TEST DRIVE MEME, APRIL 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

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.

Comments

jyn erso | rogue one

[realists]

WELCOME TO HECK

"Wait, what is a..." And they're gone, leaving Jyn standing on the middle of the sidewalk awkwardly, unsure of what to do with herself. She shoves her hands back in her pockets and sets off in the direction the townsperson had helpfully indicated.

How is she supposed to find her apartment if she doesn't understand half of the directions. Whatever, she'll manage, mumbling to herself. "What is a petting zoo?"

PTA BAKESALE

Pushing her bangs back, Jyn crouches by the edge of one of the tables, petting the dog sat next to it and maybe stealing a vanilla cupcake off of the edge of it. Nothing to see here. Nope. She shares a chunk of the cake part with the dog before she saunters away. Once she's turned her back on the table, she shoves the rest of the cupcake in her mouth all at once.

It's almost like she knows she is stealing and doesn't want to get caught with the evidence, we just don't know.

Later she is accosted by some tall, willowy blonde in matching pastels and finds herself with arms full of gift baskets and directions to, well, Jyn doesn't know, she wasn't listening. "Um..?" So... she is just going to keep them, that is what she decides in a split second, but she needs to get rid of a couple so she goes to the nearest people and hands one over.

"Here! Thanks for your support." Her idle expression of disinterest does not change with her 'gratitude'.

[volitaunt]

Poe looks at the basket, then at its giver, the flat-eyed expression on her face.

He can't help it. He grins in reply. "But I haven't gotten anything yet."

General Leia Organa | Star Wars (The Force Awakens)

[oldladyleia]

Option one: welcome to wayward pines.

[The hospital is weird and Leia knows it. The nurses are wrong, and she touches her head trying to put things together like just what, exactly, a car was. (Had she really been inside a car and not a ship? Was a car a type of ship?) But she only allowed the nurses a minute to baby her before she pulled herself up to her proper height, and stared the head nurse down, despite being in a hospital gown. They'd given her clothing and released her post haste, giving her a slight smile.

Telling people what to do was something inherent in her, and the nurses responded to it.

When she was walking to the house, things started returning to her, and Leia found her feet going along a familiar sidewalk to the home that she shared with her husband, and that her son had grown up in. Neighbors waved and Leia waved back with a smile, asking about their family as a reflex. It was something that someone had taught her, but she couldn't say who or what. Instead, she let herself be greeted, and answered questions about the school (as she was the vice-principal) or the model UN (that she'd set up and advised) mostly though, Leia tried to place them and find out what their importance to her was. If there was any. ]

option three: PTA BAKE SALE
[Leia Solo was not domestic. She didn't bake, mostly because she didn't have time to do it. Of course that meant that when it came time for things like the PTA bake sale, she left it to Han to pick up the order that she'd placed weeks ago for fancy cupcakes that would probably be sold at half the price they paid for them. It was funny really how her salary tended to find it's way back into the school's pockets from time to time.

As the vice-principal, Leia sometime had a hard time with students because they were sent to her when they acted out. She tended to be able to figure out what was going on with them without thinking about it; Leia just knew. Mostly, she gave them the disappointed talk and it tended to work. Sometimes. Now though, Leia had set that face aside and greeted them like old friends, asking about classes and how they were. When parents stopped and asked about their children, she smiled and said that they really should ask their children that.

But she stopped at almost every table and paid for something, asking for them to hold it until the end of the sale. If nothing else, no one could ever say that Leia Solo didn't support their school.]

option four: the network
SN: TheGeneral

I'm looking for some volunteers for the Model UN program at the school. I'd like some adults that they can practice off of, if you think you're up to it. My kids are good.

[sheriffing]

[ now that she's had time to recover from the accident, Emma is more aware of the people around her. she's been able to fill in a few blanks, like her friends and co-workers and the students who really piss her off. she ends up at the bake sale with a few store-bought items that she abandons to someone else's table, and then wandering around and picking up a few things in support of the school seems like the right thing to do.

among the staff, word travels fast. she knows where the good snacks are, which ones they can't give away, and which parents have already embarrassed themselves in front of their children. she has a brownie in hand when she notices one of the friendlier administrators approaching the same table where she's stopped to indulge.

it's a little strange, how memories hit in varying levels of intensity. there are people she tolerates, then people she genuinely admires. Leia's one of the latter.]

If you don't stop telling people to save the cupcakes for later, I'm going to go around and collect yours when all of this is over.

[she's probably kidding, and yet, that's an accurate statement of Emma's feelings toward food. she'll have whatever it is, if you don't want it.]

Isabelle Lightwood | Shadowhunters

[withstyle]

OPTION ONE

Nobody wants to wake up in the hospital. Izzy is no different than most people in that respect. Coming to in the hospital bed with...chaos and a little bit of pain and the remnants of something lingering in the foggiest mess possible only adds to the unpleasantness that comes with the somehow familiar environment...and yet it isn't really. She doesn't really remember any of it, not even with a bit of concentration; the room, the nurses with those slightly off smiles...none of it is ringing a bell and it's beyond frustrating even if the young woman can't exactly explain why.

It doens't help that those same nurses give her placating smiles and brush off her concerns and questions with instructions to rest while she waits for her discharge,
which couldn't come around fast enough. Izzy isn't sure about much of anything right now, but one thing that she does know is that the hospital gown isn't flattering on anybody, no matter how shapley and attractive their body is: her's included. Plus the colors make even the healthiest of sick and injured look terrible, washing them outh. It's not something that Iz would be caught dead in if she had a choice, and she doesn't know how she knows that fact.

After what feels like forever Izzy's finally released with the tip that her things will be waiting for her at the Sheriff's Office. The petite woman can only hope that going there, picking up her things will bring back something.

Still, that leaves the trek through Wayward Pines for Izzy to think, to fixate on what she can't remember and the frustration that feeling that way causes. She doesn't even know herself right now, not really; so, she can't take much comfort in what she does know. That bodes the question of what does she know? That's the question on Izzy's mind as she works her way throurough the place in search of the Sherrif's office. As she passes people whose faces she doesn't recognize she offers a polite smile in return, still not feeling right about all of this. And even once she's picked up her things, and changed, she doesn't feel better, though she does feel a bit more like herself.

Now in her heels, leather jacket, blouse and tight leather pants with her lips painted just the right shade of red Izzy just...feels more herself. Even if she isn't sure who she is. The difference is noticable, and not just because she's now dressed, but also because she feels different, sauntering back down the street of Wayward Pines Izzy's smile is more flirtatious and natural....even if she's more focused on what's going on in her mind than the polite interactions with the faces that are just sort of blending together.

"Hi," Izzy announces herself, finally stopping to...try again. "I'm sorry, I'm a little...out of sorts, but...what's going on here with this place?" Izzy plasters on the charm, naturally, just needing some sort of answer.

