test drive meme, june 2017

[officialnotice]

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

FOURTH OF JULY

If there's one thing to be said for Wayward Pines it's the town's resilience and staunch refusal to give up on the image of a picturesque little town, and July 4th this year has the community putting it's best foot forward in this regard with its annual 4th of July picnic and fireworks spectacular.

To hear anyone (Linda) familiar with the town talk (complain), this year is a much more sedate affair than any of the years prior, but in a lot of ways today is a very good opportunity for people to reconnect with their neighbors; chat quietly at a table, share a recipe, play some catch, or argue with Jerry over the proper way too cook a burger. Jerry never listens, of course, but thankfully the whole event is a pot luck so there are plenty of other, far more edible options for those with a more... discerning palate.

The day passes pleasantly, and the night? The night brings the fireworks. A beautiful cascade of bright colors and lights in the sky. Sparklers are handed out like party favors while everyone is strongly encouraged to play safe by a long-suffering and weary looking sheriff. After all, the town has had quite enough excitement by this point, don't you think?

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 fifth 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.

Comments

Jesse McCree | Overwatch

[gunshowdaddy]

1. On the way (out) of the hospital

[It's just a normal, average day in Wayward Pines. Birds are chirping, there is a cool breeze, and some odd looking clothing is thrown out into the street from the 3rd story window of the hospital. There is a poncho, some chaps, and what looks like a holster but it lacks the main thing that is suppose to be held in it.]

God damnit!

[A rough voice comes from the window. A man is seen crawling out of the window with some difficulty. He has a cowboy hat on his head, boots on his feet, and his ass is hanging out of the hospital gown. He makes effort to cover himself, maybe because he doesn't realise he is mooning the entire street. He reaches back inside the window to grab his cigar and sticks it between his teeth before he starts to climb down.

Yep....this is totally normal.]

4. It's been a long day.

If someone could point me to the nearest bar and the strongest drink they have, I would be much obliged.

4

[daydrinks]

UN: alias
seconding that

Penny | The Magicians

[inceptisex]

III. Fourth of July
Yeah? Fuck you, Jerry!

[ It looks like somebody has no patience for Jerry's techniques at the grill and decided to express it-- bluntly and loudly-- until it devolved into a back-and-forth that culminated in the aforementioned exchange of 'fuck yous.'

Which is about par for the course with Penny, if you ask some people. Actually, if you ask some people, they'll lay it out pretty simply: Penny's an asshole. He's an asshole who hates being stuck in this white-ass town in freaking Idaho with no way out. He remembers enough about life outside of Wayward Pines now to know that this? The Orwellian signs and the cameras everywhere? It's fucked up, and why are so many people just sitting back and taking it?

Fuck, why are so many people sitting back and letting Jerry ruin the goddamn hamburgers?

Whatever. He's only here for the free beers, anyway. Which is why Penny stalks away from Jerry, clutching a beer in hand, scowling at the world as he drinks. ]

[fuckthelookingglass]

[ Alice is standing off to the side of the whole affair, watching it with disdain, trying really really hard not to show how good the cooking burgers smell, even if Penny is clearly and vocally disapproving of how they're being made.

Her lips twitch. It's almost a smile. When he gets close enough, she says: ] Does this mean we're leaving.

Alice | The Magicians | Probably Spoilers for the End of S2

[fuckthelookingglass]

I. TO THE SHERIFF

[ Walking is making her angry. She doesn't understand why, because she doesn't understand anything right now, but walking is making her positively furious. She can't even tell herself that the feeling isn't logical, because there's a voice in her subconscious saying that it is entirely, completely logical to hate walking this much. It's a waste of time. Completely uneconomical. It's so human.

Also, her eyes are bad. Why are her eyes bad? They're supposed to help her see, not impede that function.

Alice's walk is turning into a stomp, and she beginning to growl under her breath as she reaches main street, finally.

She's entirely too caught up in her hatred for her eyes, walking, and the feel of muscle shifting under skin to pay any attention to who she might bump into.

She's not sorry. ]


IV. NETWORK

So who here can actually do fucking magic

un: teatime

[royalpassport]

'Fucking' as an adjective, or 'fucking' as a noun?

[ Not that it matters. JEFFERSON CAN'T DO MAGIC, PERIOD. ]

becky clearidge | xXx: that self indulgent vin diesel movie

[techxpert]

» ｗｅｌｃｏｍｅ ｔｏ ｗａｙｗａｒｄ ｐｉｎｅｓ

[ ow.

that's the first thing that comes to mind when becky wakes up, rubbing her head as the nurse cheerfully welcomes her back to the land of the waking and explains patiently that becky had been in an accident -- she believes that, thinking something about a satellite crashing to earth -- and that her head is going to be foggy for a while. it's all very reasonable and becky has no reason not to believe the nurse and so she waits patiently to be freed from her hospital room.

now, however, she has to walk to the sherrif's station in a hospital gown and that seems like a terrible oversight. she makes a mental note, as she is carefully holding the gown closed behind her, to give this a very stern yelp review. three stars: good service, but where are my pants?

it's only when she's retrieved her belongings and changed in the sherrif's station bathroom, that she can be found roaming the town with her plastic bag tucked under her arm, looking for her apartment and whimpering in distress: ] No service? What the hell.

» ｆｏｕｒｔｈ ｏｆ ｊｕｌｙ

[ becky doesn't mind playing it safe, she likes safety! but she also likes red white and blue firework popsicles spiked with vodka and she is currently mainlining the bowl of cherry bombs next to her lawn chair because pinterest may not exist in the town, but becky has a lifetime of knowledge, brah. she's fine when she's sitting down, but once she's up! ]

Oh hey, everything is spinny.

[ oh look, fireworks! spinny fireworks! once becky realizes they are happening (jumping a foot on the first few because she doesn't like things that go boom), she looks up with the appropriate oohs and aahs. walking home is going to be an adventure, lemme tell you. ]

» ｗｉｌｄｃａｒｄ: ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｌｉｂｒａｒｙ

[ the girl yelling at the computer in the library is becky. she's been shushed already, unsuccessfully, and continues angrily working at the computer while her own laptop lays discarded in her bag next to her. someone is trying to force the internet to appear because if it doesn't that means she doesn't have access to tumblr or imgur or bbc news and she will literally die without constant amusement at all times. she has already scrolled through the hundreds of memes saved on her phone. it's not enough. ]

Fine! Be that way! [ scooping her bag up, becky turns to flounce out of the library but the strap of her bag gets stuck on the leg of the chair and now she is on the floor, her smartphone skittering out of her hand and a few feet away. well. today is great. ]

fourth of july

[blaiiines]

[Blaine's sense of patriotism is high today, though that could just be because he can use the festive atmosphere to sell stuff. He spots the girl with the cherry bombs. He brought strawberry jello shots himself, and is passing them around]

I'll trade you a strawberry for one of those cherries.

