Low Tide

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 )

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 )

Being chained to somebody was more inconvenient than Hayden realized.

Getting out of the Jeep at the two-story house was bad enough. He tried to be a gentleman; he let Bethany exit the passenger side and climbed across the gearshift to do the same. Then there was the blonde's facial expression when she realized he was a renter... A renter who only had the bottom floor of a modest building, which he crammed with second-hand furniture. He wasn't used to spending time with snobs, but here he was, literally attached to one, and it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut.

Later, when she announced her desire for a shower, it got worse. With several feet of chain between them, Hayden had to outstretch his arm and stand in the doorway. The door of his shower stall was made of distortion-glass, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw flesh-colored woman twisting and turning. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them. "How you plan to get dressed, I don't know," he said over the water. "Unless your outfit doesn't require you to stick your arm through it. Which leaves what... a tube top?" Actually, that kind-of cracked him up. The only alternative was a blouse that buttoned at the shoulders, 1980s style. He supposed she could stick her arm through, but that ate up precious links of chain, and they might end up touching.

And this is just the first hurdle. Wait 'til sleeping arrangements.

( No Personal Space )

After her friend's "unfortunate" disappearance, Bethany's life had improved tenfold. She'd gotten her claws on that well-deserved promotion and had been bringing in changes to the work place fast, meaning she no longer wished to carve chunks out of people or remove eyeballs from sockets. It wasn't a permanent solution, but it would suffice for the time being. Bethany did have her eyes set elsewhere, but she needed collateral before she could lose the job. All in good time.

Given that she was and would always be a woman of her vices, Bethany had grown rather fond of a coffee brewed by a store not that far from where she lived. It had to be completely black with no sugar before she drank it though.

( Standing in Line, Minding Their Own Business, When... )

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 )

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 )

Cassidy managed to find a good sandwich shop on one of her wandering trips around Key West, and it was close enough to the beach that she could watch the water while she ate her lunch. It was getting dark way too early for her taste, and it seemed like the streets rolled up a lot earlier than she was used to. Still, she was getting so she liked it in a quieter place. Maybe she really was getting a little too old for bright lights.

She had ordered a tuna melt and cheese fries, and she added a little vinegar to the fries before eating a few of them. Tomorrow was grocery run day. She was pondering getting a washer and dryer, because the nearest laundromat was scuzzy. Fortunately her money wasn't going to run out anytime soon, and she had a few investments that were still paying off. If things got tight, she could go through some of the stuff she'd gotten from past admirers. She really only needed so much stuff these days.

The sandwich was very good, and she had another bite before washing it down with some orange soda. Life might have slowed down, but it didn't have to be in a bad way. It could even turn out to be pretty good.

( Yellow Raining Down )

( Osmosis )

The front yard was almost grassless, and Mallory reminded herself that Hayden lived in the bottom half of the house and not the top. She'd been by Abandon Ship! earlier only to find him not there, but the day bartender had been nice enough to direct her. She walked up the concrete path to the porch, rapped lightly on the door. Hopefully he wouldn't be too pissed about her interrupting his day off.

"At least it's for a good cause," the redhead muttered. "To me it's a good cause anyway."

Hayden sprawled on his couch under the lazy circulation of his ceiling fan. A Magnum, P.I. marathon played on the television. He got sucked in around lunchtime and two hours later he was still watching. Halfway into the first episode, he had drawn an uncomfortable parallel between Tom Selleck's shorts and his own and gotten up to change his pants, just in case they looked anywhere near that tight. Or short. Otherwise, his brain stayed on autopilot. A bag of ruffled potato chips rested on his stomach, a glass of Coke on the table behind his head. Periodically, he reached backwards and awkwardly maneuvered it to his mouth while trying not to spill.

( Taking a Walk )

( Uncomfortable Story Time )

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 )

Katherine was meeting with marginal success in Key West. The one good thing which was going for it seemed to be the nightlife, in the hedonistic vampire's view. Unless contracted for something, the brunette tended to spend her time in almost petty constant attempts to prove herself. But getting drunk and simply having fun tearing up either the local town - or just the locals in it - was ideal. Every so often, Katherine spent her time going to literal war zones, immersing herself in killing mentality where nobody would question finding corpses. More to the point, they provided her with a challenge, but then came the other times... Times when she got bored of them, like playing a particularly violent computer game for too long.

It was like that now. The island provided her with a place to simply sit back and enjoy things. With a mentality like Katherine's, though, it was not long before the impulsive need to do something won out.

Lucky Hayden. For it was into his bar the brunette had wandered, already just drunk enough to feel free-spirited and, as the hour wore on, seeming to veer between giving out an uproar of laughter in joking conversation and, somehow, taking exception to what were perceived as offensive comments or looks directed at her. The smiles of before always vanishing as she growled out a demand for an apology.

"An' if there's one thing I can - hey! That song! Leave that fucker on!"

( Drunk in Public )

( Fanged Embrace )

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 )

Abandon Ship!, a nautical-themed bar, opened onto a wharf at the Historic Seaport Walk. In its former life, the building was a seafood restaurant, and on the scalding hot days of summer, the kitchen still smelled of fried shrimp. Its co-proprietor, Hayden, had been a bartender in a tiki hut prior to securing a small business loan from the bank. Though he came to work in a collared shirt instead of a tee now, he considered it a fair trade, because he no longer had to wear a lei or listen to a Hawaiian guy play 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' on ukulele. The staff was small in the off-season, just three bartenders and five waitstaffers. Hayden and his partner pitched in where needed.

He liked day shifts. Slow business meant he could grab a book, duck outside, and sit on the deck furniture. Boats, gulls, and sloshing ocean water made good white noise for reading his book on pirating, which he picked up from The Next Chapter. Looking at the sticker on the back, Hayden thought about Mallory and how she hadn't come in for that drink.

Aidan had stared at the schedule in his own handwriting that hung from a garish tourist-theme magnet on the refrigerator in his bright pink kitchen for a good minute or two before it clicked in his head. He had planned to spend his time going over paint swatches for the kitchen - unable to believe that he, or rather, his alter-self, hadn't gotten around to repainting as yet - but what was clearly a work schedule had him booked for the better part of the day. It was something of a switch; Aidan had left his life when he worked a sporadic schedule and still received a steady paycheck. Having written, controlled hours would take some getting used to.

( Just a Little Advice )

The afternoon sky was blue and virtually cloudless, the wind strong enough to steer everything but a few cirrus clouds away from the island. Hayden started out the Saturday in his driveway, washing sea salt and dust off his Jeep. Since it was mid-November, he wore jeans and a short-sleeved, plaid shirt over his tee. At least the sun didn't bake the suds on the paint before he could grab the hose. Afterwards, the legs of his pants were wet but clean, as opposed to the laundry towering in a corner of his bedroom. Yeah, he'd get on that... As soon as he was done with every other chore he could dream up. He grabbed an armload of books, his keys, and his wallet, then he headed out.

Hayden was an outdoorsy guy; Exercising and working with his hands kept him in a good mood. He also liked to read on his back porch, a dilapidated square only wide enough to cram a rusty chair on, if he propped his feet on the rail. Out there, he spent the early afternoons devouring books before his shifts at the bar. He read historical perspectives and biographies, finding most fiction too fluffy to keep his attention. He liked stories he could sink his teeth into, stories that helped him wrap his brain around the world.

At the used shop, he held open the door for a customer and ducked inside. The odor of old paper hung thick and dust motes floated by the window. He unloaded his trade-ins on the counter.

( Just a Sec! )