OPTION THREE

[The muffins sat out on Izzy's table look more like weapons than a delicious basked treat. Tilting her head as she reaches out to try and rearrange them to make them look more appetizing the petite woman can't help the frown marring her face; baking is, apparently, not one of her fortes unless this is just a terrible fluke.

Either way the muffins look horrible and there's a lingering smell of something distinctly...well, burnt. She's pretty sure that nobody will be jumping to get any of these.]

Maybe I should market these as hockey pucks...or ornamental throwing muffin pucks instead... [She mutters to herself, knowing she can't (in good conscience) let anybody even attempt to eat these things.

At least she tried? And why does she have the feeling that she'll always try despite how badly this went? Surely she isn't always this bad in the kitchen? The Angel knows that it went badly this time, though.]

Option 3 - May the Angel save him

[angelic_archer]

[Even if Alec's memory is still missing a few events, there's no way that he'd every forget his sister. Her name had eluded him for days but he'd remembered the sister who had supported him and had been so happy over his relationship with Izzy.

Although it'd taken time, her name and a few important traits had settled in his mind. One of those key details had been to avoid Izzy's cooking at all costs. Unless she was about to inflict it on someone else.

Picking up one of the muffins, Alec manages not to wince when he realizes how heavy it is and that it's more than slightly charred around the edges.]

I don't think we have a rink, but I could use them for throwing muffins. That could help with my training

[If he could remember what exactly he's training for.]

tinker bell | once upon a time

[trybelieving]

☆ 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?]

network;

[ouzel]

Go Ask Alice has karaoke too, but with the added non-bonus of a lack of alcohol.

clint barton | mcu

[arcum]

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?

4

[ouzel]

There's no 'typical' about it.

Merlin | BBC's Merlin (Pre-series)

[magicmishap]

ONE
Merlin wasn't really sure how long it had been since the accident. He had been out of the hospital for only a few days now, but he had been banged up pretty good, and his memories of exactly how long the stay had been were... fuzzy. And everything else as well.

He had a few very sharp memories in his head, things he knew to be true, but not most of the rest of his life, either in specific, or in general. It felt like, well, he was waiting for his mind to come back from vacation. And it was taking it's time. Why did his hands twitch just so, sometimes? Why did he seem to catch a glint of gold in his eyes, now and then? Why did things seem to happen around him when he really wanted them to? And how did it all tie together somehow like his mind kept trying to insist?

As he wandered down the street, looking around, he felt a sense of peace. Surely his memories would come back when they were supposed to, right? Right. Even if a small nagging voice told him there was something oh so wrong about all of this. It was probably nothing, after all. He should go get some ice cream. Yeah.

TWO

The scream sent Merlin running. He wasn't even aware of what had set him to running for the first few steps, just that something, deep within him, told him to run. And it was only as he was really bearing down into a fast and hard run that he realized his instinct had been to run toward the scream, instead of away from it. Which realization made his run falter for a moment, and his labored breathing catch up with him as he tripped over a log and went down, face first.

It was then that he realized he had been running for awhile, and that he had no idea where he was, other than in the woods... somewhere. He looked around, looking for answers, clues, and anything to tell him what had gone on, but he saw nothing, not at all.

What was going on here? Why had someone screamed? And more importantly, why had he run toward it? He was a simple maintenance man, not a cop! What was going on?

THREE

The bake sale had drawn Merlin to it like honey drew bees, and he smiled as he approached the many covered tables, eyes wide and mouth watering. He worked maintenance and knew a lot of the people who were holding sway over those tables. He had, after all, fixed things around most of them, since he got out of school.

The sheer amount of delicious baked goods on sale looked pretty and intensely overwhelming. And he knew, without a doubt, that he could totally blow an entire paycheck here. And his paychecks weren't small!

FOUR

SN: The Wizard

Okay, who was it who made the deep fudge brownie cakes for the bake sale, and what do I have to do to get more of them? I've been jonesing for them since I ran out of the plateful I bought at the sale, and I think I need more.

Be a saint, take pity on this poor maintenance man, and admit to your glorious works so I can come beg or buy more of them from you.

two

[aconight]

There was an unusually large, brown wolf also trekking though the woods. He tended to pass like a shadow between the trees, barely making a sound as he ran; but the further he went, the more sound he felt he was making. Branches cracked under his paws. Leaves rustled. Jesus, he was even panting.

When he almost stumbled over the fallen man, Ash came to a stop and turned around to snuffle at Merlin's hair. Wolves were large animals, even when they were natural creatures; but this one was almost two hundred pounds and as big as a Great Dane. Still, the vibe he was giving off wasn't very scary. He sat down a few feet away from Merlin, tongue lolling and tail swishing back and forth as regarded him.

Carl Grimes | The Walking Dead

[futureserialkiller]

option 1

Screeching, twisting metal. A scream. And then darkness.

That is all Carl remembered. He doesn't know why he's here, but he remembered some things. He remembers he had a rifle, ready to ambush someone in revenge for Glenn and Abraham. But it's not here in the hospital, so its clearly been confiscated. Either way, the hospital had been clearly been low on security, for he was able to sneak his way out of there after obtaining his clothes back. This whole town reminds Carl a little of Alexandria, but only because the cleanliness is comparable, although the grass hasn't grown like it had in Alexandria.

Compared to perhaps most newcomers, Carl is a little standoffish, lips pursed as he tries to understand just what the hell is going on. His one eye (the other covered in a bandage) narrows when pointed to the sign.

He needs to get out of here. He can't remember everything, but he distrust this place, and he needs to get out. But first, he's going to the house he's assigned in. Maybe find something useful. But there's a possibility that it's a trap as well. So he's stuck - until he sees someone close to him.

"Hey, do you know where this house is?" He shows the address of his new home, in a crumbled piece of paper. When in doubt, get a buddy.

option 2

He was right in not trusting this place. Carl heard the scream and when he asked the natives about it, they either pretend they didn't hear it, or they not-really-discreetly press him to forget about it. Frustrated already, he stalked off. He's not going out in the woods to leave this place without some supplies, however. He's went back to his home and grabbed everything he could carry - the knives (he couldn't get to any guns, which he preferred to have), the food, rope, anything that he might needed on the road ahead, stuffed in a small backpack that he bought on the cheap.

He entered the woods, and already he felt comforted by the familiarity. He may not remember everything, but he remembered this.

He heard a crack of a broken twig close by, and he flattened himself against the tree. Carl hold his breath, sheathing the knife hidden from the tail end of his shirt.

option 2

[planetaryblues]

New Save File 1 is off to a cracking head start. After she had checked out from the hospital perhaps a tad more violently than necessary, and shucked off her open-back gown for a grotty flannel and jeans combo repurposed from a skip, Clarissa had decided upon a walk to attempt to un-clear her head. And maybe try and learn a damn thing about her situation while she's at it.