Margo Hanson - The Magicians

[bambithedestroyer]

Option Three

No. [Before you can even finish whatever boring, insipid line you were spouting, Margo holds her hand up in front of your face. No eye contact, no follow up, no interest whatsoever.

If you continue trying to talk to her, she will proceed to roll her eyes and sigh.]

Listen, sweetie, I'm only at this sad excuse for a party to score enough over the counter medication to make it through the next few days without offing myself or anyone in a five foot radius out of spite and deep-set rage due to the fact that I am currently in Idaho. You can either walk away now and save yourself a verbal flaying, or you can be a dear and get me more cough syrup for this red, solo cup.

[Margo smiles, sending metaphorical, and physical, chills through the heart of anyone that sees it.]

Thaaaaaaaaaaaanks. You're a doll.

Option Four - UN: Queenbitch

OK, bumpkins. I don't make this offer lightly or often, but I will blow the first person to get me a ride out of here so hard that you'll literally hit the ceiling.

Male, female, animal, mineral, or otherwise. Just get me the hell out of here.

[fuckthelookingglass]

[ Alice watches this exchange, watches the would-be suitor retreat, and for a few seconds she grapples with an odd, seething feeling that's more than the anger she's been feeling for the past few days. It's the kind of rage that would make her slap this woman if she was in reach, but she doesn't know why.

She's sick and tired of not knowing why. ]

Taking a break from blowing your way out of Idaho? I guess that's not working as well as you hoped.

desmond miles | assassin's creed

[accommodated]

▶ HELLO, WAYWARD PINES

[ At face value, there's no reason to believe it wasn't an accident. Plenty of scrapes, bumps, and bruises to prove it. Not to mention the vague memory of it being dark outside, of heading down a narrow street too fast, taking that turn too sharp. It's pretty easy to imagine the rest, right? The first thing that comes to mind is a car crash. There was also the dim memory of lights, of voices overhead, a machine beeping, panic-- then nothing else before jolting awake in a hospital bed. Like something you'd get out of a movie.

Desmond knows better. He doesn't understand how he knows better, but he knows it wasn't some accident. So, if it wasn't an accident, what was it? Not a question he thinks he'll get an answer to out of the staff. Especially when subtly pressing for details got him nothing, asking small questions he already knows some of the answers to, but (surprise, surprise) they didn't. Not for a lack of trying on their part. The staff seemed to genuinely want to help, too...

Play it safe, his gut tells him. So, Desmond does. He decides to wait patiently for release (not an easy feat; he was itching to get somewhere that felt less exposed), use the opportunity to wander around and see what details he can pick up from idle conversation. On the upside, at least he's not attached to an IV line and was given some hospital clothes to accommodate his wandering. Desmond isn't too banged up. It's not the ICU, after all. Feel free to bump into him!

If you're in the patient lounge, don't be surprised to find Desmond there, either, while he's with you getting tea or coffee or whatever it is you're after at the table said things are laid out on. ]

Visiting someone? [ he asks whether you're a fellow patient or not, out of idle curiosity and also because he's got to get to know someone around here.

And don't worry! Desmond doesn't really seem like he'd do any harm. Hell, he's the sort that looks downright friendly, really. ]

▶ FOURTH OF JULY

[ Ah, the Fourth of July. Nothing says "Happy birthday, America!" more than a community potluck, a lazy afternoon, and fireworks. Desmond had intended to skip on it, but good ol' Chuck had insisted, and there in lays the frustrating and horrifying part of Wayward Pines, Idaho, if you'd have asked Desmond. He shows up to the event because he felt a sense of obligation to. After all, he'd been working for Chuck for the last nine years. Chuck wasn't just his boss, Chuck was his friend-- he'd even been invited to Chuck's tenth wedding anniversary. Desmond's known little Elizabeth since she was born. Worse, he was her godfather.

But here's the thing: Desmond hasn't known Chuck for nine years.

The Wayward Pines' truth of just who Desmond Miles is will tell you that he's a stand-up fellow and handyman working for Andy "Chuck" Johnson. Works hard, does it well.

It's days like this that make the line between what little real truth Desmond knows about himself and what he thinks he knows very blurry. So, honestly, you may very well find yourself in a conversation with him as if you'd known him (and he'd known you) your entire life over food, maybe beer. Bump into him, do whatever, it's a party, right?

Later that evening, it won't be hard to find him, either, provided you either a) catch Desmond in the act of climbing up the side of a decently tall building to enjoy the fireworks (hey, a guy's gotta have some fun), or b) actually spot him perched on the edge of it. ]

▶ NETWORK: UN: PUNNED

i say "endure" you say "_____"

un: commander

[warden_enchanter]

Conquer.

warden-commander amell / dragon age

[warden_enchanter]

i. (hospital)
[ The nurses and doctors don't seem to want to let her leave yet, bleating soothingly about recovery and her memories and needing time to set up her housing. Cosette Amell is very good at playing along, settling back in her bed, looking tired, letting her eyes fall closed as if it's simply too much effort to keep them open.

As soon as the room is empty, however, she leaves without hesitation. Perhaps other people may resort to sneaking out of the hospital in nothing but a flimsy gown and the skin they were born in, but Cosette is inclined to neither sit around and wait for permission nor embarrass herself by acting like a shifty criminal.

No, she steals a set of nurse's scrubs and walks out the front door, the hospital gown still tucked under her arm, to offer as... proof, maybe, of having really been a patient, or to elicit sympathy if necessary. There's very little she understands about this situation, which is why she's preparing for every possibility she can think of, but she lets none of her confusion show on her face. She does remember doing something similar not too long ago though, passing through a set of doors she didn't think she'd ever see the other side of, head held high and heart soaring with the knowledge that she would finally be... be...?

The very nature of her uncertainty flashes a suspicion through her, that if this is not real then that makes it only one possible thing — the Fade. Is this what nonmages experience when they dream, this lack of conviction, this muted grasp on their own mind? Not being able to see past the seams of the construction?

The thought tries to flit away, but she seizes upon it fiercely, like a dog with its jaws around elusive prey. The Fade. Malleable dreams and immutable reality. If this is not real, she must find the thread that will unravel it.

An accident, they say? Maybe — the enormous array of scars along her arms and over her body certainly suggest she's no stranger to physical trauma — but something feels off about the smiling, reassuring faces that greeted her when she woke up. Of course she's been knocked out before, that much she can tell is true, but it isn't nurses that should have been at her bedside. It should have been her healers, should have been... should have been...?

