bumfuckidaho | test drive meme, may 2017

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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

option one;

[ The gown on Mary is far too big. It looks ridiculous, the way it hangs on her tiny, seven year old frame. But mary doesn't seem to care. Nor is she fussing over the gash on her forehead as she putters through the halls of the hospital.]

Frank! Fraaaaank! [ Her voice tiny but mighty.] Fred? Fredddd Where are you? [ When she sees you, she'll approach you with a little bit of a scowl.] Have you seen anyone named Frank around here? Or a cat? An orange, monocular cat? His name is Fred.

option three;
[ At the Track and Field event, you'll find Mary eying most of the events with some interest, some with a wary expression and she'll actually be playing with a water balloon or two. She might hit you with one if you're unlucky but it was an accident! Sports aren't her strong suit! Math is! ]

Edited 2017-05-18 04:37 (UTC)

( one )

[ there's a feeling of helplessness that follows her release. a nasty concussion, she assumes, considering all the murmurs about "the accident." strange – she thinks she is normally a careful person. what on earth would she have done to cause such a terrible thing that covers her in bandages and has nurses fussing. though a part of her suspects that this has more to do with her series of questions than anything else.

elsa wanders for a while, combing her fingers through her too-long hair down in waves before unfolding the sleeves of the faded denim jacket they had given her; she drowns in it, really, though it compliments the lavender floral dress. she wanders until she stops almost meaningfully in front of an ice cream shop, peering into the window with her hand up to her eyes to see inside. this ... seems familiar, in a way.

or perhaps she simply has a craving for chocolate. she remembers that much about herself. ]

( two )

[ well, this looks fun. by nature, she lingers on the sidelines, preferring to be an observer in the cheer section rather than a participant. it's warmer out today and she's tied a blue kerchief in her high ponytail, her bangs brushed away from her eyes.

she tries to stay out of the way really, but that water balloon toss does look rather intriguing. she might want a partner. or maybe she's just going to scurry away and accidentally bump into someone on her way out instead. ] Oh! S- my apologies.

( four )

What is your ideal comfort food?

Favorite ice cream flavor?

one.

[ waking with a headache is basically chloe's everyday life so when a nurse tells her that she was in an accident, well. at least it wasn't just her drinking herself into the hospital! that's always nice to know. she's not intent on staying however, so she impatiently signs herself out and puts her pants on so she can leave the hospital and not moon the entire town.

there's something she has to do that she can't remember but first, she asks the first person she meets: ] Coffee?

three.

[ botany, it turns out, is an easy a class because as long as the students can keeps chloe's plants alive all semester she will give them a hard earned b. if the neville longbottoms of the class actually talk to her about plants, they will get an a. #belikeneville also everyone should take this elective.

it also means that she has to attend field day because h a h a. ]

Go team. [ sitting in the bleachers, squinting into the sun because her sunglasses are uselessly tucked into her hair, chloe looks more like some student's older sister than an actual teacher but oh well. she is taking advantage of this non-teaching day to drink her iced coffee and pretend she isn't pale enough to be allergic to the sun. ]

ONE
Swimming up out of darkness, out of complete confusion, was something he was used to.

But as soon as he thought that, as he opened his eyes, he realized he had no idea why. What? What was going on? Where was he. He flailed around enough to attract a nurse's attention, and got the lowdown.

One he didn't believe for a moment. An accident, causing total amnesia? Seem more like something Sinister could and would do. Which brought a new question; Who was Sinister, and why did he hate him so much? But he had a more important question.

Who was he?

He was not about to stay in bed, and he slipped out, hospital gown on, slippers acquired, and moved at what felt like a completely natural slide step, one that was as quiet as breath. How did he know how to do that? Was he a ninja? Man, that would be so cool!

Maybe he was a ninja, and other ninja had tried to kill him!

But why? Too many questions filled him as he found a locker room, found some clothes that fit him, and slipped out a side door of the hospital, walking as if he was an everyday person out for a stroll. Nothing to see her, not at all.

Outside, looking around, he picked a direction and started walking.

Who was he, where was he, and why was he here? And who was holding him?

He hoped he could find those answers, and soon.

***

TWO

The scream cut through him, tearing at something he couldn't name and before he even truly registered what was going on, he was running. Forgotten was the job he had been doing. Forgotten was the mystery he lived under. Forgotten was everything but that scream. It was like his body and mind tightened and focused and he charged ahead, not stopping for anything.

He dodged obstacles, not truly seeing them, that scream still echoing in his mind, reminding him of someplace else, somewhen else. His vision flashed and he saw it - - -

- - - echoes of screams filled the air as he clutched the child to his chest. He ducked, battered and bleeding, behind a fall of rock from the wall, and waited as something raced by, too fast for the eye to see, even if he had been looking.

He shielded the child's ears as he held her, trying to make this moment less horrific, less harmful. Guilt and pain assailed him, reminded him, that this, all of this, was his fault. Tears tracked down his face as he slid from his hiding place and darted toward a break in the tunnel walls, leading... somewhere else.

Anywhere else was better than here. He ran, but he could not outrun the screams - - -

He was running when he felt something take hold of him, something slowing him. And he screamed himself, somewhere between rage and sorrow and fear, and he charged forward, unable to stop as the feelings for worse and worse.

He could not stop, until finally, feeling like he would shake apart, he tripped and fell, and groaned as he rolled over and looked up at a fence, a fence that looked wrong as he looked at it. His whole body filled with aches, pain, and a desire to flee. Slowly, as if afraid the wall would pounce on him, he began to back away, inch by torturous inch.

