Brennan has had his fair share of tragedy, it etched itself within his very soul like wallpaper sprawled up his walls, a reminder of all he had endured and had done. He is broken man, hanging on by old and rusted hinges. And now, the demon that appeared to him in the once abandoned alleyway shook him to his very core. It reminded him of the cost it took to walk these streets of Sacrosanct once more instead of alien soil he had grown accustomed to. Part of him was relieved to see the demonic entity leave, clearly not in the mood to address the price he would have to pay. Unless there was a way to outsmart the demon, he hardly knew. He would spend far too much time searching desperately through ancient texts only to come up empty handed. What would he expect, a how-to manual?

Of course, someone with impeccably bad timing had to come and venture down the same alley as the plagued warlock. Did she not see the creature as she turned that pathway? Surely she had to have seen something and yet as he sees the look upon a rather innocent appearing face, he determines that she seemed more fearful of him than anything else. He is not surprised, he was not a good man, why bother pretending? Had he imagined the demon all along? Was this is price to pay, a quick and horrifying descent into madness? If she hadn't seen that ominous entity than surely that was better for this peculiar girl that seemed to tumble into his perilous path.

He stared down upon those wide pale doe eyes, realising he probably seemed like a rampant serial killer with that dagger in full exposure. Yet he cares not to change that. Why didn't she run like any sane person would do, instead she simply stares at him frozen in place as though her feet were glued to the ground. He allows that hand that held the dagger fall to his side, not exactly positive that the demon was entirely gone.

He broke the silence between them as she straightens in attempts to look larger and more imposing. It amuses the man, but she is like a mouse and he is the hungry tom cat she made the mistake of bumping into. It was almost horribly unfair. She was terrified! All but shaking like a fragile leaf, her tongue darts out to dampen her lips, those lifeless eyes acutely gather every nuance, including an oversized rat scurrying unabashedly by their feet.

He needed to check himself, but at the same time, perhaps she would think twice about taking this route again. She is fortunate it wasn't someone or something else or even him when he was blinded by instinct. His hands were capable of damage that could incapacitate a person in seconds. There is an edge still nagging resiliently within, as if it continuously scratched the very core of him over and over again, it was enough to drive him mad. That demon's mark made it worse, it always burned. It only got worse when the demon was close. It was not easy to turn off that dangerous side of him that kept him alive for years. This world still felt foreign and new and he was out on his own.

The girl agrees with him. At least she didn't try to fight him with delusions that she could handle herself against the supernatural creatures that could easily eat her up. "What are you doing out here anyways? You smell like you burnt down a house." He is skeptical, why did she appear after the demon took its leave? Was she just another form of that dark energy to ease his steely resolve? Perhaps not as his mark did not thrum to life like it had earlier. She didn't seem like the type to take apart in arson, but he had been surprised before.

She asks him if he planned to kill her with that dagger that still remained clasped tightly within his hand. She stares at him square in the eye, he meets that stare easily, she was certainly brave or stupid he couldn't decide. She gestured at the blade within his hand asking if he planned to kill her with it. He waves it, tossing it idly in the air catching it once more at the hilt. "Are you planning to do anything stupid?" Amusement laced within that Irish lilt. He cocked a brow skyward as a semblance of a roguish grin spreads across his lips. He tips his head slightly to the side to consider what he would do if she did. He lifted the blade once more, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror-like surface of that silver. Just like that, the blade seemed to suck back up into his hand like it never existed as though it were simply a slight of hand. The warlock could create anything at the bat of an eye. It was a useful trick in battle. But here, in this world, he hadn't quite figured it out yet. He ran an idle hand through his mahogany locks, disorganizing his hair further.

This was not a part of his plan tonight.

Brennan O'Connell