Low Tide

At least he had a job he knew he could do.

Critical Mass was a dance club in the middle of the strip on Duval Street, and now that the holidays were over the place was starting to do more business. Connor had been on floor duty for forty-five minutes, and he made his customary pass by the bar to check for troublemakers. He was dressed casually, fitting in with the other patrons. He was the last person anyone expected to bounce them out if they got too rambunctious. He'd found earplugs in the bathroom at the house before leaving for work, and he was grateful for the protection of his hearing at the moment. Way-too-loud music was one of the reasons he'd never cared for the club scene.

The Destroyer got a cup of water from the bartender, sipped at it as he headed for the stairs that led to the upper level. He'd apparently worked out the timing so he could make his rounds on a consistent basis, and he nodded at another member of the security staff as they passed each other on the steps. All in all, this wasn't a bad way to make money.

( A Re-Acquainting, Sort Of )

Avery had been on the campus of Florida Keys Community College. He had forgotten why. Maybe it had been to feed. But the vampire had suddenly been struck with something. It hadn't been physical, at least, he didn't think so. The dark was suddenly upon him on all sides. Confused, he had begun walking ... and walked directly into a concrete pillar.

He had had to sit down, close his eyes. It was like being heavily intoxicated. Time slipped by without his realizing, and when his eyelids began to burn red, Avery realized with a sharp bolt of fear that it was now day. The vampire was directly in a bright ray of sunlight, and ... he wasn't burning. There wasn't even pain. Slowly, he opened his eyes and stood.

"No way."

Corbett was used to doing his research and lesson-planning in the comfort of a quiet office or a dimly-lit library, but December was so nice in Key West that he found himself sitting outside. A laptop sat to his left, a stack of history texts to his right as the Watcher jotted notes into a yellow legal pad. Such warm temperatures this late in the year took some getting used to, but Corbett certainly wasn't going to complain.

( Indecent Exposure )

Long after the last cruise ship left port, Hannah closed out her register. The vendors of Mallory Square lounged in folding chairs and on stools. They talked amongst one another, arms propped behind their hands and flip-flops dangling off their toes. Some packed up their goods for the night. Since Hurricane Hannah's was a cart, all the proprietor needed to do was pull down an aluminum door and lock it. She took her time stuffing items in her shoulder bag, which contained the day's necessities: a notebook, gel pens, phone, keys, sunglasses, chapstick, and enough fruit-flavored gum to give a person TMJ.

Hannah set it on the pavement and began to pull the rolling door into place. Unfortunately, its tendency to get off-track flared up. "Crap," she grumbled and dropped her belongings. Hannah hated technical difficulties, like getting a flat tire on her moped, locking herself out of her garage apartment, and the rare occasion when her cash drawer jammed. Nice as people on the island were, it was embarrassing to encounter problems a can of WD-40 wouldn't fix.

"And breeeeaathe," she coaxed herself. Hannah shook out her arms. Ugh, people were staring. Maybe if she gave the door some time to think about its actions, it would cooperate. "On a count of three," she coached, "You're going to roll all the way down, got it? One. Two... Three." She heaved the door up, then slammed it down again.

( A Little Help Here? )

Maybe it had been a bad decision to leave Vegas in such a hurry.

It was eight o'clock at night, and Cassidy was fumbling for her sunglasses to put them on against the glare of streetlights as she made her way down the sidewalk. She was hung over, and she'd been hung over for a couple of days now. The problem with hangovers was that only more booze could ease the pain,and she found herself relying on the bottle to get her through even those short days. A drinking problem at forty. How unoriginal.

She could hear the tide going out, and she padded down to the sand. Her rental was close enough to the beach that the early tide woke her up, but she'd been avoiding the outdoors. She'd been half-drunk when she made the plane reservations, and caught her flight on a wave of schnapps-fueled indignation. Can her, would they? Well, she didn't need them. She still had her looks and her talent. She'd get by.

The question was...how.

( Everyone Is a Tourist )

Avery liked book stores. He always liked them better than libraries. No one glared at you when you spoke, and you didn't have to worry about forgetting to return the books, or messing them up. When the vampire had eaten regular food, he had liked to read at the same time. Nowadays, that wasn't really a possibility. He tried to picture himself reading a paperback while biting someone and drinking their blood. No, that didn't seem feasible.

It was about forty-five minutes before the small store closed. He browsed the stacks, but also kept an eye on the lone employee who stood behind a crowded-looking counter. She was ringing someone up. Avery turned his attention back to the top shelf. Up there were books recommended by staff, complete with little index cards explaining why he should read them. He pulled down a graphic novel that caught his attention, and examined the card. It was recommended by someone named Mallory.

After the last customer had left, Avery approached the counter. Holding up the book and the card, he asked, "Did you write this? The recommendation, I mean, not the book."

"Yeah, why?"

( A Short Walk )

He sat on a bench on the Stock Island campus of Florida Keys Community College. His eyes were trained on the Cow Key Channel, which separated the campus from the rest of Key West. When Avery had first heard the name, he had laughed. The school was small by modern standards, like a microcosm of a larger university. It suited the vampire's needs, though. He had found someone, she'd been studying late at the library -- that had brought back a small piece of nostalgia -- and he walked alongside her. Using his words to distract and corral her, they had ended up near the waterfront. Avery had bitten her, just like that. No pretense. She tried to scream, but he muffled it. Besides the two fang marks in her neck, he didn't hurt her.

The vampire pretended to lose his grip on her, and she ran. Dropping her bag, too caught up in her own escape to notice he wasn't giving chase. Now he remained on the campus, and he knew that wasn't the smartest of moves. But it had been an hour and security hadn't come calling. The girl had probably gone straight home.

He felt as if a lead weight had settled inside him somewhere, and he was rooted to that bench. When had the water become so hypnotic to him?

As was often the case, Corbett had been so wrapped up in his work that he had lost track of time. The Watcher always tried to leave campus before the sun set; a man his age had better things to do than go face-to-face with a vampire or other sort of supernatural beast. Though Corbett had been a hand-to-hand combat expert in his younger years, time had robbed him of some of his strength and quickness. Already limited by the constraints of humanity, Corbett found that age was a further inhibitor.

( Best of Luck )