"When you spend enough time by the water as I do, you learn the tells. It is mainly in the clouds and wind that give it away, nature is such a fickle thing." He would even go so far to say that he had grown to used to those predictable patterns and yet even within its predictability, it still managed to surprise him from time to time. That weather seemed complex like a woman, but even they could be so very predictable, so many often were. As always, it always had that potential to evolve. Brennan was many things, shameless was certainly one at the forefront and when the dark-haired witch so placed her presence so close to the wily warlock, he was certainly going to notice. Especially with that obviously transparently rain soaked, he could see the colour of her bra beneath the sheer fabric. It was no surprise when she flags down the nearest waitress, so she could conceal her form. A wicked smirk danced upon his lips. Someone was shy, he thought in an amused fashion, raising a brow at her while she smirks at him. No fun. She apparently did not want to play with the overly confident male who certainly took advantage of this particular situation that fell so perfectly into his lap. What was wrong with admiring the body in all of its forms? He hardly felt bad that he made the woman uncomfortable and would, in truth, have done it all over again. Brennan was not for the weak of heart. In truth, he probably wasn't for anyone with a heart.

His attention shifted back before him, perhaps the sable-haired witch would keep her distance, he was anticipating it. He drew in a deep breath of that humid sea air. He enjoyed the tumultuous freedom of it. Even within the confines of hell itself, it surely had nothing so beautiful as the dangerous ocean. Everything was so parched, relentless as it was unforgiving, he tried not to linger his thoughts on such things that still haunted the warlock, even now.

The lightning struck the water and the thunder boomed relentlessly not long afterwards, he could feel it deep inside his chest. It was an assaulting annoyance to his ears which caused a fleeting frown upon his features. Apparently, that sounding thunderous crack was the last straw for the soggy couple which incited an easy retort falling from the dark-haired woman at his side. A burst of rumbling laughter emits from the Irish warlock's chest which brought his gaze toward the woman's features and not her chest. He hardly noticed as the waitress returned with a convenient hoodie to cover the torso of the seemingly shy witch. "You wound me." He teased, clutching at his chest in an almost dramatic gesture, leaning back, that shameless smirk dancing upon the warlock's lips.

The witch seemed to perk up at what he was drinking, that brand of Irish whiskey he enjoyed at home, how very long ago that was. She spoke of connoisseurs and their like of Irish whiskey, like she knew something of it. "It is the best." He admitted confidently. "Don't waste your time with the others. Ireland just does it better." He said confidently, a devilish gleam in his eye. Of course, he was Irish too, was he not? Perhaps the roguish warlock was a tad biased but damn did he know his whiskey. A smirk seemed to dance across her lips as she eyed him, hardly deterred by the man at her side.

He was amused to say the least at how she boasted about his drink of choice, and perhaps he was slightly curious at what she actually seemed to know. "Whenever I buy a woman a drink, they always order those really sweet ones. I wonder how they stomach that sugary syrup with only a splash of alcohol, not even the good stuff. I wouldn't even call it a drink at all." He shook his head brusquely in disapproval. "Tell me, what is your drink of choice? Sex on the beach? Or are you more of a daiquiri girl?" He rose a daring brow, not expecting her to be any different than the countless woman he had met before. Not that any of them mattered except for a small few. His lips quirk up suggestively into a one-sided smirk, while their eyes seem to snag each other's. She really had pretty eyes, how the iciness of that stare reminded him of someone. Only she didn't seem perpetually pissed off at him for something he had done wrong.

She must have figured him out because she declared she wasn't going to challenge him to a drink off. "I would never ask, because I don't suspect you would beat me. I would hate to subject you to the embarrassment." He responds slyly.

"Fear, has no use in my life." Fear only gets you killed. "After the twelfth shot of whiskey, I probably won't remember my own name let alone worrying about living to see another day." He chuckled in morbid amusement.

"I suppose that is for you to find out." Raising his drink to her in a cheers of sorts. To living a little she repeats. It was in that moment he decided her presence was quite nice in comparison to the solitude he was so used to, since his return.

She inquires about him, while he makes short work of the contents on his plate, how delicious his meal truly was. "There is not enough whiskey in this establishment to go through that story my dear Kathryn. But I've been here for a long while before I went away. It took a great deal of effort to return and I have no plans on leaving... What about you? Small witch lost in a big city?" He didn't even know where to begin with the shambles of his life. Did he talk about the reason why he ended up here in the first place? To seek revenge on his murdered fiancé? Or did he talk about how love fucked him every which way to Sunday, sending him to hell itself? What he had to give to get back and learn that all he fought for, he lost anyway. No, some things were better off unsaid. Thus, was the story of his life. The sordid adventures of a self-proclaimed pirate whom was cursed to fail.

Brennan O'Connell