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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What's your version mean exactly?

If you don't mind me asking.

[ dutch remembers killing, she remembers the rac, and she remembers a man called khylen, but not why is he is important, only that he is. there are moments when she thinks that she must be going crazy, because every single one of those memories takes place in space or in a city very different from this one. she's flown spaceships — that can't be real, can it? and yet, it feels more real than anything here, more her. ]

Not sure we can get far enough. [ for the tiredness to end, certainly, but the wall around old town that she remembers influenced everyone in the town, made them complacent, made them happy. she remembers that happening to someone she cared about, but she can't remember his name or his face.

if this wall is anything like that, there's nowhere they can run, not really. but they can probably get far enough away to stop feeling so damn tired.

maybe the company learned from their mistakes, she thinks, a bitter thing, and then wonders what that means. ]

i'm not sure

[ but what do they say here? in for a penny, in for a pound? ] someone who kills for joy. for money. [ wherein "money" and "joy" are the same thing. ]

[When Magnus had left the house with the intention of hunting down some curtains that didn't have flowers stitched onto them, he hadn't expected any sort of excitement. Most of the decor items for sale in town fit with the theme already established in the house he shared with Alec—that is to say, no theme whatsoever. Several of the main rooms were decorated in a limited array of beiges, several in yellow, and one poor room painted dark green. While he was usually a fan of bold color choices, none of them were quite what excited him. The shabby chic furniture was its own brand of nightmare, wicker chairs painful for both his body and his soul. Unfortunately, it seemed like he'd have to resort to methods other than simply shopping in town.

Amidst all the dull design around him—he loved the quaint little town and it's shops, honestly—it was easy to pick out a woman in leather and high heels. Something about her silhouette was familiar enough for him to cross the street and jog to catch up to her, reaching out for her arm but hesitating. He didn't want to grab her and risk startling a stranger he might have mistaken for—] Isabelle?

Carl never let go of the knife as he peeks his head over, the rim of his hat poking into view first. He sees the girl and just . . . doesn't know how to react. Loitering? Does she thinks this is just some game?

"I'm not loitering," he says bluntly. "I'm leaving."

There have been little memories surfacing since Elena had woken up at the hospital, glimpses of a life that didn't fit with the one she was supposed to have here. A life full of lost loved ones and people constantly trying to kill her, but also a life full of Damon. Someone she'd began by hating and then completely fallen in love with. She didn't remember everything about their eventful relationship just yet, but she remembered that love, and it made her want to wring Katherine's neck every time she thought of this charade they had to follow.

She didn't hear him approach the way she would have before, didn't know he was there until she turned and saw that amazing smile - but she was okay with that. A human life was the one she'd wanted, and she wasn't going to regret that decision.

Tilting her head at him with a teasing smile, she replied skeptically, "You bake? This I've gotta see."

She would 100% live off microwaved food if she even believed this place had microwaves. She can make cereal, she could survive off cereal and raw fruit and veg. Well. Maybe not the veg.

Okay, probably not the veg.

"I can work an oven." She just chooses not to, that's it. This is a choice.

She shakes her head, though asking what in the kriffing fuck a chocobo is is on the tip of her tongue. "No, my apartment is by the petting zoo. House."

I can't remember is a frustrating, unspoken addition to everything she says, it feels like, and she rubs her forehead with the heel of her hand, biting back a wince. She can't tell if the headache is from the accident or just this place in general.

"I've heard." If she were any drier for this conversation, Jyn herself would be a desert. That might explain a few things though, she's not her own biggest fan and god she hates the cold. And cold deserts... that's just wrong.

"Apparently I needed the warning that none of what I get back will be good." She takes the bags without thanks because she's as opposed to gratitude as she is to apologies. He's not getting his fudge back, she wonders if he realizes that.

"So see you."

Edited 2017-04-20 16:49 (UTC)

Oh, he knows. She needs the sweetening.

"You're not the only one with that problem, either." He's not going to offer a sympathetic ear. She'd probably bite it off, for starters, and he likes his ears. But putting it out there that she's not alone can't hurt.

He snaps a salute, somehow managing to make the motion respectful and teasing at the same time. "See you, basket-girl."

[ His body was made what it is by people who aren't Randel and he's never been particularly thrilled about their choices. Which is part of why he lets his hair shadow his eyes. ]

Nothing I'm going to use now.

[ There's someone here, after all. And if she gets scared or defensive, things could go poorly for everyone involved. ]

You heard the noise too? Did you see anything?

Edited 2017-04-20 17:16 (UTC)

There was something in the way the other woman was reacting that did not help the agitation she'd been feeling, and it was combining with the anxiety of not knowing who or where she was. The result? One very uncomfortable amnesiac who was perhaps a tiny bit snappy.

