I've sailed a thousand oceans to be here in your arms.

Raylin looked wild in her frenzied state of pain. Like an animal that might lash out in that precarious moment of life and death. It was like her eyes could hardly find a harbour, shifting too and fro as if she could hardly make sense of where she was in her state of disorientation. Did she even recognize where she was? It had come to be that she at least recognized him, the warlock that worked to keep the broken and bloodied woman he had scooped up within his arms that encircle her protectively. He could only imagine what shit she had sniffed out for herself. It'd better not be permanent, his mind cursed within his mind as he watched the woman struggle to put up a fight within his arms as he brought her to safety where the warlock could assess the damage.. The blood loss made her limbs seem far more heavy and cumbersome. Good.. he could imagine what he needed to do was going to hurt like hell and the last thing he needed was her flailing about like a cornered rabid animal. Brennan gently pressed the clean cloth to her skin, to keep whatever vital blood was left inside of her. His rarely intense silvery blue eyes never once stray from her pale features as if voice served to be a beacon to keep her focused on him alone. Of course of all things, she was worried about what her parents might think. "I suppose they would lass.. But you can only imagine what they would think if they knew who you were with.. I am afraid, parents don't like me all that much. Hell if I know why." The irish warlock added, his jest lingering within his accented words.

It wasn't long before the warlock sparked a frown upon her usually smooth brow. Ah there was that look he was looking for. A reaction. "I make a habit of doing only one helpful thing a day. I've just filled it." Those words were almost harmless goading, like he could have left her there dying on his dock. Yet it was clear the one thing he cared about was getting her back into fighting shape. Her voice was a pained sound, breathy and shallow. Yet the defiant creature that she was, remained focused upon his face. If he didn't know any better he would have accused her of checking him out. Not that he would mind that a pretty thing like her found him attractive. He never paid much thought to what people saw when they looked at him, the roguish irishman with messy dark mahogany locks, eyes that promised trouble and a smile that made women blush, a faded scar upon his right cheek. Maybe he actually looked like the hero for once. Dashing and roguishly handsome... and.. Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself.

The warlock was nothing short of determined to inspire that wild spirit he knew still lingered within her. After all, it would serve her well. It was better than a beat up Raylin. She would need all the fight she could get against the battle of blood loss. Her bark of laughter caught him unawares. That jolting motion was instantly met with a steel wall of regret from the pain it caused her. She admitted that he thought highly of himself. "Aye." He said simply as rose a single brow, if he didn't believe it, who else would? An up to no good grin spread across his lips as he peered at her, as if daring her to dispute it. It wouldn't change a damn thing in his mind. Perhaps before she could do so he offered her that booze, a perfect liquid to dull the pain while he worked. It surprised him as she hungerly took a swig, she was going to need it. She acted like she enjoyed the taste but it was her face that gave it away.. Amusedly, he reached to take the bottle back, taking himself an equally deep drink before placing it on the adjacent table. He had no intention of giving it all away.

His gaze was captured by a stray trail of dribbling alcohol that escaped at the corners of her lips. A singular hand reached out to the cool touch of her skin, to tuck just beneath her dainty chin. His thumb traced it away near absently, his hand lingered in place as if he studied her pretty features before instructions quickly followed. They needed to assess that damage and get the wound cleaned to prevent infection. This was hardly the first wound he had suffered nor was it the last he was going to. He was efficient in bandaging himself up and yet he wasn't quite sure he could avoid her from scarring, he hardly minded the scars he'd suffered, the ones that lingered beneath his clothes. Battle wounds, a sign of surviving... each gnarly battle wound a story to be had if one was worthy enough to hear.

Raylin was impressive the way she contained herself, he could hardly help but wonder absently if she was no stranger to pain to handle it so well. She applied that pressure while he gathered his own supplies. Hopefully it didn't need stitches, while he had no qualms in doing so.. He knew it would hardly look as good as a doctor's steady hands in comparison to warriors. Brennan's hands were far more battle worn, large, fumbling when it came to fine detail. Yet none of that seemed to matter to that concerned Barney who refused to leave her side, the glamoured hellhound barely blinked as he all but guarded her.

