Low Tide

An eighteen-wheeler barreled along the dark, Florida highway. On its way by, the driver honked twice at two women standing on the edge of a heat-cracked parking lot spotted with oil puddles. Locks of long, brown hair lifted off the brunette's neck in the wake of the truck. She smoked her third cigarette since taking off on the miniature road trip. She hadn't so much fallen off the wagon as been dragged off by the prospect of an hour in the redhead's company. Southern Florida was lucky she wasn't nursing a bottle of hard liquor while she drove.

So much for new car smell.

Rhiannon scraped her boot on the pavement, trying to free a pebble that was stuck in the tread. "Before you ask, no, we're not here for guns." It would've been a fair question, since she had pulled the black car alongside Big Al's Army Navy Surplus. "But you do need something they've got, and you're not gonna find it in the Red Chandelier Boutique."

( Plain, Non-label Cotton )

The bar was filled with people and that was normally enough to make one Jennifer Lowe very uncomfortable. So far she’d received two cat calls from drunken men and about three hands had touched her ass. People were drinking and generally getting rowdy, which was impressive because it was early afternoon as opposed to late at night. She wondered how many people would be falling into the hospital later, how many of them she'd end up patching up after a bar fight or a car accident.

After taking the location of the hatted man from the mind of the bartender - without him even knowing and, horrifically, she didn't even feel guilty for just plucking the information from his mind - Jenny had squared her shoulders and headed towards the back room, through a narrow corridor. Her heels made little sound on the cement walkway, which was a surprise, but then maybe each step was echoing. But then again she couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the beating of her heart that was hammering in her ears.

There was a back room ahead of her and wow, that wasn’t at all creepy or cliched. She swallowed, setting her jaw. She was doing this for Ben and for their parents. For her mom and dad who couldn’t bear to lose their son. Who didn’t even know that their son was in danger and who would be so very disappointed in their youngest daughter if they knew what she was about to do.

A flat hand rested against her chest when she reached the door and she was pulled from her thoughts when it stopped her movement forward. She blinked up at the guard on the door and then turned her eyes to the man on the opposite side of the door.

( You got an appointment? )

To say that, when he’d turned up at her doorstep (again), Ben was freaked out was an understatement. Simon had taken one look at him and after his cursory ”I don’t like the fact that he’s here again, jenny, he’s bad news” promptly pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a glass and pushed both towards the shaken thirty three year old.

He’d taken another look at Jenny before he’d excused himself and left the siblings to it.

( Black holes and revelations )

Time had a funny way of lasting forever, especially when you were waiting for something. Joseph had waited for hours to hear news of Victor, his blood on his hands, beneath his nails, and all that waiting had been for nothing.

The kid was dead, his injuries too severe, there was nothing the doctor could have done for him.

( Bloody Revenge )

"Yeah, I know I promised to send them yesterday, but you've got them now... Yes, check your email." Rhiannon's shoe kicked a broken piece of concrete into the gutter. She was in no particular hurry. The afternoon sun slanted shadows on the street. She stayed in them, on her way back from the small property management company that leased out her house. At least rent, if not her work assignment, was on time. "So you got them. Do they look okay?" She slipped a lock of hair away from her sunglasses. "Alright cool, I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye."

She closed the cell. Her boss at the tourism board lectured, but he was all bark and no bite. Though Rich Patterson had noticed a -- what was the word he used? -- tonal difference in Rhiannon Lee's work since November, he didn't take any issue with it. Said it was 'edgier'. How graphics depicting Key West as a tropical paradise could be edgy, Rhiannon didn't know. It felt grotesquely pedestrian to her. Whatever. Being a sell-out had its perks.

She looked both ways before striding into a crosswalk. Heat had cracked the white paint and faded it. Too busy staring at the asphalt, she barely noticed the tan brunette coming towards her. Rhiannon looked up only as their elbows met. "Sorry."

The tan brunette in question was one Kris Michaels, on her way home after finishing a shift at the station, looking forward to a well deserved week off. She had all kinds of plans, one of which was to swing into that bar that Hayden worked at, see if she couldn't catch up with him and maybe drag Jenny out with her, the girl could do with having some fun. Simon on the other hand had way too much fun and Kris had had to deal with another random one night stand left in his bed. The asshole had ditched before the woman had woken up, leaving Kris to explain a few things. Less than fun.