"No, I don't," she informed her look-alike, gesturing in her direction and then at the people around them. "I'm guessing you're Katherine, though? Everyone keeps thinking I'm you." A pause, then she decided to bite the bullet and just ask. "Who am I? How do you know me?"

"That's not what I said?" Oh look, more people who want cupcakes, two teas, one coffee. They aren't complaining about beet root in their red velvet cake. Cassian gives them their food, takes their money, thanks them.

"I'm certain you could work an oven. More certain you could rig it to blow, if need be." A glance. "Need does not be, at the moment, for the record."

Elena felt her lips settling into a comfortable smile. She didn't know why she was so surprised, she worked for the paper, she was used to talking to people but conversation with Kal was easy and she found that she rather enough it.

"Homemade syrup? That sounds amazing. I think blueberry is my favorite too but I'd like to try them all." The thick sweetness of syrup was always a good reason to have pancakes.

"It'll be like desert for breakfast."

Clary remembered that confusion from a month before. It hadn't gotten much better except that she was slowly remembering the things around her. She felt bad for Isabelle, even knowing that she could do nothing to help. There was something there, something that Clary didn't remember, but she felt a sharp feeling twang in her chest. It wasn't a feeling she could identify but she was sure that Izzy was its source.

"Izzy." She smiled and continued. "I'm Clary Fray."

She glanced around, decided that she had time and settled into the conversation. For whatever reason she wanted to linger and talk to Izzy.

"A lot of accidents happen here. I can't say why but its how things are. It's a nice town and your memories should return with time. Well, we aren't supposed to talk about it." Clary glanced around looking uncertain. "I'm heading to work. It's at the shelter, want to walk with me? We can talk." Plus they can play with kittens when she got to work.

Clary didn't feel safe talking about things on the street.

Whenever Elena did remember something from the life she was supposed to have had in the strange town no one could leave, it was usually prompted by seeing something related to the memories. Whether they were across the street or standing right next to her, the result was the same - images, impressions, feelings rising to the surface like they were emerging from the deep ocean, becoming clearer the closer they got. It seemed like not everything would come back, some of the memories still caught in the underwater current, but each one helped her gain better footing in the life she'd found herself in.

Seeing Randel was like that. Before her gaze settled on him, Elena had absolutely no recollection of the man who towered over the crowd of people, but once she'd caught sight of that little wave of greeting, it all bubbling up. Randel Oland, who had been Katherine's friend for the longest time, was kind and sweet, and worked at the animal shelter. She found nothing but fondness in her for him, so she smiled brightly and lifted her hand to wave him over to her table seconds before a mother and young child stepped up to make a purchase.

Mrs. Norm made those.
The recipe is in 'The bakers guide to sweets.' pg 36
It's in the library.

How about I provide better backup music?

In the memories that he had of Elena, he'd never actually approached her. They'd existed in the same universe, this strange situation that his more cognizant memories could hardly parse, but she was a distant star to his own little patch of earth. Occasionally, her light had fallen on him or their two ships had passed in the night, but there'd never been any meaningful conversation because Randel was an idiot but not that much of an idiot.

Which was not to ever say that Katherine was some sort of substitute or in any way someone he didn't care for. No, despite their resemblance, in his mind, they're so vastly different that to compare the two would be like apples and apple trees; connected, obviously, but the thought processes entirely different for each. He wouldn't try to take a bite of the tree any more than he'd be tempted to enjoy a cool afternoon underneath the shade of the fruit.

He loved Katherine, he really truly did. Her fire and her spirit, her cleverness and her will, her playfulness and even her occasional fickleness, were all parts of his dear friend. But Elena smiling and waving at him almost made him trip over his own feet, did in fact make him do just that, and it was only by the grace of a strong grip on one of the sturdy park benches that he didn't go rolling in her direction like a graceless oaf. As it is, his cheeks are pink and his eyes are down as he makes his way over to her.

...he should probably say something instead of looming over her but even something as simple and inconsequential as 'hi' keeps coming up as insufficient and nothing else wants to present itself.

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 )

It was the most maddening part of living here now, pretending to not be head over heels in love with Elena Gilbert. But, it was still better than it was. It made everything easier. All the strange discoveries, secret affairs (that he'd all killed), all of them were worth it because his girl was here now. And not before. He needed to make that clear. They couldn't have all grown up in this town. New people cropped up every week as if they were off screen entirely until they weren't. Like Elena, and everything else that came with her arrival.

Including the Shakespearean discovery of who his brother ended up with.

