Low Tide

Wynne was hungover, and it wasn't from booze or drugs. The night before had passed in a blur, but he did know he had pushed past his own limits...and that wasn't always a good thing. Waking up in a strange place with empty pockets, it was severely discomfiting. His mouth was dry, and he didn't have money to get a drink. He ran a pale hand over his face, felt day-and-a-half old stubble.

He walked down the sidewalk, the sun ever present no matter how much he tried to seek shade under the awnings of store fronts. Wynne scanned the vicinity for any sort of familiar face, but it was a weak effort. Most of the people he had gotten to know in Key West were of a more nocturnal sort. They were all probably sleeping comfortably in their beds.

The sun was making its glorious appearance now that most of the cloud cover had blown away, and Cassidy put on her shades against the glare as she exited the post office. Bit of a hangover from last night, and her head was still feeling a little thick. She was going to have to stop making Duval Street her second home.

The bottle of water she was carrying got uncapped, and she took a slow drink as she ambled down the sidewalk. She would need lunch soon, but something light so as not to threaten her stomach. This afternoon, there was to be more furniture shopping.

( Charity of Sorts )

He had attended the class with a friend. He wasn't sure why he had agreed. If pressed, Wynne would have explained that he had two hours to kill. Truthfully, he had always been fascinated with sitting in on other people's lives. That's why he had liked going round to his mates' for dinner when he was younger. Seeing different meal-time rituals, the small disagreements that were foreign to him. It was like that here, except without food.

He hadn't really been bored, but his mind wandered. The professor would say something and that would set Wynne on his own mental tangent. Perhaps that had explained his poor marks in school.

The period had ended, and the students had shuffled out. Wynne forgot where he was, and he sat at a desk, staring at his sunglasses which lay folded upon the surface. They slowly began to float upward; a centimeter at first, then an inch. His record for holding an object up was eight minutes.

Since he was only teaching one class this semester, Corbett knew he didn't have to immediately bolt from the classroom on his way to some other obligation on campus. The Watcher took his time collecting the materials of the day, stuffing lecture notes into a manila folder before unplugging the laptop hooked to the classroom projector; while Corbett was by no means a technological expert, he learned early on just how valuable a PowerPoint presentation was when used in conjunction with a lecture.

( Probably just as well )

Wynne Barber sat at a round table shaded by a brightly-colored umbrella, sunglasses on and a drink by his side. He was thumbing through his cell phone, his free hand massaging his temple. His stepfather had taken him out to a new club opening the night before; Roger Barber was friends with the proprietors. Things like being underage didn't matter when one had a VIP pass, but that novelty had long worn off. It was still a drag to be out with your old man. Even worse to watch him ogle women the same age as his stepson.

The anti-glare screen did little against the noonday sun, and he set the handset on a table with a sigh. The ice in his drink had melted, but he sipped it anyway. Strictly San Pellegrino; he had been lucky to avoid a full-blown hangover, and Wynne wasn't about to push that luck.

The waitress from the restaurant brought out his meal, and he managed a wan smile. Picking up his fork, he speared a piece of salmon and brought it to his mouth. The day was looking sunny with a chance of dull.

Finding someone was easy, even when you weren't in the same state, as long as you had something that belonged to them. The watch had been the closest thing Peter could find once he found the apartment empty, and once he got to his pre-booked hotel room the spell was easy to perform. Locator spells were the easiest, practically child's play.

( How Not to Play Nicely )



[NPC Peter written by Stargazer]