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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There is something impossibly endearing about someone shuffling so frigging stilted and he eats like he's been starved (like other people he knows) and Cassian just shakes his head and waves off any mention of paying him back.

"I make these things all day." The cupcakes, that is. Besides Finn is so excited about it, how could Cassian not give him food? "You don't need to pay me back. Someone else pays me."

Not that it...matters. Really. All things considered. (Like the fact that they're trapped here, and it seems to be part of a massive experiment, and Cassian doesn't entirely know what the hell exactly is going on.)

"Did you just come from the hospital?"

[ Cassian would say that he clearly needs to hold onto it, but then again, he doesn't want anyone to become as jaded as he is.

Cassian smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes at all. ] You're probably not wrong. Not that anyone in power will admit as much.

Yavin 4. [ It comes back as he talks, so he keeps talking. ] Jungle moon in orbit around the red gas giant Yavin, near the Outer Rim. Where's Michigan?

They never do. [ Do those words seem a little loaded? They might be just a wee bit loaded. He doesn't remember who the scorn is for, but boy howdy does he feel it. ] Going to take a wild shot in the black and guess that they don't much like it when their status quo gets questioned, either.

"Cassian." She gapes briefly, recognition flaring in her eyes, followed by a relief that threatens to stagger her. Cassian is her friend and teammate and repository for awkward tension she doesn't want to think about. But he's familiar and friend and...

"Tea?"

It's cheating to distract her with food because no amount of false memories (that she doesn't realize) can erase a lifetime of food insecurity. That is just ingrained in her. Food is also immediately easier to deal with than literally anything else. But she remembers she's holding the pile of gift baskets and nudges one toward him. "Gift basket?""

[ He knows that back. Even if unfamiliar clothes, in an unfamiliar setting, he knows that back, and the rush familiarity has him pelting down the sidewalk toward her from behind, nearly taking out a woman carrying her groceries up to her door.]

Sorry! Sorry. General!

[ General? That isn't right. Is it? Does he know her from his days in the Navy, or from after, at NASA? He's not sure. He just knows it's important to reach her. He knows it's important that she recognize him. He almost skids up to her, his last running steps becoming a walk.]

Excuse me. General-- [ General what? General-- ] Organa. General Organa.

[ Two words when paired that feel like coming home. ]

Oh, now you've done it, Poe.

She bristles, lips pursing. "I'm fine, thank you." Someone doesn't know how to accept help, it's fine. It's not going to end with a gift basket on the ground and a pile of ruined meat and cheese selections.

"It's barely theft besides," she adds, as if already considering him less than a common thief. What a brat, a judgmental brat. "There's no skill involved."

☆ bake sale.

[ tinker bell was a fairy. it's one of the first things she remembers when she first arrives, and she holds on to it like she might just be able to wish her way out of this one.

maybe she shouldn't be so desperate to grasp hold of something from her old life, it must sound ridiculous to anyone around her. she's asked around about magic, asked about the Enchanted Forest - she even asked about Pan, only to be laughed at and reminded that Tinker Bell is only her nickname, and surely she must still be a little confused after the accident.

she's inclined to agree, if only for the sake of keeping things peaceful. what Tink would rather do is remind these people of who she is and where she came from, but there's the absence of wings and magic and the certainty that they'll think she's insane.

as far as they know, her name is Isabelle, and Tinker Bell is a nickname she's carried with her since childhood. she owns a small dress shop and coaches at the same high school where she used to be quite popular. she enjoys doing things with her hands; cooking, sewing, taking on different projects around the house, and she prefers to keep busy.

she also has sweet tooth, so while she's made a contribution of some delicious fairy wand cookies, she's also stopping by many of the tables to offer a donation and try something new. everything from lemon squares to Linda's blondies, to some pastel rice krispie treats. she's happy to introduce herself, to catch up with old friends, maybe just to enjoy the day.

this isn't where she belongs, Tink is very aware of that. though considering where she's from, and how things have improved for her since arriving here, she has to admit that this town is an improvement over Neverland.]

☆ network.

I've just discovered one of the local pubs has karaoke on Friday nights. Who's coming with me, and what are you singing?

[Tinker Bell's fake memories are slowly filling themselves in, and that includes her own meaningful rendition of Cyndi Lauper's True Colors. who could forget such a crowd pleaser?]

Edited 2017-04-19 03:51 (UTC)

He lets out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding, and, okay, the feeling in his chest? Suddenly a lot less like a bantha was sitting on it. Because despite all else, with no one else really knowing him here, there's always been a little voice that questions whether or not he's losing it. Whether or not this is real at all.

Later he'll have another miniature crisis about all this but right now he's too relieved at her response to tea, the fact that it worked, the fact that she remembers him. He didn't remember her at first, and yeah, there's some guilt there too. "You'll like my job." And he takes a gift basket, because why not? (He'll figure out what to do with the rest of them, give him a second here. They have names on them. That helps. Probably.)

Either way there's the table for the tea shop, and a lot of cupcakes, and tea. And coffee. And Cassian is more or less nudging her in that direction. "We'll wait til this wraps up to catch up properly."

Don't laugh, Poe Dameron. Don't laugh. Don't you do it.

Thus speaks his internal monologue, a moment before he does it.

"I never said skilled." Poe raises an eyebrow, indicating a basket about to capsize with a tiny nod. "Cargo's a little unbalanced. Sure you're fine?"

Seems to happen in stages, their levels of disliking. [ Cassian still doesn't know what all the buildup is to, but he has some ideas. Vague ones, but you don't get an entire town of people flinching at an idea without somehow getting them all involved in the punishment. ] You know how it goes.