Names flicker through her, and faces, though she struggles to piece them together in a way that connects. Red hair, a vibrant accent, a crooked smile, a cat, a frown. Morrigan. Anders. Alistair? ... No matter. She'll find them. Whoever they are.

Hence her approaching every passing person with an expression of battle-worthy determination, searching each face intently and dismissing them when they fail to elicit a response. Despite her clear confidence, it's perhaps very obvious she is not, at least as far as she knows, from around here. ]

iii. (picnic)
[ With the absentmindedness of someone clearly accustomed to eating anything put in front of her, Cosette grazes along the various tables and barbecue pits, keeping her lemonade cold in one frost-flaked hand and her brats hot in the other, glowing with warmth and faintly smoking. For the most part, she spends the afternoon snacking, half-certain that everything is her favorite but equally sure that she's never eaten most of this stuff in her life.

By now, she's realized that this isn't the Fade — too well-structured, too consistent, and not a single spirit around to poke — but it still clashes so poorly with her memories of a world that warns of false images and projections that she has no intention of trusting it.

... That doesn't mean she can't have a little fun, though. When night falls and the fireworks go up, Cosette watches them for a while with a critical eye before deciding that they're simply not exciting enough. With a sharp gesture and a ribbon of concentration, Cosette sends up an electric-purple flare of lightning into the air along with the fireworks, the burst of it eclipsing the fizzling red, white, and blue sparks, and treats anyone who glances over at her with a smile both smug and playful. You're welcome, Wayward Pines. ]

wildcard. (surprise her)

PICNIC

[thatelectricitything]

It's very hot out.

[Anders steps to just off to her side, slightly behind, looking approvingly up at the lightning. He has a burger in his left hand so his right can be free, just in case, but he hasn't stopped eating all evening. He's taking advantage of this properly catered event, even if he couldn't care less about the holiday itself. The last time there was free food it was all health garbage, and he has some standards.]

Do you think they'd appreciate a small flurry? Would you appreciate a small flurry?

[He's GOOD at cold spells.]

I guess I could make a person explode. It would certainly be very festive!

Cloud Strife | Final Fantasy VII

[easypromises]

I

Cloud had escaped the hospital as quickly as (super)humanly possible, he didn't ask questions, he didn't stop to chat with anyone, the only thing he knew he wanted for certain was to get the hell out of anywhere that sterile and medical smelling.

Why, exactly, was beyond him. There was too much slightly painful static fuzz in his head when he tried to figure it out. There was some kind of crash, which made sense given the bruises and scrapes on his skin.

So it is that there's a blond guy with too-blue eyes and a tense expression and a few questions. "Excuse me, can I ask you something?"

III

The burgers really aren't that bad, though the supposed mechanic is known to be able to eat pretty much anything put in front of him without complaint. Cloud is, as far as anyone in Wayward Pines is concerned, better with wrenches and engines than conversations.

"The potato salad's pretty good." He advises, "The jell-o salad might be alive though, I think I saw it eat a spoon."

It's just green, and has coconut in it. Nothing out of the ordinary at all, Cloud just has a terrible sense of humor.

[dendrites]

Elsa, with a star spangled handkerchief tied around her ponytail, had wanted to make a day of it. It has taken her some time to fully recover from recent events here but she does think a party ( a subdued party ) is just the thing.

That and she had asked Gladio to view the fireworks with her later. Very important things.

Cloud's joke merits at least a small laugh behind her popsicle. "Goodness, what a terrible spoon-eating creature."

Jace Wayland | Shadowhunters

[wayfaring_stranger]

Fourth of July!

[Jace isn't much for social gatherings. He'd rather be training. Or...no, there isn't an or. Training is fun. Especially when training with Alec. His brother makes things interesting and challenging. Which is rare. Not many can keep up with him.

Somehow he's found himself wandering the big Fourth of July celebration despite his reservations, but how could he say no when Alec asked him? Honestly, he'd do anything for Alec even when he didn't feel like being around a bunch of over-zealous Mundanes.

At least the food smelled good enough to eat and he was tempted by some medium rare tri-tip and a bag of salty chips. And he was wearing the perfect outfit to help him blend in: white t-shirt with blue jeans and boots. He was the perfect holiday Mundane. Alec should be so proud.

Wherever Alec was.]

[angelic_archer]

[Considering how well he was adapting to Mundane life, Alec is not trying to look like a Mundane. Black for hunting through the night. Even if that hadn't been drilled into him as a child, Alec preferred the color. Even if it does make him look like he was one of those 'goth kids' Sherman told him about or like he should be a biker... Maybe he should think about that.

Noticing Jace, he heads over to his parabatai, arching an eyebrow at how 'cheerful' he looke]

Your face will freeze that way.

[Sitting down next to him, he takes a drink of his iced tea while watching the crowd.]

Do you still have your motorcycle?

Ezio Auditore da Firenze | Assassin's Creed

[tounderstand]

I

He is far, far too old for this, Ezio's decided. Ending up in the hospital had been expected when he was twenty, fine when he was thirty and a little excessive when he was forty but old habits it seemed died hard.

Not that he'll ever admit that he's old.

"My age? Bah, I can still run circles around you, young lady." He grumps at one of the nurses trying to offer him a cane to help the stiffness in his knees from the accident.

Someone should... probably come help either him or the nurse.

III

Who dresses semi-formally to a summer barbeque? Ezio, that's who. It's a nice slate grey with a festive red tie, and while he's got the waistcoat on the jacket is draped on one of the chairs to claim his spot under a large umbrella. That and his rolled up sleeves are the only concessions to the heat of summer.

"Come, sit my friend!" He waves at anyone headed his way. "There is room in the shade for you here."

[accommodated]

Desmond gets the news when he's on his lunch break. It's easy enough to assume how the Sheriff found him-- called up his place of work, boss tells him where his last job was. Sure enough, he's sitting in his truck, trying to get a bit of a nap in, windows rolled down. You'd be tired, too, if you ended up staying up all night because of weird nightmares.

This whole place was pretty much a good plot-line for all of Desmond's nightmares for the next year.

"Son, I got some bad news for you," were the Sheriff's words, hat in hand and a solemn expression, "There's been an accident."

Part of Desmond wanted to laugh. Laugh at the sheer insanity of it. An uncle? Last he knew, he didn't have an uncle, but the memories don't trickle in so much as they just... show up. There, as if they'd been there all along. There was no sense of surprise. Mainly because there wasn't a reason to be surprised. Sure, he had an uncle, just an estranged one-- Dad never particularly talked about him. Some sort of fight that neither of his parents shared much of the details. Seven years still seems like such a short amount of time to catch up on lost opportunities, but Ezio was still family.

