Low Tide

Keeping character active.

Keeping character active.

Test

"Is everything on this island tropical themed?"

From his post at the door, Darian thought it a fair question. He had steered clear of tiki huts, floating bars, dueling pianos, and the cloying strains of Jimmy Buffett tunes, which left him with little in the way of choice. This bar was less thematic than most, but even it boasted a palm tree made of a neon tubing and a specialty drink served in a coconut. He took off a lightweight coat and hung it from a hook near his chair... A hook which, on closer inspection, was shaped like a pelican beak.

So that issue was settled, at least. He was in hell.

Upon sitting down, he straightened his tie and looked around. Roxanne, the client he chased to the island, was more adept at staying off his radar than Darian could've imagined. She was not a guest in any hotel. He concluded that she'd settled herself in for a long-term stay, perhaps taken up a job and an apartment share (it was either that or admit the worse alternative-- that she'd already left the island, leaving him picking sand out of his teeth, without a clue as to her next destination).

( Awakening )

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 )

Steam billowed into the bathroom from the shower as the door opened and a slender arm emerged, reaching for a pink towel hanging on a nearby hook. After wrapping the towel around her torso and tucking the end in on itself Izzy stepped out of the shower and grabbed another towel to start the process of drying off her hair.

The bathroom was similar to how her bedroom had been when she'd first woken up in this dimension, dominated by pink, and she'd never gotten around to changing it. Pink towels, pink bathmats, pink toothbrush in a pink holder sitting on the bathroom sink, anything that could be accessorized with pink her other self had taken the opportunity to do it. The witch half wondered why the bath tile and porcelain wasn't customized to be pink as well, it would seem right up Isabelle's alley.

She picked up a brush and looked in the mirror as she started the process of getting her hair untangled before using the hairdryer.
( mirror mirror )

[Note: Mirror!Izzy was NPC'd by Kate.]

Silence.

If Rhiannon opens the windows, she'll hear a breeze in the palms, the tinkle of a neighbor's windchimes, a bottle clanking in a streetside garbage can. But that's it. No sirens, no arguments, no car horns, no mess. Even the waves are quiet in Key West.

Lately, sleep is tricky. Two nights in a row, Rhiannon crawled out of bed at 4am and crashed on the couch with the television playing background noise. I just need the ugly noise of the world, she thought.

It always used to drown out the noise in her head. Peace via whirlwind of chaos.

( If Mirrors Could Talk )

[NPC 'Rhiannon' was written by Paul.]

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 )

( Voicemail for Hayden )

When he went through his notes, Connor felt another piece of the puzzle click into place as far as his schoolwork went. He'd been assigned to a project to design a rough copy of a video game and then present it to the professor at the end of the semester. Some of the details were still fuzzy, but he'd sat up for most of the night poriing over his books and the work he'd already done. Still, he had decided to go ahead and pay a visit to his advisor, just in case there were other options open.

The campus of FKCC was smallish but well-kept, the newly built dorms catching the Destroyer's attention as he parked his motorcycle in the lot. He unslung his backpack and opened it to give the contents a final look. He'd made an appointment for twelve o'clock, and the light traffic had allowed him to be twenty minutes early. He walked at a leisurely pace, thinking that this place would be dwarfed in comparison to UCLA, where he'd tried the college route before. Then again, a smaller campus meant less pressure, at least for him. At least this time around he hadn't rushed into anything.

He opened the door at the Student Services building, then held it for a girl carrying an unwieldy stack of books. She muttered a thanks and Connor listened to his shoes make noise on the tiles as he walked down the silent hall. It was just a meeting, that was all. Like Whistler said, he could always change his major. At least he'd know what his choices were.

( Details )




[NPC Shannon written by Kate]

One of the things GW really enjoyed about Key West was the festive atmosphere that permeated the city year round. It reminded him of New Orleans back home in Louisiana with the mix of cultures and how there was always something going on. For a professional musician it was a paradise. With the dense collection of bars and clubs and a thriving live music scene, it wasn't hard for a good band to find gigs.

