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The Guilty Party [27 Nov 2009|01:44am] whistlersmum July 2007 (in the Low Tide 'verse) Detroit, Michigan ( Mercy ) Comment

The Guilty Party [27 Nov 2009|01:32am] rhiannon_lee July 2007 (in the Low Tide 'verse) Detroit, Michigan ( Mercy ) ( Opening a Rift ) Comment

Wind Down [26 Nov 2009|10:29pm] luckandchance [ mood | mellow ] The room was dark, pitched into shadow, until a switch was flipped and it was bathed in bright artificial light, revealing the man shedding layers in his travels towards the bathroom. It wasn’t long until he was left in nothing more than a pair of jeans that had been a pair of his best until this particular night. Joseph pulled at the skin around his bicep and his top lip curled as he regarded a long cut, which thankfully had missed his tattoo. There had been a couple of lucky swings, resulting in some superficial injuries that didn’t stop at the one around his bicep; they decorated bone of collar and teased the curve of one hip. Blowing out a breath, Joseph picked up a nearby clear bag and sorted through it, pulling out antiseptic wipes and steri-strips, methodically laying them out on the nearby surface. He began by first of all cleaning the cuts with water, simply biting back on the twinges of pain that arose as a result, ignoring the burning sensation that settled into the ragged corners of every cut. He was pretty sure his mouth was going to be bruised from one flyaway punch that had slipped through his defences, not to mention his earlier altercation with a table. Joseph sat back onto the edge of the bath, ripped denim stretching thinly across one knee and began the clean and repair process. It was all so routine that he could do it blindfolded, he really cloud. With the cuts cleaned and brought together, Joseph disposed of the medical supplies and brushed his thumb over a small cut that lingered beneath his left eye. ( In Room Entertainment ) Comment

Sending A Message [25 Nov 2009|11:35pm] luckandchance [ mood | working ] Tonight was about one thing and one thing only: sending a message, a strong powerful message that would echo in the ears of the superiors and cause second thoughts. The approach was far from delicate, it was brutality embodied from the first person taken to the ground to the way in which the imposing force laid claim to the space. Blood soaked through skin, shouts of pain rang in ears long closed to the pleas for mercy and cold detachment served to make every action more calculated than the last. It was only after the bar fell silent that the assault ceased, brought to a lingering end that tugged at the fragile strings tying allegiances to the men that gave the injured parties their marching orders. One of the few standing was Joseph, eyes surveying the destruction that had been reaped by his and two others hands. It was ugly, but sometimes ugly was the only way to get things done - to get a clear message across. Two crimson coloured fingers held a half burned cigarette and knocked ash onto the ground, grey flecks disintegrating into the muddled colours; it would be hell to clean. With cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth Joseph grabbed a hold of a nearby stool and dragged it over to where the previously smart mouthed man laid, Joseph had picked him out as the leader the moment he’d gone off on one. ( Lucky One ) Comment

Confessions of a Bad Girl [25 Nov 2009|10:35am] hannah_flynn ( Hannah's Diary - New Material ) Comment

Dazed and confused. [24 Nov 2009|11:40pm] izzy_shaw November 22, 2009 Now what the hell do I do? Izzy Shaw stared at the tiny piece of jewelry innocently sitting there nestled in its box. It was just some gold and diamonds, nothing that should cause her the least bit of trouble, so why was she looking at it as if it would jump out and bite her? ( Big impact from a tiny item ) Comment

Going Easy [24 Nov 2009|09:18pm] doingmything [ mood | working ] Around 2:15a.m., once the last employee left for home, Hayden locked up the bar. The patio faced a marina, crowded by schooners, charter boats, and a few house boats. One of those had already been strung with blue Christmas lights, which made a strange neighbor for the yacht next to it, where a party was in full swing. Music from a steel drum band floated on the air. Hayden sat down on the end of a pier and pulled a joint from his pocket. He didn't like to smoke at the house because he only rented the bottom floor. The upstairs neighbors, a pair of yuppies saving to buy a condo, complained if the acrid odor got in the air vents. It was easier just to hang out here. He felt a little weak burning one by himself, but things at the bar weren't going that great. His business partner, a laid-back guy named Mike, wasn't pulling his administrative weight and Hayden was debating how to bring it up. He couldn't exactly fire him. Holding the joint in his mouth, he lit up. Under his shoes, salty water rolled with what passed for waves on Key West. ( Busted ) ( Night Jogging ) Comment