Family looked out for each other.

His boss lets him take the rest of the day off. Which is exactly why he's hustling down the hallway after an orderly points him in the right direction-- here to help probably both of them, flagging the nurse down (who still seems concerned enough, at least to Desmond).

"It's all right, he's always been steady on his feet," he tells her once he's close enough, waving her off.

She seems to pause with it, but nods and takes her leave, cane still in hand.

Desmond takes a breath, looking Ezio over. His mouth is a thin line for a moment and there's obvious concern in his expression. "I'd ask if you were okay, but I think that'd probably be a stupid question. Look, you want to sit down, maybe?"

Brock Rumlow | Marvel Cinematic Universe

[ukase]

1. Welcome to Wayward Pines
[Well, there goes Kansas. That place was a whole heap of shit anyway. A tornado was best case scenario.

Brock opened his eyes to find himself in a hospital, and a distinct feeling of wrongness warred with a sense of forced complacency. He couldn't recall how he came to be in the hospital or the circumstances, but it seemed somehow unlikely that he would be transferred to Idaho of all places. Didn't New York or, you know, anywhere else have good medical care? Except Kansas; tornadoes for that crap-shoot of a place. He'd seen dumpsters with more of a wide ranged gene pool.

Yet, no matter how he felt the sheer wrongness, nothing filled in that wide ocean of blanks. That alone increased his sense of alarm as he reached out to grip the raised bed rails, assuring himself that they were physical and not some drug induced illusion cooked up in his brain. Then the nurses came in chattering and seemed to feel sorry for his plight, and that was just the last straw. He wanted no pity anywhere; this was his game, and he played it how he wanted. Something was wrong, and he intended to get answers. And pants.

Rumlow smoothly lifted himself from bed and hopped the railing, landing lightly on the balls of his feet. The nurses stopped trying to coddle him, and it was perhaps a good thing for them that there were no sharp pointy objects easily in his reach, and there was no need to root through the drawers of his room searching for one. He was military trained (that much stuck right).]

Where am I? What's going on here? I should be somewhere else, somewhere important. [Idaho was for red-neck family reunions and burying a body no one cared to find. But why the hell couldn't he recall more than that? Worse, why were the memories that seemed to encroach on his mind so familiar in how insidious they were.]

Out of my way, sweetheart. I'm on a schedule. [He advanced on the nurses, driving them from the room and into the open hallway of the hospital. He followed, looking up and down, finding the exits, the orderlies and anything that could be used as a weapon. He found all three, but it made no difference to him. He was marching out of this place, ass hanging out of his gown and he'd fight anyone that tried to stop him.]

3. Fourth of July
[Ugh, town gathering pleasantries were something of a necessary usual, something to make everyone feel a sense of community, of belonging, of being fake. The truth of the matter was that Linda had it right regardless of how annoying she was and that complaining was about any good that managed to happen in this place. The fact that they were all being watched, listened to and probably tracked by some means only served to increase the sense of isolation for him. It put him in a position that felt very familiar and thus far more at ease.

Fourth of July had always been a big deal in his family, the loud and rowdy Italian patriots that only occasionally put their money where their mouths were. It was a day when his nonna had immigrated to America and God forbid anyone forget that. It was a new start on life, a chance to eat too many apples, get an ear tugged and cheeks pinched with the familiar scoldings of being far too thin. That had been when he had lived somewhere that wasn't this shit-hole, and his reason for moving here at all was about as much punishment as living here. Yeah, yeah, don't leave, always answer the phone.

Brock was doing his share of mingling with the cheapest and most despised beer that he could find, Coors Light (the Canadian version to boot). He was literally only here for the fireworks and to keep track of those of the city; people here tended to act very strangely. They either were living cardboard cut-outs or they quite frankly acted insane, like none of this was real. What was real and what wasn't still happened to be muddled up in his own brain fog, like he had been brain-panned badly by technician's kid on bring-your-child-to-work day.

Part of being a double agent was knowing when to play the part. Investigative work took time, and his reason for being here had to be among the insanity. It certainly wasn't near the fence or the forest. Nope, not at all. He certainly wouldn't be taking the opportunity that a gathering with loud noises and random bursts of colour to his advantage to investigate those areas which clearly had the smell of definitely hiding something but nothing to see here about it.

So when the fireworks started to light the night sky, he sipped his disgusting beer and then began to back out of the crowd under the guise of letting the kids and families have a better look.]

Independence Day... what a load of shit. There wasn't even apple pie.

4. What's Network Niceties?

So, what's going for child discipline these days? A stern talking to with an after thought of ass patting? I feel like there was merit to a good ol' rapping on the knuckles. Now we know why the youth have resorted to avocado on toast as some kind of legitimate breakfast choice.

4. un: p.maximoff

[windchasing]

Personally, I intend to fund my college education entirely on avocado seed carving.

Unfortunately, you'll find the schools here to be generally uninterested in teaching the real-world consequences of failure.

[ Not that Pietro doesn't appreciate the education he is getting, mind you, but still. It's too easy. ]

red saber/nero claudius - fate/extra

[etgehenna]

THREE

[ How lucky all of you are to be graced with her presence, her body language seems to say as she sweeps her way through the crowd, although she barely skims five feet in height. Not that that bothers her. And it shouldn't bother you, either! She shoves her way through people to get to the spread of food, and her plate is loaded with everything — piled so high it's actually kind of a mystery that she can even carry it without any of it falling off, but she's got experience in feasting.

Which means she's at a table, shoving food into her mouth in a rather unlady-like, but a very very Ancient Roman like manner, making the most inappropriate noises of pleasure as she, well. Feasts.

Jerry's burgers are notably absent — Nero will not eat that peasant food. ] Stupendous! A feast to rival Saturnalia itself! Ah, someone! Bring me wine! I demand it!

[aeturnus]

[ Because this sounds like a treat and because he can't help himself with how familiar her whole countenance is, Roman walks by with two glasses of wine. One for himself (he's hardly touched it, doesn't even plan to finish it) and one for her. He sits across with his own plateful of food. Sets the wine nearby to see how she'll react to that. ]

Pretty sure there's not going to be any sacrifices today, but the food's pretty great, isn't it? Good food for a good show later. Io Saturnalia.

Cashmere | The Hunger Games

[64th]

a - 4th of July

[ Cashmere's heard the Fourth of July celebration is tame compared to last year, but even as it is, all of it feels like a lot. It reminds her of the harvest festival at home but with more streamers and a barrage of unfamiliar music & faces.

