Noonish
Post Ceremony
Random Food Vendor Line

So. Here they were, Hogsmeade Scotland. It wasn't exactly like she'd thought it would be - but it wasn't total culture shock. The accents were varied and rose up thick around her, she could make out most of what was said to her but what she couldn't she faked. She had long since lost Tracy and everyone else in the crowd and for the first time in a good many years felt on the smallish side of her curvaceous 5'9... well that wasn't totally true. Seeing the waif like girls that surrounded her she felt both too big and too small at the same time. Next to the splendor of the Durmstrang and Beauxbaton's students she felt vastly under-dressed in her polo and purple tights, which kept her clinging to her leather jacket like a security blanket despite the fact she felt a little like a roasted peanut. If she couldn't be classy she could at least be bad ass... and also she could change her mind about Global Warming being a thing since she was under the impression the sun never shone on this side of the planet.

It struck her as strange that she felt so out of place, so insecure rather than curious. Of course there were impressions to be made, and for once she was actually concerned how her actions would reflect back on Headmaster LeBeau than trying to vex a reaction out of him or Coach Hart. Here she wasn't anybody - which was both terrifying and comforting. There was no reputation of a smart mouth or chip on her shoulder to precede her, though having to worry about what people thought all over again (which she had not done since she was twelve) might have made the chip grow just a bit. She just had to get through the rest of the afternoon, then she could change and feel more like herself. Uniforms were not conducive to making a statement about who you were. No matter how you doctored them up (leather jacket or sassy boots) could really set you apart from the mass you were a part of. Accents and languages were enough of a barrier to cross and Odie couldn't help but feel Salem looked the most ragtag and scrappy.

Sighing she twisted a thick tress around her finger and moved forward in line, eyes scanning the menu hovering above a rather perky looking blonde's head. They were serving both tripe and haggis - leaving Odessa to question momentarily the fact she was not vegetarian. It also made her vaguely queasy; despite the fact that she considered herself a pretty adventurous person sheep and cow insides did not seem particularly appetizing. It served her right, really, she'd picked the shortest looking line. It was then she also noticed the listing for Eel Pie and felt the fruit she'd had for breakfast revisit the back of her throat. The cart in question was, apparently, the Europian food version of 'It's a Small World'. When it was finally her turn she stepped up and cleared her throat a little - hoping she didn't look as pale as she felt, "Butterbeer, and uh..." she trailed off squinting at the board, looking for something that did not involve entrails when someone jostled up against her shoulder, her voice a barked edge "Yo! Watch where you're stepping".

It was only lunchtime and already Sam had met people from more countries than he had in the entire rest of his life combined. He had been keeping both eyes open for Delphine, his pen pal from France, but hadn't caught sight of her among the throngs of people. Another issue was that even though he and Colt had watched several dozen videos of different accents on Youtube, he still wasn't entirely able to distinguish them. He half-hoped he'd run into someone German so he could see how much of his butchered Pennsylvania Dutch German they'd be able to understand.

He had thus far met one very nice girl from Hogwarts, who had given him a little bit of a better idea of where he'd be able to get something nice for lunch, and in truth Sam's stomach was rumbling audibly.

Between Delphine and the nice girl from Hogwarts, the boy was starting to feel a little less nervous about being let loose in this cacophony of strangers.

Sam was glad he had been allowed to dress normally during the ceremonies, too, though he had removed his favorite hat during the speeches because he didn't want to obscure anyone's view. On most days, as with today, Sam adhered to the dress code- usually favoring purple polos and black pants and shoes- but supplemented it with suspenders and a wide-brimmed hat. It made him more comfortable, and he really couldn't have cared less what people had to say about it. But he had been absolutely right when he'd confided in his friends that the other students would be much more aristocratic and decked out. Sam felt a bit like the hayseed that had fallen off the wagon in the wrong part of town.

He walked, then, through Hogsmeade, the brim of his trusty hat keeping the sun out of his eyes. The smells were certainly different. Bird-in-Hand smelled often of haybales, sawdust, and soups. Salem tended to linger somewhere around cold breeze, autumn leaves, and something a little like cinnamon. But Hogsmeade- wherever that was, Sam wasn't entirely sure- positively reeked of strange meats, cobblestones, and a myriad of spices and herbs the boy had never smelled before in his life. It was a little overwhelming, and he walked with his slate-blue eyes wide and wonderous.