She'd been drawn here. Something about the height of the trees had felt so inviting. Walking bare foot, Clarissa can feel every brittle snap of twigs and brush of damp foliage against her soles and ankles, and it feels...totally alien. The Earthy smell of the woods floods her mind as it does her lungs and awakens synapses that are still sluggish with the clinging remnants of concussion. Her irritatingly unhelpful conclusion? Not a single thing about this is familiar.

A branch fractures underfoot and Clarissa feels something move too quickly and too coincidentally in her peripherals. Crouching slowly, she draws a rock from the tangle of weeds below, ignoring the skitter of sensory information as the tendons in her fingers flex around it. You don't need that.

Curling the stone behind her back, she takes a slow step in direction of the movement.

"It's rude to spy," she offers aloud to the woods at large. "Loitering... People might think you were up to something. Can I join?"

Clarissa | OC

[planetaryblues]

ONE ✪ INCONVENIENCES

Waking up without a clue of where you are, or who the hell you think you are to be hanging around someplace like this in the first place (trees? Did she get rich enough to relocate to...to... Wait. To where? From where, even? What is it about the greenery and the open sky that solicits a faint impression of wealth?) has gotta make even the preachiest non-smoker crave a long, nerve-calming drag of nicotine. Or so Clarissa assumes. She wouldn't know: she's been a casual smoker since she was a teen. A singular memory trail that tails off peskily just where it starts to get good. Images of a scruffy, carefree kid loitering on corners and laughing with friends—fledgling smoke addicts the lot of them, struggling to look cool and not cough up their fags. But the streets themselves are dull and featureless and blobby and grey, and the details on any faces diffuse like smoke the second Clarissa turns her mind's eye too sharply in their direction...

Shit, she needs a cigarette.

The local corner store looked unassuming enough: quiet, with a mild-mannered clerk polishing the dust from the bottles of spirits locked behind the counter. Not many customers around this time of afternoon, apparently. A casual wander around both ends of the aisle reveals three. Nothing she should be concerned about...normally. She can feel them tense and scoot uncomfortably out of her way as she moves past, pretending to pour over the selection of magazines about music and woodcutting while taking careful note of the way their eyes glance off of her bare and mud-caked feet. The ripped bottoms of her too-big jeans, the dirty flannel shirt. The clerk's smile is particularly guarded as she approaches the till. Clarissa smiles back, cursing inwardly. No way was this bastard going to let any high-value products touch her hands or the counter without seeing some cold hard cash first. Attempting to lift while looking like a homeless person was a tad of an oversight.

After confidently selecting "her" brand from the entirely unfamiliar selection, she makes the usual charade of reaching for her wallet...then patting down her sides, her shirt, before turning sheepishly to the closest customer and holding up her palms with a grin.

"Whoops, haha...! Think I left my wallet in my better pair of pants. Hate to ask there, mate, but can you spot me a couple coins? If you jot your number down for me and I'll happily pay you back."

TWO ✪ BAKING BADDIES

Neighbourhood bake sales are easier pickings. Being back in her own clothes certainly helps (one espionage mission back to the hospital later), but the open space gives Clarissa greater freedom to move between the stalls, dropping a few vacant pleasantries about, like, how clear the sky is. For some reason, that sort of stock line seemed to gather the same pleasant responses. "Ohh I know, it would have been such a shame had it been to rain today of all days. It's a good thing the forecast was off the mark this time around..." Following up with questions about what exactly the forecast was or what it was for, however, was a less successful line of interrogation. That brought a look of confusion to their faces that was grating for reasons Clarissa couldn't exactly place. But being chatty and quick fingered enough meant she could hang out at one table before passing onto the next with fresh new goods in hand without anyone realising she hadn't dropped so much as a single coin. Minus, of course, the cursory few she'd "thoughtfully" spared for one of the donation pots, having picked them up while wandering the streets earlier. Whatever the denominations here were. Come to think of it, the local currency...seems like a slightly extreme thing to have forgotten. Was amnesia normally so thorough with wiping the slate?

She's watching the folks that show up with utmost attention, scrutinising newcomers from over the dusted top of a very generous helping of victoria sponge, taking mental notes of how the conversation around her ebbs the moment certain topics come up. Upon spying such a jilted conversation, Clarissa nods and lifts her handsome slice of cake.

"Best in town, amirite? Speaking of. You're looking kinda new there, stranger. Think you can help another outer-towner out? Just having some problems...settling in."

THREE ✪ WILDCARD!!
[Your call to hit Clarissa up however/wherever you like cuz I'm too sleep deprived to figure out more prompts.]

Elena Gilbert | The Vampire Diaries

[otrazhenie]

option one: welcome to wayward pines

Hours had passed since she’d woken up in the hospital, but still she couldn’t remember. Not the accident, not her name, nothing. Well, there were a few things, but nothing that was actually helpful. The nurses had assured her that it was all normal – she’d been in an accident, her memory would return with time. There was something in her that trusted them, that told her to listen when the doctor told her to rest and stay for observation, so she did. It wasn’t until the next day that they released her and she wandered through the foreign town in a pair of borrowed blue nurse scrubs.

She brushed it off when the first person smiled and greeted her by a name she knew was not her own. Katherine. The second person got a look of uncertainty and hesitation before a polite smile. The third person received an irritated glare before she quickened her pace in the opposite direction down Main Street.

I’m not Katherine.


option two: into the woods

It was pure instinct that had Elena running at the sound of that scream, ignoring the discomfort of the locals who seemed content to just stay out of it. She stumbled and slipped on the ground once, twice, but she kept going, unwilling to stop searching even when it became clear that whoever screamed was long gone.

She didn’t notice the tiredness at first, the way her energy seemed to be leaking away as she kept moving. That was natural after sprinting cross-country, right? But when it started to get worse, when she could see something strange in the distance, she wasn’t able to do much more than slump against a tree and try to catch her breath.

What was going on?


option three: pta bake sale

It felt right to be involved in something at the high school. Elena didn’t yet remember going there, but she’d been told by countless people that she’d attended and been an excellent student, always participating in extracurriculars and town activities. Apparently she’d even been a cheerleader? Everything was still a lot fuzzier than she’d like, but just because she didn’t have her memories didn’t mean she couldn’t help sell some cookies.

When she wasn’t manning a table that was overflowing with snickerdoodles and peanut butter chocolate chip delights, she was wandering through the crowd, hoping that the sight of someone there would help spark some recognition.

If only everyone would stop mistaking her for Katherine.

one.

[abetment]

Lurking, ahem living her Wayward Pines life thank you very much, around proved to have its benefits. All the more so on that day.