( Strange Circumstances )

( The Same, But Not )

Wynne was hungover, and it wasn't from booze or drugs. The night before had passed in a blur, but he did know he had pushed past his own limits...and that wasn't always a good thing. Waking up in a strange place with empty pockets, it was severely discomfiting. His mouth was dry, and he didn't have money to get a drink. He ran a pale hand over his face, felt day-and-a-half old stubble.

He walked down the sidewalk, the sun ever present no matter how much he tried to seek shade under the awnings of store fronts. Wynne scanned the vicinity for any sort of familiar face, but it was a weak effort. Most of the people he had gotten to know in Key West were of a more nocturnal sort. They were all probably sleeping comfortably in their beds.

The sun was making its glorious appearance now that most of the cloud cover had blown away, and Cassidy put on her shades against the glare as she exited the post office. Bit of a hangover from last night, and her head was still feeling a little thick. She was going to have to stop making Duval Street her second home.

The bottle of water she was carrying got uncapped, and she took a slow drink as she ambled down the sidewalk. She would need lunch soon, but something light so as not to threaten her stomach. This afternoon, there was to be more furniture shopping.

( Charity of Sorts )

Being chained to somebody was more inconvenient than Hayden realized.

Getting out of the Jeep at the two-story house was bad enough. He tried to be a gentleman; he let Bethany exit the passenger side and climbed across the gearshift to do the same. Then there was the blonde's facial expression when she realized he was a renter... A renter who only had the bottom floor of a modest building, which he crammed with second-hand furniture. He wasn't used to spending time with snobs, but here he was, literally attached to one, and it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut.

Later, when she announced her desire for a shower, it got worse. With several feet of chain between them, Hayden had to outstretch his arm and stand in the doorway. The door of his shower stall was made of distortion-glass, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw flesh-colored woman twisting and turning. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them. "How you plan to get dressed, I don't know," he said over the water. "Unless your outfit doesn't require you to stick your arm through it. Which leaves what... a tube top?" Actually, that kind-of cracked him up. The only alternative was a blouse that buttoned at the shoulders, 1980s style. He supposed she could stick her arm through, but that ate up precious links of chain, and they might end up touching.

And this is just the first hurdle. Wait 'til sleeping arrangements.

( No Personal Space )

( Playing dress-up: )

Joseph was pretty sure he’d seen everything there was to see in this world, but he hadn’t been ready for two blondes walking down the street chained - literally chained - together.

People and their kinks, some were apparently more brave than others when it came to sharing those sorts of things with the world.

Not that there was anything wrong with a little… Joseph caught that train of thought and chuckled softly around the filter end of a cigarette that had long lost its warmth.

He’d effectively wiped out half of his competition with his little adventure with matches and gasoline, meaning there wasn’t so much friction and tension on the streets of Key West. It also meant that people had started seeking him out, looking to make deals and get on his good side.

( Long Night )

[Takes place before 'Stuck Together']

It was dark outside, but warm enough to open the windows for a breeze. Balmy air swept through the small house, rustling coupons magnetized to the fridge and a sheaf of papers on Rhiannon's desk. In the yellow lamplight, she stared at her laptop and held a pen captive between her teeth. Near the mouse pad, a cigarette waited in a glazed ashtray. It wasn't lit. According to plum-colored stains on the filter, she had considered it at least once.

She consulted the manual for a computer graphics program and compared it to the screen. Sometimes Rhiannon couldn't remember how to manipulate the designs she created for the tourism bureau. Chunks of Rhiannon 1.0's memory were suffocated (maybe overwritten) by Rhiannon 2.0. Since her paychecks depended upon being able to resurrect or recreate that knowledge, she spent hours pouring over books and online tutorials.

"Ugh." Leaning back, Rhiannon stretched her legs beneath the desk and rubbed her forehead. Maybe monsters couldn't wait. The world could be on the verge of apocalypse and need her... right?

Connor was glad it was dark when he got back to the house, because the neighbor across the street was out in the yard with their two kids and a dog. He knew what his face had to look like, because he could feel the swelling. The bags rattled as he let himself in, and the screen door slapped shut in his wake. He could still taste the faint tang of copper on his tongue.