The wish crept into his heart that he'd run into Colt or Tracy or someone who could just be a staple of regular life for him. Someone who would allow him to put his blinders back on and focus.

But as soon as the desire had come it was gone- he knew he had to take the plunge sooner or later, and being thrust into the lions' den at lunchtime seemed as good an opportunity as any.

Sam had been tickled pink to find hog maw on the menu- it was something he had eaten at home very consistently and as the rest of his classmates seemed to be shying away from things made out of stomach he saw it as his big chance to step up. Walking away from the line, Sam had turned his head at the sound of a French accent and had strolled very unceremoniously into a large Durmstrang student.

The boy stood a full head taller than Sam- which wasn't easy, as Sam had hit 6'1" his sophomore year- and Sam's face had bumped into the boy's chest. After barking some (probably) swear words in (maybe) Russian, the boy took a step forward and raised both hands. Without thinking- or, maybe just thinking very fast, Sam shoved the boy backwards and took off like a whitetail deer through the crowd.

I was right, he thought miserably, darting through another throng of students, this was such a stupid idea!

After a moment, he'd lost the boy, but had come into hard contact with another person, though this one was (thankfully) much smaller. "Oh, God, I'm sor--"

His words caught in his throat.

Oh, crackers. Not Odie.

Leonard Migiziins - or Migs as most knew him - had never been any place quite like this.  And, considering the glances cast his way by the rather ... flamboyantly ... dressed locals, he was as much an enigma to the town as the town was to him.  Amidst the long, flowing robes and brightly colored boots, his own denim jacket and wrangler jeans[1] blended in about as much as a bison blended in with a flock of black-faced sheep.  The length of his raven black hair was about the only thing he seemed to have in common and even that didn't seem quite right.  His aunt - great aunt - whatever - was around here somewhere.  They were supposed to meet up in a couple of hours. 

Hogsmeade was busier than one would expect from such a quaint, sleepy-looking town.  So busy that Migs had lost track of his classmates during his first pass down the main street.  Like a boat ferrying across a fast-flowing stream, Migs had forged his way towards the edge of the street.  He wanted to get his baring and, if he was lucky, find someone he recognized amongst the otherwise nameless hustle and bustle of strangers.  With the edge of the hard sole of his boot balancing on a stone ledge along the front face of a building, Migs pulled himself up to peer over heads. 

Migs couldn't help but laugh.  Despite what anyone else might say about Sam's hat, it sure could stick out in a sea of pointy hats.  Sam's arrival at Salem had stood out to Migs as it had to many of them.  Amish wizards at the Massachusetts school were about as common as First Nation wizards - and Ojibwe ones at that.  Having first hand knowledge of being a cultural and religious outsider, Migs had never been a source of trouble for the junior.  Though, he had always wondered if he caused the younger man any discomfort - in Migs' experience, the more strictly Christian people were, the more ... disquieted they seemed to be around non-converted Natives.  He'd even considered asking on a few occasions but, as of yet, the conversation hadn't really come up. 

But, right now - if he wasn't so certain it would cause offense - Migs would have kissed that hat.  With a grin, he hopped down from the ledge and made his way through the crowd once more in the hat's general direction. 

"Food?" he asked as he reached Sam and, as he was delighted to find, Odie.  Two points for the hat.  There was no way Migs would have ever spotted Odessa since her head rarely cleared crowds.  Sam didn't seem nearly as thrilled to be in Odessa's company but Migs lifted his sunglasses with a finger to make eye contact with the young lady and winked before turning his attention to the menu.  "Anything good?  I haven't decided if I'm hungry, yet.  My gut's holding out to see what Scottish food's all about."

1.

Outfit

Shit, this was a pretty a-typical response to running into Sam Lambright. Not only was he a religious nut job but he was absolutely terrified of her for no reason. Odessa refused to believe she was remotely scary, how could she be? Then again Odie had a thick skin and people's barbs or snark tended to bounce off easily. She didn't get sensitive people, Tracy had tried to explain to her how she could be intimidating, especially to someone as sweet and unassuming as Sam. It sort of went in one ear and out the other, she never went after the kid or ripped on him the way she would other people. She didn't exploit his discomfort, that would have been cruel.

