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Small custom shops and winter markets were Michelangelo's favourite holiday activity. He had made a habit of dropping by every small shop he could, and when it was a place that offered drinks or food? Well, there was mysteriously someone who seemed pretty ordinary who kept leaving obnoxiously large tips.

It was a good thing.

It was also frequently one Michelangelo Ziegfried duPont.

Today, he had to check out the little cafe that had been making the rounds on social media. They weren't wrong. The decor reminded him of a winter wonderland, something they didn't have much of on the Atlantic coast this year. He wanted to leave a tip just for the decorating crew--they had gone all out!--but he should probably try one of their drinks first before just randomly dropping money into their tip jar.

Of course, he was cut off from his ponderings when he heard a loud sneeze followed by some interesting grumbling--

Smoothly, he slipped from staring at the drink menu to pulling out a little package of tissues from his pocket and heading toward the woman with vivid hair at one of the tables.

"Do you need a tissue?" Naturally, he was all winning smiles as he held out the little package.

His smile remained charming as he followed her gratitude with a, "No problem at all!" because while she'd have to go out and buy some, tissues weren't exactly something he was in shortage of for ... a multitude of reasons.

Michelangelo kept those to himself.

"Honestly could be!" What snow had they used for in this place? It looked remarkably realistic, and he had gotten used enough to the bullshit he faced with magic that he was willing to believe it was. Was it, though? If he had Zee with him, he'd ask them some obnoxious questions they had no answers for, no doubt--

'You've seen this at the fancy parties you had to go to when you were a kid, right?' '... You're kidding me, Milo.' 'Oh come on--'

"Wish I had some idea of what they did use, honestly. This would be fantastic to have for a Christmas party." He grinned at the thought of it, glancing around at the decor before turning his attention back to Sammy. "Pleasure to meet you, Sammy. I'm Michelangelo. And don't worry about it! If the decor is making your allergies act up, I might as well help you enjoy the beverage without feeling like your nose is leaking."

... She didn't remember her childhood?

That caught his attention, in part because that could have meant one of a few things. That was either trauma-related, which was none of his business and not anything he had any significant experience speaking to, just a problem with being neurodivergent for some as he had learned to understand, or ... well, there was only one other group he had run into that didn't remember a childhood. Michelangelo thought to ask, but that wasn't the wisest move with no other context. Either Sammy wouldn't know what the hell he was on, or she would, and that could mean he was either as good as dead or had a new ally.

He didn't have Pendour with him. Pity, honestly.

Michelangelo ignored what he couldn't do anything about to focus on the comparison to Nutcracker. For as much as she didn't remember her childhood, she had a pretty crisp knowledge of a play he only knew of due to having to go to ballets of it. "I can see it, honestly. Half expecting a ballerina to appear," he snickered quietly, turning his attention back to Sammy.

"Oh, shorter name?" He let out a whuff of air. "Michel, usually. I've also gotten Milo. Just don't call me Angel."

"Michel it is." That was an easy enough acceptance.

She sneezed as she stood and he cringed gently. Maybe she just needed to get out of there before it made her allergies act up even worse--

Looked like she had that idea on her own, but he wouldn't leave her running out of tissues before she even made it to the corner store. "Here," he pulled the second bundle of tissues out of his other pocket, holding it out for her to take. "For the road. See you soon, Sammy."

He snickered.

"Hopefully in a place more allergy friendly."

(Fin)