She's also still not convinced that this isn't part of The Games. as far as she can tell, no one else has concerns about attempted murder happening at any moment. their loss, she thinks, when the Gamemakers reveal that this is just an illusion.

General paranoia aside, she is trying to have fun - or at least appear like she might be enjoying herself. ]

That looks - interesting. What's that? [ Cashmere's question is directed to anybody who wanders by while she's trying to decide what to eat. she's pointing to whatever delicious fried or otherwise unique picnic food is piled high on their plate. ]

b - network

[ since it seems there's no easy way out, her next plan of action is to make allies friends. ]

Who's interested in joining me for a run?

[trybelieving]

[ this all feels like the work of dark magic to Tinker Bell. she may not be a fairy anymore, yet she knows enough about it to feel the tension in this town. nothing is as it appears to be, and the false memories they've given them only make her more inclined to believe there's some sinister reason for keeping all of them here.

it's an improvement over Neverland, even with Pan present in this world, but she'll never let her guard down completely. she expects the worst, no matter what the celebration. they've already had a few horrific events occur in the month that she's been here, it's reason enough for her to continue to be suspicious.

but as this isn't Neverland, and there are people and resources to enjoy, she's not shy about taking advantage of them. her plate couldn't fit one more thing on it by the time she walks away from the table, and when Cashmere asks about one item in particular, she stops in her tracks.] They're deep-fried oreos. Horrible and delicious all at once. I suspect they may kill me. [ she's already eaten two of them.]

Would you like one?

Hannah | Rat Queens

[conjuralvisit]

(a. The fourth)

[This entire area reeks of community and togetherness and it’s the fucking worst, damn. There’s a lot that doesn’t make sense in this town- the undercurrent of unease, the lack of goblins, what the fuck is up with traffic lights- but deep disdain for town gatherings and chipper neighbors just feels right. So she stays the entire dang time, drinking free beer and pausing in front of potluck offerings to roll her eyes and viciously tear them down.]

Fucking hell. Debbie couldn’t make a patriotic brownie if her life depended on it.

(b. Network. UN: ratQueen)

I need drugs and a magic wand. Doesn’t need to be a package deal. Does need to come with a lack of sass.

b. un: Frag

[ukase]

Any specific kind of drug? We talking Tylenol level or heroin level?

scott lang | mcu

[antmans]

❚❚❚❚❚ i. into the woods

[ Well, there's something you don't hear every day.

Scott is on his ten-minute break, taking advantage of that fresh air away from the sugary sweet scent of strawberry, vanilla, chocolate ice cream. He's not sure why he's still working here, but he's never really felt the need to quit either. Something about saving up his money for something or someone ... eh. Whatever.

Anyway. It's the scream that catches his attention, jerking him out of his 'why is this my life' time of day. He pulls off his apron, bundling it up and tossing the white canvas fabric next to the garbage bins (he's so gonna be fired after this, isn't he?), and makes a mad dash towards the direction of the scream. There are barely any other thoughts in his head, only the one: whoever's out there needs his help.

It's such a weird feeling but it fills him with ... adrenaline. Or excitement. Something along those lines. It's like the fog's lifted and here he is ... doing what he should be doing. It'd been way too easy to get back into the swing of things after the hospital accident. He felt practically no shift at all when he'd picked his things up from the sheriff's office and got that phonecall from Lagomarcino's, asking if he'd be able to make the 8AM shift on Friday. (He said 'yes' without thinking.)

Running towards the trees, running straight into danger, it doesn't really faze him the way it probably should. Only when he feels his lungs burn from the need for more oxygen, Scott pauses, resting his hands on his knees, bent forward to breathe in hard.

Man, he is so outta shape. ]

Hey -! [ He straightens, calling out. ] Is anyone out here?


❚❚❚❚❚ ii. fourth of july

[ The fireworks are a nice way to end the day.

Scott spends his time oscillating between the food banquet (he brought his own recipe of cornbread, which is easy enough to make and doesn't remind him of ice cream) and a couple of the tables to chat. Mingling's never been his thing, exactly, but it's kind of nice as far as distractions go. After the other day's events in the woods, Scott has been pretty keen on trying not to let whatever it is he saw get to him. More questions means more trouble and Scott has a very strong feeling that he should probably be lying low and staying out of it.

He'll try anyway.

Currently he plops down at a table with a plate of food and nods to his companions. ]

Hi. So what did you all bring to the potluck?

[ Maybe recipe-swapping can be a thing.

Aaand later on, he'll be hanging around to watch the fireworks, sparkler in hand. This town, all things considered, is pretty great. Not quite right, but not bad either. It sure beats prison.

Wait.

Why did he have that thought?

Huh. ]

[postpartor]

[ she sees him head into the woods, following the sound of the monster. She sees him, and (ironically, much like Scott himself) takes off running without a second thought. Someone has probably already gotten to the creature, taken it down, but there's a chance....

She catches up to him far closer to the wall than she wants to get. The feeling of fatigue drags at her. ] You need to get back into town, n....

[ Wait, she knows this guy. ]

Scott Lang?

Harry Dresden :|: The Dresden Files

[officialwizard]

1.) Gotta Leave Before...

Waking up in the hospital is the last thing Harry likes doing. Some poor schmuck might get his life support fired, and the wave of panic that comes with that is very real. Though he doesn't quite remember WHY.

The nurses were nice, but persistent, and Harry barely contained himself from going off on them, and storming out. But he doesn't particularly enjoy yelling at women...No matter how pushy they are.

But he was able to convince them that, "I'm fine, really." and "No, absolutely nothing hurts." His left hand was stiff under the glove it was encased in, but he didn't bother with that. He needed O.U.T.

Once he gets out of the hospital, feeling slightly naked without the familiar heaviness of his duster, Harry just stands there.

"What the hell?" This place looked like...He wasn't entirely sure. He sure as hell wasn't in Chicago anymore, that's for sure.

4.) Stars and Stones, Don't Give Me Tha---

"No, lady, I can't have things like thi-- Oh for the love of..."

sigh

"Alright, whatever. It's this thing's, and probably your, funeral."

fumbling of a phone

"Hell's Bells, is this on? Fine. I need a beer, and some answers. Now."

4

[angelic_archer]

Even though Alec knew the 'Hell's Bells' wasn't literal or even related to the kinds of things he'd seen in the past, it still earned an arched eyebrow of amusement and a slightly wary expression. When you lived with someone who could conjure demons and knew that Hell really existed...

"I didn't know people had funerals for cell phones." He probably wouldn't think that Alec's 'joke' wasn't funny but he was used to people rarely understanding his attempts at humor. Moving to one of the coolers, he pulled a beer from the ice, offering it to... He had no idea. Wasn't the amnesia supposed to be getting better? "I might be able to help with the answers."

jessica jones / the marvel universe formerly known as 616

[motherfucked]

1.

