davin | (no subject)

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He was supposed to have the day off. That didn't quite happen.

His phone woke up him at nine, and on the other end was his distraught mother. A pipe in his parents' basement had burst, and even though Davin is a mechanic and not a plumber, he was the one she called. Funny how she refuses to acknowledge his magic until she needs to take advantage of it.

His dad's out of town on business, so it was up to Davin to calm his mother and keep the basement from his childhood home from flooding. He sat his mother down on the sofa and turned off the water before heading down to the basement with his tools. He was able to use his magic to cut through the ruined section of pipe and hold up the new one so he could solder it in place, and then he cleaned up the basement as best he could.

He emerged hours later, wet and dirty and in a lousy mood, and his mother demanded he stay for tea before he could leave.

Now he's freshly showered, hair still a little damp at the ends as it sticks up everywhere, and he's wandering through the town's main drag as he tries to decide how to spend his evening. Beer will make an appearance at some point, surely.

He's weighing the pros and cons of pub food when someone brushes by him, and a streetlight glints off of some metal sliding out of the person's pocket. Davin stares at the keys as they fall and wills them to stop mid-air, holding out his hand and sending the keys flying through the air to land gently in his palm.

"Excuse me," he calls out, his Irish accent a little thicker due to his exhaustion. He shakes the keys out, peering out to try and see if he recognizes the person. "I think you dropped these."

[Come meet Davin! He's lived in Siren Cove since he was a kid, so if your character has been around for awhile they may recognize him. All his info is here, but the bullet points are: 22 year old gay Irish witch/mechanic who just wants a damn beer.]

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Davin lights up when he hears the girl's accent. It's not something he hears outside of chatting with his parents or listening to himself talk, and it draws an easy smile out of him as he steps closer.

"I must just be too quick for you to spot." He winks and holds out the keys for her to take. "Seems we have something in common, doesn't it?"

"Seems more t'me that ye've a bit of the fey in ye," she muttered good-naturedly. Brigid took the keys, making a show of putting them deep into her pocket. "Aye, it appears we do and I can't tell ye how it warms m'heart t'hear the sound of home in yer voice. Are ye here from Ireland then?"

"A fair assumption," Davin says with an impish grin. He uses discretion with his magic and doesn't flaunt it, but he's proud of who he is and isn't about to deny it either. If this girl is from Ireland, it's possible that she might have heard stories about Davin's family, passed down like folklore and fairytales. The thought makes him smile.

"Ah, my blood is, but my parents immigrated over just a year before I was born. Chasing the American dream, and all that." Davin's accent isn't nearly as thick as the girl's. Really, his is only so intact because he's never tried to lose it, and he talks to his grandmother on the phone and Skype so much that if he lost the dialect, he'd probably end up not being able to understand her. She slips into Gaelic half the time as it is. "But I have family there, and I visit when I can. You though, you sound like you just hopped the pond."

"I did at that, just a spare few months ago," Brigid nodded. "Guess ye could say I did a fair bit of that dream chasin m'self, but when th'offer came from Kennedy t'set m'studio up in her shop, I jumped at the chance. I love m'home, and Ireland itself, but it was time, I think, t'spread wings a bit. See if I could fly after all."

She was wistful though, especially hearing the younger man's voice. The homesickness that kept her from sleeping was more than a bit slaked. Maybe tonight, she'd sleep through.

"And here I'm yammerin away without an introduction. M'mam'd be scandalized," Brigid grinned and extended a hand. "Brigid Moran," she told him, using the Irish pronunciation that sounded more like Breeyid, rather than the American one she heard here from time to time.

Davin listens to her speak with obvious fond amusement. She's so lively and positive, and Davin feels like it's just what he needs after such a trying day, like a breath of fresh air.

