Pouting often got you what you wanted. At least that was what Mikołaj had noticed whenever his younger sister pouted. If she just scrunched her little face adorably up at papa, he would bend over backwards and make her every little wish come true. The sad thing is when you're an obnoxiously tall sixteen year old boy, pouting did not do the same for you. No matter how much Mickey pouted at the man standing before the Ogden's tasting tent, no matter how hard he tried to convince him he was "of age" (a lie, of course), the man would not budge and allow the young wizard into the tent. If only he knew how helpful it would be to the anxious boy to be drunk off his arse while in the middle of the animated crowd attending the festival. If they just let him have a couple quick shots, then maybe Mickey would be able to stand being there.
"No," the employee said sharply, and Mickey tried not to scowl when he heard the man's internal thoughts. Sod off. So be it. Turning on his heels, the boy sulked away, trying hard to occupy his mind with anything but the loud and obnoxious thoughts of the crowd around him. Think of riddles, he suggested to himself, brandishing a rubik's cube from his enchanted messenger bag. Fingers twisted the device, following the familiar path to its solution. It was no longer a mind numbing exercise, he would need to find another distraction to keep him from reading everyone around him. Like a finely tuned radio, he was tapped into their minds at all times, so he occupied himself with anything he could so as to avoid listening in to intimate thoughts. Okay, Mik, how far can you recite Pi? Three-point-one-four-one-five-nine-two-six-five-three-five-eight-nine-seven...
He kept thinking up math equations, riddles and puzzles which drowned out the voices rummaging about his head, eyes glued on the cube as he pushed through the throng. But as always, so occupied in distracting himself, Mickey was not paying attention to where he was going. Twisting the rubik's cube until all the sides were a singular color, he tossed the cube with glee but missed it as his shoulder collided with another, sending himself half-spinning and tumbling backwards until he'd fallen on his side. Hissing lightly, the boy scrambled to his feet and offered an apologetic smile-slash-grimace to the person whom he nearly knocked aside. "So sorry, so sorry, I wasn't looking," he mumbled quickly, occupying his eyes and mind with searching for the cube he dropped rather than on what he was sure was an internal scolding in the mind of the person he bumped into. He avoided eye contact completely, dropping down on all fours and rummaging about for his lost object. "Please forgive me."