Hastings needs a drink

Hastings enters the local pub after taking a moment to look up outside and ascertain that yes, that really is the name. He's stopped by the lodge to stash is gun and other equipment but otherwise hasn't bothered to change out of his hunting boots and tweed, which fit with the pub's rustic interior.

"One pint--no, actually, make that a scotch, please." He flops onto one of the bar stools. What a day.

It's warm in here, but not too warm, being it is late afternoon and there are a few customers beside yourself in the little place, a few at the bar and a few at tables in the corners.


The bar man, brightens when he sees Hastings in his hunting garb. He smiles, and nods. "Scotch man, eh? Coming right up!"

As he makes your drink, he starts to hum and make conversation. "Been out hunting today, sir? You on holiday?"

Hastings laughs ruefully, glancing back at rifle case.

"Well, I didn't get any done today, I'm afraid... I didn't realize there's a rule up at the manor that you can only hunt in pairs." He looks up, taking in some of the mounted trophies on the walls.

"You must be a keen hunter though, Mr.--?"

He puts his hand out to shake yours. "Beaver, but most around here call me Dickon. I hadn't realized they made hunting in pairs all official and the like up at the house." His jolly attiude fades a tiny bit at the mention of the woods. "Drake has his reasons for cautioning ya though. Nasty reputation, those woods have."

Anyway, his jolly demeanor reappears again. "Keen hunter...?" Confused for second, he follows your line of sight towards the trophies, and recognition dawns on him. "Oh. I like to hunt now and again, for fun, but most of those are from my da. He was the big hunter in the family, entered a couple competitions too in his time. I mostly just man the pub, but sometimes I go hunting on my off days." He puts a glass on the bar. "Here's your scotch, sir."

"Captain Arthur Hastings." Hastings shakes his hand accepts the glass with a smile, then looks appreciatively at Mr. Beaver Sr.'s trophies again. "Well, it's a wonderful collection. And, you know, if you ever want a partner to watch your back in those woods..." He raises his glass to him before knocking it back. He's not entirely sure how to handle how deathly serious the locals seem to take the mystery of the woods--he doesn't want to offend anyone or appear as though he's belittling them, but it's difficult to believe that they all subscribe to Drake's fairy beliefs, so he's trying to walk the thin line of casually humoring them.

"Ah, listen..." he leans on the side of the bar, "I hope this won't seem too macabre--I've actually got a good reason for asking. You see, a close friend of mine is a detective, and Drake mentioned that some people had gone missing in those woods--were they ever found? I could... You know, bring it up with him, if it might be a help."