ROLEPLAY HQ - woods-always-get-their-due

Name: Yelena King Age: 27 Gender: Female, (she/her) Appearance: An athletic, broad shouldered woman, around 5'11", with the build of a runner. She has dark reddish-brown hair, and grey/blue eyes. Yelena has a bit of an alternative appearance, with heavy piercings in her ears, a scar through one of her eyebrows, and a habit of wearing dark, baggy, and distressed clothes. Her experience with makeup is, at most, smearing on a kohl pencil and a touch of mascara. She has a tendency to have split cracked lips, neglecting basic care such as hydration or chapstick, and occasionally getting into drunken fights with locals at the bar, when understandably, no one wants to listen to her conspiracies over the latest mayoral election. Occupation: Yelena, outwardly, appears to be chronically unemployed. There are many rumors that make their rounds, such as she inherited a great sum of money from her retired, professor father,. This is partly truth, in conjunction to Yelena managing a successful supernatural news forum and information database online, funded by generous donations and advertisements. Hobbies: Yelena has an interest in printmaking, and has the garage of her late-family's home converted to support this passion. She handmakes newspapers every weekend, and delivers them early Sunday morning to as many homes as she can, before the sun rises. The long-standing readership of this newspaper is debatable, but it is popular with teens and young adults who have an interest in her (presumably fiction) supernatural ramblings. Backstory: Yelena is the only daughter of her single father, Nikolay King. Having had a child in a one-off affair, Nikolay took over her care, being well-off in his later age (48), and being a professor of Metaphysics at Princeton University. Her father turned out to be doting and very encouraging to Yelena's peculiar fascinations, and she grew up with her face stuck in the many books and resources her father's profession provided. Despite being an outcast in the greater community, the two made a strong pair. Until the disappearances. The two, curious in this happenstance, planned a trip into the mountains, to do some investigative research. Yelena returned, dazed and with little concrete memory of the trip, but her father, getting on into his 70s, did not. It has been months since the disappearance, and the man is officially presumed dead to the elements, but Yelena refuses to accept this answer, believing her father to still be out there.

In the dull heat of Little Creek campground, Yelena King waits, back leaned against the side of her rusted out grey pick-up. She has a cigarette pinched between her teeth, texting furiously on her phone, as a hiking pack sits under one of her sturdy, thick-soled boots. She is a bit of an imposing figure, with an unfriendly resting expression, and lack of smile lines. This is not a conventional spot to conduct an interview. Yelena King was not exactly forthcoming over the phone, and insisted her information be exchanged in person. 'You have to see the woods in person. Feel the vibes out there. There's something wrong with the trees out at the old Quarry, she had said, as well as generously faxed over some esoteric scribblings she made, supposedly referencing things seen in her hazy recollection of that year's early spring- late winter. Truthfully, the woman was beyond grateful that someone was /finally/ lending her an ear. All the articles she self-published and slide into the mailboxes of her neighbors and fellow Cranberry Springs residents ended up in the trash, or on the desk of the local sheriff's office. God knows they didn't care to hear another word about or from Yelena King. 'You just let us do our job, Miss. King. We've got volunteers canvasing the entire mountain looking for your Pa. He'll turn up.' And when months went by, their tune changed from keeping hope, to presuming the man's death. Yelena was not a woman to presume anything. The King family were fact-checkers and truth-seekers. This was no exception. @MMS (Martin-Maraiste)

Chelsey was a smart woman, but even smart people need to work hard sometimes. The Early Bird Gazette was demanding, and she was eyeing that promotion. So even though it came as a sort of last-minute solution, she had decided to take time off of her schedule to listen to this Yelena King she spotted, going as far as to plan a hike with her. With a sigh, she parked her squeaky clean Jeep next to what she couldn't help but internally call a moving piece of rusted metal. Someone was standing next to it, and judging by the demeanour and bag, she guessed it could only be Yelena. Letting out another sigh, she grabbed her own backpack and got out of the car with a little hop. "Yelena King?" the woman asked, as if the answer wasn't obvious. Wearing a designer button up with intricate and abstract green patterns, she had a beige cargo short with hiking shoes. Her hair was free and hide part of her face, although she made no motion to move it away. "I'm Chelsey Hooper, journalist at the Early Bird Gazette." @🖤crow🖤

The woman's attention snaps up from her phone, stashing it down in the pocket of her long, army green cargo pants. "Aye. You must be the one I talked to on the phone? I appreciate your time." She says, offering Chelsea a firm, strong handshake. "Well, Miss. Hooper, with weather permitting it shouldn't take too long to get up to the quarry and take some pictures. I'd prefer to talk while we walk, if that's alright with you." With her confident, dominant aura, Yelena almost sounds like /she's/ the one interviewing. She picks up her pack and hoists it over one shoulder, letting the cigarette fall from her mouth and be tamped out under her heel. A silver-ringed finger indicates a nearby trail, marked with a bulletin board and trash cans. Her dark olive nail polish is chipped and picked at, nails torn short, and the pads and lengths of her fingers are permanently dyed with printing ink. "About 2 miles up this trail, before we hop off for 2.5 miles up to the quarry. Not bad at all." she says, casually describing 1 and a half hours of hiking. @MMS (Martin-Maraiste)

