10:16 PM

Neville peers into a tankard, frowns slightly and returns to polishing the inside, working up a bright gleam on the inside and outside of the glass. Once finished he smirks to himself and wipes the cloth over the top of the bar. Clean... clean... everything's clean and theres really nothing else to do. Neville sighs and leans against the wall, boredly rubbing the same spot on the bar, wondering when the first customer of the evening might eventually appear...

Skipai pads in with his usual jolly self, carrying his usual small basket and gives a wave to the hare behind the bar.  "Hey, Neville, me old sea-hare.  How goes today?"

Jarril enters just behind the otter, paws behind his back as the hare slowly moves in, stops and watches with a slight grin.  Moving a paw up to adjust one of his whiskers, the major makes his way through the room, following the otter slightly.

Buckthorn had been training all day, and though the hare had bathed and smelled of lilac soap, somehow it was still obvious he had been intensely exercising. The outside of his fingers were rubbed raw, the fur almost completely burned off from repeated hits to the punch bag. The tips of his paws were also sore, the rough surface of a bowstring having cut into them. His arms and legs felt like jelly, yet he just moved to the bar. "Eh... ale, there Neville." He says quietly, looking down to the bar top.

Neville looks up expectantly as a shadow darkens his doorway. He grins broadly as he recognises the cook, "Ahh Skip me ol' dog, I take it yer after the normal beer for me dinner swap?" he asks, starting to fill a tankard from one of the kegs of ale, already knowing the answer. He freezes mid-pour and looks in shock as another figure enters the establishment, "Ah, Major, good t' see ya. The Usual I take it?" he asks, turning to tip Skip's tankard to level off the frothy head. Neville sighs and shakes his head sadly as a third makes an appearance, wait all day and three turn up at once! "Evenin Buck, wot ale takes yer fancy tonight? We have the house regulars, my special brew, the spiced mead and, of course, this week's guest - a light, fresh little number with a crisp taste. Wotcha reckon?".

Buckthorn pushes his headfur back, looking over at Neville. He looks at the others pouring in and smiles at Neville. "Eh, I won' bother y'now... ale usually isn' good right af'er ah 'ard day... I'll get mehself ah glass o'water." He says in a full voice, giving Nev the biggest smile he could muster. Pushing himself away from the bar, Buck moves to one of the tables and pours himself a glass from one of the water pitchers. He sits by the fire, letting the heat sink into his tight muscles. The lone buck doesn't look up, nor does he push for conversation. Garr. Buck the Hermit is back!

Skipai nods slowly as he makes his way to the bar and sits down on one of the stools.  "Yeah, usual swap."  The otter churrs softly as he slowly takes a sip of the ale while nodding his head.  "Well, that's hit the spot alright."  Lifting up the basket, the otter hands it over to Neville and smiles.  "Just some salad, bread and a bowl of trifle today."

Jarril nods as he makes his way over to the bar as well.  "Hmmm, something strong and relax me quickly.  Had a busy day with the new recruits."  The major smiles and leans his head on one of his paws.  "I make a tracker out of them eventually but right now, I don't think they could track anything at the moment.  Too much thinking about food or looking at each other, doncha know."

Brivicus walks into the room.  He nods a greeting to the creatures before him, "What ho, chaps.  Where can a hare find himself somethin' to quench the old thirstation fever, wot?"