The beach was a peaceful place if you were there before the crowds and the public destroyed it. A sea of bodies, fighting for space was not his idea of a good time. In truth, he would have much rather been out on the sea, taking his chances against that rain and turbulent weather that threatened those at the ocean's mercy. But his boat, his beautiful but worn wooden sailboat needed more work. He should have just summoned another damn boat, one that was fully functional. And yet he desired that challenge of fixing up his vessel. A man and his ship was a bond that could not be sullied. He was attached to that wooden boat more than he would ever claim. She was more work than he would like to admit and yet he couldn't quite say goodbye. He knew every inch of that boat, every crevice, every quirk. They say boats didn't have a personality, but this one sure did. She was feisty, temperamental, and high maintenance. Maybe he had a type after all.

The beach was welcomingly quiet, it must have been those ominous clouds lurking overhead. But the sun still tried to peak through the thick dismal grey. The fresh sea air fills his lungs and he tries to chase the worry from his head. It was another sleepless night, searching for answers that were just out of reach. It was enough to drive him mad, right to his very bones. He had never had to work so hard for something, he never had to push himself to such limits to save what was left of his broken soul. Thoughts plague his mind, his headspace was far more ominous than those tumultuous clouds overhead. It wouldn't surprise him if there was a storm brewing. His silvery blue eyes look out to the sea, searching for waterspouts dancing along the horizon. He wanted nothing more to be out on that lake, yet that sense of pride and accomplishment doing that on his boat when she was all fixed up would have been all worth it. Did it all matter? When his life was held in this precarious balance that was hardly under his control? Did any of it matter?

He ran a hand through his unruly mahogany locks, that looked like he just rolled out of bed couldn't be any truer and yet people tried so desperately to force their hair into with product. It was a culmination of living by the water and having a thick head of hair. It ran in the O'Connell line of men.

He had no idea what time it was, but judging on where the sun was, even though he only caught glimpses of it within the gaps of clouds, it was morning. Too damn early for Brennan to be wandering the beach, his boots were not made for the sand that assaults them. He wore a loose-fitting button-down shirt, only half the buttons were done up because he couldn't give a shit to do the rest. He was lucky the world got a dressed Brennan at all.

He walked along the shoreline, only he didn't know it would have taken him so damn long just to get a bite to eat. He had a mad hankering for some greasy meat and eggs. How long had it been since he indulged in such a savory breakfast that he didn't make for himself? He wanted the carnivore's special. He was already tasting that food in his mouth within his mind, as though he had never had a meal in his life. His stomach groaned at him reminding him that he was hungry, starving. Too much reading and not enough eating.

He took a seat outside, it was empty save for a couple, minding their own business on the outskirts. He could smell rain on the air and food, breakfast food. How he would never take for granted breakfast again. He took a seat at the bar, his preferred place to perch himself.

A blonde, youthful waitress came over, flashing him a perky smile and offering him an all too bubbly greeting. 'Whatcha want?' her voice matched her ray of sunshine thing she had going on. "Carnivore's special and a whiskey.." He declared. The waitress looked at him like he was nuts. 'A whiskey? Don't you know its too early? and the bar doesn't open til noon.' His brows raised, the weight of his eyes landing upon her. He gave her a very pointed look that clearly dictated he hard gave a shit what time it was. "Just bring me the bottle little miss blondey, I don't mind." He offers her that devilish charming smile, despite ignoring her little restaurant's policies. That left her blushing and yet equally confused. 'Uh, let me check.' She scurried off, her hair bobbing in her wake. He couldn't help his eyes that fall shamelessly to her assets as she trotted away.

That was when it started to rain, the soft patter hit the overhang over the bar. It was only a taste of what was to come, but then he could read the sky and he knew it would be pissing rain at any moment. Just as he had that very thought, the sky seemed to open up. Pity the fool that decided to come to the beach at a time like this. A lazy yawn escapes him, his tired eyes look out to the water. The sea was growing turbulent, its waves were lapping up the shoreline.

That was when a dark haired woman came running out of that drenching downpour. The rain made her clothes cling to her body, not leaving much to the imagination. "Bad day to come to the beach without an umbrella, missy.." The irish warlock spoke in that accented voice laced with masculine humour. That roguish grin once again dancing daringly across his lips.

Brennan O'Connell