knows why she says it, even if she doesn't. He has no intention of deceiving her about it, but where her worries are only vestiges inflicted by memory or the lack thereof, he sees no need to add to them. He believes she's fully capable of the control she's trying for here, and if mistakes have been made in the attempt before, they can talk about that once she remembers. ]

Might wanna work on your aim, though. [ He looks pointedly at the splattered remains of the snowball at her feet, and his mouth pulls slightly at one corner, teasing. ]

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