Low Tide

Later on, she'd say it was a coincidence and nothing but.

Key West had its fair share of sports bars. Some had two or three pool tables, smaller than regulation-size and populated with a strange mix of off-duty Coast Guard members and Cubans. It was a potent recipe for fights, once either side had a few beers and a few losses under their belts. She didn't like it. For one thing, people assumed she was there to bask in the cloud of testosterone and cologne, and hopefully get hit on. They sent over beers and stared at her ass when she made shots. For another, she felt compelled to do something when they broke into fistfights. Compelled to stop that sound. Meat on meat. Furniture scraping. Voices climbing into the cheaply-made drop ceiling.

No. I don't want to. After all, at least something was jumping off after-hours in Key West.

Eventually, she found her way to Felt. It was different. No plasma televisions, no designer cocktails. Just a long, narrow building with nine-foot tables, shitty acoustics, beer on tap, and real players. The bathrooms were to be avoided. So, too, the mozzarella sticks in a greasy basket. Tonight, a guy sat on a stool on stage belting blues on an old guitar. It looked like he'd broken up with the instrument before. Dropped it out of his truck doing high speeds, then gone back to pick up the pieces.

( Tailing Him )

Getting shot, never fun.

Thankfully the guy in question had been a pretty lousy shot, which meant a shot intended for Joseph’s head missed by a far mark, landing in his shoulder instead.

He could have called his doctor, the same doctor that he had at his beck and call, but he didn’t see the need. Not when he could just as easily take care of it himself.

Bloody clothes were discarded to the side and long strides took Joseph through the immaculately kept hotel room into the bathroom that was shortly bathed in an artificial light.

( Too Busy )

The sun was high in the sky and the horizon was blue without a cloud in sight, with the temperature hovering in the high seventies. In other words, it was a perfect Spring day in Key West.

Isabelle Shaw grunted as she struck the volleyball back over the net to the opposing team's side and into the sand between the other two women. One of the few things she had in common with her previous incarnation here in Key West was a love of beach sports. Back in her earlier dimensions she'd had to play beach volleyball in sand pits or on the shore of Lake Michigan, here she had one of the best spots in the world to play the game. Her doppelganger had been more of an expert than Izzy herself was before waking up in Key West, the air-headed version of herself hadn't had the distractions of a real college course load and the heavy research schedule after graduation that Izzy herself had experienced.

Fortunately though, those upgraded skills had transferred between the two versions and the witch was putting them to good use today.
( make for dull days )

The weather was a pleasant seventy-one degrees and sunny. It was mild rather than hot, with only wisps of clouds in the azure sky. In the afternoon, Hannah opened all three windows of her stuffy garage apartment, but that wasn't enough to invigorate her. She changed into white capri pants and a yellow top with spaghetti straps. With sandals on her feet and ponytail swinging, she left the property and rode her bike to the public beach a few minutes away. After chaining it to a palm tree, she kicked off her shoes and walked onto the beach. The sand was coarse here, with a rock jetty on the left to prevent erosion. Water lapped at the shore rather than broke against it.

It was March yet, so she only dared to roll her pants up to her knees and dip her toes in the cold water. Some people could swim all the way out to the breakers in this weather and not bat an eyelash. Hannah didn't have the constitution for it. Gulls circled overhead. Using her hand as a sun visor, Hannah tipped her head back and watched them dive and float on the currents of air.

The water was cold, very cold, Joseph Tropiano could testify to that. He’d foregone the heated pool in his hotel for the not so welcoming embrace of the open sea: some would call that madness, but the space was what Joseph needed, and the clarity.

( Cold Water )

In the heat of a fight there was very little to grasp onto, especially if you were running on instinct alone. Even as Joseph was slammed into the nearby wall, he found the clarity to pick up a nearby bottle, smashing it over his would-be attacker’s head. It worked like a charm, causing enough confusion for Joseph to land a punch that left the bigger man stumbling backwards.