( What Gives? )

After her friend's "unfortunate" disappearance, Bethany's life had improved tenfold. She'd gotten her claws on that well-deserved promotion and had been bringing in changes to the work place fast, meaning she no longer wished to carve chunks out of people or remove eyeballs from sockets. It wasn't a permanent solution, but it would suffice for the time being. Bethany did have her eyes set elsewhere, but she needed collateral before she could lose the job. All in good time.

Given that she was and would always be a woman of her vices, Bethany had grown rather fond of a coffee brewed by a store not that far from where she lived. It had to be completely black with no sugar before she drank it though.

( Standing in Line, Minding Their Own Business, When... )

The first time Dana Harper saw Dion Hatch, love of her young life, he was unloading groceries onto the conveyor belt in her check-out line. She was overwhelmed by his long eyelashes and round biceps. As she ran packages of sandwich meats and breakfast bars across the scanner, she smiled at him and told him they were her favorite kind, too. When that failed to net his attention, she commented on his personal check. How they had the same initials, wasn't that funny? He didn't think so. He wasn't rude, just dismissive. Busy. He didn't really notice her.

She memorized his address and made up excuses to drive her old Volkswagen down his street. Later, when she grew bold, she rode her bike past Dion's house. Once, he saw her. He was out watering his lawn. Dana waved. He nodded and went back to his business.

Another time, she parked a block away from his house, then followed him to a bar. She sat on a stool across the room, but eventually made her way to Dion's table, introducing herself as 'Dana, from Johnson's Grocery'. He recognized her, she could tell, but he pretended not to. He was making her work for it.

After two more planned encounters, Dion finally told her to knock it if, he wasn't interested. The words felt like acid thrown in her face. As she walked away, humiliated, Dana knew he would be interested, if he just had time to get to know her...

( The Spell )

As much as everything had changed with the revelation she was a Slayer a lot had actually stayed the same for Kris. She still had a day job and on occasion night job, a lazy partner, a good family and brilliant friends. Hopefully Whistler would be in touch shortly with what she needed to do next, especially as she hadn't been free to attend that party during New Year's, but she felt spending time with her marine on leave brother was more important. Family always came first in her book.

She was currently walking a neighbourhood that she knew like the back of her hand, reassuring the public that in spite of all the recent gang violence the police force was still out there and wanting to keep them safe. It was after all what she'd signed up for, back in the day when she was younger and a whole lot more ignorant than she was at this precise moment in time.

Kris had considered the cross idea, but it went against a lot of things she believed so she settled for always carrying a sharp piece of wood that could be turned into a weapon if needed, hopefully it wouldn't, but as Whistler had pointed out you never could be too sure.

It was only the sound of raised voices that pulled Kris out of her self reflection, frowning as beyond a fence and scattered across two driveways were two arguing men. It wasn't hard to tell that it was going to get physical sooner rather than later, especially with the way they kept pushing one another.

( Not A Good Time )

The streets of Key West were quiet, and Connor was ambling home from the grocery store with a plastic bag in each hand. Now that he was fully settled here, he had the route to the grocery store worked out, having traced his footsteps back from the shopping center often enough that he remembered the route home. All in all, he felt like he had a good handle on things.

The Destroyer rounded a corner, watching a bicyclist cross the street ahead of him. He was glad for the mild weather. It was a relief to shake Chicago's cold out of his bones. He hadn't figured out all the trouble spots yet, but in a place this small, he didn't suppose that would take long.

Trouble often found people on Duval Street. The long, rambunctious strip was home to hotels, cafes, bars, restaurants, and shopping outlets. Even a few art galleries were tucked between the rowdier places. It was a street that came alive after sunset. Groups of women stumbled from place to place, intoxicated and sunburned, their arms linked as they strolled under the awnings. Motorcycles roared. Laughter bubbled from patios where people drank margaritas and beer on tap. Everywhere, there was music.

John walked the block from Sloppy Joe's to Fat Tuesday's. His physical appearance didn't stick out. He was better dressed than some, but the mop of messy, black hair kept him casual. It was his quiet observation that was noteworthy, the slow gait and lack of friends or a lover on his arm. He kept his hands to himself and his remarks to a minimum. He held open a door for a couple of happy women and kept going.

