2019-05-28 - There Are Killers In The Woods

Mid-Morning mist moves softly through the trees of Firefly Forest. Which, to be completely honest, it usually does. Even in mid-evening. Mist, hey. What can you do?

Alistair Carver's game plan seems to be mumble at it inanely, the edges of his coat occasionally scraping against the branch of a tree he didn't bother to notice, footprints through damp leaves and dirt showing he's come from the sawmill. He's carrying a touch of baggage beneath his eyes this morning, as well as a few patches of dirt across his face that go pretty well with the absolute tussle of hair that springs out in most, if not all directions. The shirt beneath his open coat is just as stained, with patches and streaks of dirt here and there. Weirdly, his waistcoat looks pretty pristine. Must be the dark color helping to hide any damage.

"I'll show her 'useless.'" He mutters to himself as he walks in no particular direction, head down to focus on the broken wristwatch he's examining with his hands.

Jessica is lost in her own world as she jogs along the narrow path through the forest. This place /is/ pretty out of the way but she will risk it all just so that people don't have to see her panting and wheezing out on the streets. It's not easy going either. Rocks. Branches. Maybe she should spend more attention because suddenly there is a surprised cry as she rolls her ankle. The running stops to be replaced by hopping on one leg. Something in Spanish is hissed under her breath as she rubs at her ankle, finding a tree to lean against.

Jessica sighs as she realises she is going to have to sit down. Swinging her backpack down to the ground to retrieve some water. She is clad in running shoes (much good they did her), leggings, and a t-shirt. Hair tied up but way too many straggling strands suggests it was done in a hurry, while moving.

Carver almost loses his grip on the watch when a startled cry runs through the trees. It didn't help that he was holding it by a couple of fingers and trying to prod the hands into life at the time.

It takes him a little while, with the sounds of shoes absolutely not made for this kind of terrain crunching, rasping and occasionally sliding in a slow, meandering approach to the source of the noise; but eventually he appears, incidentally disappearing behind a tree on two on his slightly circuitous route towards Jessica and the tree she's decided would be best to lean against. Or closest. Maybe both.

"Well, that looks like it fucking hurt." How many Brits does it take to break the ice? Apparently it's one, if he's in the PNW and well aware of how out of place his attire appears in a damned forest. At least he's smiling. Sort of. The watch long-since disappeared into a pocket. "You alright?"

Another squeal. This time from alarm as Jessica realises that there is someone in a long coat looking over her. She really shouldn't have those earphones so loud. "Sorry, you startled me." Her voice calm and a smile trying to appear. When a man in a long coat appears from the mist like a serial killer, you be polite. And he has an English accent too! Where's her phone to call for help?

"I'll be alright in a sec, thanks" Jessica does her best fluttering eyelashes and brave smile while her ankle throbs. Should she 'glimmer' him? Find out if he has intense feelings of violence at the moment? Nah, instead she will try putting some weight on her foot and wincing at the sharp discomfort. "You're out camping?" she asks lightly; since nothing says camping more than coats.

"Didn't mean to startle. Was checking out the sawmill. Curiosity, and all that. Why visit all the normal tourist traps, am I right?" Carver lies with an easy smile, offering a little nonchalant gesture with his shoulders as he adds a little "Not as fun as I thought it would be. Broke my watch. You don't happen to have the time, do you?" Look, Jessica, an easy out to pat down and find your phone while making it seem natural.

Carver's so polite.

Also a little appraising, but giving the woman a once over in a way that completely suggests he's not admiring the leggings. Which, really, man? What the hell's the point of them, th-Oh, right. Weather. "Do you get a lot of campers out here?" There's a touch of a conspiratorial lean. "I heard the forest is haunted."

There's probably local lore that says a fried chicken cart is haunted, given the town.

Jessica is taking that opportunity! "Sure, just let me get my phone." It was in her backpack all along. Pulling it out, she even shows it to him as proof. "Around one. Gosh, lunch time. I was meeting someone." Brilliant! "Guess I'm a little late, hope they don't panic and send people out to look for me." Smooth.

"The Sawmill is technically off-limits." Probably legally too. "So not many campers up there. Why did you go there?" Jessica's brow furrows a little though he /does/ look like the kind of person who would have an interest in such things. People like serial killers. "Was it fun?"

