Brennan was not connected, especially upon his return. He avoided social media like the plague, he didn't cast tabloids or newspapers a second glance. The added stimuli were chaotic at best.. and all this desperate man wanted to do was somehow get his shit together. As much as the wayward soul could. He wasn't entirely capable of not fucking up one damn thing in his life. He could barely get the magic part right. Or love. His life was in ruin and it was a bloody joke at his expense. He still felt twitchy at sounds on the street, wondering when the next creature would be sent to hunt him down. Or perhaps this was all just a twisted manipulative dream and he would find he had never left hell at all. The irish man entirely missed that scowl on the fae's face, peering off at the bar, temporarily meddling within his own thoughts.

He may not have been sure about many things, he could be as clueless as a sailor without a map. But one thing he was sure about, his motherland was beautiful and had a lot to offer. He knew he wouldn't be disappointed and part him, so desperately wanted to return, at least for a visit. Maybe once all of this was over. Maybe.. He wasn't convinced that there was an end to all of this.

"You might want to prepare yourself for disappointment, mate." How could he truly believe that this world was made up of mostly good people? Say that to the father that didn't pay child support. The man who beats his wife, the woman who is so vain she cannot give a care of the suffering around her. The world was not made up of good people, it was made of selfishness, betrayal, and disloyal scoundrels. Perhaps he was one of them. He certainly was not a hero in this story called life, not that that ever bothered him. It was the hero that died young after all.

You can't fix what is truly broken, you can only slap a band-aid on it and hope it heals somewhat less fucked up than before.

Money, he hardly needed now, he needed something far more particular. Perhaps, what an old fae could provide. On second thought, Dorian seemed to be under the guise that the world consisted of many good people. If it weren't for that reaction and that utterance of blood magic, he would have assumed this fairy had nothing to offer. That was until the conversation shifted to that simple utterance of blood magic. At least it sounded like it should have been powerful enough, the exact fuel he needed to defeat his demon or at the very least tame it. He needed something potent, he needed something that would make devil's quake in their boots. His gaze was steady, unwavering, unafraid. He had seen scary, he had experienced and somehow survived hell itself. He could handle a little blood and a little magic. The idea was intriguing, a small flicker of hope in a sea of black hopelessness.

"I am alive, Dorian. I survived hell itself and I can say I am still standing. All of this.." He waved an idle hand at nothing and everything. "Is just details.." That roguish smile finds his lips. He was looking at a very dismal fate should he not find a way. Fate was a funny, fickle thing. It had a way of bringing you what you needed, should you dare to be open to those cryptic possibilities. Of course, fate was just as much against him as much as it aided him.

Fate was as fickle as a woman.

The fae man was incredibly perspective almost too much that it made him feel a little uncomfortable in his seat. It was obvious that the two men would not see eye to eye on a lot of things, but he actually found himself not minding the fairy. He did fight for life, risked everything just for a chance to return to this chaos of a world. "Perhaps.." Was all he said with a cryptic nuance. Dorian was right though, on at least one account.. he simply couldn't live in a world where Sera didn't exist. He knew the sacrifice he would have to give just to come back here.. He knew he would die in hell if he didn't make that deal. He might not even be sitting here if that were the case.

That very comment of women brought a hint of a fleeting smile upon his lips, that they could agree on and yet he was a sucker for them all the same. It was always a woman that had him wrapped around their dainty fingertips. Mind you, it just wasn't any woman. The women that capture his attention were not common, to say the least. It took a certain kind of lady to keep this wily warlock on his toes. Dorian reached out to rest a hand on the warlock's arm, a gesture not many have done. Compassion. How long had it been since he had actually been touched, not even in a sexual way but just touched in way that wasn't meant to strike.

"I can make that promise to you." It was simple enough, was it not? He had no intentions of dragging the king of Italy into his pandemonium of demons and blood magic. If his books offered him some kind of help in the right direction, it was the very least he could do. "Consider your home and the vicinity around it safe." He nodded, content he might actually have a chance.. or at least a new rabbit hole to fall into. He would ravage every last one until his time ran out. What would he have to give into order to be deemed even? "A favour should not equate a soul." He thought about it, but he knew all too well that demon's did not work out of the goodness of their own heart. They worked in souls. In death.

He had a lot to mull over, too many things to take into careful consideration. But the more he thought of it, he knew he was up the creek without a paddle. God damn.

He was eager to focus on anything other than this talk. Demons and all of it. After all, he was here to drink. He had all the hours of the day to worry himself with how badly he had screwed up. He mentioned taking a look at the car after the glass went dry. All too quickly, might he add. That was damn good whiskey he would need to make sure Darby shared the good stuff a little more often. Especially with how much he gained from their arrangement.

"500 years.." He whistled, his brows raising. "You don't look a day over 20." He mused, yet that that usual playful derision still clung to every word. It wasn't to be taken personally, he was always like this. Sarcastic, I don't give a care in the world and that lingering distant amusement. He hardly let much phase him, perhaps it was that wall he put up for the world. It was rare that this fae caught a glimpse of the cracks that the hell dimension left in his interior. Let's be entirely honest, they weren't cracks they were craters.

"Lead the way, your majesty." He smirked, gesturing toward the exit, eyeballing the burly fellow hovering so damn close that a soul wouldn't even dream of picking his pocket or start something. But despite being good people, he wouldn't doubt they would try if they saw an opening.