Katherine just popped out of the general store, brown paper bag held in one hand, when she spotted the doppelganger of herself (the one she'd actually ever seen, though Damon told her of the original one that was around town, at home, for awhile) down the way. Maybe the person who'd just greeted that agitated looking brunette with the godawful hair (do something else with your hair, Elena) had recently spoken to Katherine. She was out shopping, chatting, after all.

She heard the statement, the exchange, and the local parting ways with an uncertain frown. Then was the time to approach. Her feet, in black boots, brought her right up in front of Elena.

"Certainly not Katherine." Her brows popped, starting over, looking her less attractive 'self' up and down, waiting for a response back. Gauge what she knew, see if she fell prey to an 'accident' as wlel. Playing this out with a degree of mystery, why the hell not?

Why be falsely nice? She wasn't happy to see Elena, after all. #sorrynotsorry

jesse pinkman | breaking bad

[heisenbitch]

INTO THE WOODS

[ A skinny, scrawny guy with a buzzcut, dressed in dark jeans and drab shirt and dark hoodie is crawling with agonisingly slow and strenuous effort across the ground.

Behind him, through the thicket of trees beyond where he's struggling to move, is the mysterious giant fence, the sign clearly visible and readable from where he's collapsed.

Jesse is sweaty, pale, the dark circles that were already hanging heavy under his eyes before he'd taken off into the woods now even more pronounced. His hands slap at the ground, fingers digging into twigs and damp earth as he drags himself away from the wall, back in the direction of town. His breath rises and falls shallowly, and his frantic, fear-filled eyes, drooping constantly under the weight of lethargy and weakness, dart around him for some kind of help.

It's a long way back to the town from here, and the sun is already beginning to sink low in the sky. It will be dark soon. Who knows what is lurking in the shadows of these woods while the sun is still shining, let alone when night falls. ]

BAKE SALE

[ This same skinny, scrawny guy is standing behind one of the stalls at the bake sale.

In front of him on the table are misshapen cupcakes smothered in messy blue icing. Why cupcakes? Well, it's a bake sale, duh. And Jesse is a cook. A damn good cook, too. Not that Jesse remembers exactly what he's good at cooking. He assumes it's food; it's the most logical conclusion, after all. If these's cupcakes are anything to go by, however… Well, Jesse definitely ain't a good cook when it comes to baked goods.

And why are his cupcakes blue? Well, that's another thing that keeps ringing through Jesse's mind: the colour blue. Something to do with blue and cooking, but he can't place what the connection is. It disconcerts the shit out of him that he can't remember. It's like there are entire chunks of him missing, and he has no idea what those pieces are, so has no idea where to even begin searching for answers to fill in the gaps.

But anyway, look, it's not like he wants to be at this bake sale, but Jesse is playing his part. Fulfilling his duty as model citizen of Wayward Pines. Or, at the very least, giving the appearance of a model citizen, dressed casually but smartly. It's not simply the fact that Jesse, like the rest of the townsfolk, knows he's being constantly watched that Jesse is here. There's something else that's been niggling at him: an ingrained way of thinking, perhaps, about the importance of presenting oneself as a model citizen so as to not have people suspect that there might be something more insidious lurking beneath. Hiding in plain sight. Keeping your friends close but your enemies closer. A bake sale, however mundane and lame, is the perfect way for Jesse to hide in plain sight and ingratiate himself into the community, right?

After all, the bake sale is a community drive for the benefit of kids. Kids are a cause Jesse can always get behind. If there is anything Jesse will go out of way to help, it's kids.

So, here Jesse is, standing at his table, with plates of his shitty cupcakes in front of him. He's dying for a smoke. He can't wait for this to be over. But as yet another person passes by his stall, he ventures: ]

Interested in buying some super shitty ass cupcakes?

[ Offered with such a self-deprecating, boyishly charming little smile while squinting against the glare of the mid-morning sun. If Jesse is a shady character, which he most certainly is, he's doing a good job of blending in and seeming utterly harmless. The fact that he can't remember a good deal of why he's a shady sack of shit only makes the harmless, model citizen act he's got going on all the more convincing. ]

MESSAGE BOARD POST

Sup everyone. Got a small request. Currently pretty low on cash. Wondering if someone could spot a bro some cigarettes or whatever else people smoke to tide me over for a few days. [ "Whatever else people smoke" = intentionally vague because… what exactly is legal here, man? ] Will pay you back when I'm good for it.

*

(OOC: Feel free to WILDCARD a starter for Jesse! If you want to discuss anything first, hit me up via PM. :D )

bake sale

[sweariff]

[Why is he here again? Right, "for the kids" — or at least that's what the flyer slipped into his mailbox proclaimed this thing was for, and it's a— well, it's not a very good reason, but it's more valid than "for the hell of it", so Bigby will run with it. Not that he hates children. He actually rather enjoys being around them most of the time, or at least around the ones who don't go out of their way to be spiteful little shits, and so far the ones here have been pretty decent. There have been a lot of attempts made to shove free samples in his face, offers of little pre-cut brownie squares and chocolate pretzel rods, and he's starting to run out of ways to politely decline without outright admitting that chocolate is one of the few foods that doesn't agree with him.

Just when it starts to sink in that coming to an event where he can't even eat half of the food is sort of a tremendous waste of time, flimsy child guilt tripping be damned, the guy running the stall he walks past starts talking to him. And then Bigby gets a good look at what he's selling.

»(Buy cupcake)
»Those are cupcakes?
»How much?
»...]

You giving them away for free?

bigby wolf | the wolf among us

[sweariff]

one — welcome to wayward pines

[There are a lot of angles to approach this from, and Bigby has been in the hospital long enough to assess and sort each of them, starting from most-likely-to-get-him-drugged to most-likely-to-put-him-in-the-ICU. He could come out swinging, making life hell for the staff, demanding answers to questions he's already getting the feeling will be unanswerable. Something about that one feels like a challenge, though, even natural, like this is par the course for a day in the phantasmagorical shitshow that he's slowly remembering is called his life. Incredibly tempting as it is, it's not exactly practical right now given the state he's in, and the last thing he wants is to take a needle or three to the neck.

Running has never felt like a valid option before, of that he's certain of even in the depths of the chaotic, constantly shifting memories that ebb in and out of focus like the persistent flickerings of a dying lightbulb. Still, it's the one Bigby chooses when he makes his not-so-great escape from the hospital on the night of the second day following his awakening, and if he didn't feel like a prisoner already in the middle of that sterile, vaguely stifling building, he sure as hell does now as he makes his way through the parking lot, wearing a jacket stolen on his way out past the (thankfully empty) security guard station. The guard left his car keys in his coat pocket; another lucky break, and one to further the overall sketchy image Bigby is horribly self-aware he's providing as he goes from car to car in the small lot, trying the key on each door to see if it fits. As far as he's concerned, this is justifiable given the situation, and it's not as if he intends to keep it, though whoever happens to be (un)lucky enough to happen by to witness this sad scene may think otherwise.

