"Putting curses on people. Oh, now that's intriguing," Killian chuckled, his good hand rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, as if all the answers could be brought forth by stroking a Socrates beard - or in his case, the coal-black prickly scruff. That actually took longer to groom than one might guess, but he was particular about it. "I might have to employ your services somewhere down the line." Was the lady in the coffee shoppe a witch or something? She was in good company.
Though it was possible she was still fresh meat, a newcomer who had yet to severely question their decision to listen to the nagging voice that said move to the OC, it'll be a good life change. Damn that fucking voice; he both simultaneously hated and adored the illusive pull.
But what she said next caused that one brow on a puppet string to comically poke upward. "On a date, are you? Suppose a coffee shoppe's as good of a place as any. Nice way to start the way, provided you don't want to gouge your date's eyes out." It probably depended on the experience.