Low Tide

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 )

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]

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 )

The Ocean Key hotel, a white and blue fortress near Mallory Square, played host to some of Key West's wealthiest visitors. With a liquid lounge, spa and fitness center, restaurant featuring tropical cuisine, and access to the Sunset Pier, the resort spared no expense in providing a vacation experience for its clients to remember.

Luckily, they weren't big on privacy.

Rhiannon walked up to the receptionist, asked for a guest by name, and bingo: 451... apparently a corner suite with balcony overlooking the water. The Ocean Key was the third hotel she tried, simply because of all the windows. One would think pulling all those curtains would be a pain in the ass. Guess not.

( Looking for a Redhead )

Body disposal was nothing short of dirty work, from the moving of the body to the dispatching of certain parts of the anatomy that would hasten an identification.

The fortunate thing about Bethany Richards was her willingness to get her hands dirty, to finish the brutality she’d started, so she didn’t flinch when she did what needed to be done. It was truly amazing what one could do with a pair of wire cutters, pliers and knife, if you truly put your mind to it and had the ferocity that the ill deed required.

The neighbourhood was by far the roughest that this new city had to offer, which was perfect for this. Nobody asked questions and nobody stopped to inquire as to what an attractive blonde was doing in the dark alley with a set of tools usually seen on tool belts or kitchens.

Long hair had been swept back into a highly efficient plait that was then curled around on itself, forming a low bun, keeping wayward strands from escaping and ruining her vision.

( Nothing Personal )

( Introductions )

Izzy entered Bull & Whistle after the end of a very long and trying day at the hotel. For whatever reason, it seemed most of the guests hadn't figured out what they wanted to do when they got to Key West. Izzy had been running ragged all day, setting up last minute reservations for this activity or that on top of helping those who were doing their planning in advance.

Why her alternate picked hospitality management, the witch had no idea, but she knew if she'd stayed any later, there might have been a homicide. At least now the workday was done and she could relax, and she'd changed out of her work clothes before walking over to the bar. It was crowded, but not oppressively so, and there was even a spot open at the bar, score! Izzy slid into the open seat and ordered a margarita, letting her fingers tap on the bar in time with the music from the band playing on stage.

The Bull and Whistle was a long-time fixture of the island. The first floor was dark, rustic, and open-air on two sides. The walls it did have were painted in murals of famous Key West personalities. On the second floor, the windows and balcony overlooked Old Town. On the foliage-heavy roof, clothing was optional.

( Rubbing Elbows )

After two weeks of avoidance, Rhiannon walked into Lower Keys Medical Center to sign paperwork, settle up her bills with an insurance card, and ask a few questions. Because it was the easiest part, she went to the business office first. She got a dirty look when the account representative pulled up her patient record and figured out Rhiannon had climbed out of bed and skipped out, without medical clearance or check-out paperwork. Rhiannon's terse response of, 'Whatever, listen, I don't have time for this,' didn't go over well, either. There were things she wanted to get done. Receiving a lecture from a woman with press-on nails wasn't on the list.

After taking care of the payment situation, she walked outside and went around to the Emergency entrance, since it was easier than navigating the maze of windowless hallways. An ambulance out front idled and clogged up the air with exhaust, its paramedics shooting the shit before going back to the station. Weaving past them, she entered the sliding doors to the waiting room, which was pretty empty at 2pm on a weekday.

( Doctor Lowe )

( Okay, That's Weird )

Sometimes life just wasn't fair. Izzy had come to that conclusion years ago but recent events served to reinforce it.

Christmas had been a disaster. She'd gotten a family in this dimension, one where her previous self had grown up in wealth and privilege, but one that was completely dysfunctional.

The witch tried not to think about it too much as she stood in line at her favorite coffee shop for her daily mocha and muffin. There wasn't anything she could do about her family right now and if she kept thinking about it she would only get depressed.

Jenny, too, felt more than anything that life wasn't fair. She was late getting off on her lunch break and as such she was rushing to get to her favorite coffee shop. She could have waited at the Starbucks outside the hospital, but she really didn't like the way that they made the coffee, or their cakes, for that matter.
( The mage and the mind reader )

GW smiled and waved as his last (and youngest) student in the 12:30 karate class left the room with her mother, and then breathed a silent sigh of relief. Mrs. Jenkins had been not-so-subtly trying to pick him up for a few weeks now and he'd been doing his best to indicate he wasn't interested, short of actually telling the woman off, as he made a point not to date other men's wives. If Sally wasn't such a dedicated and gifted student, he'd probably have tried to find another instructor for her to go to, but the girl was a joy to teach.

The Cajun took a swig from his water bottle and then checked his watch; he had a good half hour before his next class. That meant he had a little time to stretch and practice some of his more advanced katas before the students started trickling in.

