There is a long period of silence as Quentin looks at Harry for several long moments. "Mister Longbottom, I can forgive you for not knowing the extraneous details of the nature of this treasure. I could even, perhaps, over look your questionable morales. But if the extent of your local knowledge runs to some guy named Farris then I am afraid that you are not suited to this job. Thomas Farris had some small reknown in Glaisdale, while not Whitby itself it is close enough to be what I would consider local history. Esecially as there are several books and articles in the local paper about it printed in the last few years. I am afraid I will not require your services."

Harry looked at the man, blinking. Then suddenly he shouted. "Fucking Glaisdale! Well why don't ye hire a man from there!?" He spat down on the map. "Never mind! It's clear ye wanna be alone with yer whore!" Not that he was leaving. Harry was now determined to stay solely to get revenge on the man for dropping him.

Whore? Who did he think he was? She didn't like Mr. Longbottom to begin with, but now she loathed him. She wanted to march closer to him and smash him in a place where the sun didn't shine. She really was going to put her foot up his longbottom. She growled when he spit so disrespectfully on the map, that was the last straw for her. She reached over and let her closed fist, yes, done properly, fly toward his face. She wasn't thinking about it, she just... did it. And if the punch landed successfully, it would hurt.

Quentin weathered Mister Longbottom's vitriol without comment. Considering that Glaisdale was less than a days walk and in the same county as Whitby he would consider any man worth his weight in salt for the task at hand would know such history. The spit however earned Harry a frown, calling Claire a whore though?

Quentin's continence took a dark turn, like storm clouds rolling through on a sunny day. Even if Harry avoided Clair's punch he would have far larger concerns. Quentin's hand shoots toward the man's collar with the snapping speed of a boxer. Assuming success he would curl his fist in the cloth winding it around before lifting Harry off the floor. Muscles bulging under the strain but he doesn't seem to notice.

Being the sexist garbage monster he was, Harry certainly didn't expect the woman to be able to punch him in the face. A miscalculation on his side. He stepped back and held his aching nose, but he hardly had time to even realize what had happened, for Quentin took him by the collar and lifted him off the ground. Alas, Harry's poor quality clothing somewhat ruined the effect: The collar ripped and Harry fell to the ground. He groaned loudly and looked around, alert but disoriented.

That punch to the nose was about the most satisfying thing ever. She kept her fists up, aware of the stares they were attracting and maybe even a few catcalls. She bared her teeth as she watched the wretch fall to the floor because his clothing couldn't handle being fisted like that. Her own fists were still curled into balls, but she dutifully stepped back and out of the way once Quentin started getting physical. As much as she could handle a man like Mister Longbottom on her own, it was still a man's world and all that. But she did say, "Are you quite finished, Mister Longbottom? Or is there anything else you'd like to add?" Her questions were rhetorical.

"Yes, mister Longbottom are you quite finished? Because you have reached the end of my patience and if you don't take yourself out of here I will be throwing you out of here." The statement had the weight of promise rather than threat as he absently tosses the wad of cloth to the ground. It was rare that he got angry but a sure way to rouse his ire was insulting someone in front of him.

Harry crawled up to his feet but swayed. His nose was not bleeding, but very painful. He glared at both of them (but kept a few feet distance). "Wait til I report ye both for assault! Good luck searching for treasure from jail!"

Ha! Just like he had reported Ben for assault on Noah and... oh wait... Noah had ended up in jail instead. Was he still there? Huh...

"With the way you act, I doubt anyone would stand up on your behalf and say they saw something. Poor dear, you ripped your shirt.Tisk tisk tisk, you had better get that mended, sir," she drawled. She didn't actually care if he got the constable, it would be worth it. "Maybe if you ask your wife nicely, she'll do it," she mocked. Then she waved her hand dismissively, "Shoo."

Quentin's reply was utterly non-verbal. He was not the sort of man that would make a threat and then not follow through upon it. So he starts to walk towards Harry fully intent on taking the man by the scruff of the neck and the back of his pants and bodily throwing him out of the doors of the bar. He had no more worry of the law in this matter than he had of Harry himself. He seriously doubted the constable would try to arrest a Marquis and Knight of the Realm on the word of a drunk.