Going Easy [24 Nov 2009|04:15pm] hayden_maragos ( Busted ) Comment

Quick Chat [23 Nov 2009|10:20pm] hayden_maragos Abandon Ship!, a nautical-themed bar, opened onto a wharf at the Historic Seaport Walk. In its former life, the building was a seafood restaurant, and on the scalding hot days of summer, the kitchen still smelled of fried shrimp. Its co-proprietor, Hayden, had been a bartender in a tiki hut prior to securing a small business loan from the bank. Though he came to work in a collared shirt instead of a tee now, he considered it a fair trade, because he no longer had to wear a lei or listen to a Hawaiian guy play 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' on ukulele. The staff was small in the off-season, just three bartenders and five waitstaffers. Hayden and his partner pitched in where needed. He liked day shifts. Slow business meant he could grab a book, duck outside, and sit on the deck furniture. Boats, gulls, and sloshing ocean water made good white noise for reading his book on pirating, which he picked up from The Next Chapter. Looking at the sticker on the back, Hayden thought about Mallory and how she hadn't come in for that drink. Aidan had stared at the schedule in his own handwriting that hung from a garish tourist-theme magnet on the refrigerator in his bright pink kitchen for a good minute or two before it clicked in his head. He had planned to spend his time going over paint swatches for the kitchen - unable to believe that he, or rather, his alter-self, hadn't gotten around to repainting as yet - but what was clearly a work schedule had him booked for the better part of the day. It was something of a switch; Aidan had left his life when he worked a sporadic schedule and still received a steady paycheck. Having written, controlled hours would take some getting used to. ( Just a Little Advice ) Comment

Breakfast at Tiffany's [23 Nov 2009|10:36pm] psychicnotcrazy Kris groaned in frustration as the incessant beeping of her nearby alarm clock roused herself from an exceptionally good dream that involved dancing, handsome men and other wonderful things like that. She blinked blearily at the digits and attempted to recall why she’d become a police officer again when it meant getting up this early. Reluctantly she peeled her covers back and placed her bare feet on the carpeted floor, thankful not for the first time that she’d manage to convince Simon that carpet was way better than wood or tiled floors. Hands slid through her hair and promptly yanked it back into a boring but highly effective plait before those hands rummaged through her closet, pulling out the neatly pressed uniform she wore from the beginning to the end of her working day. She rubbed at an old scar on her shoulder and quickly covered it with the shirt a few moments later before tugging her pants on, the crease running the length of her thigh and shin as the hem of her pants settled around the boots she’d worn in over time. Kris stifled another yawn as she stepped out of her room, tugging her belt on. “Morning,” she murmured to the passing cat that purred and generally made itself comfortable on her feet. Kris rolled her eyes and crouched down, rubbing at the cat’s ears before she finally made her way into the kitchen. Simon looked half dead as he all but clung to the cup of coffee in his hands and as for Kris’ other housemate she was quite sickeningly perky. Sickeningly perky was one way to describe the other housemate. Wired by caffeine was another, and probably more accurate at that. The other housemate had been up for about an hour already, had a good four or five cups of coffee - it was how she woke up - and a nice cold shower to get her started for the day. When she finished her shift from hell, she'd have a hot one before going to sleep. ( Sleeping Beauty ) ( Bigger girl ) ( Crazy this time of year ) ( Another day at the office, another headache ) Comment

Eventful Times [23 Nov 2009|08:54pm] luckandchance [ mood | relaxed ] For the last hour a glass of whiskey with half melted ice had stood neglected, forgotten beneath a haze of smoke and hidden undrer a brim of a hat that all but concealed the wearer’s face. It was deliberate, like everything else Joseph did. In his wanderings he’d found a local hotspot for criminals, drug dealers and reprobates - a safe haven in which to drink and be merry. Some more than others. Just like the big guy near the jukebox; he’d drank too much and as a result spent most of his time hassling the young waitress on duty. For the most part it was innocent enough, but there were a few insinuations and tones that didn’t sit very well with Joseph. If there was one thing he hated more than rival gangs it was a man disrespecting a woman. ( Friendly Warning ) Comment