The cause of the fight had been lost, round about the same time the man had decided that the best way to settle the issue was by putting Joseph’s head into the bar and would have been through it, had he enough upper body strength. Thankfully he hadn’t, just enough to leave a bruise on Joseph’s right temple behind, breaking the skin open around his eyebrow.

Joseph was determined to end this fight, wrapping the other man’s collar with both hands and using that grip to throw him through the nearest table. The table buckled under the weight and as it gave, the other man hit the ground, knocking him for six. Easy enough for Joseph to press the weight of his foot over the man’s throat, pushing down just hard enough to restrict breathing, narrowing air passages. Just a little longer, he knew exactly how much longer the other man had until complete and utter unconsciousness claimed him and then…

*Click*

( Pull It, I Dare You )

( What's Your Problem? )

( Let Me Buy You A Drink )

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? )

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 )

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 )

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 )

Francesco's was a dark-panelled hole in the wall with green carpeting and brass fixtures on everything. It was exactly like being inside a barrel, as if all the light got absorbed like water into a sponge. It was one of the few places on the island Grace found tolerable.

She'd been in Key West for sixteen hours. She'd spent the daylight hours on the phone, where she'd gotten confirmation on the description of the man she was looking for, along with a message that said man wasn't hiding anywhere. It never failed to boggle her mind how invincible humans thought they were. The vampire was ensconced at a back table drinking bourbon, her back carefully situated so there'd be no chance of an ambush. Tropiano didn't know who she was - yet - but a little paranoia kept you healthy.

One warning. That was her current objective. After that? She'd have to go to work.

( Friendly Warning )

[OOC: Grace's cameo appearance was of course written by Gazer]

Two guns, two knives, one stake and none of these would be the murder weapon. It would be something far more sinister and bleak, a long strip of cheese wire wrapped around two wooden blocks held in steadfast hands.

It was unfurled in a smooth movement, one wooden block being caught in one palm as the other was gripped tightly between tapered fingers that glistened beneath a rapidly flashing neon light.

Somehow Joseph had known that the escaping man would crawl back to familiar ground and had trailed him this far, determined to finish what he’d started.

( Cover Of Darkness )

Kelly's stood on the corner of Whitehead and Caroline, in a tidy, white building that was built in the 1920s. Once used for the sale of airline tickets, it was now home to a Caribbean bar. A canopy of thick threes covered its brick patio and a micro-brewery out back produced Havana Red Ale and the Southern Clipper Wheat. It was a little upscale for Rhiannon's usual style, but she liked the patio at night. Holiday lights twinkled in the tree branches like stars and the beer was the best on the island. She took a book and sat by herself at a two-top table in the backmost corner, sipping from her mug and listening to the white noise of conversation. In jeans and a burgundy tank top, she was a little underdressed, but nobody cared. By the time she tucked her paperback in a hip pocket and went on patrol, she'd be loose enough to forget about her recent injury, but not enough to be impaired.

The wind rustled the palms. Their waxen leaves moved like fingers. Tonight she drifted away from her book and just watched those, a finger between the pages to keep her place. Out back, beyond the patio, she heard muted voices, things thumping, and assumed them to be employees taking a smoke break or loading supplies in and out of the food preparation area. Rhiannon eased back in her chair and lifted a boot onto the seat, her fingers twining into the laces. She watched the world beyond the garden through the tiny gaps in the trees trunks, where she could see the ocean and sand on one side of the patio, Whitehead Street on the other.

A man's work was never done, a saying that seemed intent on circling Joseph's head at the most inopportune moments; moments such as the one he was in right now. He'd methodically taken apart a bar from the inside out, killing all but a couple witnesses in the hopes of sending another strong message to the superiors, a message that clearly said: there's a new player in town and they're looking to tear you apart one man at a time.

( Scuffle in the Alley )

( Bad Men )

“Don’t lecture me on what I can and can’t do,” Agent Julie Kottler snapped at one of the other agents in the room with her. “If you’ve got a problem with it, then wait outside.”

There was a huff of breath and the two agents in the room left the red-head to it. She raked her fingers through her hair, putting her badge down on the vanity by the bathroom door.

