bumfuckidaho | test drive meme, may 2017

Skip to Main Content

Entry tags:

!tdm

test drive meme, may 2017

TEST DRIVE MEME

There was an accident. The details are hazy and obscure, but it's still the first thing you remember. Maybe a car wreck — metal and broken glass everywhere, and the sirens and the screaming. Maybe your bike hit a rock and you careened uncontrollably off a mountain path. Maybe something less mundane, even impossible seems to have happened to you. You can't quite make out the details, not who was at fault or why. Try as you might, the chaos is all you can truly remember.

It's also the last thing you remember from before waking up.

When you open your eyes, the accident is gone. Instead, you're in a hospital bed, and the nursing staff greet you with cheerful smiles.

Don't worry, they tell you. You'll make a full recovery here. Where is here? Why, home in Wayward Pines, of course!

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
TRACK AND FIELD DAY

With the current school semester coming to a close and summer vacation on the horizon, school administrators have elected to end the year on a high note with an invigorating Track and Field Day at the park, in order to better foster fitness and health in the children (outside of their government mandated physical education classes, anyway).

The event is, of course, open to the community at large, whether you have a current affiliation with the school or not. Because, well, everyone could stand to get up off their couches for an afternoon of running around in the sun. Or, in the case of residents with a particular sun allergy, under the shaded tarp canopies that dot the field here and there with healthy snacks, drinks, and some of the less expansive games available today (such as, oh, a nice sedate beanbag toss).

Wayward Pines thrives on the inclusion of all varieties of people, after all. Even those that aren't, strictly speaking, people at all.

All of the most recognizable games are available, of course: sack races, relay races, three-legged races, any sort of race you can think of, really; flag football and dodgeball with soft spongy balls to keep anyone from getting too competitive (the school nurse is on hand just in case though); a massive tug-of-war rope that spans nearly the entire field; and water balloon and blanket tosses. If you're not too sure what the latter is you can ask Linda at the makeshift juice bar and she'll be all too glad to explain for you.

Actually, on second thought, don't ask Linda anything. Don't give her the satisfaction.

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), 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!

( a few notes )

Welcome to our fourth 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 | Flat

A R R I V A L . D A Y.

( There's a man standing on the corner of a street close to the edge of town, close enough that he can see the road leading them out. He's already been down the road, of course, and was less than impressed to find himself walking back into town. Now he's just hovering, staring stony faced at the road as if it has personally slighted him. Once he hears footsteps approaching though, his attention swiftly changes. His head snaps around to follow the direction of the footsteps, and it's an unnerving stare that meets anyone that might be approaching him.

As they get closer, however, he'll at least somewhat remember how to act like a normal goddamn person and stop staring. Instead he folds his arms and frowns, glancing back at the road before his attention turns fully to whoever is walking up to the weirdo standing at the edge of the town. )

Where is the exit? ( He asks with no preamble, finally deciding to just walk in to close the distance quicker. It's taking entirely too long. ) This road leads to nowhere. I have somewhere to be.

( That much he's sure of, at least. It's just that...what exactly that is, kind of escapes him right now. )

S P O R T S . T I M E.

( So guess who makes the mistake of engaging with Linda? It's this guy.

He's caught in the middle of a very heated "debate" about the efficacy of including spinach in the juice recipes, which mostly consists of him leaving long pauses of space for her to passively aggressively correcting his occasional commentary. It's exhausting, frankly, but she just doesn't stop and he can't find a way of getting out of the conversation in a way that seems at least semi-polite.

So, eventually, he just walks away while she's mid-sentence. That's probably going to earn him the wrath of a terrible volunteer position later, but it's worth it.

Once he has managed to make his mistake, he walks up to the games and watches with mild curiosity. It seems familiar and not all at the same time, and thinking about it too hard is probably going to give him a headache but he just can't help it. It's just so strange, he should be able to remember simple things like this. School events are an integral part of any small community - thanks Linda - so he must have been to one before, right? )

Why are they throwing the balls at one another? ( He asks finally, because trying to work it out alone is just not going anywhere. ) I thought the purpose of sports was to pass.

( Help him, stranger. )

R I N G . R I N G. ( banana phone )

( if you decide to pick up the ringing phone, there's a very serious and very gravelly voice on the other end. does he sound concerned, or is that just how he talks? no one can ever know. )

Who is in charge here? ( he pauses, seemingly waiting for a response even though this is a recording, but he does press on after a beat. congratulations to anyone who waited through the awkward silence. ) I have some questions.

( and very abruptly, the phone clicks and the message ends. nailed it. )

W I L D C A R D.

( you know the drill, folks. gimme something wild + fun )

one l wake me up when september ends

[ Derek Hale comes to as a nurse takes his pulse. He snatches his wrist away immediately. He receives a snark in return, calling him "Mr. Hale." She calls two more nurses in when he tries to get up. He yanks out his IV and attached wires monitoring his vitals. Three nurses are no match for him as one is pushed backward into one of the crash carts. One male nurse struggles, but when he leans in he's met with angry red eyes and a snarl. That seems to teach him a lesson. The nurse pulls his arm away. The second nurse helps the one who'd been pushed up. They can't make it out of the room fast enough.

Derek doesn't hide his smirk. It serves them right.

He tears away the blanket on his bed, leaving it on the ground.

He fails at finding any belongings or any other clothes whatsoever, which leaves him barefoot in his hospital gown. He approaches the nurse's station, but the one sitting there seems to recognize him. His reputation proceeds him. Her hand is on the phone, then.

Derek brings his hands up and apologizes for before, but he'd know if it were necessary if he needed to stay one more night. He breaks out the charm, recognizing that this nurse has a type and he's probably it. This placates her and she sets the phone down. He was in a nasty accident. Unfortunately, he suffered a concussion and a blow to the head that's lead to temporary memory loss. Derek sweet talks his file from her but she's called away. Holding the folder up, he lets her know he'll put it back.

Opening it, he reads things about his life. His blood type. His height. Weight. The accident. He lifts up the first page and finds something, letting the page drop back down. He has two clues now, and his file he's keeping. Apparently, he's married. But, he has a sister

His next priority besides finding his spouse and his flesh and blood is finding clothing that covers his whole body. He holds the back of his gown closed with one hand while making his way down the hallway. This is a hospital. With hospitals come lockers. ]

three l nice guys finish last

[ Derek didn't grow up here, but his husband did. One thing he's still getting used to - getting used to again? is monthly town events. He told Matt they didn't have to go, they were in an accident. This town can't expect amnesiac alumna to show their face at an end of the year homecoming. But, Matt likes these events - or, he thinks he likes them, and where Matt goes, so goes Derek. He has no doubt that Matt is capable - he made it around his first day without a problem, he must have, he made it to their shared house - but an event like this, relay races and activities that please the eye -- Derek doesn't really get the appeal.