Barney never acted in such a way before and yet he stood sentinel over her all the same much in the same way he did him when he needed him most. He was used to the scent of human blood from his own wounds and yet even Brennan was occasionally wary of his own.... Feral companion from time to time. Brennan could hear her speaking to the 'dog' as he grabbed a bottle of alcohol... not the drinkable kind either. Oh she was going to hate him for this. That disinfecting was vital and yet he was certain she'd curse him. Like he could be cursed anymore than he was. He placed his medical supplies next to the half drunk bottle of whiskey as Raylin seemed to speak to the 'dog'. If only she saw beyond that glamour, he wondered if she would do the same. Her voice seemed to spark that all too canine tail wag. She was thanking him! HIM! Barney was not the one who took her inside nor the being to clean her wounds. Brennan could not help that clear eye roll... "Right, thank the dog.." That accented sardonic quip escaped him. "No one ever thanks the warlock.. The one who is doing the actual saving of the mermaid who washed up on his dock." He scoffed. Jealous of a dog? Who him? Never. At least the girl was smiling. Brennan opened that case of supplies... pulling out all he needed then. That ointment he bought from Sera's shop that was used to promote healing, several bandages of all shapes and sizes.. Gauze. Scissors.. Anything he might need and more.

Raylin's voice chimed in once more, a strained but pleasant sound to hear. She sounded stronger, more like her usual self with a wide smile plastered on her lips as she said Barnebus reminded her of her overprotective dad. Brennan could hardly help that snort of amusement, caught off guard from the comment. "I wouldn't know what that was like.. Can't say I would like all that attention from an authority figure. Although, I've never seen Barney like this with anyone before. He'd try cleaning your wounds if you let him... I think there is something in his saliva that promotes healing.. But.... ehh.. I wouldn't trust it. Especially on something this deep.. The good news is... I haven't lost an arm or nothing yet..." He grinned baring teeth, a little bit of dark humour never killed anyone.. And yet.. He was kind of being serious.

"Don't look at me like that, little lass, I'm not letting him.. We are doing this the old fashion way... almost." He watched as the exhausted woman slouched into the cushion behind her, she was losing some of that punch. He'd better work quick. Yet somehow she manages to tease, it was all for show.. He knew it. It was easy to reply, he words still laced with innuendo. It would seem Brennan had no qualms with flirting with the wounded woman. How quickly she spun her reply... perhaps... it could have wounded a lesser ego. "I wish... that wasn't the first time I heard that." He shook his head, grabbing the bottle before handing it to her.

"Now.. Count down from 10..." He brushed her hair away, gently moved straps.. or whatever fabric stood in his way. He needed a clean place to work. He released the pressure to get a better look as he listened for that countdown. What a brutal wound it was. Deeper than he realized. What the hell had teeth like that? Good thing he didn't get squeamish. Brennan kept his thoughts to himself. He expected a story one day. In an instant, he all but poured that alcohol onto that wound with no warning no matter what number she was on, better get her unawares. That alcohol sloshed everywhere, including her clothing. Everything was replaceable for now, except for the companion he diligently worked on. That sting... would certainly jolt her back into awakeness unlike anything before but like all things, it would subside.

Once he was certain the wound had a good dosing. He worked to grab a bowl of soaked gauze and solution to clean the area. It might not have been the proper way to wound cleaning but it was how he'd always done to himself. Bullet holes, wounds... bites, punctures, you name it. The wound tending was all the same. "There there. The worst is over.." He meant it. Barney saw the pain Brennan inflicted upon the young pink-haired woman issuing a warning snarl given to HIM.. The balls on him! Traitorous mutt. After all they've been through, he chose the side of the girl.

"Oh shut your hole.. You know the drill.." He all but pushed the vicious, trigger happy creature away like he would a pomeranian that jumped up on his leg. "I'll bite you back and no.. I am not letting you lick her." He uttered a feigned disgruntled tone to Barney like he could very well understand him. He was certain to some extent at least, that he could. The dog's menacing teeth were concealed behind black lips once more, licking his lips with a an apologetic whine. Brennan's gaze returned to the girl. "You still with me?"

Brennan O'Connell

a smooth sea never made a skilled sailor