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

Brennan enjoyed the western pubs over the hoity toity upper eastside bars. He felt more at home and more importantly, the woman were more of his desired flavour. Regardless, the west, it suited him. A little rough around the edges, a little worn down, a little different. Like it possessed its own soul. It wasn't for everyone and yet neither was the Irish roguish warlock who walked into that pub with his usual easy swagger. A up to no good grin plastered upon his lips that spoke of his intent which was perhaps equally debaucherous. How willing he was to numb some raw part of himself that he refused to acknowledge. After all, all problems could be solved tonight, by getting drunk of his favoured Irish whiskey and a warm body. What more could he want? The answer was there and yet he seemed content to forget its existence in exchange for something familiar and provided instant gratification.

Silvery blue eyes settled upon the partially gathered crowd with little interest as he made his way to the bar. A few drinks were exactly what the warlock needed to soften the curse of sobriety, just a little. Then he would truly take it all in. He found a familiar spot by the bar, just off to the far left before it was too busy to claim a stool. He had already made eyes with a striking petite brunette, with daddy issues (he suspected of course). His favourite.

So many called him a pirate. He failed to see how, even though his very demeanor, the well-worn, black leather trench coat he wore, the lightly loose fitted shirts with one too many buttons undone to show off a bit of chest hair that peeked through. As if the fact that he lived on a boat wasn't enough! Or the scar on his cheek just a few inches below his eye, that spoke of a story he rarely ever told the truth of. To lose sight in one eye would have made him look more like a pirate, if only he wore the eye patch. Like hell he would. Blimey. Yet, regardless of his opinions on the matter, he had chosen to embrace it. It was a hit with the ladies. Who would have known that so many fancied a pirate?

Music seemed nothing more than background noise to him, having no preference at all. It would seem there were planned fights tonight, it was all everyone was speaking about. At least he would get a spectacle. Brennan hunched forward as he swallowed his drink, the first few were not savoured as if he drank with a single-minded purpose. He was already making eyes with the brunette while leaving her just a little hungry. He liked them curious. She was alone and to him, that only meant one thing. That was when a young woman blocked his view. The first thing he noticed was the natural vibrant red locks that crowned her head. She had that Irish look about her. But she was young, he was good at pinpointing people's ages. She was much younger than how she dressed.

Hm. How did she get inside? How well he knew she wouldn't be the only underage person here and nor did he care. Yet, he watched in the corner of his eye as that man, seemed quick to call up to some 'chivalrous' aid all while gawking at the girls, chest. She was trouble, that one! She had spilled that drink on purpose. The whole thing seemed staged. Obviously so. At least to his knowing eyes. She looked like a woman who had a mark and she intended to prey upon it. It was then that he could barely make out her accented words. Irish. He was right. That was when he saw it. That careful sleight of hand. The girl snatched something from the man. He was sure of it. How well he knew that game! Even though it had been so long since he had actually pickpocketed anyone, not with his new powers which could offer him basically anything he could want, even though it seemed less exhilarating.

She was good. He had to give her that, especially, with the way she slipped what most likely the poor lads wallet into her purse. His hot brunette seemed all but overlooked for a time as he watched the ordeal play out before interrupted by the obnoxious voice on the loudspeaker. The promise of the fights seemed to fuel the crowd with rowdy anticipation.

The warlock rose a finger as if to gesture for another drink, already placed his bills on the varnished bar. The drink came quickly just quickly as he tossed it back, distractedly. The crowd all seemed to want to get a better look to the center ring as he relished in the familiar burn within his throat before he abandoned his stool.

It would seem the red-head had moved. In fact, somehow, he managed to catch a glimpse of her getting shoved into the threshold of that ring right after the announcer declared those rules. So, trouble found herself some trouble. How did she ever manage that? He hardly knew. Maybe it was karma. Yet, looking at the giant man across from her that joined the ring was enough to make most pause. It was hardly a fair fight. But that was exactly which sent the crowd roaring! Oh, she was in a load of shit. This was going to be interesting. It wasn't his job to save her. She had tempted fate all on her own to stand so close to that ring.

His own intrigue drew the Irish warlock closer, before he ended up on the girl's side of the makeshift ring'. How did she intend to get herself out of this one? She wasn't actually going to fight, was she?

It would seem no one was inclined to help her, in fact, they were eager. Especially with the odds were already stacked so heavily against her. Brennan drew closer, a hand placed within his pocket and another reached to run through the darkened scruff that adorned his jaw. His silver-blue eyes watched with more amusement than anything else before he called out from the sidelines. "Go for the balls, little lass. The bigger they are, the harder the fall." His Irish brogue rang clear, in a weak attempt to be 'helpful' and yet not at all hiding that he found her situation humorous.

Brennan O'Connell

a smooth sea never made a skilled sailor