Mairead took the slip and nodded. She was illiterate and therefore could not read the note at all, but why mention that? She'd just get someone at the inn she was staying at to read it for her, as she'd need directions anyhow. "Thank ye, Inspector. Ah'll see ye in... a week's time?" she offered, still unsure as to when she was supposed to find him again.

"Tomorrow morning," he said. "I will need you to tell me more information before I even start looking and right now I can barely read or write. I ain't about to do a half assed job for ya. That wouldn't be right even if I was thinking about quitting."

Mairead nodded, a small smile appearing on her face. Perhaps this Inspector wasn't as much of a lost cause as he'd called himself.

"Ah appreciate the help, Inspector," she replied, offering a handshake as she stood up. The raucous ambience of the tavern was starting to get to her, and she was eager to head out. "Ah'll see ye then. Good evenin'."

He watched her go before he gathered his own things and staggered to the inn in question. He paid for his room with the money she had given him, and promptly went there and passed out.

The next morning, after Mairead had slept a good four hours (two more than she'd usually allowed herself in the past few weeks), she rose with the sunrise and entered the kitchen of the inn she was staying at to a surprised and sleepy cook. Showing the woman the paper the Inspector had given her last night, she was promptly given directions to the inn (conveniently just two blocks away) and set off to wake the man, completely unaware that this time of day was terrible for hangovers. When she arrived at the inn the Inspector was staying at, she had a short argument with the bellboy if she was allowed to go upstairs to his room and wake him, but she quickly won, as the boy was intimidated by pretty much every aspect of her being.

Opening the door quietly (the only thoughtful thing she'd think to do in the next few moments), she saw the Inspector asleep in a position that seemed very uncomfortable- but to each their own, she supposed. Squinting at the heavy shade covering the window, Mairead shook her head. How could one live like this, ignorant of the sun's glorious rising each morning? She threw open the curtains and smiled at the blinding light now pouring into the room as she went one step further and opened the creaky window to let the freezing January sea breeze drift into the room. Ahhhh... This was the only aspect of Whitby she liked so far, the nature of the seaside. She'd never seen the ocean before her journey here, and although she still preferred her northern Scotland forests, she'd already become quite attracted to the scent of the ocean and its vast majesty and power. 

Mairead, still looking out the window, smirked to herself. If the Inspector wasn't awake before, he certainly would be now, as a chorus of seagulls swooping overhead gave their piercing caws to each other.

Marcus, still clad in the clothes from the night before, was sprawled face down, ass up on the bed with his arms tangled and off to one side, his head cocked at a weird angle. He remained asleep as she came into his room, remained asleep as she opened the window... but then a blast of cold air and the screeching of those asshole seabirds. He gave a snort, rolled onto his back and gave a bellow, "Jesus H. Christ! Why?!" He fell out of the bed with a thud and a curse.

He then squinted to the woman who had just rocked his world in the worst kind of way by torturing him first thing in the morning. Ugh, his guts roiled with the nasty hangover he felt from imbibing too much ale over a woman he'd only known for a few blasted days, and now he was facing another that he had only known for a matter of hours. "When I gave you permission to wake me up, this isn't what I had in mind, woman," he croaked.

Mairead held back a laugh, an odd feeling for her as there was usually nothing to feel humor at in her life as a huntress, and offered both her hands to the Inspector to help him up- clearly, he needed the aid. Prepared for him to vomit- she'd seen plenty of hungover merchants struggling to keep their bile down her in days of trading, especially in the more rural Scotland towns -she nudged the empty chamber pot beside the bed towards him in case he felt the need to puke. 

"Ah am nae one te tarry in the early morn, Inspector, especially when me father be missin'. If ye need a bucket o'water er somethin', ah'd be glad te fetch it fer ye, jes' don't go hurlin' up on me shoes. True bearskin, they are, made by me Da 'imself, and ah'm mighty attached to 'em."

He grumbled as she found amusement in his suffering. Of course, he didn't need her help to puke, there was a perfectly good pot off to the side where he dropped the contents from his stomach. The stench of it was foul. "Leave me be for a minute, I can clean myself up thank you. I am miserable enough on my own." Ugh, he thought as he moved to the ewer on a stand, filled the bowl that was beneath it with the cold water inside. He turned and gave a glare, then pointed to the door. Assuming she would leave him in peace long enough to make himself better, he turned and took care of his needs.

He would emerge about five minutes later, smelling cleaner, dressed in clean clothes, groomed as a careless man would groom his hair (the hand comb), carrying his bag and notes. "Common room." he muttered.

Mairead was humming softly to herself as she waited outside the inn room door for the Inspector to tidy himself up, one that she'd heard a wandering man with an accordion playing along the street last night (she had a knack for picking up the notes of tunes she'd never heard before), and when the Inspector did emerge, she kept back a smirk at how he'd 'tidied himself up', as she was hardly much better. Life in the woods didn't exactly require one to be well-kept in appearance, so Mairead's appearance was a rather rough one, though underneath the smudges of dirt and her somewhat-tangled hair, there was a woman who could be taken as pretty if one looked long enough.

"Lead the way, then," she replied, gesturing for the Inspector to go first. After all, might as well let him keep what dignity he could after puking like that in front of her. She doubted she'd ever forget the stench, but she shoved the horrid memory aside to focus on more important matters, such as the entire reason she was here in Whitby: to find her father.

He led her down to the common room and to a table, sitting down with a flop in one of the chairs surrounding the small round table. He was not hungry by any means, but he was thirsty. He asked for some water from the serving woman and then laid his notebook out. He squinted at his scribbled words and muttered about being an idiot for trying to work whist drunk. He waited for her to take a seat before producing his pencil and said, "Tell me more. What does he look like? How tall is he? How does he usually act?"