Homecoming [23 Nov 2009|11:55am] psychicnotcrazy It was just after one thirty in the afternoon when Jenny managed to drag her exhausted self home. The mere act of putting keys in a lock and turning them seemed to defeat her until she finally won the battle and pushed the door open, announcing as she did, "Hey honey, I'm home!" She was, however, greeted with nothing but metaphorical crickets chirping and yet another metaphorical tumbleweed. "Oh I forgot," she muttered to herself, knocking the door shut with her foot as she struggled into the apartment and picked up a box of her things that she had yet to unpack (she'd only moved in a little while ago and she was still trying to sort herself out, give her a break!) so that she didn't break her neck on it, "I'm not married and my housemates work normal-people hours." Deflating at the greeting she was more than used to, the newly qualified doctor moved through the apartment, spotting the big fluffy grey cat on the chair. He lifted his head, blinked at her and then settled down again. "Hello to you too," she muttered, scratching behind his ears. He lifted his head into the touch and purred, stretching his paws out in front of himself and flexing his pads against the cushion he was lying on. She adjusted how she was carrying the box, resting it against her hip and she continued through the apartment towards her room. After a grueling ten hour shift, the last thing she wanted to be doing was unpacking the very last of her belongings. It felt kind of unreal that she had managed to get a job here anyway, and more than that, meeting up with an old friend and being able to crash there on a permenant basis. It was always sometimes a little too good to be true. It wasn't unusual for her to come home to an empty house, or an almost empty house, and sometimes it was all too easy for her to go by for three or four days without seeing either of her housemates due to her working hours and the fact that out of the three people living in that house, two of them worked in the public sector and had demanding jobs. The only way her housemates knew she was around - or that she'd been back at all - was because of the line of used coffee mugs beside the sink and an apologetic note saying she would wash them up when she got back, her shoes in the hallway or all of her showering stuff in the cubicle. She wandered into her room, box under one arm, the other hand pinching the bridge of her nose. Her head was throbbing; she'd tried to make contact with a comatose patient today and it had felt very similar to slamming her head into a brick wall. She had managed to get little more than fractured information, but nothing all that clear. Unfortunately, it looked like he was going to be just another John Doe for a little while longer, with no family to visit him. Her phone beeped twice at her, and then again: the first time was to tell her that her battery was dying and, if it would please her, it needed charging instantly before it gave up on living altogether; the second was to let her know that she had received a text message and that her phone was most indignant that she had been ignoring it. There was a meow from somewhere around her ankles and the cat jumped up as she put the box on the end of the bed. He eyed her for a minute before he padded up towards the head and curled up on her pillow. "Sampson," she hissed, he was her cat and he'd come with her from med-school. It had been really great that her housemates had accepted him and really loved the cat, but he was a cheeky bastard. "Get off my pillow, I don't wanna wake up with your fur in my hair!" He meowed and then settled himself, only moving when Jenny swept him into her arms and hugged him. He was getting too big for her to manhandle with any kind of ease now, but the purr that came out of him reassured her that he didn't mind all that much. She rubbed behind his ears again and looked at her phone as it flashed and beeped once more. She put the cat back down and then picked up her phone. There was an odd sense of trepidation that came with picking up her cell. It was usually one of two people that contacted her; the hospital or her family. And usually the messages weren't great. She slid it open and looked at the text message. It was from Ben. Her older brother. Hey JJ, can u lend me 200 dollars? Need some cash. Love u. She bit back on a sigh; she wasn't made of money. Her cell phone inbox was filled with messages from Ben asking for money, explaining why he couldn't pay her back, promises that were empty as they were bullshit. Her thumb hovered over the c key that would just delete the message before she rolled her eyes at herself, sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed 'reply' instead. Fine, but this is it. And you have to start paying me back, Ben. You really oughta find a job! If you need money, B, go to mom and dad? It was likely that they'd said no too, but that was it. She wasn't going to let him do it again, she couldn't afford to keep lending him money. Once the message had disappeared off into the glorious realm of the text-message aether, she shut it, put the damn thing onto charge and then kicked off her work shoes. It had been a long day. "Time to shower," she mumbled to herself, rubbing her hand over her face. She could feel the people that lived near them having an argument, their angered words battering against her head and she took another breath, building her walls, shutting them out. Thankfully she had a day off tomorrow, the first one in a long time. And Jenny? Well, Jenny was going to have something to eat after her shower, take a nap and then actually try to socialise with the people that she lived with. It was worth a try, right? Comment

