bumfuckidaho | TEST DRIVE MEME, APRIL 2017.

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TEST DRIVE MEME, APRIL 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
PTA BAKE SALE

It's that time of year again. The time when everyone digs into their wallet, ignores their diet, and spends a little time supporting the local school bake fair. You know, for the good of the children. And it doesn't hurt that Linda's Blondie recipe is honestly to die for. The school PTA has pulled out all the stops this year in the hopes of encouraging a good community turn out, posters advertising the sale plastering every street corner and stuffed into every mailbox for a solid week leading up to the event, and today is finally the day.

There's at least two dozen different tables set up with all manner of delectable treats, even one or two offering vegan alternatives for those inclined, not to mention a few others catering to some of the townspeople's more... unique palates.

Maybe you've got your own table set up with your wares, or maybe you were simply lured to the park today by the appetizing scents wafting through the air. Either way it seems like the whole town has come out to show their support today and why wouldn't they? Children are our future, aren't they? Or maybe it's just Linda's Blondie recipe.

Yeah, that's probably it.

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 currently has two basic functions. The first is audio-only and can be accessed from the telephones in each character's home. If an audio-based medium doesn't suit your needs (or aesthetics), be sure to take advantage of the Wayward Pines Message Board from your brand new laptop for the chance to communicate with your fellow townspeople in a text-based format instead!

( a few notes )

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

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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Do you think all girls cry when their pigtails get pulled?
Rude.

Dom looks up at the sky, shading her eyes a little bit.

"Think they have the airspace as tightly locked down as the land? Probably. Not that I've seen so much as a helicopter here."

Hardly, but we won't be resorting to hair pulling. The sticks aren't for show, you know.

Sword fighting? Or just hitting each other to see if it hurts?

I don't want to ruin the surprise! You'll have to come out and see. After all, where's the fun in knowing everything that's going down?

He glances over at the kid for a moment, frowning curiously at him as he certainly seems to be uncomfortable for some reason, before backing away a little and doing his best to let the matter lie. But some instincts cannot be denied, so he tilts his head and gives the boy a smile at the dodge.

"You've got pretty good instincts."

When Rumlow had decided to hit up the local bake sale to procure treats for the house, he really hadn't expected such a turn out. It was like the entire town was here, greedy for confections. Rumlow wasn't particularly tempted, but he browsed the stalls all the same, trying to pick up a little of everything to keep Kenzi satisfied for the week. Among the crowds were familiar faces, locals generally, though by the look of some, he had to wonder.

Rumlow was packing his haul to leave when he heard a microphone tap; he turned to look at the head table. Standing there was the leader of the local PTA and --

"No way."

Pushing through the crowd and muttering a few 'excuse me's' to make sure he didn't step on any toes (literally or figuratively), Rumlow made his way to the front so he could get a better view. There was no mistaking it though. That was Alexander Pierce, member of the World Security Council and a top dog in SHIELD. There was something else too, but it was just another fuzzy memory and Rumlow frowned at his own brain damage not for the first time.

He stared up at him, trying to make eye contact to indicate they needed to talk, once Pierce was finished with his little spiel. How had he not known he was here? There was a notion that Pierce had a position here, something to do with the school, but he didn't have much of a connection with the place. Maybe that was why. Did Pierce even remember him? Or was he suffering from the same amnesia that affected them all? Rumlow had a lot of questions and damn, he really hoped Pierce could answer some of them.

[ He turns to look at her, taking stock of how she's feeling. Usually, he's hesitant to mention the things he can do, but right now, maybe she needs a little reassurance. ]

Hey. Don't get too worried. I can do a little more than float. If things get hairy, I've got your back.

[ Then he's gesturing for them to start looking again. ]

True. I guess this is the sort of event where we don't bring our own sticks?

I set no rules on that. The bigger, the better.

Colder.

[ Dominique DiPierro is inside a coffeeshop with a nice fresh Americano and a scone. She's got a book that she picked up—an inconsequential spy novel, nothing terribly well-written or thrilling, but amusing enough.

Then there's that prickle at the back of her neck, the feeling of being watched. A cop's instinct, she knows now—she knows with certainty that she was a detective of some kind before she came here. Casually, without urgency, she looks up from her book and her gaze flicks around the room. No one inside.

Then she looks out the window and sees him—someone who's been through some shit, plainly. Who might not be out of place on an F train platform right before the last train of the night, being given a wide berth by everyone who just wants to get the hell home.

Accidentally, perhaps, her gaze meets his, and instinctively she gives him a little smile and—why?—a wave. ]

At least we don't have a short supply of sticks.
Who know's, maybe I'll stop by and see what's up with boyish meetings in the night.

Where do you want to meet up? Do you go to school?

The crowd was an excellent turn out, better than expected. It was the heavy promotion, the door-to-door efforts of so many of the PTA that encouraged this turn out. He personally found it better for those little inclinations that he might actually know someone beyond the usual pleasantries. Those were a daily occurrence, but the uncomfortable twist in his guts that indicated that something was wrong and that something was missing happened with a few people that he observed.