Clearing her throat she gave a shrug and managed a vague, "It's cool, whatever. I thought you were one of the Durmstrang pricks," her voice trailed off as she realized it probably made him really uncomfortable to hear the word 'prick' in any context outside of inadvertently stabbing your finger. Her comment only seemed to reaffirm his desire to run & hide. It did mildly annoy her, however, when they bumped into one another that he tended to hide behind Migs or Tracy or anyone he seemed to think could fend her off. There had been a time when she'd snap her teeth at him whenever Trace tried to say her bark was worse than her bite - but even that game had grown tiresome.

So at the arrival of her third counter part Odie couldn't have been more relieved. If she had been the sort of jumping and hugging, or showing any sort of affection besides a lopsided smirk that belied her genuine happiness to see him she might have tackled Migs to the ground and covered him in kisses. Of course Odie wasn't one to over emote, it made her very uncomfortable, about the only person she was ever extremely affectionate with (at least in public) was Tracy. Migs got a quieter version of affection, she liked riding with him, hiking, talking about things she couldn't with other people - but also just being silent. It was good. It worked for them.

Nudging the tall tan skinned senior her smile turned a little softer, "Well Miggles if you're not careful your stomach might end up on the menu," her voice was low as she inclined her head a little toward the hovering board. Odie was emphatically not a vegetarian, she wore leather, she liked steak... but the idea of eating the left over parts made her stomach shrivel up and die a little. "I think I inadvertently picked the Ethic cart - but it means something completely different from when I drag you to to that Moroccan place back home," if Odie had been being logical she would have realized that the seafood she regularly ate was no weirder than...sheep guts, but Octopus just seemed less...weird.

She was speaking to him, so that was a plus, but Sam felt like he could have cut himself on the edge in her voice. He stood up straighter, trying to steel his nerves, and forced himself to clear his face. "They aren't very pleasant, are they?" he said as agreeably as he could. "That's... um, that's who I was running from, actually. ...He knocked my lunch out of my hands."

His stomach was growling. Loud.

And he was just as excited if not moreso to see Migs. He had always been very kind to Sam, and Sam felt a certain amount of solidarity with the boy seeing as they were both somewhat of cultural oddities. He grinned and nodded to the boy, then took off his hat, ruffled his hair, and pulled it back on with both hands. "Oh, well, you guys," he motioned towards the menu with slightly guarded excitement. "If you ain't ever had hogmaw it's a good a time as any to give it a shot! I know it sounds gross but it's actually pretty okay."

It was his intent to order another helping, as his first plate was currently trickling down the frontside of the huge hulking Durmstrang. "You guys met anybody foreign yet?"

Migs patted his belly as he surveyed the menu.  "That would certainly solve my hunger dilemma," he mused aloud, feigning a degree of careful, thoughtful consideration that he certainly was not giving to the idea of his stomach being on the menu.  "I'd never have to worry about stopping to eat again." 

He knew that once upon a time, some generations past, his ancestors didn't hesitate to eat those ... various parts of the bison or antelope.  He knew from the stories his grandfather told that using every part of the animal was an important part of their spirituality and, as such, on a spiritual level Leonard believed it.  But, his family had lived on a working cattle and bull ranch since before Migs was born.  Meat was more than plentiful and eating cows was no more a part of his spirituality then watching Saturday morning cartoons.  Migs was a pretty solid meat and potatoes kind of guy - even the foods served at pow wows nowadays was pretty clean cut.  He really only came across meats that didn't originate as a steak of some sort during traditional rituals. 

"Ethnic," Migs repeated, still studying the board.  "Couldn't ethnic mean just about anything, anyway?  I mean - apart from twinkies - most foods are ethnic to somebody?" 

Migs looked towards Sam and then turned around, peering through the crowd.  "Which one?"  He scanned the crowd looking for some guilty-looking Durmstrang fellow who might be giving off some sort of food-trampling aura.  "Hog maw?"  Migs turned back towards Sam, grinning in clear amusement.  "Sounds interesting."  They could always try for a different line.  The wait would be longer but, perhaps, the food selection wouldn't leave him wondering where the hog paw was. 

"Not yet," Migs admitted.  "I'm supposed to meet my great aunt soon but I don't know if she counts as a foreigner. I mean, she lives here and she seems foreign sometimes.  Maybe we should just stalk the wizard with the most eccentric hat.  Pointy hat."  Migs added with a grin towards Sam.