Blind or not.

But, Derek's not here to bring the mood down. Derek did pack a picnic basket (apparently, they're guys who picnic) for later that he'll set up.

He doesn't think he's the nicest person around. He definitely doesn't like to be touched, so he spends some of the day wondering what Matt sees in him. Figuratively. He catches himself in his mind with those little discrepancies. He's a werewolf with heightened senses married to a blind man, a secret he's still keeping. The way he sees it, if it's not a secret, it will come back out. But, if it doesn't, he owes it to Matt to eventually tell him. If he is being hunted.

If anybody approaches, he'll be polite. Smiling might take more effort. He's more awkward with people that seem to know him, but being new in town solves that most of the time. From afar one might see a man on edge, but he hopes people wouldn't expect anything less. ]

four l boulevard of broken dreams

[ There's only so much work a person can do on their thesis they can't remember. Derek sticks to copy-editing, but saves any contextual questions for when he regains his memory back. He's been told. Two weeks. He hopes in two weeks things clear up further. Things like his husband, like loving a husband he left New York for. He changed careers and set his PHD aside. So. He loves him, right? He must. They've been married for years. They adopted. His sister's here. Nothing's adding up and this town gives him the creeps. Hard to tell the guy who grew up here that.

So, he takes to the message boards. Not fair right, his husband can't see it. But, he has some questions. ]

Who else on here didn't grow up in Wayward Pines?

Does anybody here have definitive experience with memories coming back?

Edited 2017-05-19 01:36 (UTC)

track and field day
[ uuuuuuugh.

uuuuugh.

whoever came up with this school event needs a stern talking-to. it's approximately 900 degrees outside and Pidge is about four seconds away from getting the worst sunburn of her life. well, okay. that's an exaggeration. she's used sunscreen, of course, because she's not insane. but the temperature was accurate, she stands by that entirely. she's been running a careful circuit of moving from tent to tent, trying to avoid being called out for not actually taking part in any of the activities going on. no dodgeball for her, thank you. she could play, don't be fooled. she could play with the best of them. totally. she just doesn't want to. she's having a great time standing in the shade, thinking about the next time she'll be able to get back on her computer doing anything but this.

but eventually she gets spotted by a teacher and gets told to "look alive!" and make herself busy with something other than avoiding the sunshine for too long, so she finds her way over to the beanbag toss.

there.

this isn't so bad.

she's not really paying attention to where she's throwing the beanbags though, not when she keeps looking around, kind of hoping her friends will show up and take her far, far away from here. at least some of her friends. one friend? maybe? c'mon friends, save her from this school pride sports-induced nightmare. or join her, and try to find a way to make this fun. ]

network
Has anyone seen my cat? Big green eyes, meows like a kitten even though he's kind of huge? I know, I know "Pidge! This is the ninth time you've posted about your cat getting lost this month!", but I'm serious this time he hasn't been back in about three days. That's a long time! Just... Let me know if you've spotted him wandering around. Thanks.

[ ooc handwaved/assumed cr is great let's doooo thiiiiis

sexbang get at me if you wanna plan a thing idk ]

Edited 2017-05-19 02:20 (UTC)

( a. family dinner simulator 2004, level 1 )

[ well, logically, if the hospital says you were in an accident, and you feel tired and beat to hell, they're probably right. it is their job, in a way, to help people at a hospital, and it's helpful to save someone's life, which they probably did, after whatever it was that happened. his other questions, (did anyone else get hurt? is everyone okay?), when they're met with reassurance, give him no reason to reason to worry, and nothing feels off about it all. so it's probably nothing. he heads home, confused, sore, and ready to do his laundry.

EXCEPT. it looks like there's a sale at the grocery store. he's gonna have to cook dinner, right? right. and after all that time at the hospital, there's no telling what's still good in the fridge...

there's a dumb boy with some pretty gnarly grunged up clothes (no, they just got partially shredded by ~~a bunch of swords~~ something, he'll fix them later!) staring down at the selection the produce isle, a basket with other delicious ingredients hanging from his elbow. gotta get that good, good stuff. (please send him home, i think there's partially rinsed off bloodstains on those jeans.)

did you want that (insert produce item here)? well, so did he, i guess. cue the awkward bump of hands ~~muffled doki doki in the distance~~ before shirou freezes. ]

Ah — sorry.

[ he still has not removed his hand from (insert produce item here). kyaa... emiya-kun, you're so forward with the food items... ]

( b. network )

username: emiya

does anyone want some tangerines? i'm running out of space.

edit: there are a LOT of them, and i have no idea how they got in here

[ he went grocery shopping for the house, and bought a reasonable amount of ingredients at a reasonable price, thanks to some strategic couponing, so... WHO THE FUCK BOUGHT ALL THESE TANGERINES? WHY??? the curse of taiga fujimura transcends universes, and shall haunt him until he dies. possibly after, too. ]

Edited (i know words) 2017-05-19 03:06 (UTC)

wakey wakey

[ You're a half-measure! You're one bad day away from being me! One batch. Two batch. Penny and dime. One batch. Two batch. Penny and dime. One batch. Two batch. Penny and dime.

When Frank comes to he could swear he heard children's laughter. One batch. Two batch. Penny and dime. He blinks away the fog and throws his blankets off. He doesn't even wait to see a doctor. Doesn't wait to hear from a nurse. He doesn't have time. He never does. His muscles strain and pull tight as he grabs the clipboard in the slot at the front of his bed. He squints. A bullet. A bullet to the head followed by severe trauma to the body. He tries his hardest to bring the memory back, but nothing happens.

He drops the chart and immediately moves to leave. He can't stay here. Doesn't feel safe. Doesn't feel secure. People can get to you in hospitals. Frank moves. Frank moves and he moves fast despite feeling like this. He cuts through the areas with the least amount of nurses and orderlies. He's quick. He doesn't stop. Not even when an orderly stops him on the way out. Frank does the logical thing. He headbutts the man and he keeps going. Hospital gown flapping in the breeze.

