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.)
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.
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bumfuckidaho2017-05-17 09:14 pm
TEST DRIVE MEME
no subject
juno knows. he can trust juno. he trusted him the moment he looked at the fields "FIRST NAME" and "LAST NAME" and signed, signed, signed away his life. somewhere in the dark, he knows there should be details, that he's cleverer than this, that there are more layers to the fantasy, but now? now he doesn't know much much beyond the fact that a) he is a man whose name is solely his own and b) somewhere in this hospital is a surly dame named juno steel who knows it too.
and juno won't let him drown. like he won't let juno sink under, not without his hand to hold. juno, juno, juno fills his mind like a heartbeat. ]
Your guess is as good as mine, [ peter confesses, pulling back just enough to reveal the truthful pinching of his brows, an expression no one else would see pierce steel wear. he was always certain, no guesses, no puzzling, only surety.
all he remembers is dark and murky and he just aches from the tips of his toes that feel so incredibly cold to the pit of his stomach clenched fast in a fist (he's hungry). but god he doesn't care about any of that more than he cares about juno. he had two eyes before, not one bloodshot and tired and more pupil than bright iris.
peter shifts, cups juno's cheek with his palm, thumbs the skin under that one good eye and his heart wells up. steady. keep him steady. keep him afloat. ] The only thing I can be certain of is that you're my very, very brave detective. And... [ peter's voice falters, dry, throat working. he closes his eyes a moment. juno is a silhouette, strong against the light, all coat and shoulders and jauntily tipped hat in the dark. silhouette like some avenging entity.
it'll come back. it will. it has to. there's more to the story, the entire thing, but thinking about it makes peter's head throb something monstrous. ] And... I think you should lie back down. With me. Because you are crushing my poor legs, Juno Steel. [ ur heavy and he's blaming it on the painkillers that are turning u into dead weight. ]
no subject
[ He's loathe to admit that the sound Peter makes ( that laugh ) is far more reassuring than anything that the nurses have said, thus far. ]
Whatever it was, [ he looks down, at himself - at the chipped and broken edges of his fingernails and the bruises on his cuticles and he thinks - what was i clawing at - and he feels the dull ache behind his right eyelid, throbbing to the stuttering beat of his heart. There's a pit in his stomach, and he has a feeling that it mirrors the one in Peter's. That twisting thing called hunger, tossing itself against a set of bruised ribs. The prickling sensation on the back of his neck; gut instinct, and he knows it's gotten him through worse things than mysterious accidents and the long, long waiting game to be dismissed from the hospital.
He forgets to respond.
It's not his fault, really. The painkillers combine with his natural tenancy to drift, mind rifling through available information and observation, trying to piece things together in a way that suits the narrative. Everything had a narrative, after all. Part of his job was figuring that out. Narrative yielded motive, motive yielded answers - though not always in that order. If only it were in that order, he wouldn't be needed. Any old asshole off the street could do his job -- and he thinks. Real hard, about what brought them here. ]
Ow.
[ Can't. Too much, too fast, and Peter is talking to him again. ]
If I lay down, I'm going to fall asleep. [ He does shift his weight, feebly dragging himself to the other side of the hospital bed, leaving as much room for Peter ( more than enough, he thinks; peter's a long streak of nothing, if he angles himself just right ). He doesn't say that there's room for Peter, doesn't really offer that, but he's made the space for him, all the same. That's how things are, that's how he says things. No words, just actions. Like the way his hand finds Peter's, and he aches with unconscious, gut-reaction: slender fingers, touching his hand and words, a mumbled aside, a simple request that wasn't so simple at the time and now was. Vague blurs of emotion, and most of them attached to this guy. ]
It's not my fault you've got so much leg to crush. The nurse should be back soon, anyways - I hear I have paperwork to fill out, if I want to leave.
no subject
[ juno slips off of him slowly and he leans back, watching from slightly crooked glasses. he's really going to have to get these fixed. ]
As for that paperwork, I'll stay here to make sure you get your information straight on your forms.
[ mostly to help you keep their details straight. sleep sounds like a terrible idea, but also an amazing idea, and the stretch of hospital bed that juno leaves him is more than enough for him to join him and then hand that brushes his own is all the invitation he really needs. he waits, however, letting juno arrange himself comfortably in a rumpled pile of blankets before following suit. he doesn't release his hand, merely readjusts before coming to rest up against a propped up pillow. everything in him aches and juno radiates heat like a furnace.
the nurse will have to deal with finding him here as he rests fingers lightly against juno's, feels the heat run through them like nostalgia, sweet and honeyed and painful. the scent of blood and hospital making his head swim a little. the fact that nothing feels as strong as juno feels right now is... troubling, but comforting at the same time. there is an anchor, a post, something he can wrap both hands around and focus on.
he adjusts their hands, closer, palm to palm, fingers sliding together slowly, interlacing. the anxiety is still swimming around inside of him, nervous little fish, quicksilver and bright burrowing deep.
he doesn't mean to, but he ends up holding tighter, looking down between them. he can't shake it. ]