He kept it up until he couldn't see the fence, and kept it up more until he slowly felt himself return to normal.

But the scream still echoed in his ear...

THREE

He wandered the field of seats and games, and food, playing some, and buying some snacks, most of which he passed on to kids, and just wondering what to do next. He had a job, and a home, and he knew others went through this whole thing, and apparently it was real.

And he had started having memories of Wandering Pines, as well as a few other odd things. And if he had those memories, and if he had, indeed, lived here, well, that was good. This place was peaceful and nice.

But he was still missing one useful piece of information. His name.

His newfound friends hadn't known him, but they all called him John Doe, mostly as a joke.

John. He tried it out, rolling the sounds off the tongue and... it sounded weird, and not at all right.

'John' sighed, and wandered down the games area...

FOUR

What do you most enjoy doing as a hobby, or as a job?

What gives you joy?

Edited 2017-05-18 06:18 (UTC)

one; waking up

[ Matt jerks awake, chest heaving and body stiffening as he immediately ceases trying to sit up. Slow, steadier. Except. Did he just scream? He did, throat tightening and swallowing, the buzz of hospital equipment streaming into his ears. After a click of heels, a kind voice and fingers over his hand in comfort, Matt's breathing steadies. He does try to stay as relaxed as possible after that wake up. ] I have this...headache. [ Yes, that'll alleviate with time too, but if you need some painkillers... ] No, no, just...a glass of water could be -- it'd be...nice. [ His throat is so dry, a screech of rubber sounding in his head, one that mirrors an upbeat from a monitor beside him. ] Accident flashbacks are already getting old. [ A wry laugh. He's been in one, he knows, feels it. Hurts from it.

A paper cup is slowly settled into his hands, all while the nurse (doctor? what does he know, he can't see her name badge) comments on how he should try to rest. To keep his body relaxed, no sharp rises in pulse necessary, not there at the hospital where he's well on the path to recovery.

He gives her his thanks before slowly drinking the offered water, silent as she makes a graceful exit. Matt sighs to himself, chugs the rest and slowly sits up. There's no IV attached, no needles to either remove or ignore until he's given the clear for going home. There was one there previously though, he thinks, a sharp pang in his arm. Oh, and there's a heavy feeling above his left eye: a bandage, he realizes, feeling over it. He tugs a monitor off his finger, no mind paid to if any sort of alarm picks up, bare feet padding across the floor. He manages, knowing it's a room on the emptier side. Manages because while he's blind, remembers being blinded when he was younger, he experiences his senses in a way he's never been able to completely describe. Or, he certainly can't then and there.

He's slow, though, the way he senses not necessarily alarming, but his feet just, they go on the slow side. He knows he was in an accident, that he should stay in bed a while longer, but he's drawn to exit. Nearly colliding with someone who's moving by, that someone gasping and apologizing. ] No big deal. It's okay. [ He heard them. The voice that answers is male, lacking in confidence and refers to him by his first name, asks if Matt has ran into his husband yet. That he's been in an accident, too. ] My...what? [ Matt really thinks he'd remember being married: is he wearing a ring? No? A nervous sound registers into his ears, but the person, maybe some young orderly, stutters before he moves off and away.

Husband? What? The single question from a stranger isn't enough to have cemented any memory for him, and wow, that headache's chugging on. Matt groans, leaning against a wall, hair mussed, and...maybe he really should lay back down? ]

three; track and field

[ Matt ran track in high school, he remembers, hearing the lilting laughs, cheers, and jeers as he passes by the park and gets an earful of sneakers hitting the ground. That all familiar intensity of competition, some playful some...not, resonating in the air. While he hasn't done so lately, he knows, too, that he still goes for runs sometimes, especially after he returned back to the town. On paths that are familiar to him. Since the accident, he's been resting more, processing the feelings of having less of a grip on life as he'd like.

Resident blind guy, reporting for standing at the boundaries of an event, in a blue t-shirt, jeans, sneakers, glasses on his face, cane out and tapping along in front of him whenever he moves. He stands for several moments though, sensitive to the sounds around him although not in a negative way. No, it helps him to appreciate, understand, his surroundings better. He smiles, to himself, at the sound of activity.

Seems that being blinded really does heighten the other senses, huh? ]

four; ring ring ring ring, banana phone

[ The house Matt shares with his husband does little to flood his mind with memories he yearns to know. To learn more, he relies on conversation with the man he knows he's married to, knows that he's known for years now. Any comments about what Derek might recall, or see. Matt doesn't chalk this necessity up to helplessness, either. He's never been that. Struggling through being blinded after high school delayed his going to college, a bit, but he went off. To New York. Survived there, all on his own. Until. Derek.

Forgive the mind settled on the one person he knows that he knows. It's only his second day awake when he's sitting in the dining room, drinking some water, when the phone rings. He remembers where it is, because Derek showed him, and he can follow the ring anyway.

No stumbling after the quiet scratch of his chair as he slides it out to get up, moving over to the phone. Receiver in his hand, there's only one thing to really say, right? ] Hello? [ How engaging! But hey, you called him. ]

Edited 2017-05-18 06:40 (UTC)

option one;

[ Getting the hell out of ~~Dodge~~ Wayward Pines is obviously the first task on Danny's to-do list. The only task on Danny's to-do list, actually. Even if his actual memories are a little foggy about where 'home' is, it sure as hell ain't here. Not enough cowboy boots.