Takes a bunch of wandering before he realizes that he's not walking out of here. He's not getting far. He finds clothes at the sheriff's station after his second day and this lets him move a little quicker through people and the town. Trying to jog memories back and remind himself that no one is after him. Well, maybe someone might be. He did headbutt an orderly. ]

race fans

cw: child death and attempted suicide.

[ He's here because the longer he moves the more his memories come back. The more comfortable he feels. Things are less hazy and he's less agitated. He's less likely to headbutt someone, but if you touch him there might be something a little less friendly in store for you. Except for women. Frank seems to have an uncanny calmness around the opposite sex. But he looks for someone among the crowds of people. He looks for her. Dark hair. Probably making fun of someone. But he looks for her. Hunts for her.

What Frank can recall so far is that his life wasn't perfect. It wasn't even together. He remembers two children. His children. Gone. They've been gone. For a long time. Died six months after they were brought into this world. Died in a car wreck along with their mother. Frank wasn't there. Not at the time. He was overseas. Trying to finish up the last leg of his tour when it happened.

After that came the alcohol. The alcohol and the punishment. He tried to kill himself. Rope broke. The rope fucking broke. Maybe it wasn't his time. After the punishment came her. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Younger than him. Teased him for his haircut. Called him an old man. But he married her all the same. Married her because she made him smile and that was all Frank needed. He finds himself looking for her in the crowds. Hunting for her. ]

where're my answers?

Decent place to get a drink?

option 2

[ It's a scream that sets him on edge, has him springing into action, drawing his gun and skirting the edge of the street near the treeline. For a couple years now, he's been diligently serving as a police officer, dedicating his time to the town, to protecting those around him, to serving a greater good. It wasn't exactly what he expected his life to be a decade ago, but it's been fulfilling enough now that he doesn't dream of getting away like he used to.

Throat tight, he glances over at the small group of people gathered at the nearby bus stop, eyes scanning for anyone that might have picked up on the scream, too. ]

Someone's in trouble! Gimme a little backup, here—

[ He's not forcing anyone to act — he is a cop and it's his job to get involved — but John knows there are plenty of capable people in town and he could sure use another set of eyes watching his back...

Blake won't wait, though, instead immediately pushing into the trees to search for the source of the disturbance, his foot steps crunching against the earth. He's no master of stealth, but he's guessing that won't matter much to the person screaming, or whatever's causing it. ]

option 3

[ Not quite the epitome of a social butterfly, John does find he sticks out a bit here and there. Growing up in such a small town has made it nearly impossible to stay off the radar, and being a cop in a small town doesn't do him any favors. People know his name, know where he lives, know his routines even without him sharing them.

But that's just small town life, and he's finally starting to settle into it after thirty years or so.

Baseball glove in hand, dressed down in civilian attire, he stands off to the side of the water balloon war tossing the ball with a group of zealous kids. For a while he holds his own — those years of ball in high school are finally pay off — but as kids are apt to do, they gang up on him and he only snatches one ball out of the air as two others fling past him and roll off into the grass.

He fiddles with his ball cap and gestures to a nearby errant baseball. ]

Little help?

[ And then he holds up his baseball glove and flexes the long leather fingers in a gripping motion. ]

option 1.

[ it's safe to say she isn't in neverland anymore. that was a truth that became crystal clear when she awoke to a nurse prodding at her and telling her to take it easy. there's so much she doesn't remember, yet she knows she was last on an island, not in a town. this place is unlike anything she's ever seen, and Tink wanders around wearing only what they gave her, a faded hospital gown and a thin robe, eyes wide and curious as she takes it all in.

they've told her what her name is, even mentioned people like to call her Tink and that part rings true. she knows who she is, and memory loss after getting in a car accident seems a reasonably terrifying possibility, but if she goes on how she feels without relying on reason, she's sure all of this is wrong.

it's why she rushed out of the hospital without waiting to be released, and might account for some of the uncertainty in her eyes. all of this shook her up, that much is true - but it isn't the accident she's worried about, it's where she's ended up.

she's silent as she walks around, still bruised and wearing a few visible scrapes. she knows she's had worse, but like everything else, she can't remember it.]

option 2.

[ no matter how strange this town is, she can't fall into the line of logic where it's wise to ignore someone screaming in the woods.

Tink starts off in spite of a stranger encouraging her against it - someone who surely doesn't follow as she rushes into the forest, pushing past branches and dodging the heavy brush that surrounds her. it's surprisingly consuming, as if the forest itself is alive and warning her against going any further, but she knows what she heard and there's no time to waste.

she's expecting to have to rescue someone, not to start feeling weary herself. it starts with her catching a glimpse of something large off in the distance, and the moment she steps closer she starts feeling like she might not have the strength to get there. maybe that warning from earlier is starting to make sense, but she's come so far, how could she turn back now?]

network.

Lately I've found I'm not as good at being alone as I once was. Is there anything you need help with? Anything I might do to make any of your lives easier? I'd appreciate a way to help pass the time, especially if it means I might be able to make someone else's day a bit brighter.

option one

[It was obvious that there was something going on here and McCarthy wasn't stupid enough to put himself in a position where it was obvious that he wasn't drinking the koolaid alongside them. No, he was just going to take a nice walk around the town, get a lay of the land, stop to chat with whoever he can find.

When he does spot someone, he raises a hand up into a wave while he's giving a creepily friendly smile.]

Hey there, neighbor, lovely day isn't it? Well, not so much for me, knocked myself around pretty good and all, had to go to the hospital and everything. Anyway, I was wondering if you could help me out with something. Just a few questions, nothing real exciting.

[Oh, and don't mind the intermittent inhuman clicking coming from him that would belong in a Predator movie. ]

option four

[Hunters like McCarthy are audio-reliant creatures, so if he's given the option between audio or text, he's going to choose audio first.]

So what does a guy have to do to get some sweet tunes hittin' the airwaves? I'd say I'm asking for a friend, but it's no shame for me to admit I'm missing playing at a DJ and mixing a few things for loyal listeners. If I'm desperate, sure I could play it over the phone, but that's cheating and more than a little bit lame. Definitely not cool. So! Help a guy out, will ya?

option 1
Ford doesn't remember much, but what he does seem to recall is not caring much for authority. Or at least this authority. He isn't actually sure, really, this is the extent of his remembered experience and he instinctively responded to it with disdain and avoidance, so he might as well make a sweeping statement until the accident wears off.

