[A Most Unlikely Brew (Kitsune -- Open)]

[Kitsune Meute d'Voleur]

It has been ages since Kistune has lived among the Wizarding Realm and it was no surprise that after her slumber one of her first stops would be The Three Broomsticks.

She sauntered in, nonchalant in her air of flamboyant curiosity and thirst. Her sapphire eyes caught at the people milling about, and a smile slithered across her face as the rumble of conversation made her ears twitch and the smell of buttered hops sang in her canine nose. She had, very much, missed the land of the living.

Kitt found herself a table and sank into a chair. Even the familiar feelings of wood and wax on the tables made her smile. She couldn't remember how many moons it had been since she had last had her taste for rum or beer or tea sated. Slumber tended to make you forget such things. She noticed that the Barkeep was busy this afternoon, and she waited patiently to catch someone's attention, for she was so longing for a brew that only a few people knew of.

The brew that she spoke of, of course, was a secret and had used to hide in a dark cobalt corked bottle in one of the hidey-holes that The Three Broomsticks sported for those that knew they existed. She and those that she had called Pack back before her Hibernation only drank it on special occasions.

She wondered if the bottle was still there, and who, if anyone, had been informed of the brew that She and Her Pack preferred.

[Reckony Pike]

Damn. They had to call in sick. Today. Reckony gave his facial features an exaggerated stretch as he fought to keep awake on the homestretch of his third consecutive shift. The Three Broomsticks was packed to the rafters with an unusually large troupe of revellers, and yet while the establishment was normally graced with the presence of up to seven severs, miraculously each and every one managed to call in sick today.

For a moment, the barkeep considered that a flu was ravaging his beloved staff, but then he came to his senses. England. For the love of St. George. They were playing France in the World Cup qualifiers today, and any self-respecting Quiddy would be sneaking a peak at the team's first match. Word had spread that this could be England's year. And truth be told, everyone loved to hate France.

Reck caught sight of a young woman sitting alone at a table. He'd never seen the lass before and yet while he was certain that she was the new kid on the block, she seemed oddly at home in his bar. She didn't even look under the table for gum wads (which, he was proud to say, he chiseled off every Sunday); no, this one was an irregular regular. Reck wagered she'd been absent for a spell.

Finishing the last pour on his current order, the barkeep tossed off his apron and grabbed a quill, approaching Kit's table with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, love. I'm a little short staffed today. Nasty case of Quiditis roaming about. What can I getcha? We have a drink special on Wyvern Whiskey and The Frightful Dead Amber Ale."

[Kitsune Meute d'Voleur]

"Sorry, love. I'm a little short staffed today. Nasty case of Quiditis roaming about. What can I getcha? We have a drink special on Wyvern Whiskey and The Frightful Dead Amber Ale."

Kitt's ears flipped up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. As she lifted her eyes to the masculine face, her nose caught the smell of territory and her mind accurately pinned the man as the current authority of the Three Broomsticks. She smiled as she looked about. Her guess that a few more men were working in the back seemed to be wrong, and she bit her bottom lip as she tried not to grin in a rather mischievous manner.

"A serious case of the Quiditis, you say? Good graces," she shook her head and winked. "In that case it would be of bad taste for me to ask if you are indeed the bearer of a small tidbit of information..."

Kitt's tail slipped out from underneath her constructed facade of humanity. She knew that the fox in her blood was showing, but she had so missed the Wizarding world and all of the mischief that could be caused in it. She eyed the room and looked back to the man.

"Are you in need of any help here? I am more than able to offer my assistance, if there is a need. I've spent more than my fare share of time here."

Her thoughts circled around the cobalt bottle. She wondered if it had been moved, or indeed possibly (though she hated to think it) tossed out with the rubbish. She swallowed the saliva that resulted at the thoughts in her mind.

"You wouldn't even have to pay me, at least, not in the sense of coppers anyway." She flipped her tail into an arc of playfulness. "I seek a cobalt bottle. It's no bigger than a Soiled Dove's Dirk, but holds a liquid that I would be willing to share if it were found."

Her sapphire eyes lit to violet. "Interested?"

[Reckony Pike]

"A serious case of the Quiditis, you say? Good graces," she shook her head and winked. "In that case it would be of bad taste for me to ask if you are indeed the bearer of a small tidbit of information..."

