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Naturally, knowing of the weekend's inevitable excess of people in the more popular parks within the city, Mimsy opted against any that had the highest statistical likelihood of unintentional human interaction. This left her with several selections for her task that were outside of her typical 'haunts', so to speak, but she did not mind the walk.

After several blocks of dutifully following every pedestrian traffic rule, she found herself standing within the boundary of a park that seemed acceptable enough. With a short exhale, she adjusted the weight of her bag on her shoulder and began to run her thumb over the metal spine of her spiral notebook. There would be thirty-three little pips of the rings before she had to switch directions, but she only made it to somewhere in the vicinity of twelve.

"Why is bad advice the more valuable of the two?"

Of all of the readily available information offered by her brief inspection of the table, this was the thing that puzzled Mimsy the most. She was familiar with the colors of flags, of pride and pronouns, of tattoos both temporary and not. But knowingly providing bad advice was not something upheld as a virtue in her family's household--as far as she knew, at least--so the explanation of this additional cost was momentarily weighed as beneficial enough to disrupt her quest.

"Mimsy Ryland." She offered her name and her hand to shake in tandem, stepping into the shade of the tree and up to the front of the table. The remainder of the introduction was not remarked upon - it was, instead, somewhat apparent that she had filed this information away as factual.

"Does one decide upon good advice or bad advice prior to the advice being given? Or does your judgment of..." She frowned in thought, trying to summon a brand new sentence into the universe. "...of whether any particular person is a taxable Clown or not...is that a pre-determined assessment?"

The shade seemed to suit her better, but it didn't make her look any less pale, nor any less out-of-place than most other outdoor venues.

"Hm," Mimsy thoughtfully responded, weighing the benefits of continuing down this clown-riddled line of questioning. She supposed she could ask one of her mothers what any of this meant when she returned home, and could use her time with a peer more wisely.

"That is impressive." It sounded earnest, or as much as one could assume of her. "You did successfully command my interest and prompt a question, so I suppose..."

With a small sigh, more nervous than resigned, she slid into the chair.

"I will purchase one good advice, please."

At any one moment, there was an endless quantity of anythings bothering Mimsy to some degree. Some were questions that were filed away to answer in the near future, as she'd just done; others were more complicated, some years' worth of pondering and theorizing and pondering some more. Being a curious 13-year-old was a tremendous burden.

But the most pressing of these things could be narrowed down to the subject of her outing for the day - one which she had intended to answer with notes of observation, or perhaps by returning home with a cicada. If America really did have the best advice, it would be invaluable for this particular void of experience.

She began to idly pick at the metal binding again, and let her gaze fall to the notebook along with it. Admitting inadequacy was difficult, but she had never seen America around the city before; maybe she wouldn't ever see her again, if this went poorly.

"The question that I would like to ask is: how do you find a friend?" Upon examining her words now that they were out, she clarified. "A human friend who considers you a friend in return."

She'd watched the other girl's shift in demeanor, and had been trying to imagine what each of the expressions might mean when the series of questions was volleyed towards her. This all seemed entirely reasonable. Of course, Mimsy had no other applicable data point to compare it to, but it seemed reasonable nonetheless.

"Yes. Okay." She cleared her throat and smoothed out her clothing, making herself presentable enough for this survey of great importance.

"I am thirteen years old. I think that a 'really, really' good day would be a day of many opportunities to learn something new, especially if it is not something that I would have learned otherwise. I hate..."

The overly-thoughtful look came over her again. She scrunched her nose.

'Why would I hate a person without a reason?"

It was readily apparent that Mimsy had never been called 'cool', even in the very specifically clarified sort of way. She seemed puzzled until the mention of research was made - this was much more familiar!

"Oh!" She read over the schedule, taking note of what she could with a cursory look. "I did not anticipate such a thorough response, but I'm very excited."

As far as her sort of expressiveness could extend, she did, to her credit, seem more excited than she had for any part of their interaction. With great care, she tucked the schedule away in her notebook, and turned to a fresh page to write her own in turn.

The paper she handed over included her name and phone number, just as America's had, but a schedule was notably absent.

"I have chosen to study independently over the summer. I can be accommodating." She tried to smile, but it came off a bit odd, and it sounded like some portion of the reasoning might have been rehearsed before. "Should I pay you for your good advice now, or will the fee accrue over time?"

Having realized that she was receiving additional advice, Mimsy began to note this information down. She visibly underlined one portion of it before clipping her pen back onto the notebook, freeing her hands to fish out America's fee.

"Thank you," She carefully responded to the 'you're welcome', clearly a bit concerned that she might have gotten the interaction backwards in some way. "I will take this into account."

An old, but crisp $5 bill (had it been ironed?) was placed in the precise spot that America had patted the table. She hesitated before removing her fingers from it.

"Is...would you prefer a digital exchange? Is this dated or ah, 'uncool'?"