Jessica smirks at the conspiracy idea. "Everywhere is haunted if you want it to be." Oh God! He wants to know if anyone has seen his previous victims haunting the area! Get friendly with him. Give him a name to make it personal. "Allow myself to introduce...umm...myself. Jessica Flores. Reporter at the Gazette. You probably know it."

"Around one?!" Carver seems surprised for a second. And then a little bemused. And then a general confusion that slides into acceptance. Guess he'd been wandering around in circles for longer than he thought.

In his defense, he's had a very long night. Not of murdering. Probably. Or Technically. "Yeah." He nods. The step back is subtle. Ish. "Heard the stories about it, and here's a great big hole in the fence. Figured I'd take a look. Sadly there wasn't really anything I'd not seen before, you know?" Saw blades. Raccoons. Creepy Theater Woman Telling Him He's Useless. Every tourist has seen those at least once. And then Jessica is smirking, and very hurriedly making introductions. Boy, he's not heard a hurried attempt at making things personal and less potentially-murdery before. Not in the slightest.

At least he manages to resist rolling his eyes.

"Alistair." Probably best to leave the surname out of things while she's a little paranoid, no? "Never heard of it, no." The tone is unaware of the potential insult, the smile forever light. His hands, always visible. You know, for his own safety, at least. "Break any good stories lately?"

"Umm...one sec." Jessica grumbles to herself before wiping off a wet leaf from her phone screen. "Eleven, not one." She was wondering where her day went too. "Guess I'm not late for lunch then." A clearing of her throat to return her state to the coolness that it obviously was before the time faux pas.

"I should go down to the sawmill again one day" Jessica muses. "See what's happening down there." A momentary look of alarm. "I mean, drug dealers could use it store product and...such." She would totally not find any of Carver's bodies. Wouldn't even be looking for them.

"Nice to meet you, Alistair. Never heard of the Gazette? We better change that, right? It's on the web mostly these days. Grey Harbor Gazette. We were thinking of changing the name to the New York Gazette but we still like to include facts in our reporting." Jessica tries her ankle again. A bit better. "I broke an awesome story about Missus McGillacuddy's cat videos. I should have asked you to sit down first before I let that bombshell off."

Without a second's hesitation at ruining the careful ruse he planted mere moments ago, Carver pulls out his phone from a waistcoat pocket, unlocking it with an overly long PIN entry as he steps back, blindly, to lean up against a tree of his own. "That makes sense." His voice distracted as he plugs away with a thumb. It could be about the mill, the time, or the refusal to change the name of the Gazette. It's a little hard to tell when he's distracted by looking at a screen, after all.

He doesn't even notice the look of alarm that passes her face. That came when he was pulling the phone out. Nicely done, Jessica.

"Cat videos, huh?" Only comes when he's finally done looking up, his attention possibly drawn by the sound of footfalls through leaves elsewhere in the forest. Not near. Not far. But there. Listen, Jessica! Safety is nearby. "That must have shocked the town."

"What can I say. For a town that is not easily shocked, cat video fraud can be equivalent to the Apocalypse" Jessica shrugs, glancing in the direction of the faint noises but showing no desire to hobble that way. Carver is now less like a serial killer and more like a lost eccentric Brit - they're all eccentric, right? The footsteps could belong to /actual/ serial killers.

"That hole in the fence must be getting bigger every day. Maybe I should name it 'Fatback Sal'." A pause as Jessica realises that won't mean a thing to Carver. "She's a well-known dockside prostitute." Or maybe it does mean something to him. No judgement. Now.

Ah, mobile phones, the bane of polite civilization. "If you've got something else you need to do, I should be able to get back to my car. Don't let me hold you up in the middle of the woods. The spooky, misty woods where people are roaming around all over the place."

"You got a couple of bylines here. Not bad." Carver's mouth purses up a little as he shows just that mildest hint of being impressed. It probably looks weird on a guy who's appearance wouldn't look worse if he had a few twigs sticking out from various parts of his outfit. Or hair. Definitely just an eccentric Brit. Nothing at all to worry about.

"Teenagers making out in there, I guess." In the Sawmill. Not in fatb-Actually, Carver doesn't judge, either. Or assume. "Give a seventeen year old a pair of wire cutters and everything becomes a place to hang out." That? That he rolls his eyes at. There's totally not a sound of laughter from the direction of those footsteps. At all. Nope.