So as he adjusted his red tie and turned from the microphone to allow people to return to their sweet browsing, he spotted the dark-haired earnest looking face. It caused him to slow his walk as he looked the man over, someone who he didn't recognize by name but somehow had the inclination that they had met before. Like the continual worst case of deja-vu.

He shook hands with the head of the PTA, exchanging congratulations on the turn out, but his attention shifted to the dark-haired man. He inclined his head in the direction away from the bake sale, walking away calmly to place himself near the baseball diamond. There were too many children hooting and hollering on the jungle gym, and it would be suspicious if he brought a relative stranger to his office.

"Good day to you, sir. I see you've found something to your liking," he remarked, looking up at the blue sky with its puffy clouds. "You recognize me." And not in the way that people did when acknowledging him as principal.

Ask and the forest will provide. Feel free to. If you can handle yourself, I might even welcome you back.

We'll have to see.
Mind if I bring a friend. He's a bit of a goof but he's fun.

The more, the merrier. We'll cause trouble all night long, or at least until some pesky adult comes to break things up.

Apparently small talk is what's happening now and while Ren abhors the idea, he knows he has to play nice. He looks at the man again, wondering why he's even bothering to initiate conversation. Ren tries to probe into his mind, seeing if he can get an idea behind his motivations -- if they lie beyond simple curiosity.

"Comes with practice," Ren replies, knowing he likely can't get away with any more curt answers. It's easier to read someone when you get them talking anyway. Brings the thoughts forward, makes them nearly impossible to obscure.

OPTION 3: PTA BAKE SALE
PTA events. Han always hated these things, tried to make himself as scarce as possible whenever one of these fundraising events rolled around. Leia usually made him show up in her stead, anyway-- at least, when she was too busy to do it, herself. Gotta support the kids and their education. But she's got a better head for politics than he ever did. Navigating the egos of the other parents is way more up her alley than Han's. He just has a tendency to rub people the wrong way a lot of the times, and it hasn't gotten better with age.

He thought, when Ben graduated, they wouldn't have to deal with this crap anymore. But nah, 'this is our home' and 'children are the future,' so it looks like he's stuck dealing with the PTA until the day he dies.

Because he drew the short straw this time, Han's at the bake sale with an offering of cupcakes, fresh from... the bakery. What? Leia's a busy lady, and she doesn't have a domestic bone in her body. She doesn't bake for him, let alone the entire town. And no matter how many times he tries to point out that they might as well just donate the money spent at the bakery straight to the school, she won't have it.

It's important to network, or some baloney like that.

So, here's Mr. Solo, lounging in his fold-out chair behind a table of immaculate cupcakes, all while he reads an automotive magazine, wishing he was anywhere but here and projecting a general air of 'grumpy hermit'.

Maybe not a public text then. You can always pass work around school. It'd be smarter.

You make it sound like I care. It's more exciting this way.

[Makes him more delinquent.]

The excitement he felt at finding someone who might finally be able to shed some light on this situation was nigh immediately snuffed once the two of them had gotten off to the side to initiate their conversation. Pierce didn't know him. Talk about a disappointment. But maybe, Rumlow thought, he could jog it. Trigger some kind of recollection, or maybe just wait it out. After all, he was starting to remember more, over time.

He stood, looking Pierce over, trying to figure out what missing history they shared. There had to be some, Rumlow wouldn't get this strong of a feeling for nothing. He glanced down at his bag of goodies, huffing his amusement.

"Yeah, well. People I live with have got a serious sweet tooth." Rumlow glanced over his shoulder. He knew there had to be surveillance here. They couldn't talk about much, without knowing how Pierce would react to the information. The man still seemed to have a subtle bearing, the way he'd arranged them here, but that didn't necessarily cover things like finding out you're a world leader or whatever.

"I do," he said, in a quieter voice. "Not from here. The name Brock Rumlow ring any bells?"

More fun to get interrupted? You're really strange but I'm there.
You've peaked my interest.

All Han can remember of Alexander Pierce is that he's been the principal since way back when Ben was still going to school, that he's damn good at his job, and that he can be a bit of a blowhard. Which means, of course, that Han's got a kneejerk dislike of the man that he figures goes back to his kid's schoolboy days.

It's nothing that Pierce did or said; he's a perfectly respectable man. A pillar of the community. There's just this aversion to figures of authority that seems to be completely ingrained in Han. Maybe from his own youth? He never cared much about school, and he's found himself in trouble more times than he can count.

'Respectable' just chafes at Han. Besides, he's got that yappy little dog that Chewie's always growling at.

When Pierce addresses the crowd, Han watches, not bothering to suppress the look of exasperation on his face. "What a bunch of baloney," he mutters. Now he's gotta shake the guy's hand and play nice.

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