He leaves the hospital with his temper simmering. It takes two loops of the town before he loses his patience completely and takes it out on a probably blameless wall, leaving him with bleeding knuckles and a rapidly swelling hand.

Which just ends up with him at the hospital again. Hopefully this doesn't start a vicious cycle. ]

option four;

WTF.

OUT AND ABOUT

[ anderson has grown up in this town. she's lived here all her life, part of the system after her parents died of cancer. she's thinking of becoming a police officer now that she's finished high school and a year of voluntary community service. she wants to help. she wants to make a difference.

no, that's not quite right.

she does want to make a difference, but there's a part of her mind that tells her it isn't about wayward pines. it's about a city, much larger than this town. she hasn't lived here all her life. she's a judge, or trying to become one. judge, jury and executioner.

it's puzzling, and she can't really make sense of it yet. at the gun range, she shoots bullet after bullet after bullet into a paper target and thinks about corrupt judges and assessment, of losing her primary weapon and failing. in the park, she walks slowly, mind open to the thoughts of those around her, hoping to catch something that will explain her own confusion. if someone is thinking something that strikes her interest, she might ask them about it.

this town doesn't discriminate against mutants, after all. right? ]

NETWORK

( un: hoj )

If you want to make a difference, what would you do?

Edited 2017-05-18 07:44 (UTC)

on main street / what's a little theft between friends?

[ ezekiel kind of hates this. it isn't like the video game, not that level of bad (because he remembers, of course he does) and he isn't about to either die, turn into monster or play endless rounds of fetch with jake just because ezekiel's not entirely cured of werewolfism yet, but — it's still kinda shit.

mostly, he's bored.

fortunately for ezekiel and unfortunately for you, boredom means he does things like pick pockets and then be a smug bastard about it, so here is the young man you just walked past, walking fast so he can catch up with you. ]

Hey. I think you dropped this. [ he's holding out your wallet. look at him, a model citizen returning your belongings to you.

except yeah, there may have been money in that wallet once. there isn't anymore, now. ]

at a restaurant

[ are you having a pleasant family dinner? are you on a date? are you just enjoying a drink after work? either way, a young man with a baseball cap worn in reverse, jeans and a white shirt has just sat down at the table nearest to you. he's chewing gum and fiddling with one of those cell phones a few residents have been getting.

when a waiter approaches, he grins and orders (quite loudly): ] Bring me the largest pizza you have. Extra cheese!

network (id: worldclass

somehow i have the mad urge to go find the library

main street 〉〉〉 a literal dumpster fire

[Joseph Kavinsky believes there's entertainment to be found in even the shittiest of situations.

Take, for example, the tragic loss of his Mitsubishi Evo in what doctors have told him was a devastating accident. He's lucky he survived, they said. He doesn't feel particularly lucky, between the amnesia and the total destruction of his beautiful goddamn car, but that's fine. His moon-white limited edition $40,000 sportscar is a twisted piece of scrap metal in a junkyard somewhere, and Kavinsky only finds it funny that the thing he remembers most clearly in all the world is also the one most assuredly gone. Forever. He finds that hilarious, actually. When they told him it blew up, he laughed for so long they thought there was something (further) wrong with him.

And now that he's out of the hospital, he decides to hold a memorial for his car. He doesn't remember anyone, so he can't invite anyone to the party, but that's okay. Someone had inexplicably left fireworks in his room while he was recovering, and now he takes the whole batch to the nearest dumpster, drops them inside, and tosses a match in before shutting the lid and scampering a short distance away.

The explosion is magnificent. Kavinsky cackles at the first few thuds from inside the dumpster, and with an abrupt shriek and a burst of sparks and flames, the lid blows clean off. Fireworks escape into the sky or otherwise crash nearby with hissing pops and flashes of light. Kavinsky throws his arms into the air, wooping and hollering triumphantly. If he couldn't watch his car explode, at least he gets to watch something.]

the park 〉〉〉 some of them want to abuse you

[Kavinsky couldn't give less of a shit about Track and Field Day. He prefers his races at one- to two-hundred miles per hour. Despite the pristine all-white tracksuit he's wearing, he's not here for the sports. He only hoards a few snacks and settles himself on the grass beneath a shady tree, munching and eyeing passersby with particularly athletic builds. He happens to like them beefy - the people and the jerky in his mouth.

Eventually the warm weather and the post-binge crash of his blood sugar lulls him into a heavy sleep. He curls up fetal-style like an innocent babe and drifts away for hours while the party dies and most of the park visitors pack up their stuff and leave.

The thing that happens next is difficult for the human mind to understand. In one moment, the scrawny little teenager is sleeping uneventfully. In the next, his all-white tracksuit is soaked in blood. Whatever happened in between seems to be missing from memory, like frames cut from a reel of film. And though the boy doesn't appear to be waking, he is certainly still bleeding, the crimson spreading like flowers blooming across his jacket.]

network 〉〉〉 id: kavinsky

hmu if u like 2 party
seriously bitches i'm losing my fucking mind
i didn't know u could die from boredom but it's happening
idc wut but bring me something good and let's say
there will be due reciprocation my friend

one.
[ There's a young man walking the streets. Miraculously just fine despite the hospital band still around his wrist. He doesn't seem too bothered by it, and is instead trying to just take in the town in its entirety. He seems lost in more ways than one. Often, he stops in front of a storefront window and stares at himself. Not long enough to look weird to anyone inside (just checking out the wares, doing some window-shopping) but enough to make it noticeable for anyone who cares to watch him on the street. He's rubbing at his neck pensively. He shouldn't see anything there, he knows that, but the idea of importance tied to it is overwhelming.