"I mean, technically I do? I owe someone a balloon animal and some cake." But does he really look like a man who actually does what needs to be done? Pfft. "But I guess I should. As long as you're good?" And... that seems genuine. Not concerned, really, but a genuine question. "I'd feel like shit just leaving you here if your ankle decides to fuck you over."

Since Carver is looking her up online, Jessica will forgive him his phone use. "Not a lot of staff. We all get bylines" she admits. "None of this copy paste crap for me." Look out, she'll start looking for a soapbox in a moment. Thankfully, there is a distraction.

"You saw evidence of people making out in the sawmill?" A pause. "Ewww. You shouldn't assume they're teens. Assuming just makes an ass out of you and Ming. And he's merciless." Maybe the ankle swelling is happening in her brain?

Speaking of odd comments. "A balloon animal and a cake? Sounds...kinky." Or a children's birthday party but Jessica is a reporter, she has to look for the worst. "I've been fucked over by worse than ankles. If you need to go...go." At least she isn't getting the puppy dog eyes out. More one of those sighs where she wouldn't dream of stopping him but would really like the help.

"Don't look gift horses in the mouth, Flores." Carver's hand sinks into a coat pocket as he talks, rummaging around for a little longer than you'd really think it would take to search for whatever he's looking for. "Bylines mean..." A pack of smokes comes out of the pocket as he gives a little thoughtful glance up to the canopy above. "I'm sure there's a good, catchy rhyme for that. Fucked if I can find it, though." While he's looking up, there's a solid attempt made to pat out one of the contents of that pack, only to realize it's empty. It's crushed instead, the remnants placed back in his coat.

"No evidence, but c'mon." And at this? Yeah, he looks at the woman a little strangely. Not unsettlingly so, probably, but with an eye that suggests he's looking at someone who misspent their childhood in possibly the most boring of ways. "Creepy old haunted building on the edge of town, and you think teens aren't included in the list of people who'd totally go there on dare dates?"

And then she's making sighs.

Making sighs and judging his plans.

"You want me to walk you to your car?"

"Bylines mean good-times?" Jessica suggests with a shrug of acknowledgement that it's not much better than what he came up with. Which was nothing. "Out of smokes?" Nothing gets past this eagle-eyed reporter. As for what she did with her childhood? Does the blank look he gets about 'dare dates' give him a hint? Peering once more in the direction of that laughter she purses her lips in thought. "Could make a good piece. Safe sex in unsafe environments."

At Carver's offer of assistance, Jessica's face brightens with 'surprised' thanks. "That's very good of you. But, seriously, if you have someething better to do, I can make it." Martyr settings on full it seems. She slings her backpack on, after another mouthful of water, before starting off down the path. So brave with those hesitant steps and the 'ooh' and 'ow' under her breath.

"Perfect." The reporter even gets a little snap of Carver's fingers as she nails a pity saying. Quickest way to impress him, that. At least it rhymed. Better than he could manage, after all. "'Urbex and Safe Sex.'" He muses, narrowing his eyes a little at her incredible powers of observation re: his smokes. And then shrugging. "Naw, that needs work too."

And then she's going Martyr mode. Going Martyr mode and walking away. Carver isn't that easily swayed, but is still definitely sway-able, so it's a good six or seven 'Ow's before he's walking after her, throwing out an exasperated "Get down off the cross, we could use the wood." and offering out an arm.

"I would get down but I need someone to get the nails out first" Jessica smirks; metaphors are wonderful things. Though there is a more sincere smile of thanks at the offer of the arm, which she takes. Gingerly making her way down the path and leaning her massive bulk against him - she doesn't weigh much. "You know, not everything needs to rhyme to be pithy. I was thinking of some slogans for the Gazette header. What do you think of 'All the News, Without the Lies'? Not that I'm in charge or anything..."

Carver is more watching the forest than his walking associate once she takes his arm for support. He's attentive, for sure, but obviously distracted. Or maybe wary. For all he knows, this woman is a serial killer.

That'd be some irony.

