Liked trouble, did she? Well, that was an interesting little tidbit to learn. "Both," Killian confirmed with a crooked, wry little smile, because after so long at being a scoundrel, a dashing rapscallion, he liked to think that he fell under the umbrella of 'trouble.' And he was damn proud of it too.
As for how he came by his magic, that was a whole other story. One he thought quite a bit about, pondering his predicament, not sleeping. He'd wander the halls of the hotel, floorboards creaking loudly underneath his feet; the hue of the wood always gave him a pang and reminded him of what it'd be like to walk on a wooden deck rolling beneath him. He missed that quite a bit. "I was cursed," he stated simply, his attention turning back to his dock companion, gaze averted from the water - she was a pretty sight to lay eyes upon. "Brought back back from the brink of death and infused with immortality. With dark magic." It kept him both energized and alive, though at some point his sanity would be hanging by a thread.