He's incredibly distracted, which is odd, and doesn't totally notice where he's going. Or who he's bumping into. ]

Oh—uh, sorry. Sorry, my bad.

[ Anyone who accepts memories from the town, digs in a little, might notice him as familiar. Vaguely so, name on the tip of the tongue with nothing coming to bear. He's just always been... around? Seeing him isn't weird, but this absentmindedness is. ]

three.
[ He's here, of course. It's fun. There's a lot to do and not enough time to do it in a day but he's got experience doing things in odd time frames. ... doesn't he? Ugh. Anyway. He stretches his arms out over his head, leans down to stretch from leg to leg, and looks up to whoever happens to be nearby at the time. ]

Hey, what're you thinking of doing first? I can't decide.

four.
Favorite subject in school. Bonus points: why. Go.

... please? I'm dying of boredom right now.

One
[ A high speed collision. Rocketing towards something....someone? Charging recklessly towards a wall of some sort. Then nothing. Nothing but this room and the paperwork he's happily just did. It gave him a name. And an occupation: carpenter. Maybe that's why there are flashes of a hammer in his head. But now, he's out of the paper dress and on the streets.

He's sort of hard to miss. A 7'4 wall of muscle and scars, grizzled with age. But because of his age, he looks perhaps a bit senile, walking around with that lost expression. He's supposed to have a home here. And a business? He can't remember where any of it is. But doesn't stop him from wondering around and asking. When he does, his voice is a deep boom, heavily accented in German tones ] Excuse me. I am looking for this place. [ Then he'll pull a warn paper from his pocket with an address written on it. ]

Two
Reinhardt can't resist the sound of a scream. For a moment, he nearly looks for a van and a small woman to tell him to be careful. Neither are here to do that. He doesn't care. All that matters is that out there, someone, something needs his help. It would be wrong to stand by and do nothing!! What is wrong with these people that they would just act like they didn't hear it. He knows it's not in his head. Or at least he's pretty sure it is not.

It is with reckless and foolhardy courage that Reinhardt leaves the town. His voice calling out, echoing through the forest. "Hallo?! If you can hear me, make a sound. I am coming to help you!"

But the further in he goes, the more his body fights to move. 80 feet from the treeline to the fence and he has to lean against a tree, panting. Sweat dripping from his beard from the amount of effort it's taking him to make his huge body go. "Ach...I'm not as young as I used to be." He laments before bellowing into the forests again. "Please call out if you can hear me. I am trying to find you to help you! Don't be alarmed. I am a friend!!"

three
Oh what fun!! Nothing is better to get the blood flowing than spirited competition between friends and neighbors! Reinhardt is more than happy to play a little flag football or make the largest lumbering target in dodgeball. Someone forgot to tell him he's supposed to get out of the way. He's going to basically stand there and play human shield for those with better aim than himself. He's laughing merrily all the while. But eventually, the old man is wearing down. There's only so much activity a man his age can supposedly handle.

But there's one more thing he can do. He heads to the tug-of-war and considers a side. He lifts the rope with one hugely muscled arm right at the end of it and then wraps it around his middle and plants his feet. "I will be the anchor!"

Four

[ the voice on the phone is a warm booming bass with a thick German accent ]

Hallo. Kreuzfahrerhammer. Reinhardt speaking. How may I help you?

Option One

Blaine was waiting very patiently for the doctors to finish their examination of him. The only indication he was in any way bothered by this was a firm press of his lips. He waited until they got distracted by something, then silently slid away toward the exit. He needed to get back to where he had his accident. Plus, being in the hospital didn't feel right; this wasn't where he would normally go for a medical issue.

He made his way out of the hospital as casually as possible. Once he made it past the doors, he started going around the town. He wasn't sure yet what he was looking for, but he'd know it when he saw it.

Option Four; Audio

[he clears his throat before speaking] Anyone have a good recommendation on where to eat? Because the rumors about hospital food are completely true.

A R R I V A L.

( Everything hurts.

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

Well, that's exactly what he does.

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

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

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

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

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

N E T W O R K.

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

PS. If it means anything: Poughkeepsie.

W I L D C A R D.

( got a cool idea for something fun? wanna be uber cool like me and reuse a prompt from the last tdm? wanna do something exciting! and not included under these vague ass prompts! go for your life, my friend )

option one: welcome to wayward pines, dr. mccoy

[ ...when he wakes up in the hospital, he doesn't thrash or buck or fuss so much as takes a minute to take a look at what he's working with and suffice to say, he is not impressed.

And that's just him. Let's not even get started on the medical equipment.

He doesn't so much cause a ruckus as ask questions, specifically why they're trying to kill him with this nonsense and when they intend to actually practice medicine on him. Honestly, he'd do it for himself if they let him but they seem more interested in telling him about himself which is when he realizes that he doesn't actually know much at all OTHER than that he's receiving substandard medical care.

...okay, so, apparently his name is Leonard. Ugh. He's not a fan.

Either way, he's going to check himself out under his own care as soon as he can and see if he can get some of his... whatever they have down at the sheriff's station for the love of God before he bites someone's head off or worse. ]

option two: NOT into the woods

[ ...he's sure as hell not going in there. Nope. No way.