Finally, he finds a match and slips into the car... only to realize two very important things once he has a chance to get his bearings.

one: he has no idea where he should be going.

two: he...isn't sure what he should be doing. because while he's definitely been in a car before, he's 90% sure he doesn't know how to drive one, the more he looks at what he has to work with in front of him.

well. shit.

huffing a sigh, Bigby slumps and rests his head against the steering wheel, closing his eyes long enough to give whoever might be watching a chance to get the drop on him.]

two — into the woods

[Horrific screaming in the middle of the spooky woods? What could go wrong?

Well, a lot, actually. But Bigby isn't expecting the best when he takes off in the direction of the commotion, and he's not looking to have the easiest time remedying whatever sort of trouble is going on here, so he's not particularly put off when he sees the wall. Curious, for sure, but there's that word again: challenge. If anything, the lack of a body and the conclusive proof that there was definitely someone here at some point has given him even more of a reason to want to get to the bottom of this, if not out of concern then definitely out of spite to whatever forces are making this difficult. It's sort of a really contradictory package deal with him.

But the closer he gets to it, the weaker he feels, like he's finished a marathon swimming in the depths of a very stormy sea of water. His muscles feel sore in ways he hasn't felt in a long, long time, fatigue washing over him in a wave. It's very noticeable, as is the smell of burnt ozone as he gets closer to the fence. Doubling back wouldn't be an option if he didn't think he could slip under the fence regardless, but at this point, he's not even sure that he has the energy.

This is bad. Really bad. When he puts enough distance back between himself and the fence, all Bigby can do is stay lowered to the ground, feeling his energy begin to pool back in unsatisfying trickles. It has to be magic, just has to be—]

The hell is this thing?

wildcard

[woof]

two

[unweaving]

A shitshow.

[ Aranea's in her mail and helmet, leaning against a tree, ankles crossed. Being closer in towards the town accounts for how upright she remains, and her generally awful personality covers the shit-eating grin on her face. ]

Come on back this way. It lets up.

charlie smith | bbc's class

[omnicides]

iv • on the network

Hello. Have you all woken up in the hospital as well? I'm not from around here at all. I've never even been to America before. It looks a lot like on TV here.
Does this fall under discussing the past? I suppose it must.
That's a rather odd rule, though, isn't it?

[ ooc: since class is only just now airing on bbc america, lmk if you'd like to avoid spoilers. ]

[skepticked]

Yes, we've all woken up in the hospital. And yes, it's a rather odd rule.

Are you from overseas?

[ It's a rule she's fine with ignoring, obviously. ]

Will Stanton | Dark is Rising Sequence

[lightbranded]

Option One

Will had awoken in the hospital sure of only a few things. That he had forgotten something, and that it was more important than anything else in the world.

And most strangely of all, a certainty that something very like this had happened once before.

He'd filled out the paperwork at the hospital as he'd been asked of course. Confusion or not, there was no excuse for being rude.

And then he'd come to the village. Will soon finds himself standing in a doorway and frowning at the sign. "Goodness," he says aloud to himself, "what terribly strange rules this place has."


Option Three

Bake sales had not really been a thing in the small village Will had grown up in. The novelty of it all had been more than enough for him to make appearance. Although even now, he sticks to the edges of the crowds, just a small ordinary-looking boy blending into the crowd. He watches and listens more than he speaks, more than happy to simply be there for the experience.

He was the Watchman now, after all. His task had not ended simply because his location had changed.

[sirnyxalot]

Bake sales weren't exactly something Nyx is familiar with either. Galahd was more of a local market and sharing goods with neighbors freely kind of place, and in Insomnia he was more or less too busy to care what the average people did to fundraise. Nevertheless, he came here to get some sweets for Ibaraki and ended up lingering awhile just to take notes.

It's a token effort to 'fit in' but at least he's trying.

It's not until the third time he spots the boy that he takes notice. A kid that age staying on the edge of the crowd rather than skirting the booths to eye up the pastries? It's just a little bit off on a day like this, and Nyx tilts his head to study him for a few minutes before making his way over.

"You know, you're not going to get anything lurking all the way over here," he says lightly.

justin hammer | mcu.

[thisisnotadrill]

• PTA BAKE SALE.

You call this a bake sale… this is kid stuff… [ justin crinkled his nose as he looked over the spread of sweets laid out on each table. brownies, cookies, and donuts. pft. he could bake circles around these little brats and soccer moms… assuming, of course, he cared to. but he didn’t. he had nothing to prove to them. ]

… [ as he passed a lackluster tray of candies he slowed to a stop, a couple of women gossiping and, well, he just couldn’t help himself. ] Linda’s blondies aren’t as good as she thinks and, y’know, [ he jerked his head in her direction. ] I heard they’re store bought. [ blowing out a sigh he shook his head. ] Here I thought she was better than that. But, hey, [ he chortled. ] I guess I’ll have to show her how it’s done.

[ as they started cooing over the fact that he could bake his smile broadened. feel free to call him out on his shit. ]

• ON THE NETWORK.

un: itshammertime.

This laptop is in dire need of an upgrade. It’s from, like, the stone age and, to be honest, I’m a little insulted that this is what they’re handing out. But, hey, listen… I’m about to do all of you a favor. A big favor. You just happen to now know a technical marvel, so as soon as I’m finished fixing this hunk of junk if you stop by my shop I’ll take a look at yours too.

pta bakesale

[silver_lined]

[ One of the most troubling things about his senses is that when something gets under his skin, he can't help but keep paying attention to it. It's become clear to him, memories aside, that he's not one to leave well enough alone if he can do something about it. And when the jackass finally decides to open himself up for a challenge, Kal's there like he was summoned by fate itself, walking over with a warm (but oh yeah, he's got your number) smile and a curious (this should be fun) sort of tilt to his head. ]

I was actually talking to Linda about the brownies a few days ago. We were discussing the butter ratio, since she's been thinking of trying something a little different.

So I'm curious. What's your recipe like, if you don't mind me asking?

Ash Williams || Evil Dead Trilogy

[boomsticking]

Option Three

Ash knows three things for certain by the time he arrives at the bake sale; he's not going to question the general peacefulness that surrounds him, there's no way in hell he's going near the damn woods, and he's hungrier than he can ever remember being in his entire life.

Why he doesn't want to go anywhere near the woods he can't precisely recall, but something about trees tend to turn his stomach these days. The doctors back at the hospital wouldn't tell him anything about how or why he ended up there, but his missing right hand offered a few clues. The scars on his face and the slight limp he possesses offer further ideas.

If he had to guess, it was probably a logging accident. The only other thing he can vaguely remember is holding a chainsaw.

But never mind the past. The present stands before him, dolled up with big dollops of icing.

He strolls up to the nearest table, sly as you please, and drops a couple of wadded-up bills onto the table. "Gimmie a couple of snickerdoodles and the biggest brownie you got."