"My good lady, this establishment thrives on small tidbits of information," Reckony responded with slight flirtation, a reaction of his curiosity more than anything. He took a seat opposite the rather fox-like client and leaned close. "I'm all ears. Nice tail, by the way."

"Are you in need of any help here? I am more than able to offer my assistance, if there is a need. I've spent more than my fare share of time here. You wouldn't even have to pay me, at least, not in the sense of coppers anyway. I seek a cobalt bottle. It's no bigger than a Soiled Dove's Dirk, but holds a liquid that I would be willing to share if it were found."

"Ahhhhh, a proposition. And a mystery! A mystery in cobalt. Well, you've certainly managed to turn my misery upside down. And just when I thought today was going to be nothing more than repeat tabs with wildebeest sandwiches and chips. You say you've spent a fair swallow of time here? I'm afraid I've never seen you, so I'll gather you've been away. Tell me about this bottle and why you think it might be in my bar."

Reckony sank back in to the booth, enjoying the small break from the tedious and monotonous. His eyes echoed her mirth.

[Kitsune Meute d'Voleur]

"Where to begin?" Kitt flipped her tail up and rested in it her lap, much as if it were a cat to be cuddled and not her tail at all. She pursed her lips as she thought for a moment, her eyes lighting up even as she discovered the beginning of her thoughts and not, as she usually found, the middle or end.

"Long before you worked here, I suppose; and longer still before I knew that the mystery in cobalt as you have so perfectly put it, existed, there was a man who made a brew that only a few people knew could even be made. He had gotten the mix so perfect, you see, that he had to find a way to preserve it for those that wished to sample it in the future. What a better place to hide it than in a pub where every brew to be found wouldn't be considered out of place?" She pulled from her boot a small apple as she talked, forgetting for the moment that she even had a table-mate.

Her eyes swam with something, a spark of adventure with a smidgen of excitement and pinch of something to do with adoration that bordered on "rather confusing."

"It would just so happens that a small group of lads and lasses stumbled upon this succulent brew, and vowed that only those of the Pack would know and pass on the information as to it's whereabouts to a deserving participant." She bit into the core of the apple as she filtered her brain back towards reality. "There was a side note to all of our fun, though. We knew that not all of us would be here to determine the new hiding location for the bottle each time it was found. So, we decided that the owner or the esteemed worker at the wondrous Three Broomsticks would carry around that small tidbit of information until one of us returned."

A grin spread across her face. "And here I am! Though, it seems, that I am the only one to get back here as soon as this - for it seems that the patrons of this establishment have no idea of what I speak. Which, mind you, I do not consider to be a bad thing."

Kitt's eyes scanned the room and the patrons in it. Her smile softened into warmth of familial bonds. She had spent so much time here in her past, drinking with friends, planning escapades with her mates, and even complaining about sporting events and the resulting liquor induced mock-fights.

"Where, do you suppose, someone would hide a small bottle that is only to be found by those that know it exists?"

[Reckony Pike]

The movement and flair of Kitt's tail brought great amusement to the barkeep: his eyes grew wide and a queer smile quickly crossed his face. One minute the tail was up, the next it was down, and somewhere in between the woman produced an apple from her boot. She really was quite the peculiar being, but Reckony found himself warming to her instantly. He was about to question whether she wanted to wash her apple when she bit in to the fruit and started off on the story of the cobalt bottle.

"A Pack! Good lady, am I to assume there are more of you marvellous creatures about this fair village?"

"Where, do you suppose, someone would hide a small bottle that is only to be found by those that know it exists?"

It was a very good question and not one that he had an immediate answer for. There were the dusty old rafters, but Pike was certain they'd be discounted due to the frequent presence of owls. There were the false cobbles in the fireplace, but last year the pub started renting out the hidden cubbies as sort of a poor-man's safety deposit box. The old kegs were changed out too often and there wasn't a bottle at the bar that Reckony hadn't tried at least twice. Three times. Maybe more.

It was a conundrum.

"It's a conundrum. Tell you what, Miss...Miss...I'm sorry, I believe I forgot to ask you for your name? My name is Reck." The barkeep extended his hand. "Tell you what. If I can have your assistance clearing some of these tables, I promise you free range to search for this missing bottle and half its contents once found. Deal?"