"We could use the nails, too." He mutters, pointing out a block of stone in the path, slippery from where mist has alighted over it for hours. "And I dunno." There's an inhale of air through his teeth. "That might give the wrong message, weirdly. It's like re-branding cereals with 'Now contains less artificial flavours!' Just makes people wonder how bad you were for them in the past."

"It was meant to be more of a reference to other news sites, not what we did before" Jessica laughs. "Guess I didn't think that one through enough." Or maybe at all. "You want the nails? Planning on nailing someone?"

With such sparkling wit on display, Jessica is expecting a bit more attention. And now she starts looking around the woods too. "Something wrong, Alistair? You're not acting like someone who is wandering around doing non-touristy things. It's almost like you're expecting someone."

"So's the cereal rebranding." Carver muses, even going so far as to pat her hand in a mixture of reassurance and patronizing. It's hard to tell sometimes. "And no." She gets his focus, and that easy smile. He trained well, this man. "Just a little distracted lately. I've met a few of the more... interesting locals. It's throwing me for a bit of a loop, is all. Branch."

That last word is indeed because of a branch that drags across the path. Jessica's looking everywhere but at it, after all.

"And I'm always expecting someone. I'm very..." A beat. "You're the writer. Think up a good word."

"Branch?" The confused look is immediately followed by foot snagging in said branch and a half-trip, half-stumble that has her clinging on to her support a little tighter. "Oh, that brach." That didn't help her ankle.

"Who have you met? Don't let the looks fool you, I was born and raised here" assures the Latina-Arab. "And being a reporter, means I get to know all about some folks. Not that it may all be true..." When has that stopped anyone?

"Paranoid?" That seemed the obvious word to Jessica. "Wary? Frightened? Guilty? Horny?" Maybe time to find a more flattering word. "Experienced?" The car park clearing nears though she was sure she had jogged further than that.

"Branch." Carver states again, his arm dropping a little with the sudden tug.

"Ah." He waves his other hand when she asks about who he's met, waving it off with a slight glance behind him. "Just some members of that Theater group. I consider them more local and I am, at least." But... she's right. She is a reporter. He looks at her for a moment. "You know anything about the woman who runs the pawn on Elm? Or the 'psychic' down on the boardwalk?" Well, that was blunt.

"And paranoid works. Yes." He seems to agree with that instantly, only throwing her a slight eyebrow at 'Horny.' And ignoring 'Guilty' completely. "You always this forward with strange men you meet in the woods, Miss Flores?"

There sure are a lot of damn branches on this trail. Who expects such things in a wood! "Ah, the 'Company'. Yes, interesting group. When they're on stage they almost glow with talent. Right? At least that's what our reviewer wrote. But, hey, when you only get to review a show once or twice a year, they get florid" Jessia laughs.

"Lilith Winslow? I knew her at high school. Well, as much as I knew anyone at high school. Lived in the trailer park. Why would you want to know about her?" A sly smile. "Fancy her? As for the psychic down at the Boardwalk, could you be a bit more specific? I'm not being forward, Alistair. You asked for words, I gave you some. I liked watching how you reacted to them all. People are interesting, don't you think?"

Damn woods and their natural hazards. How dare they. "Yeah." That's all Carver replies to mention of the company, steering his feet around a few of those branches with his eyes cast down. "They glow with something, that's for sure."

As for Lilith? And the mentioning thereof? The word 'Fancy' gets a barked laugh. "Naw. She met my best friend and runs an interesting sideline with the place. Reminds me of someone I used to know, was all. Asked her to get in touch about something and haven't heard from her since." And as for the psychic. "Frankie... something. And that's interesting. The trying to figure me out, thing. So yes, I guess I think people are interesting. And boring. All at once." His mind's wandering, so the topics shift as easily as the branches up high in the wind.

That is to say, the guy is breezy.

"Frankie?" Jessica has to think on that a little. "Oh...Francisca Dubois? Redhead? She was a couple of years behind me at high school so I didn't know her a lot back then. I used to keep to myself." I bet Carver is surprised by that. "She's psychic now? Good for her." A wonderfully deadpan tone with that comment.

"Lilith seems to be a very busy woman. I wouldn't take it personally." Jessica will remain moot on some of the other things she has heard. But a reporter gets to hear all kinds of things about all kinds of people. If Carver is breezy, she's a hurricane. "Are you telling me that you weren't lured to Bridgeport by old trysting places alone? It does seem a long way for an Englishman to come."