[ouzel]

Cassian tilts his head a little, eyebrows raised, before he pours Ash a coffee and hands him said brownie. "Coffee's on the house." This guy looks like he needs it, honestly.

There's snickerdoodle cookies and cupcakes, and for the sake of not carrying a bunch of discounted sun-exposed desserts back to the tea shop (and plus what else is he going to do with all this?) he gives Ash one of each.

"Did you just get out of the hospital?"

percy jackson | heroes of olympus

[seaweedbrain]

into the woods.

[ Soooo, this feels kinda familiar.

One second, Percy is hanging around town and the next he's up on his feet, blinking towards the trees. ]

You guys totally heard that scream, right? No? Nothing?

[ He doesn't wait for a reply from the passive, unchanging faces of the towns-folk (which, okay, is weird) before he's running for the woods.

His hand instinctively goes for the pocket of his jeans where he keeps his ballpoint pen, except it's not on him at the moment and that leaves him pretty defenseless against ... drawing things? No, monsters? No. No, not monsters.

Come on, Percy, get your shit together. ]

Hey! [ He calls out, because yelling in a forest potentially rife with danger is obviously a good way to stop feeling like you're losing your mind. ] Hey, is someone there?


pta bake sale.

Chocolate chip blue-kies! Get your chocolate chip blue-kies right here.

[ Okay, seriously, who wouldn't want to try a blue-coloured cookie, right? (Even if the name could use a little work.) There's something immensely satisfying about seeing plates of wildly coloured cookies amidst trays of the normal stuff.

Percy isn't going to think too hard on the fact that he doesn't remember making them, isn't sure he knows how to bake, or why he's here at all, because cookies are great and they look (and taste) legit. He's got an apron on, he's got this ... money box thing ready to go, he's already sold like, at least two dozen of these bad boys.

You're welcome, school-he'd-probably-get-kicked-out-of. ]


network.
un: attenborough

[ It takes him literally 48,957 years to type this message up because man, the more anxious he feels, the worse his dyslexia gets and reading and writing English is a struggle. ]

Ok first of all does anyone here believe in meanings in dreams?

And secondly does anyone know how to interpret them?

COuld use some help.

Thanks.

into the woods.

[givethemhale]

[Cora fights back the wince at the yell that grates her eardrumbs as it echos through the forest. It's not as shrill as the first that she heard, but still with her sensitive hearing it isn't pleasant either. She purposefully makes noise as she steps through the underbrush, eyes zeoring in on the yelling lunatic.] Yes, someone is out here, now will you stop yelling, otherwise you won't hear if there's another scream.

[She stops, looking up at the trees and around, frown written on her face and still trying to pinpoint where the hell the scream from before came from.] I'm guessing the scream is what brought you running out here, anyway?

Cora Hale | Teen Wolf

[givethemhale]

WELCOME TO WAYWARD PINES

Waking up in the hospital had definitely not been a pleasant experience for Cora. The sterile smell breaking through her unconscious mind followed by the incessant beeping only put the young werewolf in a crappy mood from the moment she peeled her mind open. Of course, being ordered to rest and not ask questions had only compounded the initial annoyance. Between the annoyance and the assault on all of her senses, Cora couldn't stand to say in that damn place. Slipping out had been easy enough; it helped that on her trip out she'd overheard two of the nurses whispering about who would have to tell her to pick her things up at the police station. It helped not only because she had a destination, but at least the people here weren't actual robots despite the way that they acted.

The werewolf was all glare heading for the police station, and even picking up her clothes and crap before getting changed didn't actually cheer the youngest Hale up. This place feels both familiar and weird at the same time. The smells somehow familiar, but the general behaviors and atmosphere...not quite right. Of course, it could be a lingering effect of the 'accident' that was mentioned earlier. Who the hell knows?

As she walks down the street, trying to remember the 'accident', though, Cora is pulled from her thoughts by the sound of hissing and yowling from the shop to her right. Looking at the cats standing by the window with their eyes trained on her, Cora studies the frightened and angry looking creatures. "Shut up, I'm not coming in there." The teenager mutters, annoyance coloring her tone.

Even the animals in this place are weird.

PTA BAKE SALE

[Cora is probably the least friendly place at any booth there could possibly be at this thing. It's kind of a stark contrast against the assortment of pleasant smelling cookies that are laid out in front of her. The scents of cinnamon and nutmeg are clear as day to Cora's nose, but she's pretty aware of the fact that all of her senses are a little more heightened than some people--or at least that's her assumption.

Leaning her hip against the table and crossing her arms, Cora looks out at the other tables and the people mingling about to peruse the baked goods. In one part of her brain she's not sure why she's even bothering with this crap because she couldn't care less about selling baked goods. And a salesperson Cora is definitely not; she doesn't like all of the people around, all of the sounds, or even the inermingling of the different smells because it's all a lot.

Rolling her eyes a bit, to herself, Cora's eyes land on the nearest person, voice coming out bordering on the gruff.] Buy some cookies? [It's...not a total demand with the question mark on the end. Though it isn't the nicest way to sell anything either. She just wants to get rid of them and get out of here.]

sherlock holmes . sherlock

[heterodoxy]

a. The Bakesale Scrooge

[ it's lovely here! it's really lovely! all these lovely people, this lovely smell in the air, that... less than lovely man walking around taking bites out of anything he comes across. is that what he's doing? is there any money being exchanged? no, no by the look of it, and not by the sounds of the responses of stall owners - anything from bafflement to quiet outrage. close enough and it becomes apparent that the one-bite wonder isn't even altogether complimentary. or in fact complimentary at all. ]

Too much flour. [ next stall, next bite: ] Too long in the oven. It's like none of your parents ever bothered to teach you how to bake. Isn't that taught in schools these days? I thought cooking class - home ec? that what you call it? - was big in soccer mom suburbia. Maybe things are different out in the sticks. [ next stall, next bite: ] God... Annie— Annie? Really? People under 45 are still called Annie? Mm. S'pose so. Windows '98— Annie. How the hell did you manage to ruin gingerbread? That's a skill in and of itself. Ought to advertise that, have some business cards printed. "Worst gingerbread in Fickle Forest." People are idiots, imagine they'll come flocking. Well, Annie, cheers then!

[ aaaaand he's swanning off in his suit and his cheekbones to the next unfortunate soul at the next unfortunate stall across the way -

whether you're the poor unfortunate running the stall, a bystander fed up with his antics or someone conscious of the unrest left in his wake, it certainly doesn't look like he'll be running out of steam by himself any time soon. confront him before he thinks he owns the place? distract him before he gets himself arrested? or don't. it's honestly all the same to him. ]


b. Message Board Post

SH
Does anyone have anything interesting to say before I climb the tallest tree and throw myself out of it?

c. wildcard

[ start yourself a starter, any of the other prompts are okay or something else altogether, and I'll get involved! ]

b

[ouzel]

stcass
Just that you're unlikely to get the directly intended result.