Old Town Fitness was a modest building with dark windows and a sea-green front. The owners could've just as easily sold tire rims in there as taught fitness classes; from the outside, one couldn't tell what went on inside. Hannah had passed it before, back when it was called Iron Bodies. Being a naturally petite sort who walked her dog and liked to swim, organized fitness didn't make the list of things Hannah was burning to try. A pilates video in her Christmas stocking had put the nail in that coffin, thanks to a particularly grueling set of flutter kicks and a pulled ass muscle. And that was that.

( Or Its Diminutive Friend )

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. :) ]

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.

Christmas Day, 2009

Christmas had always been Izzy's favorite of the Christian holidays. While she'd never been all that religious growing up, her mother had tried to make Christmas a special time for her daughter. They'd always had a tiny tree and decorations, and on Christmas Day her mother had cooked up a traditional dinner, one of the few times a year she actually had the time to spend on elaborate meals or cooking in general. Presents had been mostly practical items: clothes, school books and the like, but usually there were one or two small frivolities to open and enjoy.

That was in her old life though. In her stepfather's household the tree was an enormous thing nearly brushing the ceiling, and the witch thought the decorations alone had to cost a small fortune. Stockings for all family members hung from the mantle of the fireplace, and a cackling fire provided both heat and a cheery glow to the room.

If only the atmosphere was as cheery as the appearance suggested.
( Can't choose family )

[Note: The Characters of Geoff, Frances, and Bobby were written by Stargazer]

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 )

The park was rapidly becoming Mallory's favorite place to spend an afternoon, especially as Christmas loomed closer. It was both time spent outdoors and time spent pondering matters great and small, namely things that didn't revolve around her current situation. Not that that list was miles long right now, but still. She'd take what she could get.

The redhead was seated at one of the picnic tables, looking at the light traffic beyond the park's edge. Key West wasn't exactly a buzzing metropolis, but she liked the quiet of it. It sure beat someplace like Leavenworth, hands down. A scooter's horn beeped, and she lifted a hand at the driver, one of the book store's regular customers. felt more or less settled, at least for the moment. Life was kind of nice right now.

Afternoon was more like evening by the time Boden strayed within the limits of the park, having not been home since the altercation with something nasty in the alley near the place where this other him lived, its teeth had been far bigger than the size of its jaw would have had him believe. Thankfully as out of shape this body was for hunting its current owner knew exactly where to hit and did so with such precision that it had brought the monster to its knees before finally ending its life.

Not without a few souvenirs in the form of cuts and bruises, all of which would heal, soon enough. Boden just needed the time to rest and he didn’t feel as if he could get that at home – with that woman who was apparently quite attached to him – there’d be too many questions and he wasn’t quite ready for that.

( Not So Familiar )

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 )

GW waved goodbye as the taillights of Henri's van sped off down the street after dropping him off at the Marina. They'd had a couple gigs up in Miami and the upper keys over the weekend and it had been easier for all the band to go up together, and it certainly saved on the gas!

It had been a profitable trip, both in exposure and money, but traffic had been terrible. GW had spent the last eight hours in a van crammed full of musicians and gear during the ride back to Key West, and the Cajun was definitely ready to stretch his legs. He really needed to decide what he was going to concentrate on professionally, trying to juggle fitness/martial art instruction and music was getting to be a hassle.

That thought in mind, GW hefted his guitar case and duffel bag and started down the dock toward his boat.

"No, would'ja listen, I--" Whistler paced to and fro in front of his houseboat, glowering at the static voice in his ear. He hated phone calls with the Council. They always knew best. Forget that their ranks were decimated almost a decade ago, their headquarters destroyed by a bomb. An enemy they didn't see coming. They were blind to the obvious.
( Meeting again for the first time )

You know what Vicky doesn't need?

Some guy on vacation from Nevada, called 'Misty, The Snow Clown', getting weirdly obsessed with her at a bar she thought would make for a nice evening out. That's what Vicky doesn't need.

Creepiest childrens' entertainer, ever...

It should have been elementary, should have been easy to figure out, but this new world had turned her around until Bethany could no longer tell what was and wasn’t, it had taken the reality of the moment such as it was for Bethany to latch onto a part of herself that had been caged, shackled by confusion and lost in doubt.

All it had taken was for her fingers to curl around the woman’s neck, blunt tips of nails digging into skin leaving traces of crescent shaped moons behind, and the desperate scramble for air for Bethany to realise that it wasn’t a matter of biding her time.

It was about seizing the day, putting an end to all of this and shutting the girl's mouth once and for all. She'd barely even blinked as the girl had finally slipped, disregarding her plea filled eyes in favour of squeezing the last remnants of life from her. It was too easy, it always was, especially as she had no attachment to the girl.

( Vanishing Act )

“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

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 )