With that, the young Florence Haddock had finished up with writing in what he'd refer to as his "Detective's Journal". In truth, it didn't so much detail his outings often as much as it did contain the hastily jotted down notes of one with too much free time. "Just bought new shoes," or "Magnolia might have some nice job openings available this time of year" number just a few of the various quips he would archive rather than forget.
With an audible and dramatic slam, he closed his journal and withdrew a leather wallet. He had been sitting in the corner of the inn as mysterious individuals are privy to, but figured it was time for him to partake in the revelry of shelter and comfort.
Sauntering over to the counter, he rang for the barkeep, tapping his index finger on the bell up front to signify that a customer was eager to pay up for a stiff drink. He could hear a brutish voice yell, "I'll be there in a second!" from behind a door which Florence could only assume lead to a storage room.
And a long second it was, as the young man grabbed a stool and rested his upper body on the counter.
"What does a fella gotta do to get a drink up in here? Let me at it already."
Sighing, he retrieved the journal from his pocket again and began to write down, "Barkeep is a slacker".
Turning around in his stool, he tipped his hat down over his face. With as much subtlety as could be mustered, he gazed around the bar to study its inhabitants. One as eager for a good mystery as anyone, he had to be vigilant for potential criminals or bounties.