Instead, he's going to be at the edge of the woods, mediki in hand and tricorder ready. ]

You know, MOST people would know better than to run TOWARDS the screaming!

[ ...okay, he'll start trudging into the forest, slowly and CAREFULLY and wishing that they'd let him have his phaser. He doesn't like this, but it's not as if they're going to be able to make it out of this mess if someone gets hurt. Or if someone IS hurt. Dammit. ]

option five: wildcard

[ ooc: find him around town! or come visit him at his private practice... ]

Edited 2017-05-18 14:59 (UTC)

option one: WELCOME

[ Hospitals aren't safe.

He doesn't know where the knowledge comes from, but he knows it down to his bones, and whoever he apparently is feels very strongly about trusting himself over other people. And while 'he' seems to have quite a lot of holes in whoever 'he' is, that piece is infinitely clear.

That's why he's quiet and pleasant and he listens to everything they say, testing it like a coin on his teeth to see if it feels right, not turning anything away so much as sorting it where it belongs. Whoever he is, he's apparently very good at acting nice and not grabbing one of the scalpels off of a tray and-

His name is John Wayne Cleaver. All right.

He was in an accident. Okay. Those happen.

He lives in Wayward Pines and always has. ~~No. No. No.~~ Yes, of course.

He has a mother and father ~~no no no NO~~ and he goes to school at the high school no and everything is totally normal here.

All right, maybe they think so, but they're wrong.

He'll wait exactly how long it takes for them to finish up before he'll carefully go through the room to see what he can steal before he packs up and heads out to the sheriff's office to see what he has waiting for him. Honestly, he probably should have put the scalpel he palmed into his bag but he's just going to keep it in his fist, tucked up in his sleeve. He likes it there. It makes him feel good. ]

option two: INTO THE WOODS

[ The scream hits him like a shot to the gut, a mix of sensations running through him. Because some part of him is deeply disturbed by that scream, by the idea of someone being hurt or worse. But that's a distant part, almost like through a fog. The loudest part is the one that's thinking of what might have happened, considering what kind of injury could have made a scream like that.

Clearly, it's nothing that hit the throat or the head; there's a clarity there, someone who can feel the pain bright and sure, a note of begging in the tone that asks someone to stop whatever's happening. And, of course, there's no wet or gulping noises so their airways are probably clear. Maybe they walked into a beartrap or better, an actual bear. It was only one scream, so they're probably dead, and that's what gets his feet moving and his legs carrying him towards the sound. If he can get there first, if he can reach the body, maybe he'd have some time with it. He could get to know it, make friends, before anyone else showed up to take it away. He could see the blood start to dry and the body start to stiffen. It doesn't smell great but that's just why we-

The memory cuts off with a frustrated grumble, from him, of course, but it makes him go faster. ]

option three: TRACK MEET

[ ...now that he's remembered his list, he's not sure this is a good idea. Mostly because seeing all these running people makes him want to catch them and honestly, the thoughts only got more inappropriate and unhelpful from there.

That's why he's doing his best to read his book and not watch, even if he's here. After all, it doesn't do to call attention to himself and showing up only to leave would raise questions. He's just going to keep his nose in a book and hope for the best. ]

option one
Grogginess never improved a situation. Waking to the soft crinkle of a hospital gown under harsh fluorescent lights had started the day off poorly enough. The heavy, muddled feeling that settled into her bones just exacerbated her irritation. It wasn't long before each little ache and scrape seemed to mount and the quaint little hospital room she woke up in shrank around her like some sterile death trap.

It certainly didn't help that the all too doting staff kept brushing aside questions and assertions with soft, dismissive niceties. All in all it was a wonder (and testament to the patience of the staff, really) that the hospital kept her as long as it did, but a string of stubborn insistence and a sour mood eventually convinced her captors -- no, her caretakers, wasn't it -- to let her go. In the end she barely waited for directions to the sheriff's office.

Somewhat wobbly, Avari nevertheless strode down the street with a determined... limp? One she couldn't recall acquiring, either. Not that she remember the circumstances around the fresh, jagged scar that cut across the right corner of her mouth, or any of the still healing scrapes resulting from "the accident," but the limp seemed especially curious given how old the scarring on her knee seemed. Still, the elf was more interested in considering her surroundings than comparing the small handful of memories she had to the sea of those she couldn't grasp.

Green eyes scanned the town around her as she walked, the thick red braid of her hair tapping in time against her shoulder. Something about the buildings seemed wrong, too precise and bizarrely colorful, but she dismissed these feelings as underlying uneasiness from the amnesia. Or tried to. Nevertheless, the elf changed direction as soon as her gaze settled on a person, and quick steps carried her over directly.

"Oi, you there. What's your name, eh?" Nevermind that she was wearing just a hospital gown and slippers.

option two
It appeared that Avari was scrutinizing the faint boot prints she had crouched over. In truth, her knee had nearly given out when she had attempted to stand, and she was giving it a moment to recover before she made her second awkward attempt. There were signs of struggle here, broken branches and fibers that might have once been cloth, but try as she might she couldn't pick up a trail that went anywhere.

At last, huffing her frustration, Avari pushed herself up to stand, wincing as her weight shifted onto the bad knee. Rubbing it briefly, the elf at last straightened, hooking her thumbs through the worn leather breeches that didn't quite seem to fit with the clothes she'd seen her neighbors(?) wearing. The green button down shirt seemed commonplace enough, but the breeches, even the boots, didn't quite fit.