Today though, he was on his own and for once there were no classes to teach or maintenance to perform on his boat. The Cajun stood in the gardens of the Oldest House, conch in hand and waiting his turn to blow on the shell and participate in the 48th Conch Shell Blowing Contest. He'd been practicing with the natural instrument, and judging from some of the other contestants it was a good thing he had. Who knew so many different sounds could come out of a crustacean's shell?

A few spots ahead of him, a petite blonde stood hugging an enormous conch shell. The outside of it was still pearly pink, but the inside had been hand-painted into a vibrant ocean landscape. Hurricane Hannah's was written in curly letters across the blue sky. While waiting for her turn, Hannah ran her thumb over the nodules of the shell, only stopping when she came across a prominent one that reminded her of a nipple. Grimacing, she flailed a bit. "Eww."

( There She Blows? )

"I'm leaving for my lunch break now, Ian," Mallory said after wiping a streak of dust from the bottom shelf and tucking the cleaning rag back behind the counter. "I should be back in about forty-five minutes. If Chad decides to grace us with his presence today, tell him he can break down the boxes in the back because I'm not doing it this time." Chad was the new hire, but the redhead doubted he'd last long since he seemed to have the work ethic of a sausage. Never mind. More hours on the paycheck meant more money at the end of the week.

The roommate search was not going well. She'd interviewed four candidates thus far, and the only girl who'd proven acceptable as far as being employed and semi-responsible turned out to be allergic to dogs. The next step was to put up a notice on Craigslist and see what happened there. Other than that, life seemed to have smoothed out at the edges a little. She was glad she'd decided to have lunch with Izzy this afternoon, if only for something to take her mind off of things.

At least the morning sickness had subsided. She hadn't barfed today. Thank God for small favors.

Izzy checked her watch as she walked as quick as she could in a business skirt and heels without actually running, since she'd been delayed by a last minute phone call from a customer wanting to book a restaurant reservation for when he and his family were in town next weekend. Spring Break was starting up soon, and the relative quiet at the hotel would be a pleasant memory for the next several months.
( chit chat and surprise offers )

There were many things Boden could handle, but a normal happy life was not one of those things. He couldn’t function the way he was meant to function in this normal happy life, he couldn’t be who he was when he was too busy being compared to a man who was no longer there, no longer present.

To continue here would be unfair to himself and to the woman that had loved the other him, the better more functional one.

With that in mind, Boden saw no other alternative: he had to leave. He had been born a monster who had been turned into a soldier, a hunter, and to turn his back on that was near impossible.

( Miserable Try )

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 )

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 )

Isabelle Shaw wasn't the sort of woman who was used to being ignored, in any universe. She didn't consider herself snooty (though she was reasonably sure the version of her that had been here before had been) but when she gave a guy her phone number or email, the last thing she expected was the sound of silence. Granted, Izzy hadn't been in the habit of handing out her number to men that often, but when she did she usually got a call back. So not hearing back from Hayden had been something of a shock, and she'd fully intended to call him sooner than this, but then a certain vampire had used her for a late night snack.

That memory still rankled, and the witch intended to do something about it, eventually. Hayden could help her with that, but she was interested in more than just brushing up on her voodoo. The man had been a good friend to her in the other universe, and Izzy wanted to get that friendship reestablished. The future was wide open here, after all.

So, considering herself sufficiently healed from the vampire bite that she wouldn't have to answer any awkward questions, Izzy had decided to go on the offensive. Which was why she stood on the porch of Hayden's house and knocking on his door.

( A Talk That Goes in Unexpected Directions )

( Salt )

Note: this takes place before the events of 'hunger pangs'

It wasn’t often that Jenny got time off work, her hours were hectic, her free time was spent sleeping or catching up on the important things she had missed. She didn’t get much of a chance to just go out and do things that interested her, particularly since at the moment her brother was crashing down at her place and she needed to get some time away.

Granted, standing in a large bookstore, perusing the medical section and looking at other text books. Her finger ran along the spines of books like Med School Confidential and Current Medical Diagnosis and Treatment 2010. It went from the technical books that would make her spin to Medical Terminology for Dummies which she picked up and opened, flicking through idly to see what was inside. She had never read any of the ‘for dummies’ books before.
( fancy meeting you here. )