the name is Maeve poking fun at the fact she’s never gotten drunk

At the end of the street, there was a shop. Small on the outside, bigger on the inside. A sign hung above the door and read “Junk and Disorderly.” The walls outside were a rustic brick covered in ivy. The path leading to the door was dotted with carpet moss growing between flagstones. Inside were walls painted a dark forest green, heavy dark mahogany shelves laden with curiosities like misshapen crystals, stuffed animals that seemed to blink or other wise move once in a while, and snow globes where the scenes inside played out in a seemingly endless loop. Stacks of old books lurked in the corners of the room and masquerade masks were spread out over 2 antique wooden side tables. The dull glass eyes of a nine point buck stared in judgement of all who lingered by both the antique cash register and the multiple end tables covered with various collections of jewelry. Behind the counter, there hung an old pendulum clock, the hands frozen at 3 o’clock.