Flicking her long braid back off her shoulder, Avari shifted to follow the clearest trail of footprints once more, but this time she didn't stop when they became indistinct and vanished. Instead, she carried on at a cautious but leisurely gait. The subtle wave of fatigue that stole over her didn't even give her pause, at first. Given her injuries after "the accident," some amount of fatigue was to be expected. However, when it grew worse instead of subsiding, she trailed to a halt, squinting into the distance.

Was that a building? Or a wall at least? Despite the fatigue and the warning bells that it set off, her curiosity galvanized her, and Avari picked up the pace as she walked toward the wall.

[Will match format and tense if you prefer present or action. If you have another prompt idea, feel free to hit me up! You can also PM this journal or pp me at

redweth if you've got questions or just want to chat. Character info on her journal.]

🚀 option 3; let’s get this party started.

[ when one of the spongey balls bounces on over to him peter stoops down and picks it up, squishing it in his hands and making a face. ]

What kind of horseshit is this? [ he’s talking to no one in particular, but clearly looking for someone to echo his confusion and mild outrage. ] I’m kind of surprised the kids aren’t running around in helmets and bubble wrap, because, uh, this ain’t dodgeball.

[ he drops the ball and turns to the nearest person listening, ] How’s about we up the ante? Let’s find the real dodgeballs. [ peter no. ]

🚀 option 4; shit talk is best talk.

un; star-lord

Ok, question, because I have got to know… is Linda always a bitch or does she, on occasion, pull the stick out of her ass and act like a normal human being?

Edited 2017-05-18 17:34 (UTC)

( one )
[Daken had no intentions to stay in the hospital. He was polite and quiet with the nurses and doctor, but as soon as the opportunity presented itself, he pulled himself loose from the monitoring equipment and quietly slipped out the window. The second story jump was nothing, any injuries he sustained healed in seconds.

Now to figure out where he was. Wayward Pines wasn't a name that was familiar to him, the smells around him were equally unfamiliar. Strange. The last thing he remembered was the explosion. In Madripoor. How did he end up here?

After asking a few employees, one at a small convenience store, another at a coffee shop, about towns close by, a map of the area, or directions out of town and getting nowhere, he decided to simply start asking people on the street.]

Excuse me, what's the closest major City?

( two )
[Of course, he heard the scream. And noticed the way the townspeople flinched and then obviously did their best to ignore it. It was human, he was sure of that.

The reaction to the scream piqued his curiosity; he couldn't have cared less about the well being of whoever it was who had screamed. Slipping into the woods, he couldn't help but notice that there were cameras even out here. He wasn't sure why but his gut told him to suspect that this was some kind of an experiment. An odd conclusion to jump to, he thought, and he couldn't remember why he would think such a strange thing.

After only a hundred yards or so, he comes across the a bit of blood, disturbed undergrowth. The blood, by the smell of it, is human. Three scents, the victim and two attackers. Strangely, the scents, all of them, seem to dissipate regardless of which direction he goes, as if all three had simply appeared and then disappeared.

He straightens when he hears the crunch of foot steps, a branch breaking, and looks back in the direction of the town. A fourth scent, unrelated to whatever has happened here.] Did you hear it too?

( DOS )

[ kisa has only been out in the world for a short amount of time. 'out in the world' meaning 'as opposed to the hospital or the sheriff's office', though she can't help but notice that wandering the streets at night doesn't feel as familiar as it should, like she's only actually been doing it for a few months instead of her entire life. but that doesn't make sense, of course she's been out for longer than that. why wouldn't she have been?

she's walking back towards when she hears what sounds like a scream from the center of the woods. there aren't many people around at this time of night, but she notices the few who are flinch slightly at the sound before going about their business like nothing happened. she hears it again, from further away this time, and barely anyone reacts when it happens, or when it happens a third time. she's tempted to ignore it like they do, but she feels a pull inside, like it's something familiar. like she can remember running through the woods herself, chased by men who wanted to harm her. change her.

it's too much for her to bear the fourth time, and she runs into the forest, listening carefully as she treads deeper and deeper into the thick of the trees. she's trying to concentrate on where the sound is coming from, but the scenery starts to blur together with memories that shouldn't exist as the branches start to whip at her face and through her hair, starts to remind her of a night where she was the one making those screams, in a desert instead of a forest, wearing a dress and sandals instead of leather and jeans.

she comes to a sudden stop and pitches forward, bracing her hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. it's coming in staggered pants, way slower than it should be, even for a human ( the thought slips into her head and it takes her a moment to remember she should question it ). she looks up after managing to get a few full breaths and looks around, trying to see if she can find any evidence of what went wrong.

all she hears is silence. and a faint, low buzz. ]

( CUATRO )

¿alguien más recuerda cómo hablar otro idioma?

sorry

does anyone else remember how to speak another language?

Edited 2017-05-18 23:29 (UTC)

a hip bar

[ dorothy has been remembering things that she doesn't think she should be remembering, things that are crazy. witches and a wizard, powers that she doesn't really know how to control, a different world and a tornado taking her there. she's been remembering torture and betrayal and lucas' hands around her throat.

none of it makes sense, which is why she's been going out of her way to avoid going home and closing her eyes. she's had a burger and now she's nursing a beer at a stool at the end of the bar. she's also already downed at least two shots of tequila and is thinking of ordering a third.

toto, her german shepherd, is lying on the ground below her feet. whenever someone approaches or just walks past, his ears perk up. sometimes, dorothy will ask: ] What is it, Toto? [ or she'll offer a smile and a casual greeting, even though she's not really feeling like smiling right now. ]

network 〉un: gales

do you ever wish for more?

