[color=f7976a][h2][right]|M O R G A N|
Street to Maryanne's Mystic Shop[/right][/h2][/color]

The walk to the shop was, as Morgan did not expect, much colder than usual. She had completely forgotten that summer was long gone. Her eyes slowly scanned across the rather empty street before her, finding comfort in the familiar, dulled colors of the old buildings and creaky signs that hung above her head. The sidewalk below was red like brick, forming intricate patterns within the stone and, at times, dipping into fissures and potholes from lack of care. Morgan sighed lazily as the world around her moved idly, the shops and clubs that would normally be alive later on in the day now dead silent and still under the morning sun. New Orleans was known mostly for its nightlife, the jazz clubs with neon lights and the bars with oak stools and flaming shots. Morgan knew this, and Morgan knew that tourists ate it up, but she knew that it often took a toll on those working those night time parties. They must be beat after such a long night.

[i]id hate to work at a club really[/i]

She swayed slightly as the street formed a four way intersection, and after thinking for a moment she took a right, glancing at her wristwatch with dreamy eyes. She still had a good hour before work officially started up, she could spare most of it for a conversation. Morgan adjusted her tote bag on her shoulder and quickened her pace. The street narrowed slightly, the buildings grow with height as she began to enter a much more populated area. People soon began brushed passed her, hands full of bags and food and materials. People, Morgan really didn't like people, especially strangers. They stare when they don't need to and ask stupid questions and sometimes they would touch her, even when she asked them to stop. Morgan shuddered as another tired-looking person bumped into her shoulder, though she felt her discomfort melt away slightly at the sight of her destination. Maryanne's Mystic Shop. Mrs. Hopkins was the owner, and her main source of comfort for when Morgan had her prophetic dreams. 

The young witch entered the small shop slowly, nearly getting trampled by three rather peeved-off looking boys, and glanced around cautiously. The shop was relatively busy, as usual. Tourists loved New Orleans for two things; the nightlife and the supernatural. Voodoo became well known in America because of New Orleans, and ghosts haunt every street corner, or so they say. Non-believers and believers alike ate that shit up, and thus lead to the popularity of Maryanne's shop (and every other supplies selling shop around). Morgan slowly made her way to the front of the shop, allowing a small smile to meet her lips at the sight of the two witches behind the counter.

"Morning, ladies. How have you been?" Her hand tightened around the tote bag's strap and she tilted her head to the side, like a child would.