"Yeah, that's the one. She's got a place on the boardwalk now." Carver explains, shifting a little higher than Jessica as he decides to step on to and then over a stump rather than around, throwing the woman a little glance at the deadpan tone. "And it seems to be, yeah. She's good at it, at the very least."

And then there's the explanation for Lilith, met with a shake of his head and a short laugh. "Busy or not, I figure I scared her off. I usually don't like skirting subjects, you know? Might have been a little blunt." Carver? Blunt? Surely not. "And believe it or not... I wasn't." His hand comes up in front of his mouth in faux-shock, then fans away at his face lest the surprise send him fainting to the floor. "I was asked to come here, so I did. Well. Told. Ask-Told. You know how it is."

Sure, because that's clear and easy to understand.

"Told to come here? By a psychic? Or a violent criminal?" Either way, Jessica is smelling a story. Or some damn raccoon has been using the trail as a bathroom. "I should drop by Frankie, see what she is up to. Of course, she would know that I'm coming." That was a little psychic joke. Very little. "She told you your future and it was right? But...how would you know, since it is in the future?"

'Skirting subjects' just cries out from some kind of 'or subjects in skirts' comment, but Jessica is a professional and will restrain herself. "If you showed up out of the dark in that coat, no wonder she was put off. An nothing wrong with blunt. It gets the world moving. Doesn't get it moving happily, but gets it moving."

"Psychic Convention Cancelled Due To Unforseen Circumstances." Carver can't help but smile at one of his favorite dumb little jokes, latching on to the reporter's love of a story and doing the best he can to steer hard left. There are enough rumors about the Brit in the waistcoat going around town already, after all. "And god no. She was a bullshitter through and through. Cold reading and body language. But..." He shrugs, steering around another one of those damn branches. Really, they get everywhere. "She was good at that. Fair play."

And as for Lilith? Again? Another shrug. And a desperate urge for a cigarette. "Nah. I showed up, told her the gifts people were flashing around town made them targets, and told her to call me if she was one of the people around here who wanted to climb out of the kid's ball pit." He really, really wished he had a cigarette. "That scares most of them off, but who's got time for niceties these days, am I right?"

Jessica has to laugh at the bad joke. Well, she doesn't have to, but, God help her, she finds it amusing. Shouldn't all these branches be in the air and not trying to trip people up? "As long as people don't think what Frankie tells them will change their lives then all power to her. I'm sure she has some small print somewhere about it being for 'entertainment purposes'."

Carver is getting more interesting by the moment. "Gifts? What gifts? Hey, that reminds me of a bad joke too, which has a bit to do with psychics. 'Forget the past, you can't change it. Forget the future, you can't know it. Forget the present, I didn't buy you one.' The kid's ball pit? Why would they call you about that, Alistair? Are you 'gifted'?"

"She probably does." Carver agrees, breathing a little quiet sigh of relief as the forest starts to thin out. "I feel like she's someone very adept at..." His finger clicks through the air for a moment, hunting down the word once again. "Covering her bases. Yeah, that works."

"Nah." Again, questions start coming, Carver takes a hard, hard left. Maybe chuckling at the joke will help distract from the fact he's doing that? Maybe? Possibly? Hell. A man can hope. "You should probably forget I said anything, Ms. Flores. I'm just a rambling, usually-drunk British man walking through a forest, after all."

"The best sources are the people everyone else thinks are drunk ramblers, Alistair. You won't throw me off the track that easily. Though if it takes a drink for you to start talking..." Jessica's ankle seems to be getting better since she hasn't really used it for a while now. Her car is in sight. A Volkswagen Beetle; one of the old ones. "Your car parked here?"

Carver just stops short for a second, staring at the woman as she takes a few steps ahead of him. He starts walking after a brief moment of eye-narrowing, though. See, It's fine. He's not trying to get behind her so he can murder. Not at all. "Really? You know thinking like that will have you writing an article about how most of the cannery businesses in Washington are run by snakemen who use aluminium to power their flying vehicles, right?" Behold! Plant an idea, watch it grow! Ignore his grin! "I'm parked around here, yeah." He lies, giving a quick glance down to her ankle in satisfaction. It's followed by a glance back into the depths of the forest. "Aw. Dangit. I knew I should've murdered you like, eighty yards back."

