Low Tide

Up and down the streets of Key West, people hosted house parties for New Year's Eve or got glamorous and headed to one of the professionally-planned celebrations. Since most holidays, the latter only ended up in trouble, Rhiannon and Connor turned over a new leaf and stayed home, inviting new and old friends (and friends of friends) to join them. If the world ended, they could always grab weapons, drive a few blocks, and show up in time to save the night, right?

The house they rented was a small, one-story cottage with a screened front porch, a small back stoop, and a modest yard inside a picket fence. A fire pit had been dug out and could be used, if the temperature dipped low enough -- meaning the 60s. A charcoal grill was lit for burgers and hot dogs. The kitchen counters were full of snacks and drinks. One of their computers supplied music, and a variety of cards and a few board games had been set out, just in case anybody wanted to get into that. On the back porch, a few packages of fireworks and sparklers awaited midnight.

Mostly, they just hoped for company. New Year's was a great way of starting out fresh in Key West.

[Thread: Open to Rhiannon, Connor, Purity, Izzy, Whistler, Hannah, Destiny, and anybody else who's brought along or, hell, even wanders by on the street and decides to drop in or gets dragged in. :) ]

Croissants de France was a bit overpriced, and the name of the place was woefully kitschy, but Emmeline had to admit, they did make the very best petits fours on the island. Not the best idea for a breakfast food, particularly in a climate that led Emmeline to spend a good portion of her time clad in naught more than a swimsuit, but on occasion she had to indulge. A quick stop at a coffee house not far down the road, and she was fully equipped for a pleasant morning spent in The Garden.

The shop door sent a musical jingling of bells as Emmeline pushed it open and she smiled, closing her eyes a moment to breathe in the scent of a myriad of flowers perfuming the air. It was warmer in the shop, for the benefit of all the beautiful blooms, and Emmeline felt the heat of the two large paper cups she balanced in a carboard carrier pulsing against her side. Careful to balance the pink box of pastry she carried in the opposite hand, she adjusted the multicolored woven bag over her shoulder and let the door swing shut behind her.

( Would Be Nice )

July 4, 2009
Key West, Florida

"Hey, man! Put this on!" With a light thunk, a plastic top hat landed on Hayden's head.

He took it off and looked at it. Stars and stripes, like Uncle Sam. He dug living in America, but no way in hell was he walking around a party wearing a flag on his head. He set it on a rustic deck chair and ambled down the steps with a cup of keg beer. The owners of the beach house had a narrow strip of waterfront, which was separated from neighboring property by a jetty. On this side of the barrier, grills smoked in a sand pit and a volleyball net had been set up. A couple of local guys played island music on guitars and animal-hide drums.

Hayden knew the hosts, two real estate agents in their early thirties. Monied but down-to-earth, they showed up at his bar for drinks on Thursday nights. Since he didn't feel like spending the holiday at work, he accepted the invitation. Looking around in the golden light of the tiki torches, he recognized some of the people. Key West was a small island, so the familiar, tanned faces of its residents were easy to pick out.

Sandals were kicked off and set aside so that pale toes could wriggle into the sand. Brushing a few strands of dark hair behind her ear, Purity listened to the music and let her body sway slightly where she sat. Taking a sip from the plastic cup in her hand, the witch sniffed the air and relished the mixed scents of sea and food. She'd been day dreaming again, and was brought out of it with a light nudge to her side. "I was saying, I bet you five bucks that I can get everyone running into the water by the end of the night."

( Give Me a Reason )

Crosslegged on the carpet, Rhiannon sifted through a file cabinet full of clues to her life. She found old bills, insurance records and certificates, the most interesting item a transcript from art school. Her two lives closely mirrored each other, which relieved her. It made the memories overlap better. The biggest challenge was figuring out which world events hadn't occurred yet, like the curtain that still hung over the supernatural.

A file marked 'The Garden' caught her eye. Upon opening it, she discovered invoices for property damage to a plate-glass window, as well as a canceled check. In March 2009, Rhiannon had paid $850 to the local floral shop. The owner was Purity Storms.

"Get the fuck out of town. A florist?" She jumped up, laced boots on her feet, and headed out of the house. The mid-morning sun beat down on the Slayer's face, so that she squinted even behind the protection of sunglasses. At the end of the sidewalk, she took a left, her memories of the shop's location coming back in fragments. Picturing the witch was harder, especially when she tried to willfully set aside what she knew of Purity from Chicago. Was she a practicing witch here? Was she dumped in this place, too, or was this girl entirely separate from the one she knew and lived with? "Please, please, please... know who I am."

White Siberia Lilies. Sunset Gerbera. Blue Iris. Pink Asiatic Lilies... All names that she shouldn't have known, and yet standing in the middle of the small shop, Purity was starting to recognize them. Some she had no clue, but little by little tiny snippets of the life she had taken over were seeping into her mind. Like wading through water while it was foggy. When she'd gotten... Home? It had been like a treasure hunt.

( Re-Connecting )