[ Damien remembers such mundane things about his life before this; he loved motorcycles and really good scotch. The word Detroit keeps ringing through his head, too, and he thinks that might be where he grew up. None of these details mean anything with his immediate circumstances except he does know he killed people. He killed a lot of people, on the orders of others. A mercenary of sorts.

That's a memory that's really fucking unsettling and he'd like to forget that altogether but that's part of him. A part of him he needs to figure out, eventually.

Right after he makes some sense of this place and what that screaming is. It quickly becomes a lesson in futility, trying to track down the source, and by the time he's slowing down and growing so strangely tired, he runs into someone. Taking a deep breath, he gives her a friendly nod, approaching slowly. ]

Think it means we need to get the fuck away from it. Far away.

option three; pta bake sale

[ There's a strange feeling surfacing in Clint's gut. He came down here hoping to get snacks. His sweet tooth is strong today, but the longer he stands here among the chaos of the kids and parents he feels it. It's familiar. A pull. A hole. It's hard not to get holes in his line of work. For all the good the military does it can leave a soldier riddled with holes. Desperate to fill them you can turn to things that aren't healthy. Things that can only get you through the day. But this hole feels fresh. It feels raw.

He can't put his finger on it. It wasn't there when he woke up in the hospital. It wasn't there when they explained that Clint took a heavy fall while free climbing. He can't quite figure out how it happened, but it sounds like him. He's always felt more comfortable in higher spaces. When he can see what's before him. The hole wasn't there when he left the hospital and walked the streets. But it's here now. Watching the kids and the parents mingle withe crowds.

Instinctively he reaches down to take a hand, but nothing's there. Instead Clint grasps at air and he blinks. Trying to figure out why he just did that. Why would he? He shakes off the confusion. Figuring it's just the memory gaps playing tricks on him. He turns and for half a second a brunette catches his attention. She smiles and then a glare takes over. Her face blurs and morphs. Just barely there and then it's gone again. When his vision rights himself she's not anyone he knows. Just a stranger. ]

option four; network

How long does memory loss typically last?

[ With faux exasperation: ] First a reprimand, then a little bit of pain, then a lot of pain, then maybe a little death. Never changes.

[ That should not be a thing one says with an edge of flirtation, but hey. That's part of what he does. Put the soft edge on ugliness and make it into a joke.

Poe loses the humor, giving Cassian a more serious once-over. ] But you're not telling me about this just so I know.

What if Jyn lets the basket fall and kicks it at him. It's not a soccer ball and there is a distinct crunching noise when her boots hit the delicate weave of the basket, but! She has excellent aim.

"There's your spare." It's a little mangled now, resting forlornly by his feet, but it's not like Jyn was going to give them to the right people to begin with.

There's a problem with that last one, though.

[ Cassian is not kidding but he also doesn't seem terribly thrilled with the idea of explaining the whys or wherefores of that further in this immediate moment. Another shrug. ]

There was no welcome letter when I got here.

(He will not figure out what to do with them because she is keeping them all. Look at all the tiny meat and cheeses and little chocolates. She is not giving these up unless he fights her.)

She lets him lead her to the table, shoving the pile of baskets underneath to keep them safe and hidden, but she doesn't sit down, too idly restless to settle into the chair. Instead she drags a hand through her hair before she folds her arms across her chest.

"What is your job? Easy-Bake Oven cupcake maker?" That was slightly more judgy than intended and her mouth slants down in a slight frown but she doesn't apologize because she has the emotional range of a turnip.

What? No! Is that what this sounds like?

[Upon further inspection and a few re-reads...]

That's exactly what it sounds like.

The signs are why I want to leave!

[It's contradictory, he knows, but come on. Who wants to stick around somewhere that encourages the posting of ominous, totalitarian signs? Not Finn.]

Well, now they're being shoved under the table, and Cassian will have to figure out how to smuggle them away. That's great.

He watches her restlessness from the corner of his eye (someone else has come up for tea and a cupcake or three) and then she says that and, look. His headache. It's returned with a vengeance.

"I'm a manager at a tea shop called Go Ask Alice, so you're about halfway there. It's very civilian, not at all like before." And if his tone is anything to go by it's driving him a little insane. This whole place, really, is driving him a little insane.

"Try the red velvet I think you'll like it."

Yeah, I kinda guessed that much.

[Doesn't mean he's not still going to try. Apparently Poe's already given it a shot, though. It doesn't dampen his spirits entirely! Just kind of... drizzles his spirits. His spirits are slightly misted.]

Hey, where are you right now, anyway? We should be doing this face to face.

There's no 'typical' about it.

Okay. But what are we doing about it?

[ Yes, it's we already, Cassian. Poe blinks, then laughs quietly. ] And what's your name?

Ugh, now she feels bad for her snide comment, fidgeting as he helps the customer. Once they're gone, she shifts a bit closer, if only to help herself to some tea, holding the cup carefully between her hands.

"Mmm, sounds like you love it." She can see right through him, even with the jumble of false memories tumbling around in her head not giving her the appropriate context for why she knows he is slowing going mad. She reaches out with one surprisingly warm hand, thanks to the tea, and squeezes his forearm gently. Solidarity or something, comfort she doesn't really know how to give.

Well, Poe will laugh again, bending to pick up the basket and inspect the name on its little card. "Now, what's... Harold going to say about his basket getting banged up? You're a good shot."

That's the most important part, obviously.

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