Low Tide

( Voicemail for Hayden )

Abandon Ship! boasted a moderate crowd on weeknights, mostly regulars whose boats docked at the marina off William Street. The low-key setting drew the professional twenty- and thirty-somethings of the island, who fled from the chaos of Duval Street and Mallory Square. Tonight, about half the house was full. Hayden came out of the small office with its oscillating fan to shoot the breeze with the staff, eat handfuls of peanuts, and watch the plasma televisions. In his untucked, blue polo shirt and jeans, he blended in with the servers.

There was a bet going on. A couple of barflies and most of his staff were in on it. After a lot of trash talk, Hayden finally agreed to put twenty bucks on the outcome of a basketball game between the Miami Heat and the L.A. Lakers. "Alright, alright." He raised his hands in defeat. "Jeez!" He pulled out a tri-fold wallet and stuffed a couple of tens in a tip jar, which had been converted for the occasion.

Kris and Jenny hadn't had a lot of time to catch up lately, what with the crazy shifts, a manic personal life and Kris being chained to Rhiannon, so when they'd finally had a chance to catch up, Kris had mentioned a certain blonde and a certain bar. Jenny being Jenny insisted that they go and see what happened.

( Oh, Hello There! )

( Toilet Seats )

( Matchbook )

"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 )

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 )

All sorted, Hayden's laundry made up three loads: whites, darks, and a pile haphazardly called 'miscellaneous' because its owner had no idea what to do with it. Was a blue-and-white striped shirt a light or a dark? He sat on a vinyl couch in Old Town Laundry, jingling his pocket full of quarters and watching the three washers he took up vibrate on spin cycle. In the corner, a television flashed the bright colors of afternoon programming on a weekday. Between soap operas and game shows, he saw commercials for mops, diapers, and tampons. Clearly, not designed for the single guy market.

He slumped and stretched his legs out. When the angle became uncomfortable, he rubbed his neck. One of these days, he thought, I'll live someplace where the appliances don't catch fire. When the soap opera returned (easy to tell from the piano music and hushed voices of melodrama), Hayden sneaked looks at the screen. The men on The Young and the Restless never aged. It was weird. Take that dude Victor for example, with the not-quite-European accent. What was he supposed to be, a vampire?

Laundry - one of the most boring and tedious domestic chores that God himsef had created just for his own personal entertainment, this much Kris was convinced of.

Given that she spent more time in her uniform than out of it, the load of laundry currently bundled up into a bag was far more expansive than it had any right to be. She was pretty sure Simon had sneaked some of his into her wash. Kris wasn't in the habit of wearing men's boxers. And just for that? She was going to dye his underwear pink.

( Fancy Meeting You Here )

Some days Kris really hated her job, mostly because it meant on the rare occasions she got any time off inevitably she’d run into somebody she knew from the station that would harangue her in whatever line or store until she knew everything there was to know about all the going ons, including the would be escapee who had yet to turn up again.

The less said on that particular matter the better.

Thankfully she was able to escape or she would have to fake an emergency phone call before she gave herself away because she knew she would, she wasn’t good at hiding guilt. It had been a right pain in the rear when she was younger, meaning she got away with next to nothing.

Kris snuck a cigarette whilst her older brother wasn’t looking, given that he was back in the states for a while and he had an issue with her smoking even though he’d smoked when he was younger. Apparently going into the marines meant you needed to live a clean life, free of vices and other such things.

( Sneaking Cigarettes )

Rationally Kris knew that getting drunk or as close to drunk as she could first thing in the morning was a really bad idea, but she was kind of feeling another bad idea, especially as last night had been completely unreal and she still wasn’t sure what to make of it.

She’d even called in sick - the first time in God only knew how many years. Kris didn’t think she could face Leon or the people at the station, not after what she’d done last night. All in the name of good - she knew that - didn’t make it any easier to live with.

Whistler’s card was sat on the counter beside the bottle that was rapidly dwindling with every gulp she took from it, Kris hadn’t even bothered with a glass.

Simon had noticed and hadn’t even tried to say anything as Kris had her ‘say anything and I’ll kill you with my bare hands’ look on and he knew better than to try anything right now.

He did knock on Jenny’s bedroom door, figuring he should at the very least give her a heads up before she awoke to find the foul beast in the kitchen.

( Monster In The Kitchen )

( Hearing Voices )

( Voicemail Left For Whistler )

OOC: NPC!Simon was played by Mands.