There was a smile upon Dorian's face, one that betrayed his age. Maybe this man was exactly what he needed. Brennan slid off that stool, cracking his neck before following behind Dorian while Lucian led the way. He moved with his usual swagger, keeping an eye to make sure no drunkards followed them out or tried to start something. The outside was deafening in comparison to the bar, he could see the entourage waiting for Dorian and Lucian. The fresh air was welcomed..

Several pairs of eyes suddenly landed upon Brennan, judgment weighing heavily within them. All the warlock did was smile that roguish gleam, brows raising in that antagonizing way.. Especially directed right at Charles. You could tell he was one who was easy to rattle and perhaps part of him sensed that and the part that enjoyed mischief and raising a little hell. Well, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to mess with him. You could even see the worry in his eye and most likely the pitter patter of his heart going. "Why hello there, Charles." That Irish accent laced within his words his wicked silvery blue eyes basically staring at the man. He was quite sure he could scare the skin off him. He wondered what he was briefly if he was fae like the rest of them or something else. He really should have been able to tell, being a magical entity and all. Regardless, this Charles easily reached his hand forward almost too eagerly. Brennan considered flat out rejecting it, hand shaking just wasn't his thing. Instead, he shook his hand allowing a little zap of magic to flow through that very brief connection. It was Dorian's voice that drew the warlock's attention back to him. No more messing with Charles it seemed. At least for now.

With a brisk nod, he replied. "That you did, I need to be thoroughly amused to make sure my magic works." He lied blatantly, but it was a harmless lie. If he was going to hear a story he wanted it to be a damn good one. "Do you have any tools for changing tires?" He asked curiously, knowing very well they probably had nothing of the sort. He would most likely need to rely heavily on that magic that flowed through his veins to fix this tire. He was very much a fixer. After all, he tended to every issue his high maintenance boat threw at him. He salvaged whatever he could. Cars were far more simple.. straightforward. After all, he had watched his uncle tinker with cars for most of his youthful years. He had a shop and when Brennan was a little boy, when he wasn't up to causing trouble, he was there helping his uncle for some cash under the table. All to help his family. He needed to pull his weight if he was to eat 3 square meals a day. His family are good people. They deserved more, so much more. So that was why as Brennan got older he started taking other jobs. The kind that was far from the legal path they wanted him to follow. He was good at it and the money was good. His parents never asked him where the money came from, only the worry on his mother's face told him that she knew. A mother always knew. She was a sweet soul, not meant for this hardened world. His father was far too drunk to notice that Brennan was the one keeping them afloat.

The fae began his story. "I am afraid I didn't pay much attention in history class.." Well that was an understatement. Dorian had his hands linked behind his back as he observed, and something told the warlock that he wouldn't miss a thing. The fae king's body and face seemed so young, but his eyes, well those betrayed him if you looked close enough.

Brennan allowed him to continue as he frowned, looking at the car with assessing eyes. He was listening to every word, curious of the tale a five hundred and something-year-old, king of, what was it again? It hardly mattered to him, no he was one to judge a person based on who they were and not their fancy titles. At least the spare tire was already out and leaning uselessly against the vehicle. They didn't even have a jack! How did they think they were going to get the tire on?

He summoned his own using his power to conjure a useful car jack. He bent down assessing the lug nut size... Hmm. He imagined that impact driver and all its sizes in his uncle's shop, only a battery powered one before it once again appeared. He eyeballed measured the hex attachments, tossing behind him the ones that were too small or too big. They simply hit the ground, skittering across the concrete like a skipping stone. He listened, pausing at the mention of slaughtering people and magic. Yeah.. Better not piss off a powerful warlock. He learned that the hard way with Serafina's mentor.

He paused what he was doing, after hoisting the car up with the jack. "How long were you trapped in that castle alone?" He asked, glancing at the man with a considering glance. That alone could drive a man mad.. Hell had almost conquered him in so many different ways, some ways he would have never imagined possible. Maybe that castle was Dorians own form of hell? Watching those that love die, one by one.. Then being the only one to wallow, to steep and to stew for who knows how long. "How did you keep sane?" He asked considering.. He knew if he didn't try to find a loophole with this demon he was a good as dead anyway. Why wouldn't he try? Why wouldn't the warlock do whatever was in his power to give himself a second chance at a life? Especially when he hardly deserved the one he was forced into. A life.. Any life. Even his cursed life was hardly worth living, wasn't it worth that figment of a chance?

At that moment, Dorian went quiet as if considering something deep. Just as that question reached his ears, halfway from removing the tire. He was hunched over as he paused, still for a moment as if considering. A frown deeply chiseled within his face. How often had others spilled the blood of people he cared about? Far too many times. His fiancé, who was now in a deep grave, no more than bones now.. and his own blood spilled simply because he LOVED someone. No one had shown him any kind of compassion, shown him any kind of mercy. Why should he do the same? "If it came down to it.. Honestly, I don't know." He knew he couldn't kill an innocent like his mother.. someone who was truly good in their heart. But someone who was nefarious, someone who had done a lot of wrong in their life.. Well, he had already spilled lots of blood in his quest for revenge, but Dorian didn't need to hear that story. He didn't need to know what a savage of a man he could become when pushed to his very limits. "What would you give to stay with the man you loved? To exist in the same world as them? Even if they moved on with someone else. What would you give to ensure they were ok, even if it wasn't with you?" Even if it destroyed him inside.

Brennan was a fool. Hell, he still had the ring in the pocket of his leather jacket, the one he going to propose with before that cursed mentor cast him out to hell. He did not deserve the fate he was given, he wasn't a good man or a holy one. But he didn't deserve to be sent to a hell far before his time. He went back to work to stop these bitter thoughts racing through his mind.

Brennan O'Connell