He's had a brain injury, it seems, and he lives here. The latter apparently came before the former, even though it seems as if it ought to be reversed. Something about this place seems incredibly dull and escapable in a familiar sort of way, if not in an actual memory sense. In terms of actual memories, both brain damaged Ford Prefect fresh from the hospital and whatever part of Ford Prefect that hasn't been knocked out of his head for the time being agree: a drink would be incredibly good right now.

After a bit of a directionless yet pointed wander, he finds his way into a bar, and into a terrible whisky, as that appears to be the strongest they have. His wallet has three different cards in it, apparently, so he's not particularly worried. But even so, a backup plan wouldn't be a bad idea. Grabbing a handful of mixed nuts off the bar and sliding it into his satchel, he slides himself off his stool and off along to sit beside someone else in the bar.

"Hello," he says, "What can you tell me about me?"

option 4
Have any of you guys ever seen a UFO, here?
I'm no expert, or even necessarily a believer but it seems to be something nearly as common as Bigfoot here in America as far as inexplicable sightings go. I'm interested, anyway.

( arrival )
[ the thing is, when you put a small antichrist with unlimited power in a town and then essentially take away his memories, you wind up kind of fucking yourself for a while. after all, adam doesn't really remember that he's the antichrist, doesn't remember that he'd decided to keep being human, doesn't remember that he has abilities or how to control them.

consequently, there's a herd of small, angry dinosaurs running around in town, and a small, angelic looking blond boy watching in fascination from the sidewalk, where he's clutching a magazine with the very same dinosaur on the cover.

dressed in torn jeans and grubby, unlaced sneakers, there's nevertheless something just a little otherworldly, inhuman about him. no child his age should be able to look at someone and stare right through them like that, but that's the effect his blue-eyed glance has. (for those with other senses, well.. there's no doubt what he is.)

he grins, revealing even white teeth as the dinosaurs swarm someone coming out of a bakery, nipping at ankles like particularly insistent chihuahuas until the poor person drops their cupcake and flees. they leap on the pastry, then, sending more people running away with yelps of distress. ]

This place might be better'n I thought it was.

[ ah. ]

( track & field )
[ if you're unfortunate enough to be a part of the water-balloon toss at the same time as that weirdly charismatic blond kid, you'll quickly realize that it isn't your day. for one thing, the balloons now explode into things like glitter, or neon-coloured slime, or brightly-coloured chalk powder. for another, that blond kid is having the time of his life, and he's definitely laughing at you.

not to worry, though-- he's also dripping bright green slime. it wouldn't be any fun if he won everything, right? ]

( network | voice )
Hey! [ the voice is young and english. ] I don't s'pose anyone's seen my dog? [ he's finally mostly remembered things, so weird random shit's stopped happening wherever he is, at least. ] He's little, and he's got an inside-out ear, and his name's Dog. He was a hellhound once, but it's been a while.

[ a hellhound what. ]

Option One: Arrival

[She takes a seat at a small table just outside the coffee shop. She's wearing her school uniform or Ahiru should call it her old school uniform. She hadn't wanted to transfer and look what happened when she did. She misses ballet.

Another exaggerated sigh and Ahiru's head is falling from her hand and smacking hard against the table.]

It's just my luck.

[She complains to no one in particular. Her sweet prince. Now she'll never be able to tell him how she feels.]

Option Three: Field Day

[Ahiru isn't coordinated and yet she continues to try her best regardless. Field day is supposed to be the funnest day of the year and while she has been looking forward to it for weeks, it was now an experiance that she dreaded. What if she manages to fall and hurt herself agian or...

Her mind begins to create fantastic scenarios that only seem to increase her nervousness. Her arms flail through air as her panic reaches it's peak.] QUACK! [Her palms clamp over her mouth as she runs into a nearby bush. A few moments later a small duck could be seen dragging what looks like a water balloon to the bush.]

Option Four: un'duckling

There are new birds outside my window! I don't know if I can send pictures with this thing but they're so cute and small! I need to think of more names. o.o

option one ⌛ welcome

He wakes up screaming.

...it feels worryingly familiar.

Once they get him settled down and everyone starts talking, he's a lot calmer. Worryingly calm, really, considering what they're telling him and a couple of the nurses actually give him a side eye over how placid he seems to be. And it's not really an act. Life happens and as far as he's concerned, the only thing you can do is live it, adapt, and survive. The alternative is shit, after all.

When he gets outside, that's when he gets the second surprise: his feet touch the earth and suddenly he's melting. No, not melting. Turning granular, his body dissolving into sand and sinking down into the earth. It takes a while to get a handle on what's going, but once he gets his fear under control, it's not too hard to crawl back out and make a body out of all that sand.

...of course he's naked, which is it's own exciting adventure, but thankfully no one had taken his clothes while he was panicking.

Then it's to the sheriff's station to get his things, a surprising little collection that gives him more questions than answers.

...especially weird golden gas mask?

option two ⌛ into the woods

He's had his feet go out from under him more than once as he's spent the last few weeks getting a handle on his strange sand-based abilities, but this time his legs just move by themselves: there's a scream, someone in danger, someone in pain, and he's going. It feels odd, his face bare, his features visible, not even a hat to shade him, but that doesn't matter.

Someone's in trouble. He has to go help. He'll worry about the danger if it comes up.

option three ⌛ track meet

This is about 33 flavors of not his thing, but he's one of the teachers and that means supporting the kids, above all else. That's why he's here, watching and cheering appropriately, sipping at his fourth? cup of coffee and doing his best to keep in the shadows. He feels much more comfortable there than in the bright sunlight.

option four ⌛ network

So I'm sure this place has a few insomniacs: what do you like to do to take up the hours?

[Welcome to Wayward Pines]
He'd come to himself flailing, in pain, pulling free of the oxygen tube in his nostrils and the IV cannula taped into one arm, the light almost too bright for his dazzled eyes, sounds too loud in his throbbing head, though he realizes the worst sound is his own panicked yelp.

The hospital workers managed to help him pull himself into some semblance of calm, told him he'd been in an accident: his car t-boned by a logging truck. He couldn't place what had brought him onto that road, and he's still sore from cracked ribs and a knot on the side of his head, nothing more serious. They warn him there might be some lingering amnesia and mental confusion. The name Milton Tillinghast comes to mind, and they've seemed to call him that. He acquiesces to it, much as the sound of it irks him somehow: it's as good of a name as any right now and will suffice.