[ dorothy has a memory of doing that, of blowing out a candle and wishing for more, that she would be more. she has a feeling it backfired horribly. it's almost a memory. enough to put this question to the network that somehow doesn't feel like it's quite enough, not what she's looking for. ]

O P T I O N (1) ❤ welcome...: [ Considering that he'd woken up to one of the nurse's thoughtfully eyeing his lips, the first few memories that come back to him slip past the logic filter pretty easy. He doesn't remember exactly who he is, of course, but he figures out pretty quickly that he has a love/hate relationship with the way that people look at him, even if he's perfectly willing to take advantage of it. A little conversation, some information pulled out with a remarkable amount of ease, and a kiss or two with one of the nurses has him feeling pretty good, especially for someone who's apparently been in a car accident, and soon enough he's on his way to the sheriff's station.

It's only as he's walking that things start jangling inside his head, because this whole small town Leave it to Beaver, Twin Peaks-y tininess makes him feel claustrophobic and the whole 'you live here' bit does not sit right with him at all. He seriously lives here? And-

His hand flies to his chest, to the empty spot where a pentacle necklace should be nestled, has been nestled for most of his life. That's when he picks up the pace, nothing at all lackadaisical about his steps anymore.

Why the hell would they take off his jewelry?

And... what the hell was up with the signs?]

O P T I O N (2) ❤ into the woods: [ He's kinda settled into the whole Stepford vibe that the town has going for it, almost far enough that when he hears the scream, he assumes it's a TV or some kids or something. But that's as far as it goes until he's really thinking on it, pulling himself out of the haze of safety that the place has had him wrapped in, and then he's running.

There's something wrong about this, the strange balance of his run reminding him suddenly of the kukri and the shotgun still sitting in the sheriff's station and he really wishes that they were there about now when he hits the treeline.

What is he doing? Who is he trying to save? Was that even a person or was it some kind of weird animal noise? He doesn't know and he doesn't really worry about it too much; there's a reason his sister always called him impetutous.

It's times like these that he wishes he was with-

Damn, blocked again. But while he can't remember who he wishes was there, he can nonetheless feel the hole. Such was life; he'd just have to hope he could handle it, whatever or whoever it was, on his own... ]

O P T I O N (4) ❤ network: So... HYPOTHETICALLY. If someone wanted to start a tabletop campaign of something... would anyone here be interested?

Edited 2017-05-18 23:29 (UTC)

option 3
Sure, it's technically great that the youth of today are getting all of these nice, healthy snacks at their nice, healthy events. Anders is sure they're going to all live longer than he will, and that's lovely.

It's a bit rubbish, though.

He showed up at the event hoping for at least a hot dog, as candy floss was probably too much to hope for, but there's all this healthy whole wheat quinoa-style garbage instead. One last way for school to disappoint kids before the holidays, he figures.

It's when he's staring with a bit of disdain at some juice that doesn't even have the decency to be American lemonade that something occurs to him. He has no idea if it will work but, well. If he can at least simulate something better, it'll be worth it. Pouring his water out of his bottle, he pours in the juice, screws on the top and looks at it for a moment, holding it out directly in front of him.

Then, ice magic glistening faintly around his hands he begins to violently shake it.

option 4
Hello, all you lovely people with nothing better to do than hover around message boards midday. No offense intended, obviously, I'm here, after all.
I guess it only makes sense to say hello to the more sensible people checking after work as well. Internet posts don't expire, after all. Years later, people can still come back and marvel at my eloquent rambling. Possibly even settle this argument years later.

Anyway, I'd appreciate it if you could answer a question for me.
How many is too many cats?

Option One

[Her first reaction after waking is panic. Justine lashes out at those who are unfortunate enough to be standing near her. Her fingernails catch skin and drops of blood are flicked heatedly against the white polished floor. The nurses quickly sedate her, dropping the thin midnight haired girl into a deep dreamless sleep.

Her wrists are marked and her features appear too thin as she lies motionless in the hospital bed. There are no other marks on her pretty skin but obvious signs of stress and fatigue.

When Justine's eyes flutter open again she's calm, almost dream like in her manner.]

Hello? What happened. [Her voice is warm, sweet and fragile as if her earlier outburst had never occurred. Justine's head turns towards the machine to her left wondering what each substance is that's streaming into her veins.]

Option Three

[Justine pushes her long dark hair out of her face as she walks. Her pace is slow and her movements fluid as if the motion helped her organize the thoughts that tumbled in her head. A hand went to her slender neck as a dark room and figures rose to the forefront of her thoughts. Maybe she is crazy. That's what those at the hospital had told her but it's to difficult to believe.

Bit by bit her mind pieces things together only to pause and push away the darker thoughts that teased the edge of her rationality.

Her fingers began to tremble violently as she reaches for the medicine that had been give to her by the hospital. She slips a pill between her lips and swallows. She begins to count the seconds. 1- 2- 3- And soon she feels the darkness retreat.

Justine exhales and opens her eyes to see the thick woods around her. She hadn't been paying attention to where she'd been going and she's now very lost. The screams didn't frighten her but what shadows lay in the woods just might.]

