There was always something refreshing, invigorating even, about a new city. For some, especially those unaccustomed to the considerable size of most bigger cities, there was usually uncertainty and perhaps a touch of anxiety, an entirely natural and understandable mixture of emotions to be felt when undergoing a somewhat sizable change in one's lifestyle. Typically, when one moved from one place to another, there was a transition period which commonly entailed looking for a new job, trying to make new friendships so that all the newness didn't feel as lonely, and settling into a new apartment or home. However, Kensley was a stranger to these things. Free-spirited and ever eager for the next big adventure, the Irish woman was just about as adept to change as water. Whether she was figuratively free-falling into the unfamiliarity of a place she's never been with enough curiosity and open-mindedness to rival the strength of any waterfall or leisurely making her way through gentle, rolling hills of some rural countryside akin to a lazy river flowing with casual and carefree content as it cut through the land, Kensley whole-heartedly embraced whatever - or whomever - she came across in her venturing. It was all about experiencing something new and exciting, finding perfect strangers and enjoying their temporary company - intimately or casually.

It had been in her aimless adventuring that the witch had happened across Sacrosanct only about two days ago. And, so far, she was thoroughly enjoying herself, despite likely having seen hardly a fraction the city. Although her stay in one of the hotels not far from the eastern side of the city wasn't the most comfortable, it had been rather late when she'd crossed the sign marking the outermost reaches of city limits. For now, she calls a small yet overall fairly comfortable room at the Holiday Inn her home for... well, however long she decides to stay. At first, she'd almost been tempted to stay at The Witchery. How absolutely amusing would that have been, a witch booking a room at a lavish hotel completely overplaying on the concept of her kind?! The woman had hardly been able to stifle her laughter at the very idea. That, and those prices had been a little more than she was keen on paying for. Really, there was no telling with Kensley. It would either been another day, maybe two, or it could be weeks. In the end, the determining factor as to how long the witch would linger was what treasures she could find hidden within the bustling streets and towering buildings. Other than Dublin, this city easily ranked among the top five biggest cities she's come across. So, surely it would take more than a few days here to see what this new world would have for her to discover.

Tonight, the woman finds herself drawn further into the eastern district. She walks leisurely with the flow of the crowd, long and unbound hair like waves of deep crimson water tumbling haphazardly over slender shoulders covered by faded blue denim jacket, worn sleeves rolled halfway up. Having decided to wear a form-fitting v-beck tee shirt, straight leg jeans equally as faded, and black leather mid-calf boots accented with a buckle across the instep, she walks at strolling pace until she comes across a pub. An Irish pub of all things. Now, if this were a genuine place like those back in Finglas, then she would most certainly find something at the bar she would enjoy drinking. Running slender fingers through auburn hair and blinking dark lashes slowly over emerald eyes as she walks up to the bouncer standing at the entrance, the man's gaze sweeping over her from head to toe and back. She flashes him a smile, and just like that, he steps aside, allowing her to enter without so much as a word of protest. Even as she walks past the various booths and pool tables, it seemed hard for the patrons not to notice her, the men likely admiring the way her clothes showed off her feminine curves. This was the sort of treatment that Kensley was very much familiar with, so she thinks nothing of it as she moves over to the bar and settles into one of the tall chairs and slipping off her jacket.

She hardly has to wait long when the bartender makes his way over to her."Hello, miss. What can I get you?", he says warmly then, his smile casual."A Irish Maid would be great, light on the ice if you could please", she replies to the blonde man, her accent smooth and thick upon her lips. The witch doesn't pay any mind to the few heads that turn in intrigue at the sound of her voice, though she does wonder how many of them were amused by the idea of an Irish woman ordering an Irish drink at an Irish pub. He nods and moves away to begin building her drink, and as he does, Kensley turns in her seat to look over the modern yet fitting décor. After a few moments, the bartender returns and places her drink on the polished bar, causing the witch to turn around in her chair."Thanks", she says warmly before taking that glass into her hand and lifting it to her lips. Yes, that was very much Irish whiskey amongst the tart sweetness delighting her tongue. She's about to take another sip when the sound of another entering the pub catches her attention. Turning in her chair, emerald eyes settle over a man dressed in tight-fitting black jeans, a simple white tee shirt that hugged his well-built torso, and a black leather jacket snugly fitting over broad, muscular shoulders... all tied neatly together with a natural scowl and purposeful stride as he moves towards the bar.

Intrigue dancing across her glimmering gaze, she turns back to face the shelves lined with a vast variety of bottles filled with smooth, burning temporary bliss before picking up her glass again and taking another sip of her cocktail with both hands cupped around the chilled glass. The man slides into the empty space beside her, his voice as rough as the expression upon his face as he demands the bartender (who she'd hardly noticed had been hovering nearby) to serve him the best ale they offered. As the other patrons also turn to the sound of the man's voice, she can't help the coy smile that flickers at the corner of her lips. At this rate, those within the bar were likely to go and purchase a lottery ticket. What were the odds that an Irish woman and a Scotsman would happen upon the same bar. And sit next to one another no less."Do you always order yer drinks with cursin', or are you just having a shite evenin'?", she asks casually, her thick accent only adding a smoothness like Tullamore single malt whiskey, blinking dark lashes over glittering, inquisitive emerald irises. Unabashedly, she studies the man, noticing delicately pointed ears betraying his race and admiring the toned muscle of his arms. Even with his obvious attitude issues, there was no denying that he was pleasant to look at. With one leg neatly crossed over the other, she waits in silent curiosity how he'd respond.