Back in the Saddle [22 Nov 2009|09:51pm] rhiannon_lee The screen door snapped shut behind Rhiannon. She walked to the edge of their rental property, where crab grass met pavement, both cracked and abused by the sun. The sky was cloudless, the sliver of moon as thin as a fingernail. She pulled an elbow across her torso to stretch her muscles. At the late hour, many of the windows on Amelia Street were dark, neighbors having gone to sleep in preparation for an early start. It was a perfect time to go to the beach and get a workout. They were unlikely to be seen or interrupted. Rhiannon appreciated the mild temperature. In Nevada, the nights got cold even in summer. In Chicago, she might see her breath on the air by now. She wore a tank top and loose pants, her hair in a braid. "Ready?" She looked back. "Ready." Connor was wearing sweat pants and a thin T shirt, and he looked up at the tiny fragment of moon where it hung suspended in the blackness. The keys jingled as he locked the door behind them, the sound followed by the noise of his shoes on the sidewalk. He'd done his stretches before supper, and despite his half-full stomach his muscles felt loose and ready for action. This would technically be his first time fighting on this turf. He wondered if it would be different. If the two of them would be different since their re-alignment. Only one way to find out. ( Love Taps? ) Comment

Bonding in the Cereal Aisle [22 Nov 2009|08:26pm] izzy_shaw Izzy wondered if everyone in Key West had decided to go grocery shopping at the same time. The local Winn-Dixie was packed with locals stocking up for Thanksgiving, and most of them seemed to have arrived before the witch. Queues of shoppers and their overflowing carts stretched out from every checkout lane and the blonde resigned herself to a long wait, not willing to give up and have to come again later and start over. She'd taken one look at the contents of the refrigerator, mostly just restaurant leftovers and a few staples, and declared she was going to the store. The one housemate who was there had just rolled her eyes and declined to come along, and Izzy wasn't sure what to make of the response. The tech-witch knew from both the diary and what memories had survived from 'Isabelle' that she'd frequently dined out at the many restaurants in Key West rather than try and cook herself, having few cooking skills. That was another of the many things Izzy didn't have in common with 'Isabelle': she'd had to learn to cook in self-defense, otherwise she'd have starved as her mother had worked so much Izzy had to fend for herself a lot of the time. ( Not an Airhead ) Comment

low_tide Something Buried, Something Found... [21 Nov 2009|09:35am] lady_elfleda ( One-time enemy meets a new one: ) Comment

[21 Nov 2009|03:15am] rhiannon_lee ( The Old Familiar Tricks ) Comment

Vegas on the Carribean [19 Nov 2009|09:09pm] izzy_shaw The sense of strangeness had followed Izzy all through the rest of that first day and into the next. There had been no escaping her housemates, but she'd managed to keep them unaware of her change of personality so far. It had been easier than she thought, so either she was a good actress or they didn't care. She wasn't sure which. She'd gotten a call from someone called Mark, and she'd let it go to voicemail. The witch had gotten a strong sense that the 'old' Isabelle had been deeply involved with him. That was something she had no idea what she was going to about, yet. Hopefully something would come to her. Maybe he was actually a good guy, but so far everything she'd seen of her old self was rather shallow and she didn't know if her taste in men would be the same. Her family seemed to approve of him, that much she knew for sure. ( Searchlight in paradise ) Comment

Revelations [19 Nov 2009|09:06pm] izzy_shaw It had taken some effort, but Izzy had managed to convince Sheryl to let her go on her own after sitting in the shade under her watchful eye for a little while and guzzling a bottle of water she’d found in her beach bag. It was like the other woman didn’t trust her to walk and chew gum at the same time, let alone fend for herself on what she’d found out was Key West, Florida. Whatever her other-self had been known for, common sense didn’t seem to be it. ( deja-vu all over again. ) Comment

Beach to Beach [19 Nov 2009|09:02pm] izzy_shaw “Isabelle?” The blonde blinked as fingers snapped in front of her face. That was her name, she remembered now. Isabelle Shaw, called ‘Izzy’ by those who knew her. A girl, brunette who couldn’t be older than twenty one, was looking at her with concern. “You all right?” Izzy stared at her, trying to remember where she knew the other woman from. There was an inkling in the back of her mind that she should know the brunette, but nothing was registering.( From Lincoln Park to Fort Taylor ) Comment

Night Life [19 Nov 2009|06:17pm] luckandchance [ mood | working ] Smoke hung in the air like an ever present dark cloud, curling around the tapered tips of the fingers that clutched the cigarette that slowly burned away as the man holding it turned his attention to the scattered papers spread across the table in front of him. There were also photographs of meetings, entourages and venues followed by information on habits and everything that Joseph thought was important was noted on a nearby pad. He took a lingering drag from the cigarette and then stubbed out what was left of it, sinking back into the chair as he regarded a photograph closely. Joseph hadn't slept since his arrival in Florida and he'd been living off whiskey, cigarettes and adrenaline alone. He smoothed a hand through his hair and gripped the back of his neck, tossing the photograph onto the table as he let his attention drift to the hotel room for the first time since he'd set foot into it. ( Headed Out ) Comment

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