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

Women.

Yes, women. It would seem, in all their many forms were trouble. There wasn't a woman or girl he had known for any length of time that wasn't. He hardly gave it much thought besides cursing the fairer sex that would always be his undoing. This young girl was no different. He was sure of it. She already had proven to be more trouble than she was worth. It was a damn good thing that the Irishman wasn't too drunk to deal with the bulky half-bear man who seemed almost too eager to beat on someone, a girl, much smaller than him. The same girl who pulled him inside that makeshift fighting "ring".

How did he manage to find himself in these situations? Ah.. it was a good thing that all those years in that hellish place and copious bar fights had equipped the warlock for this. Yet, it was something else that kept him in that ring. Something that had nothing to do with morality. At least he did not think so. It was something that did not sit quite well with him. It most certainly didn't have anything to do with the young girl's pleading eyes looking up to him. Alright. Maybe a little. Yes.. he was a fool. Even he had enough sense to admit it. Besides, that fight seemed almost tempting. Even if it was a fight with that bulky brute of an opponent. The fight afforded him the chance to not feel so hollow inside.

There was no way he was going to win a one-on-one fistfight with a massive bear. He was not fooling himself that he could take the bear-man on... on brawn alone. When those odds seemed stacked against him... the fight was rapidly going to come to a close, he used his powers. His affinity for air pushed his opponent, along with the young girl out of bounds. A technicality he shamelessly exploited. Yes.. she handled herself more than he would have wagered but there had to be a winner for that prize. Brennan had found a sliver of an opening and the scallywag took it. Managing to disqualify not only the bear-man but the witchling girl that roped him in here in the first place.

The windswept crowd hardly seemed to care. Their riotous cheers came regardless even though most of them had bet against him. At least some people were going to be.. Very rich. But the first taste of blood had been enough to wet their appetite for the fights to come. It wouldn't be long before they forgot all about him and the little witchling. Brennan casually snatched the heel, from within the bounds as he approached the blazing red-haired girl with a broad, cocky almost charming smile on his lips. He might not have not have signed up for this fight, but he certainly won it. It hardly seemed to bother him that she stared at him, with what he assumed was venom in her eyes. But at least she was alive to do so.. With minimal injuries. He gently tossed her shoe beside her, his words stained with unshed laughter. He could practically feel her frustration radiating from her like a bomb ready to explode as she comically blew a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face. It would seem she was not spared from the windswept look that those closest to the fight had experienced. It was then that he mentioned the medic to the sprawled-out girl.. The mention of that medic seemed to inspire her fire. Claiming there was no way she was going to allow some 'creep' to touch her. Her ire only caused his lips to further stretch into a broadened grin with a shrug. He was certain he had seen quite the opposite at the bar when he had first seen her swindling that creep she had likely stolen from... Yet the Irish warlock wisely kept his mouth shut. After all, it wasn't his business.

Anger reddened her once pale cheeks as she had the nerve to challenge 'his' winnings. She reached for his hand tightly to haul her sprawled fawn-like limbs beneath her in order to rise and stand. She must have not thought him to be a creep then. A rumbling chuckle escaped him then spurred from the insisting that half those winnings were hers. Of course.It would appear he had a soft spot for a wounded woman. But even he had his limits. Those winnings were his. After all, he had saved her... and he was the last one standing within bounds. He let go of her hand once she was sure on her feet, taking a step backwards. "Well then... suit yourself with the medic. Although, you might regret that come morning." He paused as if considering something like he might reconsider (if only).

"As for the winnings. You were out of bounds, I was not. Sharing when you have clearly lost is not how the world works, I am afraid, little lass. I earned my bounty fair and square. Besides, didn't you manage to steal your own prize earlier on?" A dark brow raising, not getting into it anymore.

He moved away to collect his jacket, slipping it back on as if he had all the time in the world.. He knew she was near.

"You might not think it now.. but losing will sting a whole lot less when you realize you are alive enough to feel it." With a shrug, thinking himself as helpful as he turned, the warock picked his way through the crowd, slow enough so that she could follow closely.

The medic was available, although that was up to her if she accepted their aid. He strode single-mindedly to the person beside the bar, the one with his winnings. The woman that he offered a charming smile as she offered him the envelope and clothing with the bars logo.... Interesting. It would be swimming on her but it was much better than strutting around town in a blood-soaked, tattered dress. Hm. Maybe he was feeling far more generous after all..

"Witchling?" His accented voice rang out as he called to her before he turned to face the girl. "I changed my mind. Here is your prize. Better than smelling appetizing to waiting vamps..." He thrust the bundle of clothes toward her, his silvery blue flashed with his own amusement she likely did not share. Brennan's lips quirked into a much too mischievous crooked grin that certainly did not make him look particularly innocent. Especially as he slipped 'his' money from view within one of the many deeply concealed pockets closest to his chest of just leather duster with a fond pat. He had no intention of lingering at that bar with all that money that was now his or all those newfound disgruntled patrons who glared at him for making them lose theirs. He just loved it when things worked in his favour.

"Still waiting on my thanks..." He challenged, although he was pretty certain he was never going to get that.

Brennan O'Connell

a smooth sea never made a skilled sailor