Mairead Dunlop liked the night, usually. The forest was peaceful then, and the moon cast a lovely glow on the leave-strewn ground, perfect for hunting nocturnal beasts.

But Mairead was no longer in her beloved forests, nor was she in Scotland anymore. She was in Whitby, in England, and tonight was the opposite of peace. Drunken men wandered the streets, making a pass or two at her until they noticed her bow and quiver, and singing of the same intoxicated man wafted from the open doors of stuffed taverns, and shouting over a game of darts drowned out the merry playing of a wandering fiddler. Mairead, much more used to the loudness of the quiet than the noise of humans, desperately wanted to cover her ears, but she was drawing so many stares already, she tried to ignore her discomfort.

Supposedly, there was a private investigator who might help her in the search for her missing father, or so said a policeman she'd paused on the way into town this afternoon. So far, she'd searched eight taverns and found no sign of the man she'd been referred to- Investigator Marcus Tillman -and Mairead was growing weary and frustrated. Weeks of walking had brought her to Whitby, and she needed to rest, but this evasive investigator was keeping her from finding an inn to stay at for the night.

Pushing past a group of drunken singers into the last tavern on the street, Mairead scanned the room, but noticed no one standing out. Still, she approached the bar and shouted a question of the investigator's presence to the bartender- and, finally, he pointed out a corner table where a man sat, leaning over a vessel of alcohol. Mairead walked on over, scraped a chair on the floor as she pulled it to the table to announce her presence, and sat at the other end of the table.

"Investigator Tillman?" she asked, her expression rather unreadable but her thick Scottish accent drawing many a look from nearby patrons.

Marcus wanted to forget Cora, who had just... He didn't know what happened. Grumbling into his empty tankard, he reached into his pocket for the last of his coin and then decided he would have to find a new line of work if he wanted to have a roof over his head. He waved a serving girl down and ordered another pint. Already three sheets to the wind, he was content in wallowing in his own self-pity for the moment. He should not have fallen for the whore, he should have left her be and never found love in the arms of a lady of the night. He felt extremely stupid for it, but she had been so sweet and pliant. Ahh well.

He quaffed more ale as it came to him, and then he heard the heavily accented voice asking about him with his formal title. "Yes, what of it?" he asked gruffly with slurred words, not looking up at the face of the one who interrupted his pity-party.

Mairead could tell this man was at least half-drunk, and she frowned when he started on another ale. This was not the sort of respectable inspector she'd expected, but what could she do about it? She'd have to work with what she was given.

"I've heard you're up for hire- I need help, someone who knows this town, to track down my father. I'm willing to pay almost every penny I have for it." Along her journey to Whitby, Mairead had gained somewhat of a small fortune through selling her hunting-gained wares. She really had no use for it other than renting a room in an inn while she was here, so this proposition wasn't much to her, but from the gasp she heard from an eavesdropper, this was an unusual offer.

He set down the ale and looked up at the woman who was offering whatever she could to find her father. "You have bad timing, miss. I was just about to retire and find another damned job. One that doesn't lead to heartache and pain." He downed the rest of the ale and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The serving girl said, "No more for ye, Marcus, ye've had enough." Marcus gave a longsuffering sigh and then looked again at the girl with a squint. "I've had enough of this damned town," he muttered under his breath. "Look, I don't know who told you about me, but I ain't the man you think I am." He gave a sniff.

Mairead's eyes narrowed. She nodded at the serving girl, a promise that the Inspector wouldn't be getting any more alcohol on her watch, then leaned her elbows on the table, her piercing gaze driving into the Inspector's. As she leaned forward, the arrows in her quiver rattled a little, her bow glistening with resin in the dim light, and a nearby woman abruptly moved to a new seat on the other side of the tavern.

"What about one last case, then? Fer old time's sake? Maybe just te help a lady oot?" Mairead's gaze, although disguising her emotions, was clearly challenging Inspector Tillman. "It isn't as eif you'll get yer heart broken again lookin' fer a missin' man."

"It wasn't a case that broke my heart. It was a woman indirectly involved." He pushed the empty tankard back and forth in his hands. "I broke my own rules. First I fell in love with a whore, and now I am drinking. Look at me." He waved the empty vessel around and then said, "If you want an idiot for an investigator on your case, who am I to say no to you?" Then he reached into his messenger bag and flopped out a pad of paper and a pencil, rifling through the sheaf of paper until he came to an empty page. She might see a brief glimpse of a drawing of the woman who broke his heart. It was clear his heart wasn't in this case of hers, that he was taking notes to appease her more than anything. "What is your name, lovely?" he asked.

Mairead gave a small smile. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

"Mairead Dunlop. Ma father eis Odhran Dunlop. He went missin' four months ago, ein September of 1894, an' lef' a note 'e knew ah would find only on the anniversary of ma Ma's death, ein December of te same year. In eit, 'e said he'd be 'ere, in Whitby, though why, I cannae tell ye, fer I dunnae meself. I got 'ere only this af'ernoon, an' a pop referred me to ye."

He only wrote her last name down and short handed the other stuff in a shaky hand. When he was done he said, "I'll take enough for a night at the inn. The rest of the payment can come after I have done some digging. Of course I ain't doing any work tonight. Haha. You understand. Right?" He wasn't so drunk as to sway or anything like that, but the smell of ale was strong on his breath. "I can't make any promises that I will find him, but I will do what I can and that is the best I can offer. If you don't mind dealing with a lout like me." He sighed.

Mairead fished through one of her pockets and turned up a handful of coins- more than enough to pay for a night at an inn, so she counted out just enough in order that he wouldn't have enough extra to buy another ale.

"Here ye be. An' where an' when should ah find ye when ye done? Ah'll be searchin' the town meself while yer a'work."

"I'll be at the nearest inn." He took the money and pocketed it, not going for more ale because he didn't want any more. He then wrote down the name of the Inn and handed her the torn piece of paper it was on. "You have my permission to wake me up rudely if I am still sleeping by the time you get there. Lord knows I deserve it."