They sent him to the sheriff's office to reclaim his things: a black suit with a white oxford shirt and a charcoal grey tie, a pair of black dress shoes, a pair of black leather driving-style gloves. "I'm the sort who wears a lot of black," he says, noting some pulled threads in the left lapel of the jacket, as if a pin has been yanked from it. He got out of the scrubs they'd given him at the hospital (slightly oversized on his short frame) and slipped into the clothes. The fabric feels odd on his skin, but it might have something to do with the lingering bruises on his scarred chest (he'll have to ask about those later: they're too strange to ignore). As he slipped the belt into the loops on his trousers, starting to adjust it, he noted the one hole that had the most wear to it is a shade loose on him. "How long have I been out?"

[Into the Woods]

He's been roving the town, peering into shops but quickly leaving them, restlessly trying to get his bearings. He may not remember who he is, but he knows he's not fond of being around a lot of people. His hearing seems sensitive to conversations, not the content, but the combined voices rising together and clamoring in his ears. Sensory integration disorder, he thinks, surprised that he remembers this bit of information.

It's that hearing that comes back into play when a scream stabs the air. An internal flight response rises in his heart, but something else, a trained response overrides it and he darts in the direction of the sound, a muscle man kicks in, as his hand goes to his side, as if for a sidearm. Was I in law enforcement? he wonders, racing for the trees.

The sound has stopped, but he's not about to take this as a sign that all has cleared. He passes between the trees, the bracken thrashing his face, catching on the hem of his black topcoat, as if trying to slow him down.

But something seems to catch at his limbs, slowing his sprint and fogging his mind. Nevertheless he presses on, seeking the cause of that scream.

Till it looms up beyond the trees, a solid grey wall, electrical wiring and razor wire at the top. The hum from the live wires is enough to floor him: the noise fills his head with a maddening drone. He stops in his tracks, staring up at the wall, raising his gloved hands to his temples, as if he could press the sound from his mind. He sinks to his knees, into the leaf mould and pine straw covering the ground, a pained moan escaping him...

On the network
Username: M_Tillinghast

Does anyone else have this problem? The decor of the house you've been sent home to is cheerier than you expected.

Also, does anyone want a pair of highly creepy porcelain dolls in semi-Victorian dresses, in their own glass cases? They're on top of a bookcase in my living room and I can feel their eyes following me every time I go in there.

((OOC: First two prompts slightly recycled from the previous TDM: I edited them and polished them up a fair bit.))

Edited 2017-05-20 00:08 (UTC)

ｔｗｏ ★ ｗｅａｌｌｈａｖｅｏｕｒｌｉｍｉｔｓ

Bravery isn't the only thing that urges him towards the sound. He's always had a bit of a reckless streak when mysteries and dangers were involved, and before he realizes it, he's slipped away from the dispersing crowd of townsfolk and weaving between trees to investigate. He should be worried, should be anxious, but instead he's attracted by a strong pull of curiosity and excitement, like he hasn't felt this way in a long time.

"Like the beginning of a horror story," he muses to himself.

He keeps walking, listening for any other noises. Perhaps whatever had screamed will give its position away.

Perhaps you're someone who'd just heard the scream too and had bolted towards the same direction, or you're some one who'd spotted a man running towards the sound. Someone else investigating the scary noise with you is better than going it alone, right? Whatever your rationalization is, you're in the forest now.

Further into the forest, Henry can be found kneeling on the ground. He's sweating, eyebrows furrowed as he's looking dead ahead at the dark smudge of a wall in the distance. A small, brighter smudge on top is the sign. Resting against a tree, it appears he'd gone as far as he could go before backtracking a little to gather his bearings while still allowing himself to observe.

If you'd managed to get as far as he did, you'd be kneeling too, as he glares at the looming wall. The sign is a little too far to be read clearly, but it's obvious by now that there's something very strange about this structure. Labored breathing echoes through the air and once Henry hears any footsteps behind him, he struggles to turn around and face them. Fight or flight instincts are kicking in, but he can't muster up the energy to turn quickly enough.

"Who's there?"

He calls out to whoever's there, the sound of his voice visibly strained.

ｆｏｕｒ ★ ｍａｙｂｅｎｏｔｔｈｅｖｏｉｃｅｏｆｇｏｄ，ｂｕｔ．．．

[ despite the slightly goofy lilt of his irish accent (sounds kinda forced almost, like he can't decide if he wants to suppress it or not), his tone is low, almost grave. Like a dramatic documentary narrator speaking into a old-timey tape recorder. ]

The fascinating thing about science fiction is... that's all it seems like, fiction. As we watch our favourite movie or television shows, whatever they may be, we delight in the fantastical ideation but never truly expect such bizarre things to happen to us. At least not anywhere near our lifetime. Though whenever it does creep upon us, we don't fully realize it until we in so deep, there's no way out.

[ a small pause— before he continues on, much more pleasantly: ]

That being said, is there a particular genre you strongly identify with? Is there a deeper meaning behind it, or do you just fancy it for "aesthetic" reasons?

it's six fifty eight do you know where my spark is

[Julia makes a run for it as soon as the nurses leave her room. She doesn't trust them. There are gaps and questions in her mind and she doesn't know why they won't answer her. Which means she has to take matters into her own hands --

She's always been inclined to do that anyway. And it usually ends poorly, that much she remembers. There are glimpses of memories she can't fully access. There's violence and blood shed and death death death and a weight in her belly that feels like grief and something else --

She can't dwell on that.

Some of the nurses corner her in a hallway. Ms. Wicker they say, you need to come back with us. You're not well enough. You're not strong enough. When they grab her arms to pull her away her fingertips begin to spark with electricity. It's a party trick more than anything else but it's enough to surprise them and allow Julia to escape.

She stops in an alleyway to catch her breath and try to figure out where to go next. She doesn't have much to go on beyond her name -- and one of the nurses might have mentioned a spouse. She isn't sure.

She isn't sure of anything.

But now that she is alone, at least for a moment, she puts her fingers together and allows them to spark.

Magic

Sometimes you love something so deeply that even when you forget it, you still remember and above all, Julia loves magic.]

my computer thinks I'm gay, what's the difference anyway?

[Julia reads through the network excessively, hoping for answers, for something, for clues to the pieces that don't make sense. It's been days now and things are beginning to piece back together slowly but surely. This isn't her first time in another world. This also isn't the first time someone has tried to make her forget things, or that she's wanted to forget things.