( I See You )

( Trespassing )

"No, Mark, there's nothing to discuss." Izzy bit her tongue and counted to ten as she walked to her car after work, almost wishing her ex-fiance was in front of her to drop kick instead of only having his voice on the phone. "I've told you before, we're done. We want different things and you obviously don't think enough of me to respect my wishes. Goodbye." She hit the 'end' button a bit more savagely than she probably should have, but he just hadn't been getting the message. The witch wondered for the umpteenth time what her other self had seen in him. For a supposedly smart man he was remarkably dense.

This called for a night out. She didn't have to work tomorrow and she deserved some fun after dealing with her ex.

John had awoken that night with a brutal headache, which was partly due to a tequila hangover and partly to thirst.

( An Excuse to Talk )

At least he had a job he knew he could do.

Critical Mass was a dance club in the middle of the strip on Duval Street, and now that the holidays were over the place was starting to do more business. Connor had been on floor duty for forty-five minutes, and he made his customary pass by the bar to check for troublemakers. He was dressed casually, fitting in with the other patrons. He was the last person anyone expected to bounce them out if they got too rambunctious. He'd found earplugs in the bathroom at the house before leaving for work, and he was grateful for the protection of his hearing at the moment. Way-too-loud music was one of the reasons he'd never cared for the club scene.

The Destroyer got a cup of water from the bartender, sipped at it as he headed for the stairs that led to the upper level. He'd apparently worked out the timing so he could make his rounds on a consistent basis, and he nodded at another member of the security staff as they passed each other on the steps. All in all, this wasn't a bad way to make money.

( A Re-Acquainting, Sort Of )

The door hung at an odd angle, the lock broken - again - but this time it was nothing to do with Kris or Simon. There were a few drops of blood on the floor and Jenny’s internal alarm went off.

She had a horrible feeling that she knew exactly whose blood that was on the floor.

“Ben?”

There was a faint groan from the bedroom. Her bedroom. God, he had better not be bleeding on her sheets.

( The unwelcome, but not unexpected, visitor )

Joseph was many things, but forgiving was not one of those many things. To say he took being threatened personally was an understatement, retaliating almost in kind, but not exact.

A little splash of gasoline here and there followed by the striking of a match and suddenly a seedy bar turns into something beautiful, even if like most beautiful things it turns ugly in a matter of seconds.

Thankfully Joseph was far away enough before that happened.

Just far enough to enjoy the display.

( Just To Sweeten The Deal )

It was time.

She'd been putting it off deliberately, waiting for the holidays to be over because she knew the relatives would be gathered at the house and she'd wanted to avoid causing any more stress. But it was the fifth of January now, which meant the window of time she'd allowed herself was now closed. Ma and Pop would have the house to themselves again, and it was time for her to make that call.

Dialing long distance, Mallory checked her watch and guessed - hoped - that her youngest brother Teddy would be off with friends. It would be bad enough to have to deal with her parents, she didn't want to have to explain it to him too. The redhead parked herself in the comfortable chair near the window, looked out at the silent street beyond. The phone on the other end of the line rang six times, and when it was finally picked up for the familiar voice to say a distracted greeting, she said, "Hi, Ma. Happy new year."

( Explanations )


[NPC Carolyn by Kate]

With the temperature not even sixty degrees and a good northerly breeze, Izzy didn't even contemplate her normal ocean swim and settled instead for a jog along the streets of old town instead. The witch consoled herself that if she were still in Chicago this time of year she'd be dressed like a mummy in multiple layers rather than a windbreaker and running pants. Sounds of Sympathy for the Devil leaked through her earbuds as she jogged along to the Rolling Stones on her iPhone.

Connor had taken to riding his motorcycle around the island before it got dark, familiarizing himself with landmarks and street names for the purposes of getting around. Navigation wasn't that much different than tracking, but he wanted to replace his alter's memories with his own just in case. And the traffic was much lighter here and easier to deal with. The Destroyer rounded the corner, leaning with the turn as he headed towards Old Town. He could get a quick sandwich and then head back home. The holiday break was almost over, which meant he'd have to see about this school thing. He couldn't wait to see how that went.

"Izzy, hey!" The witch was just jogging past, and he raised his voice a little so he could be heard over the music she was listening to. "Is winter exercise a new thing, or from before?"
( Comparing past lives )