Red hair was something of a novelty in these parts. Usually it was brown or black, the occasional dark, dark blond. Sometimes there would be an elderly man with a white top meandering through the streets, but for the most part it was top hats and bonnets and police caps. He'd been watching from the second floor balcony of a building across the street, so he knew this.

Someone lives here, likely. Or lived. Doors weren't hard to open, locked or otherwise, and were even more easily bypassed. But Neah supposed he'd probably watched long enough, kept Marian waiting long enough. His descent was uneventful, unfortunately, and within minutes he was placing an order of tea with a passing waitress before spinning off to slide into the seat across from the redhead, fingers laced over the table.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting long."