All those years of training - all those years of hard work - all those years of fighting the good fight and this is what you're using it for: burning a car after having wiped yours and Whistler's fingerprints off of it.

You wonder if you're crazy, if you imagined this night, if you made the hatted man up to guide you through a mental breakdown, but you have the physical evidence of bruises and blood to prove that it was real and visceral.

Everything life is and more.

You should move and you know this, but you can't. All you can do is crouch and watch the car burn, billowing smoke escaping into the atmosphere as paint is stripped and metal curls in towards itself.

( Different )

Kris had just gotten off shift an hour or so ago, but after that close encounter with mister likes to bite a lot she had decided that maybe just maybe she deserved and could do with a drink. She'd promised Leon that she would at the very least speak to Jenny about the bite, but honestly Kris didn't know what else Jenny would be able to do given that she had already had all the relevant shots anyways.

She stripped off her jacket as she slid onto a stool, ordering herself a shot of whatever was strongest in this bar. Her hair had been tied up but was shortly let loose and free, curls settling around her shoulders and resting there for a moment until pushed out of the way by a hand that steadily worked at some of the tension.

"God," Kris murmured quietly. "What a night." The white bandage on her neck and the bruises on her face were the telltale signs that this off duty police officer had had a rough night.

She straightened the curve of her back and thanked the bartender for the shot, dropping the hand from her shoulder to clasp the glass, lifting it to her mouth where she swallowed it in one.

( Rough Day? )

( Practical Learner )

( So Getting Fired )

( The Vampire Slayer )

In the weeks Kris had been working this one area of Key West she couldn’t count on one hand the amount of times her and Leon had been called out to this one location with the same code every single night: 10-15.

It was always the same, the guy had gone home drunk and slapped his girl around some until she’d cried bloody murder and the neighbour had made the call. Nothing changed, it didn’t matter how many times Kris and Leon hauled the guy’s ass to jail, he just went right back and did the exact same thing over and over again.

Why the woman never left his ass was beyond Kris and she really didn’t feel like getting into it at the time she found herself turning up at the war torn apartment.

“Not this again,” Leon grumbled under his breath, shifting from behind the wheel, easing his weight onto the dimly lit pavement.

( Something's Different )

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 )

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.

( Sleeping Beauty )

( Bigger girl )

( Crazy this time of year )

( Another day at the office, another headache )

The heat of the day had disappeared with the setting sun, leaving a pleasantly cool evening in Key West with only a few clouds here and there to dim the moonlight in an otherwise clear sky. GW leaned back in his seat and brought his beer glass to his lips as he listened to an obviously drunk tourist from Minnesota try to imitate Kenny Chesney with 'When The Sun Goes Down'. Some musicians looked down on karaoke, but GW enjoyed singing for the fun of it and didn't really care if he was being paid to perform with his band or just kicking back with friends and belting a few out. Tonight he was doing just that down in Two Friends Patio Bar with a civilian cop he'd befriended shortly after arriving in Key West.

The Marine winced as the doughy faced tourist mangled another verse and turned to the other occupant of the table. "Kenny Chesney isn't poetry to begin with, but this is painful."

Kris grimaced as the drunken tourist all but butchered the song, abusing her eardrums and everybody else's. "This is really painful," she agreed with a nod of her head. "I wonder who put him up to it." Her eyes regarded the group of people he'd obviously come with and bit her lower lip, nodding at the cackling blonde in the middle. "I'd say she did. What about you?" She picked up her beer and took a slow pull from it, catching wayward drops of it in the corner of her mouth with her tongue. It felt good to be out, with a friend, and just enjoying some time away from everything that made reality so real.
( Put me in Coach, I'm ready to play. )

Always know where to look - always know where to hit - always know where to find them.

These were the thoughts repeating over and over again in Kris' Michaels head as the thick leather soles of her standard issue boots met with the pavement in dull echoing thuds. She'd been on regular patrol when the hairs along the back of her neck had stood to attention, alerting her to what appeared to be some sort of attack. An attack that ended in one man's death and another's flight.

Not that she let him get too far before she was in hot pursuit.

The full rush of blood from head to toe brought about a surge of adrenaline unlike any other that Kris had ever felt. It was almost as if there was purpose to her movement - a sense of the right thing driving her on. Her poor partner was once again left behind in a figurative cloud of dust bemoaning the fact as well as calling the incident in; a man's work was never done.

( Hear That A lot )