bumfuckidaho | test drive meme, june 2017

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test drive meme, june 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
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.

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[Rumlow couldn't recall being someone who stayed much in one place either, but then again, since the accident, his memory hadn't been what it used to be. There were missing pieces and haziness that was curious as much as it was frustrating. Thankfully, he knew he hadn't hung around this place much, since it very recently opened its doors to the public.

He followed the cop to a booth and casually set his items down atop it before sliding into the seat. He arranged his items so that he could easily unroll the paper and get started into the apparent meat of why they were here. He paused to take and shake Blake's hand, a good firm handshake.]

Rumlow. [He took the banana off the table to set it beside him. That was for later after they potentially played pictionary.] But I guess since you seem like a fine and upstanding citizen, you can call me Brock if you like.

[ Settling into his seat, John nods at the introduction. He's almost exclusively known as Blake — it's practically his only name for how common it is — but he doesn't mind being a little casual. ]

Well, Brock, you've got at least some of that right.

[ He is fine and upstanding, thank you very much. ]

You up for a beer while all this project takes off? I'm buyin'. Least I can do for givin' you a bit of a hard time.

[Rumlow was a military man; everyone tended to go by a nickname or their last names, so he much preferred his last name. He had always disliked his first name and thus kept it more or less private. It really meant nothing to him aside from it being on his birth certificate and driver's license.]

Seems like we'll get along just fine. How long you been with the force? A friend of mine was with the NYPD for a lot years.

[He looked over towards the bar, considering his options and then shrugged. What the hell. It wasn't like he was going to get slammed and turn into Broctopus.] Sure, I'll have what you're having then. Let's see if you have good taste for a country bumpkin like me.

[ John gestures to the bartender — two of his usual, he mouths — and then his hands fold on the tabletop in front of him as his attention returns to Brock. He's got a decent eye, but outside his initial inspection, he hasn't taken the time to try to pick apart this guy's life.

Strange as it is, he doesn't remember Rumlow and he thought he knew just about everyone in town. Of course, since his accident, John's memory hasn't exactly been doing him any favors, has it? One day he might have a complete set of memories, but that day is not today, apparently. ]

Joined up after high school, actually. Didn't see myself makin' a career of baseball, y'know?

[ Their beers show quickly, dropped off at the edge of the table. Blake distributes them, setting Brock's drink down in front of him, and then taking up his own. It's just a regular old beer, nothing fancy. ]

How 'bout you? What d'you do? Other'n criticize avocado toast as a breakfast replacement, I mean...

[Rumlow liked to think one could tell a lot about a man by the alcohol consumed, much like one could get a feel for anyone by a handshake. His old man had impressed upon him the virtues of both of these concepts, and he hadn't entirely found much fault in the logic either. A bit of a life story here and there.

There are a lot of people he can't recall having much to do with, but apparently that was part of the injury that left him in the hospital. For him, it sometimes felt as if he were living two lives, which might not be so unusual in his line of work, but again, his line of work had clearly changed being in... Idaho. Whatever, it didn't have to make sense; he was looking into it.]

You'd have to have a wicked right on you to make it at baseball. And probably rich parents. What part of the force do you serve on?

[He took the beer pushed to him and took a sip of it, humming. Yeah, just regular shit, nothing too light, nothing too heavy. He couldn't complain since he wasn't buying.]

Used to serve in the military then the government and now I'm here retired and running a gym. [He smirked over his beer.] Getting on my high horse is just a hobby. It's always interesting to throw out those criticisms and see who shows up.

Ah, the good old bait an' switch. Guess I shoulda expected that.

[ He chuckles. Because really, no one actually has time to complain about avocado toast, let's be perfectly real here. And anyone that does have the time, probably doesn't have the ambition to actually change the status of avocado toast in people's lives. Especially not if they're running a gym.

(Although, it does make Blake wonder if Rumlow isn't pushing his own agenda. I mean, what's better to get a person into the gym than sugary breakfast cereals?) ]

Anyway, since you're askin', I'm just a beat cop. Like to be a detective some day, but there's only so much mystery to a place like this.

[ Ah ha ha... yep, only so much mystery they can talk about, at least. ]

Guess bein' a military man and workin' for the government, you'd get that.