(there are things too important to forget)

Which leads her to:]

Does anyone else have the sense of deja vu here?

Edited 2017-05-20 10:10 (UTC)

[Option 1]
[Henry wakes with a start, almost like the breath was being forced back into his lungs. It was not all that strange for him. He seemed to always wake up in a panic, but he could never figure out why. He frowns at the itchy gown, wanting his own clothes. He looked around, first left and then right, before hopping down and padding down the hall.

Henry was smart and small hiding until he could figure out what was happing. He soon found his way outside. ]

Mom! [He took a deep breath trying to make his voice carry more] Emma! Emma Swan! Has anyone seen my mom?

[Option 3]

Many people might say that being smaller would be a disadvantage, but Henry looked at it as an advantage. He clasped the football in his hands and ran as fast as he could towards the other side. He zigged and zagged and wished that he wouldn't get tapped out. It would be so cool to be at something for a change.

[Option 4]
has anyone ever heard of diners?

welcome to wayward pines
[ the thing about Dorian Pavus is, well, why wouldn't you want to notice him? he's a devastatingly handsome man, if he does say so himself, and a true master of charm.

(again, if he does say so himself.)

all of which is to say that he certainly wouldn't blame anyone who was taking note of him as he all but swaggers down the street in the hospital gown, acting as though he's wearing the creation of Minrathous' most exclusive robe designer rather than a thin sheet of paper loosely tied around himself.

the other thing? for a man whose memories currently consist of his name and the confidence of a well-chiseled god, he seems less disoriented than he does ruffled, frustrated. impatient. ]

You there- [ yeah, sorry about the pointing and the sharp snap of his voice. he'll remember himself shortly. ] Yes, excuse me. Exactly where do I find this blasted "sherriff"?

[ as nice as the show is, Dorian does not want to risk exposure in flimsy clothing that wouldn't even brush close to the most cheaply made of light armours. ]

on the network // audio
Hello? Yes, is anyone listening-?

[ learning about how these broadcasts work doesn't entirely prepare Dorian for how odd the sensation of doing actually is. rather like years of magic education didn't entirely prepare him for the insanity of working with the Inquisition.

or perhaps that's apples and oranges. all the same, he finds himself fumbling a little, trying to adapt to this. ]

Very well. My name is Dorian Pavus, and I've recently found my way into this rather... barren town. I assume that it is related to the Breach, although exactly how that's happened I can't tell you. [ wait, no he has a point here, for which he clears his throat and gets back on track. ]

I wondered if there were any other mages in this town, and whether we could work together to solve this.

[ but man, does he wish he had the Inquisitor around. the Anchor would be exceptionally helpful right now. ]

If that is the case, please get in touch with me.

[ do you just hang up? he's going to.

see. that wasn't so hard, right? ]

Edited 2017-05-20 20:25 (UTC)

two;
Dirk's head hurts. This isn't, he thinks, anything to do with The Accident, to which he's mentally assigned capital letters, capital letters being of course one of the best ways of dealing with things to which one doesn't have an answer. They also serve to assign a neat sort of entityhood to the concept of the event, preventing him having to think too hard about the circumstances of it, a situation he vastly prefers to the alternative. It's not an awfully nice thing to have standing out in comparatively stark relief against the fog that currently comprises his memory, and he's decided that therefore his best strategy is to avoid giving it overmuch consideration at all.

Aimless wandering feels right too. That's not why his head hurts either: his head hurts because of the improbable amount of paperwork he'd been subjected to before he'd been allowed to retrieve his things and then wander in the first place -- and Dirk hates both those things, paperwork and the improbable, which far and away lacks the elegance and honesty of the simply impossible. He can't, at the moment, summon any particular examples, but he's sure this is true. He's sure, moreover, that this is not simply true but directly relevant to his current situation. It's just hard to find any one thing to pin that sensation on, as he meanders his aimless way through the scatterplot smattering of buildings, perfect little parcels of space enclosed by perfect little structures in almost-perfect little rows along equally idyllic little streets.

Home. That's what they'd said, and he certainly has little else within him to contradict that, little explicit and obvious, so why he feels that this isn't the whole truth isn't entirely clear -- aside from the fact that he clearly came from elsewhere once, as anyone who hears him speak can no doubt attest. He cuts an uncomfortably visible figure even when he doesn't speak -- a bright yellow leather jacket might be well suited to the veneer of general cheeriness that clings to every building, but it makes him slightly more visible than he thinks he might like to be until he's got a better grasp on who he is.

A peculiar tug behind Dirk's navel guides him towards the edge of the trees, pulls him inexorably onwards though his stride slows and though he can feel his heart rate increase. The scuff of the soles of his shoes on the pavement abruptly changes, and he looks down to find a torn scrap of newsprint trapped beneath one foot. Bending to pick it up, he finds what must be a portion of an advert, near-illegible with water damage and wear, except for one word, bolded and underlined: everything. Everything, presumably, must go, but unbidden his mouth forms the shapes, the words voiced slowly, with conviction but not understanding: "Everything is connected."

But well, quite frankly, what the hell is that supposed to mean? Except that it's also so clearly -- and he trusts himself on this -- undeniably true.

Still clutching the little scrap of paper in his hand, Dirk raises his head to stare into the undergrowth, shoulders slumped -- feeling, looking small.

four;
does anyone else ever get the feeling that theres something youre supposed to know only you dont know what it is youre meant to be knowing or even how youd go about knowing it in the first place????? much less what youd do with it

or maybe really the feeling is more that theres something you ought to be doing or someplace you ought to be except both of those things are manifestly untrue as all youve got on your immediate schedule is a rousing afternoon of sitting about watching telly and trying to understand the point of table tennis

does anyone else have that?????

Edited 2017-05-20 21:30 (UTC)

one. welcome to wayward pines

[ as far as disorientated patients go, ryan is a very well behaved one. he's a doctor; he knows the shit that hospital staff go through with unruly and uncooperative people. not that he remembers much about being a doctor, just... that he is one. he strikes up an easy kind of conversation with a nurse, a sympathetic and exasperated kind of one as per the expectation of shared experiences.

he waits, patiently, for them to release him. signs all the necessary forms — asks too many questions. if the accident was his fault, if anyone else was involved, another car, hell, even a wild animal crossing the road.

it takes a bit of metaphorical and physical pushing to get him going. ryan's not the type to let his questions go unanswered, but when a rather large built 6'3" man puts a warning hand on his 5'8"(ish) shoulder, he picks that moment to cut his losses. he picks up his scant few belongings, and wanders forth into this wayward pines.

muscle memory seems to be failing him.

the first thing he manages to do is walk into the door of first place he decides is a reasonable port of call, a diner. he stares at the door, at several patrons inside giving him odd looks, wonders why he thought the door was going to do something of it's own accord. his hand rests awkwardly on the door hinge, as if tapping some invisible button.

his face heats and colours. ]

Um. Sorry! Long day, [ a muffled, strained apology made through the still closed door. his hand hovers over the handle to the door, as if trying to guess that that's the way it works.

of course that's how it works, ryan. it's a door. what kind of space age world are you living in?

