Pretty. Odd.

Loaded down with the parcels of objects she had purchased, Frankie returned to the place where her day had started, in the little pub squeezed between two rather normal shops which served as a doorway between the muggle world and the wizarding. Everything had been much unlike she expected and there was still many questions in her head. Most of the people she had met were decent, but most of the conversations she had with them left even more questions in her head.

Taking a seat and waiting for Bronny to come pick her up, Frankie pondered the adventures of the day. "Quidditch," She said, out loud, pulling a package of Bertie Botts Everyflavored beans and putting a few in her mouth. Even the candy was weird. "Have you ever heard of such a thing?" She inquired of the person seated to her right. "So it's like this sport for wizards...and the players ride on brooms....and the balls they use in the game fly on their own," She relayed the facts that she already knew. "Pretty weird, huh?" She swallowed the bitter tasting mass of jelly beans in her mouth. "Ugh, I think I got a grass flavored one! Who would've thought that grass flavored beans are good!?" She held out the box to the boy. "Want one?"

Digger had been sitting at the pub doodling on a piece of parchment, as he waited for his dad to come back with Tommie. His kid sister had wandered off, most likely to steal some sweets, while they had been doing the stupid school shopping. SO MANY BOOKS--not a good sign. Casually drawing random shapes which he imagined to be elaborate works of art in his mind, he suddenly came out of his daze when a girl, he had not noticed occupied the seat beside him, started talking to him.

She offered him the candy and he took some, and looked at the beans he chose carefully, without a word. “Blood.” He guessed, as he popped a brick red one in his mouth, “No, jerky. Darn.” He looked back at her, “What’d you ask? Quidditch? Yeah you pretty much got the gist of it: Fly on brooms with flying balls.” She was obviously muggle-raised. He loved those people. They were so gullible. “The balls are on fire, though, and there’s this miniature gold-colored dragon, called the snitch, that goes around making sure the balls stay lit. It’s the seeker’s job to catch the dragon. That ends the game, and the team that catches the snitch gets like a million and one points or something like that.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s all rather dumb, honestly. Only fun to watch when someone cracks their skull or something.”

Frankie pondered the boy's word as she chewed another bean; this one resembling the taste of bogeys, or so she imagined and deduced from it's alarming green color. She always thought that sports were a bit whacked in her mind, not seeing the pleasure in chasing balls, throwing them, occasionally getting hurt in the cause to raise the team's score, or even the pleasure in watching them. She also was starting to notice that everything in the wizard world seemed to be a bizarre extreme of regular things in the muggle world. For one example, the self-pouring tea-pots. Another example rested in her hand. Jelly beans, they had them in the muggle world, but instead of beans flavored like fruit, she was eating beans that tasted like toads and earwax. Why? She hadn't a clue. The flavors didn't seem nearly as pleasurable and nor did this sport quidditch.

"I always knew sports were crazy," She replied, calmly. Good thing Quidditch wasn't required to be played in school, she had learned that much. "I think I'll pass on watching the games, as well," She added. "I'm not big on watching sports, in the first place, and honestly promised gore isn't much more convincing," She finished and took another bean. Dirt. Lovely.

Digger nodded in agreement, though he thought the promised gore was the best part really. He looked at the few other beans he had in his hand still. He was probably the only person alive who really longed for the weird flavored ones. Popping a turquoise one in his mouth, he raised his eyebrows in interest as the taste of falcon eggs filled his mouth. “Want to see much more interesting than sports?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he reached into his bag at the foot of his stool, and pulled out a bag of newt tails he had swiped while in the Potions shop. He poured them out on to the countertop and they wiggled around as if alive all over the place. Then he reached into his pocket and took out a small bottle of some special acidic potion, and poured it on the tails, which instantly began to seethe and burn with astonishing loud crackles, twitching all the while. He watched with a satisfied smile, until the tails were nothing but a strange colored, glittering dust. He dusted the powder into his right hand and showed it to Francis. “Lucky Powder,” he declared, “Want it?”

Francis watched as the boy produced a bunch of lose next tails from his pocket and remained quiet with interest as he used some sort of solution to burn them into dust. She rose an eyebrow. "I wouldn't exactly call that a sport..." or something interesting to watch, for that matter, but nonetheless, she held out her hand in a cup shape and accepted the 'lucky dust' as he handed it over to her. "Erm, thanks, I guess." The luckiness of the dust was a bit dubious in her opinion, but she was always one to accept free things. She emptied her pumpkin juice bottle and carefully sifted the dust into it, corking it when she was done and held it up to admire. "What if you needed those newt tails, though, for alchemy or whatever that class is?" She questioned, wondering why he would sacrifice school supplies for such a petty wonder.

“Easy,” he replied, “I wont go to the class.” He ate another bean, and winced at the spinach flavor. “By the way, if you sprinkle that stuff on your breakfast before eating it, your guaranteed to win a battle against a dragon, very likely to escape a hurricane unscathed, and it increases your chance of seeing another day by twenty-three percent.” He said knowledgably, though he was just making up everything word per word. Lying to him was like telling a story, it was fun, and even more fun if the audience believes it. “So your muggle born, yeah? Have you ever rode on one of them flying thingys?”

Frankie just shook her head. So boys were equally mental in the wizard world just like the muggle world she had grown up in. She wasn't going to tell the boy what to do though. If he didn't want to go to class and fail, that was all just as well for her.

What wasn't okay was his instructions on how to obtain the luck. She imagined herself pouring the dust over a steaming bowl of oatmeal and cringed at the thought. "That sounds absolutely disgusting," she relayed, truthfully. This wizard stuff was seeming bizarrer and bizarrer by the moment. "I'll take my chances with the dragons and the hurricanes."

It didn't take much imagination to figure out what the word 'muggleborn' meant. The definition was all but in the name. Born of muggles. Frankie shrugged. "I never met my parents. I sort of figured someone must've been magical for me to be, but if you say that two muggles can yield a magical kid, that might as well have happened," Frankie said. She actually didn't think it mattered much. She never knew her parents and never will, so what does it matter what they were?

"Brooms?" She offered. "I am not completely unaware of things, y'know," she finished and placed another bean on her tongue. Sausage. "But if you must know, no I haven't. I suppose you are an expert." He seemed to know everything so maybe he didn't actually need to go to class.

He smiled. He had originally been asking about those muggle contraptions, areoplanes or whatever they were called, but if she thought him an expert on a broom, he wasn't going to fault her on that. "Oh, yeah. I've been flying all me life. I was born on a broom. True story." he said wisely, and with a look of nobleness. "See this thumb here." he gave her the thumbs up with his left hand. "It's fake. Made out of dragon skin, and goblin mask. I lost it on my ninth birthday, when I was fight'n some dragons on my Firebolt broomstick, and I had slayed five of them already, but there was this one real brutal son of Godzilla, I swear... He bit my thumb off--I was lucky it didn't get my whole hand! Anyway, that's why my thumb looks so odd." he explained. His thumb appeared perfectly normal. In fact, it looked like any other thumb. He put his hand down before she could look closer at it.