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At the Hare & Sheaf, ~11am Saturday May 4th, 1771


John Collins moved back behind the bar and parked his son on a stool with the ease of a swan returning to water. Those coming in were met with the familiar mingling of woodsmoke and old drink, traces of tobacco and the strong savoury scent of stewed meat, warm grain and curry spices. Nancy Collins looked up at their massed entrance with curiousity, leaning on the house end of the bar, and a somewhat dishevelled Master Fox rolled himself back on his elbow to salute the company with a pint of what was hopefully small beer.

"What ho! Do I see gentlemen - and a lady or so, and a seraph of the highe-!" he ducked Nancy's well-forewarned swipe at the back of his head as Hessie cringed up small at that address. He cleared his throat, tucking an errant lock of hair back behind his ear. " *Ahem* -and a Hester, perhaps in need of beverages?"

"There's food to be 'ad," Nancy announced with rather less flourish, in case anyone present had need of it.

Thomas followed the others off of the green and was glad to be inside and somewhat more remote from what had happened. He took his usual tankard of ale and took his favourite seat to the right of the fire but still able to see who was entering the pub through the window or the door.

He took a sip as he looked at the faces of those gathered.



-

Andrew found an empty chair, lowering himself into it more gingerly than usual. He looked about, heartened to see that several had heeded John Collins’ invitation. Even despite his recent injory, Andrew couldn’t shake a nagging urgency about Polly. He hoped that a search for her could be made soon, fearful that the longer they waited, the more dreadful the outcome. For now, however, he held to hope. Hope that she could be located and returned safely to her home.

”A small beer, perhaps?” he asked, hopeful that a drink might help numb the ache in his side.

"What ho what ho what ho!" he said, sidling up to the bar with the plan to request a pint of something. He might have requested something more in the way of the ardent spirits if the hour was later than it was or the place less crowded, but he feared his services might be called upon if the current spate of either mad or bedeviled animals persisted and wanted to keep his wits about him.

The landlord drew off a pewter pint of small beer from the back corner barrel and passed it down the bar to Nancy to take over. He passed the doctor's order to George whilst Master Fox laughed amusedly at the doctor's effusiveness: "A pint of something for the doctor, Georgie."

Little George Collins' eyes scanned the barrels he could see and then went wide, worried by an order he didn't have by heart. "Do we 'av Something? We...we got Peculiar..."

"Give the doctor something you think he'd like," his father clarified, and steadied the child as his fuzz-crowned head dropped from view with an expression of great concentration. There came some sounds of small wandering feet and eventually some glugging, then more pattering again.

"It appears there's a great number of folk in here," Master Fox observed, looking about and letting Nancy keep tabs on his tab. "Have I missed something? It is before noon, isn't it, John?"

"Just about." John took a tankard handed up to him, absolutely deadpan, and slid it across to Dr. Lovelace. It fizzed slightly and had a lump of rock sugar rattling around the bottom.  "There've been strange things going on-"

He paused and looked over at his next eldest daughter, who'd just come out of the door to the kitchens. "-yes, Beth?"

"It's back, Dad," Beth said, pointing, then belatedly curtsied at the full room and the squire right there, looking put out.

His favorite drink it was, a pint of Something, with a good amount of sweetness to fill him with the energy he needed and just a bit of alcohol to liven things up a bit without leaving him dysfunctional.

"We have come here, Master Fox, to discuss matters of some importance. The location of lost individuals and the hunting of bedeviled animals. Why, Mister Sexton here not long ago was attacked by a mad stag not long ago. If you can believe it, there was a laughing hare in my home this very morning. The world has gone mad, and we're hoping to put the collective wisdom of Scorch Norton, such as it is, to use in setting things to rights."

Master Fox gave a small, confused snort. "I'm not sure what a 'laughing hare' is, but I'm sure you or the- hmm, the 'collected knowledge of Scorch Norton' can find some kind of unguent for it..."

He twisted to observe Andrew and instantly looked more concerned, his pause leaving John's advice to "-see if you and Hessie can catch it and bring it out here," to sound louder than the general murmurs of people trying to make sense of events.

"oh. -and missing persons, you say? There hasn't been anyone else vanished, has there?" he licked the side of his lip with a quick, nervous motion and contemplated his beer, then those around.

"Not that we know of, but I mean to make a concerted, witnessed search for Mistress Durbin, starting from the meadow across the river and circling the village. After that we can think about further out."

"Someone's heading this way at a fair clip," Bart announced, looking out of the window to confirm what he'd heard.