Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.

Rather than sit at the most crowded bar in Diagon Alley, 6 o'clock rolled around, and Micki was standing outside of Café Twin Montez, The Leaky Cauldron was much too crowded and rowdy for an intelligence like Micki to grace it, so she swept herself off to the little Café that was only open at times that were not unusual for a small café to be open at.

A fountain pen, paper, a book, and untidy hair was what walked through the door as Micki swept into the bar, a much too large traveling cloak adorning her shoulders. She took no notice of anyone inside the bar, simply swept past a couple of tables, half knocking them over with the heavy material of her cloak as it whipped by, knocking things over and sending chairs flying.

Once at the counter, Micki half slammed her fist on the counter and said: "A tea, two sugars, and a jar of peanut butter." Micki pulled out her wallet and swept off to a corner booth, her book under one arm. It wasn't unusual for Micki to order Peanut Butter, and the café had gotten pretty used to keeping itself in stock of peanut butter, so there was hardly a delay between when she sat down, to when her tea and peanut butter was set in front of her.

"Thank you kind sir!" She said enthusiastically, before setting her fountain pen on the paper, and looking around the room, surveying her own destructive path, and watching the reactions of the people who were confronted with such an odd person.

The Leaky Cauldron hadn't a Triple Bacon Cheeseburger of a finer quality than the one through which Nemo presently plowed, elbows rested firmly atop what had been his designated table for several days prior, so to steady himself as he brutally dug in to his meal of choice. As the half-spent bottle of Vodka that occupied the space above his plate reminded him, however, the Café had not provided him with the evening's drink. It had been burden, the trek across Diagon Alley that Nemo's thirst for liquor had required of him. But one paid a price for beating to the brink of death the majority of a pub's occupants and setting those who remained alight with fireworks. And Nemo much preferred the memory over the lost convenience. He would make do without The Leaky.

Thus, Nemo had supplied himself with his own bottle of Vodka and was well on his way to reaching its end that breezy afternoon. He hummed, contented by the stacked meat and abundance of condiments that had settled in his stomach as he ate. And throughout the otherwise silent café the tune of an ancient muggle song of a "Rambling Man" rumbled - until its rhythm was interrupted by the abrupt and wind-swept arrival of a customer.

Nemo halted, mouth full of food and blue eyes wrinkled with confusion as the newcomer ordered. Peanut butter? He dropped the remaining portion of his burger heavily atop his plate and reached for his bottle of Vodka. Swallowing, he took a swig and slid from his booth to stand. Chairs, glasses, and straws lay scattered across the room, but he paid them little mind, stepping over each obstacle absently for the mere sake of avoiding a catastrophe as he made his way towards the storm of a woman who had left such a mess behind.

"Peanut butter?" Nemo asked, head peeking over the booth opposite of the one that she occupied, so to directly meet her gaze. "Who orders peanut butter at a café?" He brought his Vodka to his lips.

Micki was just tucking into her tea and peanut butter when a man with the most beautiful blue eyes came over to her table and questioned her about.. something. Her spoon full of peanut butter was nearly to her lips, and she sat there, her spoon frozen, as she stared up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Her hair was dipping into the wet ink on the page she had been writing on, but judging by the ink stains on her fingers, and the fact that the tips of her hair looked pretty inked down as well, this was normal for her.

Finally she blinked, and brought the spoonful of peanut butter to her lips, smacking her tongue off the top of her mouth for a moment as it got stuck up there, before swallowing and looking at him. "Doth thou hath a problem with peanut butter?" Micki said quickly, her eyes darting up to meet his before taking a very delicate sip of her tea, before filling her spoon again with the sticky, nutty spread and bringing it to her lips. "It is more enjoyable to eat it while in the company of others, and more.. fruitful in watching people then sitting at home." She said smiling once at him before popping the spoon into her mouth and keeping it there, as she picked up her pen.

She frowned, twisting the spoon to the side of her mouth, staring at her paper before glancing up at him and then back down at her paper, immediately starting to write on the paper. "How would you describe your eye color?" She asked suddenly, looking up at him like an interviewer at a job would ask someone wanting to get hired.

Nemo lifted his arms and laid them out across the booth's top, bottle of Vodka dangling idly from his right hand as he watched the woman slide the peanut butter from her spoon with her tongue. He was transfixed. "Not when thou eats it like that," Nemo replied, utilizing the same deceased word that she had in the belief that her phrasing had simply been an attempt at mockery. A fleshy pink pried his lips apart and darted across the corner of his mouth as Nemo absently cocked his head to one side, eyes fixed on the woman's spoon while she worked off another portion of the peanut butter.

"My eyes?" A grin leapt enthusiastically across his face. He was rarely so intrigued, and he was certainly enjoying the infrequent sensation. "Dunno," Nemo admitted, before answering in a teasingly sensual voice nothing at all like his own, " 'Glimmering with mischievous promise' ".

Micki's eyes darted back up to meet his when he started to speak of his eyes in a rather teasing manner. "Glimmering with mischievous promise.." she repeated, before looking back down at her paper and writing a few words down. "I do say thou eyes glimmer in the most magnificent of ways." she said, frowning as she motioned him into the seat across from her. "It is rare I see such beauty in the eyes of a man.. come, I wish to see them closer." she said gesturing once again for the seat across from her.