[ This is, you know, not the first time Jessica's woken up from a coma in the hospital. Surrounded by people she didn't know, concerned for her welfare. Or pretending to be. A lot of people were just pretending, in her view.

It's also not the first time she doesn't know who to call (Luke? Carol Danvers? her fucking mother?), and it's not the first time the hospital doesn't let her call anyone. It takes a while for the whole thing to feel unfamiliar. It's not until she asks for the paperwork and realizes she's in Idaho that she realizes maybe something is really fucked.

A few hours after her release, Jessica can be found stumbling down the sidewalk. She's been walking for what feels like hours in a circle and getting nowhere. Something is really fucked. Maybe she doesn't see where she's going or maybe she's just sorta naturally clumsy, but she trips over a crack in the concrete. ]

[ Almost under her breath, she mutters: ] Truman Show bullshit. [ There's probably a supervillain who does this, she's thinking. Maybe like, Arcade? The Collector? She doesn't know, because who pays attention to the Collector? Then she realizes she might have fallen onto someone. Just a little. ]

Shit, fuck. I'm sorry.

[ She even looks like she means it. Spacey, but sincere. ]

3.

[ A few weeks in Bumfuck, Idaho, has convinced Jessica that maybe this isn't the usual supervillain/SHIELD creepy plot. She hasn't ruled out personal hell dimension, though. Those were a thing, right? Evidence: cigarettes are super cheap here. Like they are trying to tempt her. She hasn't given in yet, though. Evidence 2: this Fourth of July celebration, which is making her really want a cigarette.

When someone offers her a sparkler, what she says is: ]

No thanks. I'm just here to see if anyone burns their dick off.

[windchasing]

[ Unfortunately, the person she's run into doesn't seem to care if she means it or not. ]

Watch where you're going, [ snaps the white-haired teen in faintly accented English. Honestly, he should have noticed her tripping and had plenty of time to dodge, but he didn't, and rather than consider that particular failure in greater detail, he's more than happy to blame it on her, thanks. ]

What are you, drunk?

Natasha R. | Marvel Comics

[latrodectus]

I.

[ Natasha's first instinct is to play along. She nods when the nurses wave off her questions, as if that's perfectly understandable, and smiles when they tell her they hope she'll be able to make a life here. It's an uncertain smile, the kind that wants to please, that worries about fitting in. Not the kind that questions. People will explain a lot to a woman who doesn't ask questions.

She continues like this, filling out her release papers, making small talk. They don't know who she is, Natasha realizes. She isn't sure if this is good or bad. On the one hand, it makes it easy to keep up the act. But on the other hand, it means she's dealing with a total unknown. Natasha doesn't like unknowns, as a rule.

In the hospital waiting room, with her patient bracelet still attached, she glances outside the window, as if absently. Her eyes scan the horizon, searching for some familiar punctuation. It doesn't come. She wonders if they have messed with her head. But what she says, to the stranger standing next to her, in a generic midwestern accent, is: ]

Nice weather, huh?

II.

[ Of course, the second she's thinks she hears something like danger, she drops the act. Not all at once, but in bits and pieces— the bland, Sears catalog expression washes off her face, her legs pick up a determined tempo once she doesn't think anyone is watching. Natasha wishes, not for the first time, that she had a gun, or her gauntlets, or something, but swallows those thoughts. She definitely heard a scream. Someone could be hurt.

Her determination carries her close enough to see the wall clearly, but she has to stop, breathe. Then Natasha hears a crunch, the sound of footfall. Without thinking, she turns towards the noise, and takes a fighting stance. It makes her tired, and she doesn't know why. ]

Who's there? [ Her voice doesn't falter, but her breathing is audible. ]

I.

[lostsoldier]

[ The stranger looks up, dark hair falling clear of one side of his face. Is she talking to him? (Do people talk to him?) His head still feels woolen and cloudy, the fluorescent lights too bright and the antiseptic smell too sharp in his sinuses, but they'd given him a blanket, and it'd been dry and warm, and he'd scrunched its scratchy mass up around his shoulders, so things could be worse. He doesn't know how, exactly, but he's pretty sure worse is an option.

There's no one else she could be talking to, nobody close enough it would make sense. And anyway, it feels right, talking to her. He squints, and the answer to her question comes tumbling out like a wrapped gift. ]

It'll be a shame when the freeze hits.

[ An odd thing to say. But the right thing, he thinks. The answer he's supposed to give. ]

max kearney | oc

[motherofnemesis]

2.

[ She doesn't fully know where the instinct comes from that tells her to above all bide her time, to assess first and act later, to nod and at least feign a confused acceptance as they talk to her. There are only a few things she knows for certain right now, so she will trust in her instincts for the time being and sign the paperwork, taking back her clothes. (There's blood. She remembers why. You should be dead, something inside her tells her, and she knows that to be truer than anything surrounding her right now.)

When she walks out, it is not with any faith that she has been in actuality released. There are many kinds of prisons, and the hardest to get out of are the ones that try to pretend they are not a prison at all. This feels too much like a trick for her to trust that that is not what it is.

Still, the only way is forward, so she carries her jacket slung over her arm, does her best to look less like she's wearing an outfit that's supposed to have tactical armor outfitted to it, and starts exploring. Not asking any overt questions - not after those signs everywhere - but she can push just a little, just enough to see what she might be able to get with her empathy.

The scream, faint as it is, is all that it takes to send her heading away from town at a fast clip, searching for what might provide answers.

The fence is something of an answer. It is an affirmation to the question of prison, but it's the slow muting of her empathy that tumbles out the ground from beneath her. As soon as she realizes what's happening she's backing away, the quiet reserve from her meandering in town rapidly tearing to shreds, equilibrium fading into dizzying wrong.

If she runs into anyone while she's trying to back away rapidly but still keep an eye on the fence, like it might at any moment sprout chains, there's no apology, her words rushed, not frantic but with an edge to them. ]

It's not safe, get back. Get out. [ The second part is hard to tell whether it's directed at the fence or her newfound companion. ]

3

[ She's not precisely mingling, but not standing so actively aloof as to draw attention to it either, just meandering around the edges, sometimes sitting in a circle of people without much contribution. Still, even to someone trying to stay out of focus Linda is getting to be something of an irritation, and it's one of those instances where she snaps out one of her few contributions to the conversations of the evening. ]

Well maybe you should have let me do the damn fireworks, and then we could have blown up the town.

[ Not that she really means blowing up the whole town, right? Of course not.

