Mars was completely and totally lost, and he was perfectly fine with that. He whistled to himself as he turned down yet another hallway. Somehow he’d managed to get himself so completely lost that he didn’t even know that he’d already been down the hall he now followed twice already. Mars shook a gumball into his hand and bounced it off the metal ceiling into his mouth, at which point he was forced to give up whistling. 

Upon coming to a junction of four identical ways, Mars took a coin out. He couldn’t truly get any more lost, so why not leave how lost he was up to chance? As his eyes followed the coin’s arc, they spotted something fun. A black bird was flying from the leftmost hall towards him. The flipped coin was caught and put away, its result forever unknown. “I knew it, she couldn’t resist me,” Mars boasted aloud. The black bird pecked him not-so-gently on the head and flew off down the hall opposite the one it had come from. 

Mars rubbed his head, a thin grin plastered across his pale face. “That wasn’t nice,” he said. Though the raven had gone some way from the hat-wearing man, he was suddenly standing right there. A loop of wire closed around the bird's neck, reinforced by Mars' nen. "You and I are going to be very good friends," he giggled menacingly at the nen-raven.

He walked in circles for another ten minutes, the raven obviously ignoring Mars' repeated instructions to: "Take me to your leader." He ended up giving up on having the bird lead him to Ivy and instead dragged the bird above and behind him like a balloon specifically made to piss off animal rights activists. The smell of delicious food drew him slowly but steadily towards the kitchen, but on his way in that general direction Mars passed by what must be the rec room. As he peered in and saw the pool table, a brilliant plan popped into his head. “Fantastic, now I just need to find the VIP,” he said, pulling the bird down to talk to. Unsurprisingly, it offered no intelligible conversation in return.

A few doors down he found the kitchen, and in it someone he was surprised to see. “Zephyr!” he said it as if calling out an old friend he hadn’t seen in a while. He tied his balloon to the door lest it float away and strolled around the room. “My my, how domestic you are,” he chided the mercenary, walking his fingers across the counter. His fingers kicked over a salt shaker, causing a tiny white dune to form. “Oops,” he giggled, “my bad.” Mars stuck his finger in the salt and licked it, making a face. “Nasty stuff. Is there any sugar around?”