Giving her a polite smile, her eyes spoke of indifference. She wasn't really there seriously, or rather, she was there only to have something to talk about. Whether it'd be the disappearance of that girl's father or something else she'd find on the way, it didn't matter to her. The quality of her work afterward would matter most. Shaking Yelena's hand, she didn't put much strength into it, but wasn't limp either. With a chuckle she adjusted the bag on her shoulders. "You sound like you're so used to this already," she couldn't help but think as her interlocutor readies herself. Briefly warming up her ankles, knees and hips, she motioned that she was ready. The announcement of the trail plan did take her aback a little, she wasn't expecting that much. But although it was a bit of a surprise, she showed no sign of it. Somehow, with her busy life, she always found a way to exercise some way or another, so she was ever so slightly confident in her abilities. "Nothing I can't do,"_ she motivated herself. "I'm following you, then. @🖤crow🖤

There is a slight glimmer of some kind of sly smirk that Yelena gives, before the expression disappears and she turns onto the campground path. There are a few families here and there along the trail, setting up camp in tents and even small campers they have drug into the clearings. "I've climbed and hiked these mountains a few times, when I was a teenager. And my pa was younger. " Almost as if she knew what Chelsey was thinking. A clear of her throat, past the uncomfortable burn that develops at the thought. "There's spots where the woods become so deep, it's like another world. I recommend everyone see it, 'least once." Perspective is a valuable resource, to any writer. But she glances back at her hiking companion's skinny pale legs, bare, and her prim pressed shirt, and can't imagine she has much of that. Or any bug spray. The 2 miles they have to cover is a gentle incline, cleared of brush and sprinkled with gravel to make the walk enjoyable to the less seasoned. They're going to be each other's company for a while, so Yelena can't help but tune into her information gathering instinct. "So, you native to West Virginia?" Cranberry Springs, West Virginia, home of... a whole lot of nothing but bog fruit and nature reserve. Sitting pretty in the belt of Appalachian mountains. Not exactly a prime location for journalistic endeavors, unless you have a vested interest in the lives of the locals. @MMS (Martin-Maraiste)

Biting the inside of her lip when she heard Yelena's comment, she refrained from saying anything. She'd show her just how fit she was! Her eyes wandered to the other people along the trail, finding reassurance in the way they look and especially how unfit they look compared to her. It takes some concentration to stop comparing herself, but she manages to shift her focus back to her companion when she speaks. "No, I'm from Michigan. Moved here for work a couple of months ago." With a glance at the other woman, she initially assumes that at least she does, or that she knows the area like the tip of her fingers. "Do you?" She raises an eyebrow in her direction as she adds. "Or did you learn to love this place too?" To be honest with herself, even though she's expected to have a good general knowledge, Chelsey actually sucks at retaining information. Thankfully, she has done research about the state, and about Cranberry, of course... But she much prefers sitting in front of her laptop browsing different web pages while reading books on whichever place her article takes place in than having a discussion topic shift to that exact same subject. Her way of working is rather opposed to what she learned in school, where information should be gathered beforehand. No, the redhead prefers to gather all possible information on the spot, and conduct research around the topic afterwards. @🖤crow🖤

Her reaction to that is hard to read when she's walking in front. Really, it's all in the way she shrugs her shoulders and tosses her snarly dark hair over her shoulders. Indifference. "I was born overseas. Dual-citizenship in America and UK. Anyone asks, though, I'm from Cranberry. I moved when I was maybe 6 or 7. Did my part so no one can say I ain't local." A throaty laugh. There maybe is a strange posh lilt to some of the ways she says words. "Michigan though," she returns back to her companion, weighing this in her mouth. "Those lakes come with some crazy urban stories. And they got the 'Dogman'. And a lake serpent. Fascinating stuff. I haven't made it up there yet." She listens to the crunch of her boots on the gravel, fumbling with a cigarette that's partially hidden, tucked behind her ear. Smokey the Bear signs keep her urges at bay. "I bet you got some questions. 'Least, I hope so. How much you know about the Case?" A cool glance backwards at her, weighted with some kind of expectation. @MMS (Martin-Maraiste)

Mentally opening her notebook, she started taking notes of what Yelena was saying as soon as she answered her question, and the further she dwelled into how she came here, the more Chelsey seemed focused on her, falling silent and only nodding to her words. She shrugged and let out a huff at the mention of the "fascinating stuff" about Michigan, clearly, the two women didn't have much in common. She had heard a lot about those urban legends, and in her early journalist days she even paired up with another student to write an article about the Nain Rogue that supposedly appears before awful events. But that was just for extra credit, and even the traces of the creature dating back to the 1700s didn't make her opinion on supernatural stuff change. To her, it was just coincidences. Big coincidences sometimes, but if it was real, what else would be next? God? Fairies? She shook her head but said nothing, not wanting to brusque her so early on. For the moment, they'd have to agree to disagree. Catching back up to her, she lets out an amused chuckle. "It's kinda my job." Letting her eyes run up the trail, she mentally thanked her for taking it back to point zero: how much did she know. She was about to start from the beginning anyway, but it saved her a moment. Moment during which she could make sure she wouldn't trip on a rock or a branch. That would be embarrassing. "I know there have been missing hikers, the circumstances strange enough for people to start to talk about it online. Circumstances more worrying than usual, to say." She was fully aware, from being connected to news both nationwide and worldwide, that the United States is a country with a LOT of unexplained disappearances. And she knew that part of the disappearances happened in national parks. With the amount of parks in the US and the amount of people hiking every year... it wasn't all that surprising, after all. But Yelena's case was different, because she came back.

@🖤crow🖤

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