open the hoppy frog
There's something comforting about the sunset hours in Snowberry Glen. The way the fading light casts a final glow over the trees and houses, as lamps and lights begin to flicker awake for their vigilant shift. As the darkness deepens, the Hoppy Frog begins to cast a butter-warm glow from its aged windows, drawing folks in after work like moths to flame.
Morgan figures everyone in town passes through at least once every few days, but some, even more often. It's the centerpiece of their humble world, an honor she doesn't take lightly. The Hoppy Frog was here before her and if all's well in the world, it'll be there after.
The small woman is wiping the bar top from a sporadic afternoon crowd, in anticipation of the dinner rush and late night drinking crowd. Someone's shadow darkens the polished wood and Morgan, without lifting her eyes, says, "Let me guess... a Tom Collins and a soft pretzel?"
It hasn't been a full day since Sophia arrived in Snowberry Glan and already regretted agreeing to her mother's plan — not that she had any alternative. Her initial plan was to stay in her newly purchased home as much as possible, but the place still lacked electricity, which forced her to go out and actually get to know the place.
She entered the Hoppy Frog on a whim and was about to correct her mistake and walk out when she heard the voice. It would be rude to leave now, and the last thing she wanted was to cause a bad impression. "I was hoping for something a little less quaint, if at all possible." She stepped further into the establishment, eyeing and silently judging every piece of decoration. "You'll have to excuse me, I've only now got here and I'm not quite used to the small town way of living."