Two-One had very quickly seized upon a system for navigating the busy streets. Certain individuals seemed to glide through the crowded marketplaces and bustling avenues, doing with status what others would have to do with a lot of shoving. The meaning of the symbols these people tended to wear was lost on Two-One, [i]but[/i] their value was obvious. When one of the symbol bearers made his way towards the tavern, Two-One quietly slipped into the wake he left behind him. A short bundle of tattered robes, beneath the notice of most, following along silently behind the man with the sun on his cloak, who would lead him straight into the Mourning Mirrodin.

 Now safely within the interior, the little construct - his nature hidden, for the most part, by the layers of robes he draped over his frame - paused to peer down at the fog that flowed back to fill the space carved through it by Lanestol. Fog was, in his experience, an [i]outdoor[/i] thing. It had something to do with clouds and large bodies of water. Two-One crouched down slightly to get a better look at the fog, which didn't reveal much of anything about how the fog came to be there, nor what kind of purpose it served. It would be a mystery to solve later, as the man he'd followed in had already made his way to the bar and, if Two-One was going to blend in, standing still by the entrance to look at fog was not going to help.

 So Two-One carefully made his way over towards the bar, growing in confidence with each step that he wasn't going to be walking into some sort of trap obscured by the fog. Fortunately, nobody else had decided to sit next to Lanestol at the bar. Two-One clambered up on to one of these unoccupied stools and, after perching himself on the seat proper, he looked about. Underneath the layers of robes, he couldn't really [i]see[/i] much of anything, save for what was below him. The fog swirled ominously around the feet of the stool.

 Two-One shuffled a little on the stool, pulling his attention away from the fog, and did what he'd done every time he'd found himself in an unfamiliar tavern in a place he didn't understand. Like travelling in the wake left by others, it seemed to work in most places.

 "I'll have," his voice, and the quiet clicking noises that went along with every word, were rather muffled by the robes, "what [i]he[/i]'s having!"