A less confident Morrison Thorne may have taken the current weather as a sign, or possibly as a small dosage of whatever karma was headed his way. Luckily for him, he was not only confident to a fault, the Englishman didn't believe in karma. Nor did he view his lifestyle or occupational choices as something deserving of ill will toward himself, at least not from the karmic universe. While the slow and steady drizzle that seemed to be hovering over Hogsmeade for the past hour was unwelcome, that was life and had nothing to do with his current affairs. Besides, he wasn't actually doing anything illegal on the clock, just some supplemental followup, really just fine tuning some details if you asked him.
In fact, as far as anyone back at the office knew, he was here on official Ministry business, in the sense that his overseers were aware of and condoned where he was. Some of his coworkers had organized a holiday party for the upcoming Valnetine's day; Morrison was without a significant other, and certainly without any personal attachment to anyone within the Magical Transportation Department, so the celebration of St. Valentine did not quite dawn upon him this year. He figured they would have been more than accustomed to his disinterest in their intra office social activities. It was more than well known that Morrison was where he was working his way up, and had no desire to get caught up among what he considered to be his future underlings. That being said, he had the mental capacity to seize an opportunity when laid out right in front of him.
His first stop in the very familiar village was at the Hog's Head; there was a Belgian witch who had been staying there for the past couple of nights, and was waiting for his help to return to her home country without detection. Normally he wouldn't have taken work from a stranger, but she was a colleague of a trusted return customer of Milo Boulstridge, so he obliged, for a slightly increased fee of course. Once he dropped off the portkey along with written time frame, Morrison was gone before the barkeep could even get a second glance at his face.
A cigarette appeared from his pocket, a drag exhaling from his mouth in a matter of seconds. He had left his hat back at the office, but he really had no reason to be overtly concerned about his hair. Whatever damage would be done by the rain was nothing a the wave of a wand couldn't fix. And he was fairly certain he would not be running into anyone on this short trip that he would need to be looking his most presentable for.
The trek to Crusts and Crumbs was a much shorter one than he had been expecting, or maybe he had simply gotten lost in thought. Either way the obnoxiously vibrant sign was rapidly approaching; his drags became longer and quicker, powering through the second half of his cigarette in nearly half the time he spent on the first part. He bent down just outside of the store to extinguish the bud on one of the cobblestones, before depositing it in a trash bin just outside the door.
When Morrison had been asked to pick up the sweets for the office party, he couldn't honestly recall whether or not he had ever visited the bakery before; it was possible he had once or twice during his school years or time spent working the Tri-Wizard Tournament, but no specific, concrete memory had come to mind. He was fairly certain it was owned by one of the Tricketts, an army only rivaled by the Regans and one he had much less interaction with, but even that he wasn't certain of. As he entered the shop, the former Slytherin knew that his school aged self had never entered the shop before; the pillowy clouds floating with rays of sunshine overhead immediately contrasted the gloominess he had just come in from. It was too gimmicky for his personal tastes, but he was more than sure that it pleased most of their clientele.
The man took his time strolling about the store, walking along the displays examining their contents. Morrison hadn't placed much thought into what to expect upon his arrival, so at the very least he could say he was not let down. They had quite the selection, and more than one of their offerings caught his eye. His hand glided along the counter absentmindedly, and had it not fallen off, he would not have been aware he had reached the end. His head craned from side to side, inspecting the shop for an employee, though their appeared to be none manning the front; most have been a slow day due to the weather. He waited a brief moment before his eyes caught the bell sitting near a register. He signaled for assistance, continuing to peruse the merchandise from his spot in front of the register.
