bumfuckidaho | TEST DRIVE MEME, APRIL 2017.

Skip to Main Content

Entry tags:

!tdm

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Boys being boys. It's a gay dating app so you can see where it would be needed in this desperately repressed hamlet.

Oh. That would be nice, I suppose.

The way Margo relaxes is immediate, curling her arm around his like the most natural thing in the world. It is, honestly. At least the most natural thing in her world which is the only world that matters. She beams up at him, as always.

"They also say we're living in sin." Her eyes roll so hard she might find a brain back there but alas. Margo is sure the home they selected for her is perfectly appropriate for a middle aged housewife with no self-worth or dignity, but the moment she found Eliot, Margo moved them in together and that was fucking that.

"Gimme that." She reaches for his bottle, but compared to his giant condor wingspan, she is a hummingbird.

For you personally or in general?

Well, both.

[ gently collect anything vaguely not straight shaped for her eliot file. ]

Consider me your personal Grindr then.
Tell me about yourself.

I'm Charlie. I don't know what to tell you, though. What do you want to know?

I'm Margo. :)

[ this place is harshing her mellow with no emojis ]

How old are you?

Eliot holds the bottle briefly and cruelly out of the way, because he's not done being dramatic yet. One eyebrow leaps elegantly toward his hairline, like Peter Pan on mescaline, and he fixes her with a look of shock and horror whilst steering them towards the nearest place coffee can be had. He psychically senses that's where they're going, because the arbitrarily assigned around 2 PM is exactly when a person needs coffee, and the time that person needs to add alcohol to said coffee is like, always.

"Margo." Intent. Focused. He is about to ask a question that looks deep into her very soul, and none but the basest honesty will suffice for an answer. "Are you saying to me, right now, in this very significant shared moment of our strangely bucolic and yet somehow restful lives," pause, pause pause, build the tensiiiooooon and: "there is sinning going on I don't know about? In our picturesque little hovel, no less?"

In an aside of actual seriousness, Eliot can only be this uh, Eliot because Margo is here. Out of the gray fog that made up his mind when he first woke up, she was this one shining point of certainty, the paired star in the binary system that is the only place he really feels safe. Naturally he's going to express this by yelling about sin, like...what is the alternative? Talk about feelings? Hard pass, thank you ever so much.

Edited 2017-04-23 16:31 (UTC)

It's nice to make your acquaintance.
I'm 17.

The look she gives him is drier than the county where they make Jack Daniels. Eliot can be as flowery as he wants, it's not making her loins any less bored for the lack of anything going on down there. The lack of sin is depressing. No wonder they drink at two in the afternoon. At a PTA fundraiser.

"No." Which is horrifying because they made their names at Brakebills on sin and wild Bacchanalian orgies that sometimes were actually orgies and, god, so much alcohol and now she's trapped in some alternate dimension where she's not even Queen so what is the point of giving up the indulgences of the real modern world.

"There is zero sin, Eliot, and it's driving me insane." With a sadly dramatic sigh, her head drops to rest against his shoulder, which she barely reaches even with her heels on. He is literally a foot taller than her. "How simple to you have to be to think that's we're shaking up?"

Well, Margo...

I think we all do in the end anyway, Mr. Kent.

In fairness, the odds aren't bad they'd be drinking at two in the afternoon anyway, just. Probably not at a PTA fundraiser. If his canon point were later he'd be longing for Josh, whose baked goods would be just as delicious, but also full of drugs.

....anyway. Eliot considers this conundrum, finally deigning to present the bottle to Margo like it's the Holy Grail, "Mmm. We are the two best dressed and well groomed people in town." A gentle sigh. "They probably think we deserve each other."
Yes Eliot, most of Wayward Pines probably thinks that, although not in the way you're saying it. "If I spot any fresh young things in need of sin, you'll be the very second to know."

Because Eliot himself will be the first, naturally. Probably. He might be feeling generous that day, who knows! He's also. Still not sure his dick works, but is understandably dying to find out. "Shall we find something to stir this in? Somewhere to sit and people watch?"

By that he means "judge."

And I you.

And thanks for the info on who made the food!

Nothing I'm worried about. Anything I should bone up on, for the kids?

Something about those words, about that attitude, shivers up and down along his spine, against the memories of something, someone he knows as well as he knows himself. It's in his eyes, because he's never been good at hiding things like that, but most of all because he doesn't want to.