"Pleasure's all mine, Brigid." He takes her hand and kisses the back of it after pronouncing her name the proper Irish way without issue. He releases her hand and rocks back on his heels as he shoves his hands into his pockets. "I'm Davin. Seems our folks both made sure we'd never forget who we were, with names like ours. You mentioned a studio. Are you an artist, then?"

"Like I could forget? But then, we speak Irish in m'house as often as we do English, so there's that as well." Brigid's smile was open, and brightened her eyes as well. "Aye, I am. A potter. M'side of the studio's just up the way a bit right beside Kennedy's art studio. Took me fair on three weeks t'build the kiln and shelves, but I've done a fine enough job at it and it fires m'clay brilliantly. Ye should come, have a look around. But no usin yer fey t'lift things off the shelves unless ye've the strength t'keep 'em suspended, mind ye."

By the smile, it was clear she was still teasing.

Davin listens interestedly and then laughs, bright and open, before shaking his head with a smile. "I'd have about as much impact on your clay as a newborn kitten, I'd think. My powers tend to run a wee bit more specific."

He looks around and when finding that they're mostly alone on the street, looks up at the streetlight and wrinkles his nose in concentration. The slender beam of steel holding the light in place groans as it curls down to extend to just a few feet above their heads, and the light winks out with a pop as Davin cuts the power. He laughs delightedly and flicks his hand, bringing the light back as the streetlight straightens back up into its original shape.

He usually never showcases his powers to people he doesn't know, but he feels an obvious kinship to Brigid, and his gut tells him that she may not be entirely human herself.

Brigid watches with fascination as the light bends, pops, and reappears. "Quite a specific one to be sure. Is it to do with metal then?" she asked, pulling her keys out to give them a little shake.

"Indeed." He pulls the keys out of her hand with the use of his magic and catches them in mid-air, grinning with the tip of his tongue between his teeth before he sends them back to her. "I can do most whatever I please with metal and electricity. The rest of the elements are not mine to command."

He regards her curiously and takes a step closer, making their conversation a little more private even though there isn't anyone close by. "And what about you, lass? What can you do?"

"I'm a Druid," Brigid answered simply, and with a smile that said she appreciated the confidence, "but I'm fairly open about it. Seems I've landed m'self in a place open t'the magical rather than one liable t'string me up fer it. Which is a relief, given one of the concerns m'da had about me comin here. That he'd have t'saddle m'brother up and come same me from the noose."

Her grin went a little more conspiratorial. "Not that it'd have made much of a difference if they did try it."

With a few spoken words of old Irish, she asked for a breeze to raise her up and it complied, lifting her a few feet off the ground. She stayed suspended there for a moment, before asking for release and dropped softly back to the ground.

Davin's skin pebbles when she speaks those ancient words, because he can feel the power in them. His eyes widen slightly as he tips his head back to watch her climb, and he laughs giddily as she lands. He puts his hand on her shoulder just in case she needs to be steadied, eyes bright as he looks at her.

"Aye, I suppose not. That's really somethin, Brigid." He smiles warmly and squeezes her shoulder before letting go. "Thanks for showin' me."

Brigid enjoyed the touch to her shoulder. It wasn't the same flutter as when Bailey touched her, more a comfort. But she was a tactile person and touch always grounded her in a way very little else did. "Yer welcome. I've been given the gift of elemental control, or magic as they call it here. Air, water and earth are mine. M'brother Liam got fire, and that was quite the headache for m'mam when he was a wee lad and learnin control of it. I think she was grateful I didn't follow that path as washin m'clothes after I'd called water from the clouds t'make mud t'play in was a bit easier than worryin a tantrum would burn th house down around them."

Davin's a tactile person, usually putting a hand on someone's back or arm without thinking about it too much. His parents weren't very affectionate growing up, and sometimes it feels like Davin is trying to make up for all the simple easy contact he missed out on during his youth. But really, he's just comfortable with most people. Brigid is certainly no exception.