She quickly pulled the spoon out of her mouth and stuck it into the jar of peanut butter, pushing it to the side, as well as pushing her tea to the side, which slopped messily out of the cup and onto the tea plate, but she paid it absolutely no mind, nor did she pay mind the smudges and fingerprints which now dotted the once pristine page. Micki was a rather slob, and didn't care about it one way or the other.

What had once been an interested grin had curled and widened crookedly in betrayal of Nemo's amusement. For it was becoming increasingly evident that what he had originally perceived as a clever jab was something entirely different. She speaks like Shakespeare, He noted with glee. What an oddity, she was; another of his species; an addition to the anti-normal.

Nemo drank from his bottle before springing without warning atop the chair that had been knocked to the floor before the woman's booth. In the same motion, he pushed down upon the booth's cushioned edge and jumped over its back with a twist of his legs, landing with a soft squish as he sank into the plushy seat. And atop the table he carefully dropped his Vodka, leaning ever closer to the curious brunette who had stolen his attention.

"Thank you," He breathed in mock seriousness, as though it were of severe importance that she understand just how appreciative he was of her recognition of his beauty. And for several beats his blue irises had remained locked with hers - before he erupted in an explosion of snorts and stuttering giggles and dropped his face in his hands, squirming with his laughter in the manner of an energized child. "I'm sorry," He squeed through his fit, and he looked up once more, "I couldn't take it anymore. It was just too funny," fragments of Nemo's laughter continued to break up his sentences.

Until alas he caught his breath and grinning, he made his inquiry, "Halloween isn't for another month. Isn't it a little early to be practicing for your role as Shakespeare?" Simultaneously, his subconscious proposed a question of its own, Is it my birthday? Or have my lucky underwear finally kicked in?

Micki watched him curiously as he plopped down in the seat in a manner quite befitting her own. His actions were simple, but the overall affect of the movement was one of flailing and finally a graceful landing upon the seat in front of her. She smiled slightly and leaned closer, her eyes examining his until he suddenly looked away, giggling like a school girl, and looking almost like one too. It was too bad he was strikingly handsome, but his eyes.. his eyes were worth examining closer.

"What doth thou thinketh amusing?" Micki asked, looking slightly surprised, she had lost her focus on his eyes, and therefore had lost the words that had been forming in her mind. "My lips do part in this same manner, every time I do speaketh, not to amuse thineself, but to glorify the magnificence that has been Shakespeare." Micki said in an absolute straight face, before turning back to her paper and writing something else down about his eyes.

"Holy f-ck," Nemo whispered. She was astounding. He widened his stare, pupils flicking indecisively between the parchment across which the woman proceeded to scrawl in thick ink what he assumed to be the description of his eyes that she'd been searching for, and the woman's face. He could not decide which he found more worthy of his awe; her outdated and frankly unnatural vocabulary, or her general being.

"Are you stuck like that?" He asked with his head turned impossibly further to the side. It was an illogical question, but was one which he wished to receive an answer to nonetheless. He lifted his alcohol from the table and met his lips with the glass, swinging his head back to finish what little had remained. And with a clink! it rejoined the table.

He would be needing another bottle shortly. He was all but writhing with his thirst.

Mick continued to scribble words onto the paper, before finally setting down her pen and looking up at him, reaching over for the spoon, which she filled with peanut butter and stuck into her mouth, watching his astonishment flicker across his face. She couldn't help but look amused at the way his eyes flickered between her paper and herself, before finally, she pulled her spoon out of her mouth, leaving a large majority of the half eaten peanut butter still on the spoon.

"The question doth not be whether I hath the ability to speaketh as you do. The question, doth be whether I care to, and to that, mine self answers no. It pleases my tongue and mind to speaketh in such a way thine own true self finds difficult to understand." she said simply, before sticking the spoon back into her mouth, and sucking on the salty mixture again, before looking down at her parchment. "However.. thine eyes..." She sighed and looked back up at him, examining his eyes more closely. "They sparkle in a way that bewilders even mine own experienced hand. The coloring befits that of a jewel that hath been kept secret from the public.. a glittering jewel held behind bars, for fear of betrayal to lay hands upon it's magnificence... How doth one describe thine eyes?" Her own eyes glared into his, examining everything from his eyebrows, to staring him straight into the eyes, not at the color, but beyond that, and then back to the color again.

Two could play at this game; of this Nemo was certain. Or he could make an effort, at the very least. And with the hilarity that could potentially ensue as a result? Well, that was quite enough to drive Nemo do to nearly anything. He existed for a laugh hearty enough to cause his lungs to struggle, and while it was usually far more satisfactory for Nemo if he were able to make his audience join in, he was willing to accept what success he could come by. Thus, it was with careful concentration that he next spoke, drawing what he had experienced thus far of the woman's language, "Doth thou always speaketh in such a way?" He paused to chuckle against his crumpled fist. "'Tis strange."

She returned to the admiration of his eyes and his smile broke, overthrown instead by the shadow of suspicious confusion when a probable underlying reason for her interest in them occurred to him, for she seemed to have seen something within their depths that many were incapable of spying. "Can you..." He shook his head, thinking himself ridiculous for thinking so. Yet, he continued, "Can you see it? You act like you're seeing something else." Was it possible she could see his gift through his eyes in the manner that only his parents had ever been able to? And as though her sentences weren't oddly structured enough, he added, "Can you see the Seer?"