But, Elena was nothing if not resilient. Going from the blank slate who loved Damon Salvatore (which Damon did not like one bit, she was so much more than what she was to him. yes, she was everything, but she was herself) and as much as it reminded him of her first year in college, with every day she gained something else. Another facet to the personality he could never get enough of, a clearer picture of woman he'd gotten to know. And had always loved.

"I resent that. You don't think, oh, in the decades of years I lived, that I haven't perfect dozens of skills?" Not that baking was one of them. Baking was precise and it required a patience Damon didn't have. Cooking, however, he had perfected. When it mattered. Stuck in 1994 for those few months definitely impacted his cooking ability. Bonnie did need to be fed. Lagomarchino's had donated. Damon and Stefan were quite the patrons there. "Can anyone else mind the table?"

He implied everything with his eyes, but to an onlooker, he was being friendly. Dropping off the next round of baked goods that would be sold. But, this was Damon Salvatore and this was Damon Salvatore's secret girlfriend/soon-to-be fiancee because he knew when she did gain everything back, he'd propose. Somehow. He never once doubted this was who he'd wanted to live his life with. She'd wake up, he'd take the cure and they'd live their human life together. But, now they were here. And it wouldn't behoove any of them to give up their gifts so easily. Not when their biggest weapon against the unseen enemy is an ability he'd lose.

[ Carl failed in his attempt to escape. It horrified him that he can't, because that means there's something out there that made measures to make sure no one leave at all, and they were put in place a long time ago.

So going at it alone is not going to be an option. He needs to find people that think like him: who don't trust the idea of waking up in some strange place and telling you not say anything about your past life . . . especially when you barely remember your past life.

Although those plans derailed when he was "volunteered" into be part of the sales of one table. Although he is starting to doubt the wisdom behind that: most of the customers when approaching for a cookie see Carl's bandage across his eye and pointedly look away (or, in the case of the kids around Carl's age: whisper and point). He looks up when he sees a shadow across his table and looks up. ]

Which ones you want?

[ He tries to be fake-chipper but he fails and just sounds fake altogether. ]

Ah, and there it is. He didn't even have to say anything, because in smaller towns like this? The people have this cute little sense of honor that Taako is so ready to utilize to his advantage. He brings a finger back up to his chin, the tip of it hanging off of his lip as he hums and puts a lot of feigned thought into it.

"You know? That sounds just perfect. Should I start posing now?"

I'm here to man the table next door but if you wanna feed me free baked goods, I'm not complaining.

[ Scott doesn't particularly care about the bandages over his eye and if he did, he sure as hell wouldn't stare at it, since it's not like he's a stranger to people giving him shit over stuff like that. So he slips between the tables to take up his seat a couple of feet away. ]

You here on detention too?

Fortunately, Clarissa appears to derive some useful sort of meaning from Enis's warning. Perhaps not the exact meaning Enis was intending (however subconsciously) to convey, but hey—if it works, right? It made enough sense: If these hospital drones aren't willing to let her leave now, then they're certainly not going to give way if she actually kills her hostage. For one hairy second the silver sheen of the scalpel edge tightens against Enis' flesh and bites into her skin...not deep enough to draw blood before the metal judders back. The motion is more like a flinch, a snap—like getting the muscles in her elbow and wrist to slacken the blade just enough for those few meagre but blessed inches took monumental effort from its wielder.

Clarissa takes another step backward, blue eyes wild and darting. From her perspective Enis might not be able to see how the look within them borders on mania as they sweep the room, snatching detail faster than her capricious captor can decide what to do with it. There are five medical personnel within immediate radius. Ignore the hysterical patients. Many are losing their shit witnessing the situation unfolding in front of them, but none of them are coming closer while she's brandishing her blade. They're too scared. The med staff appear reluctant to engage directly while she's angling so close to slicing another patient's head off, but that fact is only useful up until the moment Clarissa twigs that she'd cornered herself the moment she got too deep between the beds.

Yeah, way to go. She spits a word she doesn't know the meaning to, in a language that certainly isn't English. She doesn't know where it comes from, but its vulgarity is sweetly familiar as it snaps off her tongue. The breeze hitting her back (as well as places too distracting for her to consider right now) through her hospital gown reminds her how vulnerable she is without her clothes or any of her usual firepower.

"I...I... Shit. I didn't think this far ahead."

Clarissa's grip on the scalpel convulses and the previously straight handle gains a fresh 40 degree angle. Clarissa doesn't notice it.

"Your turn on the good ideas, Sleeping Beauty. Otherwise, I have approx. zero-and-a half workable ones left. It's called winging it."

Edited 2017-04-20 23:56 (UTC)

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