Divert. Divert. Divert. The Alistair Carver way.

"I didn't say they were drunk ramblers, just that everyone thinks they are. It's how they keep people off track and in the dark." Fluttering eyelashes now as Jessica smiles sweetly at Carver. Dropping behind her like that is a bit suspicious, but she could always Tazer him if need be. With her fingers. "Snakemen use raw bauxite, not aluminium. Everyone knows that."

Jessica opens up the front trunk of her VW and tosses in her backpack. A quick glance around. "Invisible car, huh?" A nod at a Honda parked nearby with a 'Pokemon' sticker on the rear window to make it look like Pikachu is riding in the back seat. "Unless that's you. I was thinking that it belonged to the giggling, fornicating teens, but...ah! You were out here playing 'Pokemon Go'. Why didn't you just say so?"

"Eighty yards back?" Jessica shakes her head. "Nah, you'd hate to carry me all the way to the sawmill to dispose of me. You would have guided me that way. Interested in that drink? I'd love to discuss what we were talking about in more detail. Should I just ask Lilith?" She opens up her passenger door at the second attempt...after kicking it once. "Lift?"

"Bauxite's a bastard to refine around here. They can scrap old cans for Aluminium." Really, that's all Carver has for her clearly thought-out response. He might actually seem a little taken aback. No, wait, he was just idly looking for something in his pocket. Easily confused. "Invisible car. Sure." There's a glance over at the Honda, brow raising for a moment in a soft moment of possible realization, and then his hand comes up with his phone once more, waggling it a little in the air. "You got me. Pokemon Go. That was it. The Sawmill's a Pokestop. Which seems like a terrible idea, but.." He shrugs. "Small town. Take what you can get. I've got plenty of Europe exclusives if you're interested."

And then he glances behind him at the talk about the Sawmill, and how far it is. And especially at the offer of the drink, that smile creeping back even as he offers a little shake of his head. "That's a lovely offer, but, uh... I've got a big to-do list today. Raincheck?" Whether that's to the drink or the lift is a little up in the air, but he doesn't seem to be getting any closer, no matter to which he was responding.

"If you power using the raw ore, then you don't need the refining. Those snakemen aren't stupid." Jessica studies him as he rejects her offer. Though she is used to this, this time it seems to be more about avoiding the conversation than her. Though she could be wrong. "Sure, raincheck. I guess I'll wait for your call since I don't have your deats but you have mine." Her eyes looks past him and into those creepy woods and the even creepier sawmill in the bowels.

Jessica slams her passenger door shut before going round to the driver's door. She quickly gets inside. "You do know that if those kids go missing..." A jerk of her thumb towards the Honda. "That you'll be suspect number only, right? Might be worth your while to protect them." Her face screws up a little. "Oh, God, you're not going to peep on them, are you?" He's English, probably all he gets. "Enjoy your day, Alistair. Watch out for those branches."

Carver just rubs his chin, obviously impressed by the depth of this woman's knowledge at just how clever those snake men truly are. Ah, if only Jessica had caught Carver on a better day. Or before the doubt started setting in. He'd have probably been bright, charming, and willing to talk her ear off at length about any number of things.

Unfortunately, she was a day late. All Carver can offer to her jibes about missing kids is a half hearted shrug and a short burst of an empty laugh. "Believe me, Jessica, the town thinks I murdered my wife and am running from the cops as it is. Go ask around about the Brit in the waistcoat for yourself!" Even the suggestion he's going to peep on them doesn't quite land. There's a smirk, but little more. "I will try my best. And I wasn't the one who tripped!"

And that's apparently the end of the conversation. At least on his part. Carver offers a short wave, brushes down the sleeve of his coat she was leaning on earlier... and just starts walking back into that forest.

Jessica watches Carver disappear into the woods though she doesn't feel the need to comment any further. He's give her plenty to think about...and investigate. Not that she ever got his surname but how many Brits in waistcoats are there? In Gray Harbor. In the woods of Gray Harbor.

After a couple of protesting squeals, the Beetle revs into life and Jessica, wincing at the use of her injured foot, guides it back towards the city. Is she irresponsibly on her phone while driving? Damn right she is.