(wait.) ]

two. into the woods

[ he feels like he should know better. but he doesn't, as it turns out.

ryan hovers by the edge of the forest with two conflicting feelings pulling at him. that he's shit scared of what he may or may not find if he follows the sound, and that he can't leave someone making that kind of sound with a clear conscience. appalling side effects for those belonging to the medical field, or some shit. he doesn't like either of these feelings, he wants them both to go away, for one to win over the other.

he's horribly dissatisfied by the nervous explanations he gets from the few locals he passes as he beelines for the edge of the woods, that it's an animal, that he's hearing things. he isn't. he's been out the hospital for a while, he knows he's all in damn functioning order. what are they all playing at?

self preservation and instinct war with one another still, until ryan raises his hands in frustration, speaking to no one in particular. ]

Why the hell doesn't anyone care?! How can you just idly walk by when someone's — when something's happening...

[ trailing off, as he stares into what seems like a dark, endless depth further past the trees. softly mutters something along the lines of "fuck it", and starts walking towards it. ]

four. network, un: r.dalias

I've probably missed all the obvious signs to indicate these things exist, but I'm going to ask anyway, because there's only so many times you can look at a town map without going cross eyed.

Two things: first, is there a public swimming pool around here?

Second, any animal shelters?

Thanks, in advance.

ONE / WELCOME TO WAYWARD PINES

[ this could be worse.

definitely.

for one thing, he's alive, and that's what matters right? he's alive, breathing, somewhat put together albeit still feeling rather singed still (from what? he can't remember. the vague snapping of synapses in the back of his mind are trying to put two and two together--electrical burns?)

that's about all he has going for him right now, however, his belongings being held somewhere else and left with only an awkward hospital gown. the nurse tending to him when he first wakes comments about how he didn't arrive with any distinct or telling information on him so if he could fill out a few forms with his name and all the general accouterments of registration. while peter had other escape routes in mind (the window, finding an attending's uniform to steal, maybe a laundry hamper to slither into...) he decides to take the most benign route for now, cooperation, mostly because he's still feeling rather... burnt. and tired. and starving, something he hasn't had the displeasure of feeling in years. peter takes this up, of course, with a shiny, disarming smile and a delicate cough.

p-e- he pauses, a moment's complacency, hesitation, then panic as he grips the pen a bit tighter. no. no. damn. no. that's not something he can... put down on paper. on any paper. that much he knows while everything else is a blur, swimming and churning. another moment. this is salvageable. thankfully looping cursive can turn an "e" into a very elaborate and loopy "i" with ease. peter takes his time penning down a fake first name and tapping his pen sharply on the last name entry.

( "have you forgotten? it's completely normal--" / "no, no--" a squint at her name tag. "clarisse. oh, such a pretty name. just ah, having a bit of a moment! you know how it goes." )

if anyone will take offense to having their surname stolen, it's one (1) very laser-happy detective. that should do.

roughly two hours later, a somewhat disoriented pierce steel exits the hospital, smoothing down somewhat still-rumpled clothing and tutting softly at a stubborn corner. that won't do. not only that, but they've lost his glasses in the shuffling of his belongings and he's left somewhat... blind and well. that just won't do. the documents from before had been easy, but peter's glasses are for far more than just seeing blocky letters on paper. it doesn't take him long to approach someone with a rather open posture, trying not to look as blind as he feels, smiling with frighteningly sharp teeth in lieu of squinting. ]

Excuse me--I'm in a bit of a predicament, could you spare a moment?

FOUR / NETWORK

USERNAME: PIERCE.S

I'm afraid I've lost my husband. He's a rather petulant lady, roughly 5'8", often wears a trench coat and can sometimes be found monologuing aloud to himself. Don't worry about that, it's rather normal and he's (somewhat) harmless, though prickly.

Thank you! :)

[ juno where the fuck are you does he have to embarrass u in front of everyone to get u to crawl out. ]

Edited 2017-05-22 12:08 (UTC)

OPTION TWO

[ It's a strange feeling to be cut off from everything. Major feels powerless, lost, more so than she ever has, and even being in a large crowd doesn't help that. Surrounded by people, but feeling more disconnected from everything than she ever has. She had tried, once, to contact the other members of Section 9 once she remembered she could, only to say that she had tried. She can't hear the background hum of the 'net in her mind, just the loud absence of it. She's without weapons, without her team, without anything.

She's trying, though. Trying to be human, even though she knows she's not. People might see her that way, and as far as she can tell, no one suspects the truth, but she's not sure if she prefers that or not. She spends a lot of her time on main street, stalking down the sidewalk, pausing, now and then, to sit and people watch, contemplating, trying. And then she hears the scream. It causes her ears to prick up, and she sits up a little straighter from the park bench she's seated on, turning her gaze towards the direction it came from. A quick survey of her surroundings tells her that everyone else was ignoring it. A few people have quickened their pace, another couple quickly slips into the nearby coffee shop. No one wants to acknowledge they heard the noise, and that's enough for Major to consider it suspicious.

She stands, stalking towards the wood, undeterred in her path. She might be cut off, but that doesn't mean she's going to sit around while someone's probably being hurt. Or worse. ]

OPTION FOUR
UN: major
what does it mean to be human?

3 - Track & Field Day

[Cy has had a delightful day. There are colours and people everywhere, the discarded paper cups are delicious, and the games are enchanting. She's watched, played, and got in the way of several races to the point she's neared risking eviction. This is something she doesn't seem to have noticed, and it's only because she's spent the last hour arranging burst water balloons into strange patterns she's managed to keep out of trouble.

Now she seems to be done, and is sprawled on her back in the middle of her efforts enjoying the heat from the sun as people pass her by. Every now and then she catches someone she thinks looks especially interesting and hops up to wrap herself around their feet.]