[lifewithoutrest]

Option 1;

The hospital staff had been friendly, almost too friendly, but entirely unhelpful. Helen was left with more questions than answers, and they'd given her the runaround so long she had a headache. Or maybe she'd had the headache before. Apparently, there'd been an accident. Either way, she had no intention of staying where she was.

She freed herself of an IV, gathering the flimsy hospital gown around her, and slipped out the door and into a quiet hallway. Moments later, she'd made her way out into daylight. Someone had mentioned the sheriff's office, and once she's put some distance between herself and a hospital bed, she asks a nearby local to point her in the right direction. She'd rather not wander the streets in the inadequate hospital gown any longer than necessary.

The small stack of clothing is only vaguely familiar to her, but it was familiar enough and she felt much more herself once she was properly dressed.

Now it was time to figure out what exactly had happened to her.

Option 2;

When she hears the scream, her first reaction is to run toward it. It's instinct. And she almost can't believe that she's the only one willing to help. Whoever or whatever it is, they're clearly in trouble.

There's an undeniable feeling that she should be armed, that ordinarily she would be, but Helen shakes off the feeling, pushing forward. She's gone a decent way into the forest, finding nothing to suggest where the scream might have came from, when she notices her energy waning. Odd. It's a mix of curiosity and concern that drives her further into the trees. She only just makes out the line of a fence before she's compelled to turn around.

option two

[otrazhenie]

It was pure instinct that had Elena running at the sound of that scream, ignoring the discomfort of the locals who seemed content to just stay out of it. She stumbled and slipped on the ground once, twice, but she kept going, unwilling to stop searching even when it became clear that whoever screamed was long gone.

She didn’t notice the tiredness at first, the way her energy seemed to be leaking away as she kept moving. That was natural after sprinting cross-country, right? But when it started to get worse, when she could see something strange in the distance, she wasn’t able to do much more than slump against a tree and try to catch her breath. That's when she noticed a familiar face, all the way out here in the forest, of all places.

"Dr. Magnus?" There was a good deal of shock and disbelief in Elena's expression. "Were you the one who screamed?"

Chloe - The Last Witch Hunter

[notwearingpointyhats]

option one: welcome to wayward pines

She awoke with a freight in the hospital. She didn't like it at all and Chloe quickly made her way to the sheriff's station to fetch her things. She felt more comfortable in her own clothes. Her head was throbbing but she was ignoring it for now. She remembered her bar and a fire. She had to make sure that it was alright, hopefully whatever accident she encountered wasn't as she's remembering it.

Chloe had no idea how she'd get the money to rebuild her bar.

She walked through the streets, her fingers pressed against her forehead as she looked around. What was she forgetting? It was frustrating and she desperately sought something that she knew.

Somewhere, at some time, amidst her walk she waved her hand in front of her and saw a thin dusty spark of light flash between her fingers. She took a step back and eyed her hand with both alarm and interest. "Did anyone else see that?" Her accent was thick, she remembered moving here from... somewhere but that didn't explain a spark from her fingertips. Not really a spark, when she thought about it but it was definitely a light of some sort.

This left Chloe standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring dumbly at her fingertips.

option three: pta bakesale

I do love sweets.

[Chloe proclaims with a warm smile. She picks a cupcake to start and while her funds are currently in tight supply, she's excited to try out everything she can. She's sure she can convince some of those working at the sale to give her a bit of a discount.

There is no harm in trying.

She walks up to a few tables with a cute and charming smile and manages to get a few discounts here and there. It's for charity so she doesn't push her luck to much, just enough to stretch what little she has.]

option four: on the network - voice

Hello all. This is Chloe, your friendly neighborhood bartender. [Her accent is thick and warm.] I just wanted to let you know that the bar is open and I need a cook if we're to serve food. Resume's aren't needed just cook for me and hope I like it.

Let me know if you're interested.
Hope to see you soon.

Napoleon Solo || The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)

[singleshot]

i. Chic Little Open House

[Believe it or not, Solo did make a conscious effort to be aware, if unable to be in control, of where he was going to wake up. There were a handful of times this had not worked out in his favor, but only just. This was not the worst awakening, by far. But it was one of the most jarring.

He couldn't remember where he'd been before, what he'd been drugged with to get here, or... much of anything. He knew enough to know that was not normal, and the overly warm smiles did nothing to settle the churning in his stomach. This shouldn't be normal. The “just another day in the office” feeling only served to unnerve.

At least his ID gave him a name. Saying it to himself made it familiar and accepted, and while Napoleon seemed less common, Solo felt natural. Solo it is.

Until he remembers a little bit more, more than how to smile just right to set anyone at ease, more than how easy it is to just play along and keep his thoughts to himself, how to ask questions without really asking them... well, he decides to make himself at home in the charming little place they've provided for him.

He even throws a house party to get to know the neighbors and see if anything can jar his brain out of the fog.

Come on by and say hi, bring a dish, preferably a bottle of wine, and meet the New Guy.]

ii. What's your cover?

[Honestly, does he really look like an outdoorsman to you? The answer is no. He'd like to keep that impression so when he finally does go exploring, no one will be the wiser, thank you.]

iii. Just desserts?

[Was there really a better way to network and glean information than soccer moms on ridiculous diets surrounded by sugar? Well, there were probably safer ways, but he didn't have that kind of time. And he was hardly going to pass up the opportunity to maybe show off just a teensy bit.

Solo has a table of his own, with a small assortment of cupcakes and a French press or two of complementing coffee just in case one would rather indulge on the spot instead of taking their treats home and risking thievery, of a sorts.

He's maybe overdressed in his three-piece suit, but he's abandoned the jacket to a chair for now, and might even be caught browsing the competition variety of other wares for sale. No, he did not steal that vegan, gluten-free, sugar-free, hope-and-joy-free cookie, but if he did, he should be given an award for sparing someone that kind of misery.]

iii.

[withstyle]

[Izzy's given up on her muffins. You can't market baked goods as weapons, no matter how amusing the imagery is; muffins are meant for mouths...and not in the knocking out someone's teeth sort of way. She damn near cracked the table tapping one on it...she doesn't want to imagine the other sorts of damage one of them might do.

After dumping her horrendous baked goods, Izzy finds herself wandering to look at the various other tables. It's not exactly easy to fight away the jealousy, or the pout that is trying to work it's way to her face. She really didn't think her bakking would turn out bad.

It's the cupcakes that catch her eye first; they're gorgeous...and not only in comparison to her's, but to everyones.] You know, I'm pretty sure that everyone here can bake except me and it's giving me the urge to smash some cupcakes. [Iz notes conversationally with a bit of a pout, but the uplift of the corners of her mouth show that it's no more than a joke, mostly. She wouldn't actually follow through with it, anyway.