The hotel room was simple, that was enough to make the FBI agent suspicious. Joseph Tropiano’s presence in Key West had more than ruffled a few feathers and she was trying to find something that would implicate him in the dirty dealings that had been going on in her home. There hadn’t been this much unrest since she had graduated the academy and even then, only in New York where the gang violence was always up due to the severe unrest that happened there; power always shifting and changing.

The wardrobe had been left open, the meticulously hung clothes in order and tidy, not a piece of fabric out of place. Julie blew out a breath and continued her search of Joseph’s room. It was public property, she had permission from the Hotel manager to search whatever she needed to and she was breaking no laws. Her companions were just put out by her need to catch this guy.

( Too Clean )

( Pull Yourself Together )

OOC: NPC Agent Julie Kottler was played by Willow

If people thought torture was a quick process then there were quite sorely mistaken - it was a matter of patience and dedicating time and effort to picking a person apart so thoroughly that they didn’t know where they began and ended, sometimes quite literally.

It was a messy business, it always was, ending the way it started. More often than not the person being tortured didn’t survive, except in rare occasions, like Joseph when he’d been grabbed a few years back and had a world of hurt carved into him. He hadn’t broken nor had he allowed them to kill him.

Shame that his latest torture victim hadn’t had the same constitution, but then Joseph wouldn’t have what he needed to know and that would have been quite unforgivable. He had names, places, times and arrangements - everything he needed to make for a very uncomfortable future for the local criminal masterminds that ‘ran’ the city.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend. After all that’s what the old wives say and Joseph intended on putting it to the test.

( Passing A Tip )

There were many ways of coercing information from a person - you could bribe them, blackmail them, threaten their security, but there was no better way of extracting information from a person than by hurting loved ones or hurting them directly.

Joseph preferred the latter to the former, knowing he’d rather keep his loved ones out of the line of fire and there were some depths he would not stoop to.

Currently he was stood back, distanced, separated from the events playing out before his eyes. He’d intervene, he always did, he was too good at this part not to get involved. It was a strength, one that kept him awake at night, not always though.

Smoke was exhaled as Joseph turned and extinguished the last remnants of life in the cigarette he’d been nursing, fingers flicking lingering traces of ash away and into the dark of a nearby shadow.

( Answers )

If there was one thing Joseph was good at it, it was knowing when and how to have a good time, especially when he’d spent the last couple nights working his ass to the bone trying to find out as much information about the people who “ran” the city.

Currently he was enjoying a cigarette and a game of pool that was rapidly turning in his favour, to the dismay of his once enthusiastic now turned dejected opponent. Joseph had offered him an out about three balls ago, but the guy’s confidence had been falsely built up by that point so he was under the mistaken impression that he could win this.

Shame that he couldn’t.

Joseph swept his hair back and prowled the table, tipping his head to watch the angle that the man was aiming the stick, tutting under his breath slightly as he just knew it wasn’t going to do anything except knock the ball too far off target. Not that Joseph was about to share that piece of information.

( Not Very Nice )

Part of taking over new territory was spreading fear and sowing seeds of mistrust, Joseph knew this better than anyone else.

He’d already began his campaign of fear by first attacking small branches before escalating into full out mayhem by incendiary devices being planted and blown. The press were having a field day, the local authorities not so much. Nothing could be traced, everything was easy to make and planned to the last meticulous detail so there was no paper trail.

Now was the time to rip the rivals apart from the inside out.

( Legwork )

Coming back to work after a few days off sucked, even if your family was rich and you worked in paradise. That was the conclusion Izzy quickly arrived at on her first day back since Thanksgiving. The normally bustling resort was dead, people sticking close to home over the month-long period in between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and there was almost nothing for the customer service staff to do. At least her shift was almost over. Maybe she'd call Rhiannon and see about going over and working on that set of binoculars for the Slayer, she'd need to swing by the house and change out of her business suit and grab her tool kit first but it would be good to get her hands dirty again.
( Awkward encounter. )
( text to Rhiannon )

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 )

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 )