For a surprisingly large part of the evening she can be found helping some of the younger kids with their sparklers, making sure that they're holding them right. And if some of the fireworks she's helping them set off seem -- bigger, say -- than the rest, well. You can't prove anything unless you're watching very, very carefully. ]

2

[sleepdart]

[ This isn't her first stint in the woods, and it's not the first time she's heard a scream like that. This time, it's not the screamer she's looking for.

As soon as this new arrival is in sight between the trees, Ana makes a beeline for her. She can tell she's been out too far, she sees that distinctive stagger. She's at her side in a moment with a surprising strength to her frame, and makes to shrug her way under one of Max's arms to lend some support. ]

I don't think I need to advise that you give the fence a good berth. [ It sounds a little wry; a voice that would scold if scolding were needed. ]

gaby teller | the man from u.n.c.l.e.

[myownwoman]

𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕛𝕦𝕝𝕪

[ gaby is... not american, though she does like apple pie, so she doesn't really get the appeal of the independence day festivities which is what found her in an argument with the man, uh, manning the grill when she was waiting for a bratwurst. ]

--everything is red, white, and blue?

[ when he proudly proclaims "it's the colors of the american flag!!" like he personally picked the color scheme and hand stitched the very first one, gaby blinks at him. ]

And the French flag. And the British flag, the Australian and New Zealand flags... Croatia, Iceland, Czechoslovakia, North Korea... [ she could go on in her soft german accent (cambodia, cape verde, samoa, costa rica, cuba, chile, the cook islands, haiti, south korea, laos, liberia, luxembourg, malaysia, nepal, norway, panama, paraguay, the philippines, puerto rico, russia, serbia, slovenia, taiwan, thailand) but she doesn't know all of them and some of the countries aren't even countries as far as she knows. hell, she still calls the czech republic and slovakia czechoslovakia.

plus jerry, the irony, looks like if he gets any more huffy his head will explode, so she takes her sausage and just backs away slowly. ] ...happy Independence Day.

[ nailed it! ]

[64th]

[ Cashmere watches the friendly (?) debate over all the colors, silently glad someone besides her asked because seriously: what the hell? Jerry seems to have taken personal offense at what are probably valid points and in all honestly that makes her like the other woman.

deciding that maybe she doesn't actually want to accept food from a man who loses it over flags, she turns and follows Gaby. ]

What's his problem?

timothy lawrence | borderlands

[blap]

iii. fourth of july

[ Okay, so he's spent the entire time since waking up in this town telling everybody his name is something that it's apparently not, and he wants to feel worse about that except he isn't actually completely sure what his name actually is if it isn't Jack, so there's nothing else to do but just go with it? He guesses?

But he's not Jack. That much he's pretty sure about. ]

Hey, uh, babe. I'm Jack. The... one and only.

[ And oh god he's so embarrassed for himself but he doesn't know how to stop this. He doesn't know what else to do. He's so alone in this place and not even his half-eaten corndog is helping. ]

What a night for shooting a whole bunch of explosives into the sky, huh? Heh heh. Nothing weird about any of this.

iv. jack here; the real one 📣

Sup kiddos, sssoooo heeeyyy, shot in the dark but—what's a devastatingly handsome guy gotta do to get, y'know, out of the creepy small-town hellscape here? Like. I can't be the one hearing that, right? The... howling? Noises? I-I mean, no big deal, I guess, but the last guy I tried asking just gave me this look like I had three heads and I think he might have peed a little.

Uh, semi-related: say I need a gun. For. Y'know. Gun reasons. Thanks in advance, ask for Jack. A-buh-bye.

iii

[conjuralvisit]

[Hannah looks from the corndog to Tim and back again. Judgmentally.]

That was some fucking stunning wit right there, mister one and only. [It's like she can smell the embarrassment coming off of him.] Did you have to kill every other Jack to get the title or just knock them around until they forgot their own names?

ethan mars ☂ heavy rain

[fatherhood]

☂ welcome to wayward pines

[ An accident, they said. Ethan wakes up with a laundry list of exotic injuries and aches: bruises everywhere, cuts and scrapes, chest painted over with burns, left pinky gone. They'd pulled glass out of his arms and knees; he'd overheard them saying so. And yet the worst thing of all is the way his head throbs, like it's the freshest pain of all, as he slowly hauls himself up and out of bed, detaching himself from IV lines and machinery as if in a fugue—only to be caught before he reaches the door, scolded, and put back to bed.

This happens twice during his stay, so by the time Ethan's ready to run for a third time they seem to fall toward a natural, mutual impasse: grudging but obedient, Ethan fills out a thin stack of forms as best he can around the giant blank spots in his memory, they give him his bloodied clothes, and he's directed into town without further resistance.

His address is filled in already when he signs out.

It feels wrong, everything does, really—but the neighbors all chalk it up to the accident, so he's not sure what else to do. Keep to himself, mostly. ]

☂ fourth of july

[ It's not all bad here. Ethan doesn't like crowds as a general rule, doesn't do well in them—he has a distinct recollection of feeling trapped and like time has stopped, not being able to breathe, certain he's going to die—but it's a clear and pleasant evening (Linda notwithstanding) and a decent chance to catch up besides.

But it's also like he's seeing things and people for the first time, like when you repeat a word enough times that it loses its meaning, becomes unrecognizable. Lately, whether he's shopping on the main drag or brooding over a beer at the corner bar, Ethan finds himself watching as people go about their business, studying his neighbors, and occasionally looking as though he'd really like to say something. He's always had the vague sense that people pity him; the most recent accident hadn't been his first, after all, family history lined with tragedy. Lonely amnesiac Ethan Mars, 38, divorced, one dead son (hence the divorce). But every time he's got half a mind to pack up and leave this town, something gives him pause. ]

I'm—sorry. What? I... wasn't listening.

[ He thinks he might've killed somebody. ]

Angel // Borderlands

[r3f4c70r3d]

ON3: welcome!

[ At first it feels familiar: the fluorescent lights, so bright she can see the inside of her eyelids, and their ever present droning hum, the continuous beep of a heartrate machine. she's done this before, many times, though right now her mind can't reach the specific memories...must be the anesthesia still wearing off. Then all at once it's very unfamiliar. As Angel opens her eyes and looks first at a ceiling she doesn't recognize, then turns her head to an entire room she's never seen before. That's strange, even though the specifics are blurry she knows that she always woke up in the same place.

Stranger still, she's completely alone. All other times as she roused from drug induced sleep she'd be welcomed by the sight of her dad, in the chair beside her bed, head propped up on his hand as he slept, pacing back and forth on the other side of the room with worried anticipation, always there to be the first to greet her and assure her it was all a success.