I won the three legged race!

[She had hopped around on three legs and tripped up genuine participants without ever coming near the finish line, but she sounds genuinely proud of herself for her achievement.]

A. Hospital.

[Mike wakes up in the hospital with a cute nurse telling him everything's going to be alright. He just closes his eyes, sighs through a morphine-indurced haze, and says sure thing, Jess; he doesn't remember any of that, when he wakes up next, though. Not names, memories, the town of Wayward Pines, nothing.

His eyes open and he sits up, just as the morphine begins to drift from him and pain pricks at the corners of his nerves like he's being dragged through a busted out window, shards sharp and intrusive and — where's a button? Hospitals have buttons, right? For that kind of thing? Wait, why is he in a fucking hospital? Why does everything smell like alcohol? Alcohol and blood, like it got stuck in his nose and refuses to get evicted. He moves to touch his head and finds his hand looks all wrong. Yeah, no, that's wrong. Very wrong. He unwraps the bandage that makes him look like the elephant man —

One, two, three fingers — three fingers. Three fingers?

His chest feels tight and his brain fuzzes on the edges a little.]

Aaahh... ahh — what the ffffuck, whatthefuck, whatthefuck...

[His hands roam his body, panic growing. Bruises everywhere, his neck is bandaged, hurts, his gut hurts, and it feels hard, like his muscles are revolting against him. He's missing two freaking fingers. There's a bandage on his stomach he dare not take off. Where did that come from? Where did he come from? His face hurts, and he can't think of a name to use to mentally calm himself. Come on, M_____-boy, his brain says. He limp-lomps over to the bathroom adjoining the room, using walls to balance, breathing through the dull return of pain from injuries he can't remember getting.

He looks in the mirror, and it takes him a moment to realize that's supposed to be him.

That's him, and he can't remember him.

And anyone who is wandering by will probably find this 19-year-old man who doesn't know he's 19. Oh, sure, he knows he hates coconut, and he knows how to ride a goddamn bike, and he likes stripes and plaid, and yeah, his name starts with a 'M', he's 90%... 85% sure — but that's about it, and he's bowed over the edge of the bed looking like he's about to go through a full-blown panic attack. Or maybe pass out from all the shit that's wrong with him. Throwing up sounds like a logical thing to respond with.

Mumbling like a potentially crazy person under fluorescent lights and a cold sweat:]

I'm sure everything is just fine. It'll all come back soon, right? Right. Yeah, no, everything's fine, everything's gonna be fine—

IN TOWN.

[Despite protests from the hospital, he decides to leave way earlier than expected, full of sutures and at least forced to take a bottle of painkillers by a pretty nurse he nervous-flirted with. Here's what he knows: he was hiking in an area that you shouldn't hike in; he was out where he shouldn't have been in the woods; very dangerous, you know! And something got him. They're pretty sure by the claw marks that it was the wildlife, though they're not exactly sure what, but they promise to notify authorities in case they might have some kind of predator problem. Who's he to argue that? It seems to make sense.

Also, the hospital lost his files or jumbled them up somewhere so he's still in the dark over a goddamn name. But sure, you know, that's fine. Fucking peachy.

He goes to the sheriff's office, a bit lethargic on medication but determined, and asks for whatever they found him with. He didn't have much on him, apparently. A lighter, his green jacket, some bloody clothing.

He can't freaking wear this.

So he walks with some uncertainty into a town he doesn't recognize, trying to figure out where the clothing place is. His stomach is growling, too. He doesn't have any money yet, uhhh. No change in the pockets. A lint ball. Great. Maybe someone will take a lint ball for $30 in clothes. He must look demented as hell in a hospital gown and an army jacket that reeks of gunpowder and wood, and he can already feel people staring at him from the corner of his eyes — ducking their heads away, and for a second he feels like a freak. He turns sharply toward the nearest eyes on him and loses his temper in the heat of the confusion and frustration:]

What are you looking at, huh?

[The answer is obvious. A weird guy who looks like someone rolled him in a rock tumbler. But he's still pissed off at everything, so growling at ya' it is. Take pity, he looks like he'd blow over in a stiff breeze. He'll probably apologize later; it's been a bad day.]

FOREST'S EDGE.

[Once he's fully clothed, he finds some stupid well of determination and, hiked up on those painkillers we briefly mentioned in this whole hot shit-fire of an ordeal, he heads over to the forest's edge. And just, y'know. Stares at it. As if the forest itself is absolutely what nearly gutted him. He puts a hand gingerly over the claw marks bandaged on his midsection, staring through one and a half eyes, bruising subsided enough that his uncertain stare is less of an ugly mess. His shoulders drop, he gets way too tired to actually follow through with anything absolutely stupid, and he ends up laying in a clearing with his jacket tucked under his head as he stares at the cloudy sky.

He actually almost feels better, stopping in time like this.

Talking to himself is a-go again.]

... What's even up with the black eye?

Did a bear coldcock me in the fucking eye?

..............

[Sometime later, from the safety of a room:]

NETWORK.

you ever been punched in the face by a bear????
i think i was punched in the face by a bear_

Edited 2017-05-26 10:16 (UTC)

Jace has a mango juice smoothie to help keep him cool--not that he needs help--while he wanders around watching the events play out. It's kind of a train wreck of attractions, but it's amusing to watch. He'd try flag football if he thought it would be fun to snatch flags off unsuspecting victims instead of actually tackling them to the ground. He's fast enough. But where is the fun when there isn't any competition?

Action

[Crashes aren't unheard of from where Padmé is from...Wherever that is. She can't remember and every time she does, it makes her vision swim and her head feel like someone is trying to drive an AT-AT through it. She'd spent days in the hospital bed, touching her bandaged temple and thinking about how she got here.

Only, she doesn't know how. Or where she is. Or who she is, beyond her name and that she's married to a man named Anakin.

Now, after being released, she's exploring this town, looking for anyone or anything familiar. A footstep behind her makes her stop and search the area.]

Ani? S-Sabé? [A friend, she thinks, but just another name she remembers.] Hello? Is anyone there?

Network

I don't believe that I am from this town. However, every time I attempt to think about things that don't pertain to this place, I get a searing migraine. The hospital has attempted to assure me that it's perfectly normal.

I think they're lying. This doesn't feel like anything that should be "normal".

Has anyone else suffered a similar problem?

Threaded | Flat

Page 2 of 3

«

1
2
3

»