He laughs delightedly at her story, keeping up with her thick, quick-paced accent without issue. "Yeah, I'd say y'got the better end of that particular deal. Metal an' electricity's what I got. I'm capable at potions but I don't use 'em too much."

"Time was I hated not bein gifted with healin, like m'mam and sisters, but I've come t'accept that I was given th'elements for a reason. T'was up t'me t'find one and I did. Not a bad one either, if I do say so m'self. We've all found our ways, and t'their eternal dismay, mine brought me t'America and much too far away for their likin."

Brigid laughed, even blushed a little. "And I'm prattlin on like a gossipy old woman, aren't I?"

"You're just fine," Davin assures her with a fond smile. "There's no stoppin' me when I get goin' either, so we'll be even before long. And I've got a healin' potion I make for meself, thanks to my line of work. It's good for small things, cuts and burns and the like. Never tried it on a larger scale."

He looks around and then puts a hand on his stomach when it growls. "Have you eaten? I'm wastin' away over here."

"And now ye have me wishin even more'n usual for a pub. I could do with a bit of proper pub grub and a pint right about now. Unfortunately, there's nothin even close t'that here. It's enough t'make ye weep with th'loss."

She grinned up at him and nodded. "But why don't we see if we can't find somethin close?"

"You know, I've only been to a genuine Irish pub once in me whole life? I'm an embarrassment to our kind." He laughs and holds out his arm for her to take while they walk. "I went to visit m'gram for my eighteenth birthday and went out for a night on the town."

It's a night that he looks back on fondly. He drank his weight in Guinness and had sex with a hot pale-eyed, dark-haired boy named Bradan who made him hotcakes with a candle stuck in them the next morning. He smiles at the memory and then blushes for having such thoughts with Brigid at his side. "I wish I could have spent more time over there, but it costs an arm 'n a leg to cross the damn Atlantic."

"Aye, it's a dear enough flight, innit? S'probably why I'm not after m'family t'come visit me here. One flight's easier than the lot they'd need t'do it." She looked aghast at the idea of only having been in one pub. "Only one then? That's a near tragedy, it is. If I wasn't s'focused on m'craft and prone t'losin m'self in th'art so often, I'd probably look into startin one here just t'stave off th' yearnin for it."

Davin laughs looks over at her with a warm smile, angling them towards a diner up the street.

"Now see, I've got bars here I like, and I've found meself inside 'em a bit in the year and a half they've allowed me. I must not know any better."

He opens the door for the diner and gestures her inside, following in after her. "But if ya ever do open such a pub, I guarantee you a'least one regular customer."

"I keep forgettin the way ye Yanks are about drinkin. Never understood it m'self, but I reckon they look at us like we're bleedin cracked as well. I started havin sips off m'da's pints from the time I could sit at the table by m'self."

The more she thought about the idea, the more she liked it, but knew that would have to wait until she settled herself a little more. And until she was sleeping again.

"Oh, I was the same, but you know how this place is. Never will understand how they landed on twenty-one bein' old enough to drink. Makes no goddamn sense."

They slide into a booth across from each other and he reaches eagerly for the menu. "I am right starved</>. Do me a favor and don't judge me for how much I'm about to pack away."

Brigid waved away his comment. "Yer a young lad still, aren't ye? I'd imagine ye could eat yer way through the menu and still be askin after more when yer done. M'brother Liam could eat a cow still in the field when he was yer age as I hear it told," she told him.

[ooc: ahhhhhhh not spotting a typo until after the tag has been replied to, MY SUPERPOWER]

"Aye, turned twenty-two back in May." He pauses in scanning the menu and looks up at her with a tilted head. "Not that you any older than myself, but I know better than t'ask a lady her age, so I'll be keepin' my mouth shut."

He winks at her and then lifts his smile to aim it at the waitress when she arrives, ordering the largest breakfast platter they have with extra pancakes and bacon, along with coffee and a piece of apple pie. That should hold him over.

For now.

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