"I'd never stand between a reporter and her story."

He waves his fork in a salute.

"I'll see you around, Elena."

And it just disappeared? Or did they veer off?

[He didn't see it because he was focused on her.]

You're not wrong, though.

"You're a fencer?" he asks with some interest, rubbing the back of his neck with some wonder. "I was always curious about fencing. Planning to compete, make a life of it yourself, or just enjoy the sport for it's own sake?"

Nope. I mean, I don't remember any. But I don't think I really have any, no.

Sounds like this could be an arrangement, though.

Huh.

[ He leans back in his chair, looking up. Carl tries to remember going to school - it seems like a normal thing to do - but he honestly doesn't remember. ]

You know, I don't think I ever been to school before.

[ He remembers being on the road a lot, foot on pavement, walking past crumbling buildings and overwhelming woods. ]

So you're homeschooled or something?

[ He's pretty sure that he'd go bonkers. He'd be bugging out every day. He hates a lot about school but it's still better than being stuck at home all the time.]

"So you're getting what's required finished up so you can study what you really want." Izzy sumarizes easily, a smile pulling at her mouth. "And it's art at that...very cool!" She decides with an appreciative nod. Izzy's positive that her only artistic abilities lie in fashion and makeup, the thought crossing her mind almost immediately at Clary's mention of art. The question doesn't even give Izzy much pause, surprisingly enough.

"Oh, I'm definitely out of school." The answer to that piece of the question comes out without a moment of hesitation. However, that wasn't an answer to the job part of the question, at the same time. Did she have a job? She couldn't remember a title, a place, or function, but somehow Izzy knew that she had a job, one that left her feeling fulfilled and that was important to her. "I'm sure that I do have a job." The petite woman guessed, lips pursed in thought. "It's still a little bit fuzzy, but I remember heels and pencil skirts." And crime scenes, though she's not exactly ready to put that out there; she's not quite sure...what she does. "And that I do something that is important and helps people. Or at least, I think it is." It almost seems funny to say that considering the dark tattoos on her skin, but she trusts her instincts at the same time.

"That's easy enough to find." Izzy notes, curiosity on her face as they approach the cafe.

Edited 2017-04-24 02:32 (UTC)

You, yes. Me...not so much. [She manages to say that as a tease, though; she likes Magnus, so it isn't meant as anything bad. She can see how happy the other man makes her brother too and that's really all that matters.] It can be both, and I care...I'm happy for you. And proud that you went after what you wanted.

[Izzy reaches out, squeezing her brother's arm with a warm smile. She supports Alec no matter what. The fact that he's gay really doesn't bother her, not in the least, because it doesn't change anything, he's the same person no matter what.

Izzy can't quite keep her snicker back at Alce's glace around before he comments on how capable they both seem to be. He isn't wrong.] I guess they can't bend the rules just because we can manage with or witout. [Izzy shrugs before tossing the muffin back in place, avoiding making eye contact with her brother for a moment because she isn't quite sure that she is a hunter.

She doesn't remember using arrows or hunting anything. Or riding a bike, though, the leather has already become an obvious thing, plus the tattoos.] I don't know about the hunter part. We definitely look like we could be part of a biker gang, but only a very stylish biker gang. [Izzy forces a bit of a grin at that.]

I don't remember using a bow, but I remember a whip. And some other stuff. [Stuff she's a little hesitant to share just because she's not sure what she's going to remember in relation to it...yet.]

Technically, Mr. Pierce, this is a written contract.

[ He's been paying attention in Mr. Seaborn's class, at least. ]

Saturday?

[ She looks harmless, but isn't that not always the truth. Everyone looks harmless until they bite your hand. Until they give you hell. That's just been his experience. At least he thinks it has. Everything is still cloudy, but the more he stays on his own the less familiar it becomes. Curtis is used to people. People always around. No privacy. You can't turn without hitting someone with your elbows or stepping on a foot.

Going inside the shop doesn't seem that threatening, but he doesn't relish the idea. Yet he's hungry so he can't really deny himself. He's moving before his brain logically figures out a solution. Opening the door and ducking inside to move through the tables. He lingers by the table for a moment before he finally sits. Tense. But Curtis is always tense isn't he? ]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 35 of 60

«

»