The man manning the table she notes just afterward, offering him a smile after her probably lame joke.] These are particularly stylish, though. [She points at the dainty treats.] Did you make them or are you the handsome face selling them for someone else?

Hal Yorke | Being Human (UK) | voice network;

[incaptivity]

Ladies and gentlemen of Wayward Pines, good evening. [ The voice that carries across the phone lines is smooth received pronunciation, every syllable a crisp purr. ] If I might encroach upon just a moment of your time, I come to you today with a question for all.

For many comfortable years, Wayward Pines has been under the leadership of our esteemed Mayor. Now, I should be the first to sing praises for the safety and stability we have since enjoyed. But, [ of course there's a but, ] In the natural course of every life, individual or collective, there comes a time when change becomes as vital as oxygen -- when one cannot hope to reach one's full potential without it.

I submit to you, our beloved town is due for such a change. And whomsoever rises to that occasion- [ for example, him, ] -cannot hope to succeed without the support and involvement of the population as a whole.

[ Recent "accident" victims and long-term residents both. ]

So I ask of you, what would you see changed? What improvements do you find our town... lacking?

[ Free will, for example. ]

And most importantly, in the months or years ahead, what would you see Wayward Pines become?

[ouzel]

I'm sure someone will be along to demand transparency from our esteemed Sheriff's officers sooner or later.

Max Lightwood | The Mortal Instruments

[greatflame]

[Option One]

Max was one of the people who waited until he got released, not sure of what else to do. He doesn't think it's very helpful to just send someone out into the streets when they couldn't remember a lot of things, but when he brought that up, people didn't really want to talk about it.

He's wandered around for a bit, seeing if anything around might help him remember something, but no such luck. He does remember a few things though, one of them being he likes to read, so he eventually decides to find the bookstore. If he reads a lot, maybe being in the local bookstore would help trigger something.

You can either find him tapping you on the arm to get your attention and asking, "Do you know where the bookstore is...?" Or you can find him standing in front of the bookstore, looking up at the sign with a frown because it's still not bringing anything back.

[Option Four]

[Max knows people might scold him for talking about this, but that's still not going to stop him from asking, curious if anyone might know about one of the things he recalls. Hopefully he can just mask it by saying he read about it in a book if anyone does ask.]

Has anyone ever heard of nephilim fighting demons before?

option 1

[babyhunter]

Clary wasn't good with younger kids and yet the small boy staring at the book store drew her attention.

Unfamiliar memories forcefully flooded to the surface giving Clary a very sharp headache. It was of a different boy but they looked like they were the same age, with glasses that were too big for their face. The boy in her memory was grinning at a manga while trying to explain the reason why the characters were fighting. Another memory replaced the first where the two of them were sharing a blanket with a bowl of popcorn between them and cartoon figures running at each other on the screen. Most anime and manga plots were too convoluted for Clary to really understand them but then she remembered watching things in Japanese with Chinese subtitles, neither of which were languages she knew.

Pulling herself from her memories she stepped forward, looking between the kid and the store. "Hey. What are you looking at?" She asked a bit awkwardly, wanting to both talk to and run away from the young boy.

Blaine DeBeers | iZombie

[blaiiines]

Welcome to Wayward Pines
After the initial shock of waking up in a hospital with no memories wore off-- and it wore off surprisingly fast-- Blaine went off to check everything out. He found himself looking for directions to the police morgue. Or a local funeral home. Did one of those missing memories include someone who died? How depressing, if that was the case.

Except he felt more like going to the morgue for a second opinion. Like people who worked with the dead would understand memory loss better than a hospital.

Somewhere in his exploration of the town, Blaine found his way to a music store with a piano on display. He invited himself to sit down and start playing. He probably wasn't supposed to do that, but something about playing a piano felt right to him.

Pita Bake Sale

Feeling like food might help with his memories, Blaine found his way to the bake sale. Everything looked good there, except the more he browsed around the more he got the nagging feeling he should've brought something. It didn't make much sense. It was a little fuzzy in his mind but he didn't get the sense that he knew anything about baking. No, the feeling was more that he was just supposed to supply the food, not make it.

Well. Better than nothing. Maybe if he wandered around the bake sale long enough, someone there would recognize him. Or the food would help clear some of the fuzziness. Whichever came first.

Pita Bake Sale

[babyhunter]

Clary was using the bake sale as a distraction. Her thoughts were fuzzy and memories clashed in confusing and cryptic ways. She wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. The one person she wanted to talk to about all of this was her mother and there was no way for her to do that.

Sighing softly Clary looked down at a brownie and then at what was left of her meager funds. It's worth it. She bought the brownie and then turned, almost running straight into Blaine.

"Oh, sorry." She looked up at his expression and frowned. "You okay?"

sam winchester • supernatural

[downtrod]

A R R I V A L.

( Everything hurts.

That's supposedly the sacrifice made when you walk out of a hospital before being discharged, but that doesn't make it any more pleasant. By the time he walks out of the sheriff's station it's a sorry sight indeed, but at least he has clothes now. And a number of other belongings, actually, each more confusing than the last. More than anything he feels the overwhelming urge to investigate though, so...

Well, that's exactly what he does.

It's slow-going, due in part to old and new injuries, and mostly because he can barely remember a thing. Stops are frequent and extended, and the real problem is that Sam has no idea where he needs to begin in his line of questioning. More than once he stops, shakes his head and tries to laugh as he starts again. It's not funny, it's frustrating, but he's trying at least. )

Sorry, I'm- it's been a long day. ( And it looks like it, too. In fact, long day doesn't begin to cover it, but he just straightens up and swallows before continuing. It's fine. ) So...how long did you say you've been here?

I N T O T H E W O O D S.

( Of course he goes out into the woods. All it takes is the scream and Sam is off, moving slowly and carefully through the woods and looking intently at everything. He knows that he's looking for something, but how exactly he knows what to look for is beyond him. It's working though, so he keeps following the evidence of the trail and wonders what exactly he'll do when he finds the source of that sound.

As it turns out, that's not what he needed to wonder about, at all. Instead it's scary walls and ominous signs, and maybe he should listen and turn back now, but that just doesn't feel like it's the right thing to do. So he frowns, already feeling sluggish, but he pushes through. There's got to be something about this wall, something...out of the ordinary. Something not natural. Closer investigation is clearly needed. )

N E T W O R K.

Seeking information on an accidents occurring in the last 1-3 weeks. Sightings, reports, anything you've got. Recommendations for the best cup of joe would be good, too. Thanks in advance, everyone.

PS. If it means anything: Poughkeepsie.

network

[iusti]

Wow. You're a nerd. Cup of joe? Why're you like this? I thought I taught you better.

Poughkeepsie, little brother.