Well, what can I say? I don't like being bored, and blowing someone's hair the wrong way usually gets a response. I just want to know my neighbours.

[If he were being honest, running a gym felt hollow at times, like he was made for bigger and better things. What those were, he had no idea, but he knew an itch when it felt it. He had caught himself staring into the horizon multiple times as if waiting for something, knowing it was out there if only he could reach it.

To pass the time, he tried to push people, to know how they ticked and reacted, to get under their skin. Only the best would have any chance of getting close in return he decided.]

Well, you're young and you seem to be good at convincing people down for drinking. I figure you'll do just fine rising in the ranks.

[He had seen some interesting wild behaviour of some of the residents here. He had been mentally filing those incidences away to consider in his oodles of spare time.]

Well, I follow a lot of rules in both places. It doesn't mean that the head on my shoulders is just for show. There's something about getting to know people... [Especially here where people were either as they claimed or so wildly different it was almost a shock to watch them try and fail to hide things.]

[ Blake sips at his beer, eyeing Rumlow while he does. For all the fussing they'd already experienced between the two of them at this point — generally speaking, relatively minor, but in Wayward Pines, this kind of introduction is still a bit of an enigma — he can't help but get the impression they could be fast friends if circumstances allow. ]

Goes both ways, you know. People are bound to be interested in gettin' to know you back. So... dish.

[ Yes, he said that. ]

You got a family? A favorite food? A movie genre you just can't stand? Or should we just move right on to the diagrams and the banana?

[He was waiting for the normal pleasantries to kick in, since having a random beer with someone claiming to have charts to explain avocado toast was something that he expected to earn at least some head scratching. Everyone was so busy playing nice except those that clearly knew him even when he couldn't say the same. From what he had gathered - and it was all very confusing - there had been another him before he had arrived, which seemed impossible except for how weird everyone acted in this place.

He definitely was, at this point, looking for people he could have common ground with. He was used to working with a group as much as alone.]

Well, I am a stand up guy. Why wouldn't someone want to get to know me? I mean... look at me?

[He smirked at that, sipping at his beer.]

Family in New York. Favourite food is lasagna; I am Italian, so I get few options on favourites or my ol' Nona would come back from the dead and give me a swift ear pinching. Action-thrillers kill me dead because I recognize how fake it is. Your turn. You know, before we get to the banana.

[ John's a bit taken by surprise, half expecting that Brock would forego the questions in an effort to avoid this kind of conversation. But here he is, handful of answers, and a challenge to return his response just the same.

Straightening, he looks to be up to it as he takes a long pull from his beer. ]

Ah, let's see. No family. Lasagna's good — great choice, even — but give me a fluffy waffle any day. And... [ He shrugs. ] Haven't met a movie I liked a whole lot, but maybe that'll change some day.

[ John gestures. ]

You're Italian, you like to cook?

[Such details were superfluous and gave little away of what he was really about. They were good for attaching meaning to people, to be able to start conversation and give the illusion that one gave a shit. Everyone liked being on a first name basis with everyone else after all.]

So were you an orphan or something? Wife and kids?

[Ugh, cultural assumptions were always tedious. He put on a brave face and shrugged his shoulders, taking another sip of his beer.]

I can cook, and I do it because I have to. There are some skills that are impressed upon an only child early.

No wife or kids, no.

[ Coincidentally, very much an orphan, not that he thinks of himself that way anymore. ]

But I like to cook. 'Specially Italian food — also impressed on me early. Remember boilin' up big pots of sauce an' piles of noodles — stirrin' with like, a big oar of a spoon. It was better'n all the other chore choices, lemme tell you.

[ If this is some kind of game they're playing, it's a good assumption that he's not great at it. John's just going with the flow. ]

That's pretty much how most young Italian kids spent their early days with their mothers. [Well, maybe more girls, but Rumlow had been an only child and thus was forced into enough roles to meet a certain expectation. After all, it was doubtful he'd find a wife before his father finally drove him from the house, so he'd have to learn to cook until he could earn someone worthy of him.]

And what were the other chores you wanted to avoid? Mowing the grass? Cleaning the toilets?

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