And things continue this way as she gets up, using the IV stand linking the bag of mysterious fluid to her arm to support her as she shuffles her way into the hall, into yet another completely unfamiliar place. There has to be someone around with answers, so she'll walk until she finds some form of life. ]

7HR33: fourth of July

[ That gunpowder could be used for something beautiful isn't something Angel could have ever imagined (though beauty is subjective, she's sure that knowing what she does remember about Pandora that there were plenty of people who considered the violence down there a work of art) though being up-close to the action, being outside at all, is still something she's adapting to. That these explosives aren't being used to blow some psychos brains out and instead entertain the people of the town with no casualties is just another drop in the bucket of things that are different here. Not that she's complaining.
Without being connected to an infinite wealth of information as she was back home, she has to rely on others for information, so she asks aloud for whoever is nearest to hear ]

I wonder who had the idea to use explosives in such an...untraditional way.

3 womp womp

[blap]

[ So things are a little. Weird. With Angel. But then it's Tim's guess that that's pretty par for the course when you meet a girl who insists she's your daughter even though she seems way too old for that and also your lifetime sexual encounters barely require two hands to count. But like, that's just the ones he can remember, of course.

He thinks. He hopes.

Anyway.

Without much fanfare he plops down into the grass next to Angel with a pair of bomb pops gripped loosely in his fingers, edge of a wrapper poking her arm as he holds it out to her. ]

No, I know, right? And nobody else thinks this is even a tiny bit strange. Really.

[ But between the light show and the popsicle, it's actually kinda nice.

Still not her dad, y'know, but... nice! ]

finn | star wars

[refusings]

( one )

[finn wakes up in the hospital, and that part feels right, but there is something about the atmosphere that feels off. unfamiliar. his back is sore, and that feels right too, but he has no idea where he is at all. there is an instinct to hide, so finn sneaks out in his hospital gown, and the back of it slides a little off his back as he escapes the hospital itself and hurries through the town, giving a glimpse of a long burn scar down his back. he wishes he could remember what it was from, but he's more concerned about finding actual pants.]

Hey, you! Where can I find some clothes?


( two )

[the scream sends a chill up his spine. any uncertainty about the town gets overrun by the need to help, and finn finds himself bursting into a run towards the sound. anyone he asks says it's best to ignore it, but he can't.]

[it doesn't stop him from running up to people almost out of breath, anyone he sees on the street.] Did you hear that? Please tell me you heard that, and don't tell me that's normal!


( three )

[there is so much food and finn doesn't know what to do with it. it has flavor and smells and his stomach rumbles because he takes too long shuffling between everything and trying to decide what he wants. he's not used to having options, so he'll gesture at people, with a sort of faux casualness because he doesn't want anyone to know he has no idea what most of it is.] You got a favorite?

[by the time the fireworks roll around, he's stuffed his face, but he's frowning. he feels like he's seen fireworks before, he knows he has here at the pines, but it makes him uncomfortable. like the fancy explosions are meant for a celebration of something more menacing and bloody. catch him sitting unhappy on a bench, fidgeting with his fighter pilot jacket while the fireworks keep going on over head and he studiously pretends they're not. someone hands him a sparkler, but he wrinkles his nose, and immediately passes it off to the next person he sees.] You can have it.

[volitaunt]

[ He hands it off to someone who doesn't want it, either. Someone who's been watching him instead of the fireworks, because the fireworks are too much like the lights above Takodana. Someone who's been watching him with warring feelings of delight and horror. He couldn't be happier that Finn is here; he couldn't possibly want Finn to be home more than he does.

Finn is here, though. Finn is here, Finn is awake, he's okay.

That's the thought that tips the scales: Finn is okay.

Poe shoves the sparkler into the hands of the nearest non-Finn entity and takes the two steps that bring him in hug range. Which he does. He hugs Finn fiercely, without stopping to think that maybe his friend doesn't, y'know, remember him. ]

Newt Geiszler | Pacific Rim

[fortunefavored]

Two - In case you're in the mood to rescue some idiot who is too stubborn for his own good

[Newt hadn't exactly meant to get this far out. In fact, his initial thought hadn't been to follow the scream at all. His first reaction had been to squawk in surprise and put a good three yards between him and the woods. However, the reaction from the locals--the flinch, the diverting or outright ignoring--was enough to pique his interest. Nothing, his ass. It wasn't that Newt actually wanted to know what the scream was but more so that the reaction of the locals pissed him off. Having already been sedated and taken back into the hospital once, Newt was more wary of rocking the boat in public, but instead of it having a dampening affect on his determination to figure out What This is All About, it's rather made it worse instead. So when the reaction from other locals was less than stellar, that was enough to pique Newt's interest and send him into the woods out of sheer stubbornness more than anything else.

Unfortunately, however, Newt is not a tracker of any sort, so the struggle and the bootprints fair escape his notice. What does not, however, is the sense of weakness; the feeling of power leaving his limbs until he feels like he does after being up for two-three days straight. Yet even this doesn't seem enough to deter him; rather it only causes him to set his jaw further and push closer, despite the fact that his legs feel like jelly and each step is harder than the first. He's practically clinging to the bark as he stumbles from one tree to the next, the wall becoming clearer as it emerges beyond the treeline.

Newt's panting, now, having reached the edge of the trees right before the wall. He doesn't even realized his legs have stopped supporting him until he's on the ground, leaning heavily against the trunk of the tree, squinting through the dim light to try and read the signs on the wall. It takes a moment of doing, but once done, Newt's nose wrinkles]

What the hell?

[He can practically taste the electricity in the air, too, crackling off that fence. Newt frowns, fingers scrabbling weakly at the ground, and closing around a small stick. With a grunt that sounds like he's lifting a car rather than a small piece of wood, Newt draws back his arm and flings it with all his might. Said stick tumbles through the air and lands perhaps no more than a foot or two away. Newt's eyes narrow and he glares down at it as though it has personally offended him. In a way, it has]

Fuck you.

[Nothing like telling a stick how you really feel.]



Four - tindr for scientists, (UN: kscirockstar)

uhhhh okay I'm just gonna leave this here so

Scientist with specialties in bioengineering, xenobiology, mechanical engineering, genetics, cell and dna replication, etc looking for other scientists in order to create a Scientist Club and figure out what is going on here.

hmu

- Newt

II

[easypromises]

[Cloud hadn't wanted to chase after the guy, he's not some kind of dumb hero prone to rescuing people. Not at all, but running off in to the woods is just plain dumb and he has a civic responsibility to uphold.

He stumbles this close to the wall though, using a nearby tree to keep himself upright and level a flat look at the guy on the ground.]

You're an idiot, come on. Let's go back.