Option Four

I am looking for a man but I can't seem to remember his name. Can someone please help me?

ONE - COME ONE, COME ~~ALL~~ NINES

[ He doesn’t remember the crash at all, much less getting into a flight unit. While his body was fully operational - no severe injuries, no logic viruses, no remaining physical damage - his scanners were picking up all kinds of strange readings. He couldn’t remember what most of them meant, but the ones flagged as important (like machine lifeform activity - whatever that meant) were all green, but he was picking up life signs from everywhere. Once he steps out into the town, he understands why.

There are humans everywhere. And not just humans, but all kinds of living creatures he didn’t recognize. Some humans had four legged creatures on leashes. It was wonderful and somehow upsetting all at once. He wasn’t sure why.

9S is currently wandering around Wayward Pines. He’s not really looking for a way out of town - he’s too fascinated by everything he sees. One might notice he’s carrying something that looks like a blindfold. It’s his visor, which makes the readings he’s picking up make a heck of a lot more sense, but the townsfolk think it’s weird when he walks around all blindfolded.

One might catch him in front of one of the notices - given how curious he is, he’s been pointed to them more than once. ]

Do not discuss the past, huh?

[ Something about that seems especially off. ]

TWO - NOT A SHAKESPEARE REFERENCE

[ Someone is in danger. 9S is not equipped to do much - is he missing something? He has his pack and his visor. What if something dangerous happens?

He can go find information, maybe help a search party if one is out there. He wanders around the forest, checking for signs of life. There’s a lot to choose from, given the amount of fauna, but nothing distinctly human. Of course, the further he gets, the harder it is to tell. His systems are starting to malfunction piece by piece. He’s not sure what all of them are - wouldn’t the person who made him have included an easier way to run diagnostics?

Eventually, he gets far enough that he can see a fence. Maybe? His vision is pretty distorted right now. He probably should turn back, head to the auto body shop to run diagnostics, but that’s not the mission. His mission was to help whoever was in trouble out in the woods.

Leaning against a tree with no way to defend himself, that person might just be a lonely android. ]

THREE - BATTLEFIELD TRACK

[ Having been banned from the tug of war (he’s a few hundred pounds heavier than an average boy his size), 9S is sulking on the bleachers. He’s watching the various sports, trying to find one he can fairly do. ]

Man, this looks like so much fun.

FOUR - COME IN OPERATOR (NETWORK)

What is your favorite thing to eat?

[ He doesn’t have a favorite food that he can think of, but he’d like one. Maybe someone on the message board would have some ideas. ]

FIVE - WILDCARD

[ Tag him? I’m up for anything. ]

Edited 2017-05-19 00:06 (UTC)

welcome.

i.

[ Dean Winchester is a model patient. He wakes up groggy, lethargic, exhausted, but strangely peaceful. They tell him he was in an accident and, yeah, okay, he kinda remembers that. There was a fire, maybe, or some kinda... crash, maybe a bird, hell, maybe he's crazy but he's pretty sure he remembers wings. He can't seem to get a clear answer out of the nurses, most of 'em say they weren't on shift at the time so they just don't know, but they're happy enough to reassure him that he'll remember in time. Head trauma, temporary amnesia, it's enough to rile anyone but the knowledge that it'll come back eventually has him reclining in his memory foam mattress eating a third cup of green sugar-free jello that he conned out of Stacie from the front desk.

He likes Stacie, and he winks at her through the rectangular window in his room. She rolls her eyes at him, but he can see her smile into the phone, and that's awesome. She's the one that detaches his I.V. when it's time to go, she's the one that offers him directions and a bag of his belongings, and he'll bet five dollars she slips her phone number into one of the pockets.

He's got an address for, apparently, home. He doesn't remember it, but the town itself seems familiar enough that he's not displaced and disgruntled when he walks out of the doors. It's sunny, it's bright, it's... something. Cheerful. Peaceful. Friendly. He'd have to be one weird son of a bitch to feel really creeped out by it, wouldn't he?

And so he walks, passing storefronts and suburbs, pack over his shoulder and a hospital bracelet still wrapped around his wrist. If he's a little distracted and all but rams into the first person he passes on the sidewalk, well, hey, maybe that wristband can get him a pass. ]

ii.

[ Eventually, he makes it "home". He stops in front of the house for too long; spends minutes staring at it from the driveway, brow furrowed, lips tugging downward, struggling for something, anything, any kind of mental or emotional connection to the bricks he's looking at. Nothing comes. Eventually, a neighbor pulls up and he clears his throat awkwardly. Offers a tight, uncomfortable smile and an everything is totally normal wave. It's totally not normal at all. ]

iii.

[ It's less than twenty minutes after his bag hits the floor of his "home" that he's out the door again. Initial examination leaves him unsettled, struggling, and with the beginnings of a headache. It's all too familiar, unfamiliar, his and not his on too many levels. He's got a prescription for some painkillers that he intends to fill, and suddenly a cup of coffee sounds like the best damn thing he's ever heard. He heads out, picks up a prescription with money in a wallet that he found which, apparently, is his judging by the ID in the flap. Afterward he heads to the nearest joint that sells coffee black and worth drinking, holes up at the long breakfast bar near the register, surveying the other patrons, slumped onto it and absently plucking at that hospital wristband from earlier he keeps forgetting to take off. ]

track & field

[ Two words: water balloons.

Two more words: not sorry. ]

Threaded | Flat

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