Quietly, Tomoko bristled at Michiko's lack of professionalism. She was just a little too overt; a little too willing to engage without consideration for due process. She didn't seem to vet her speech in a way that Tomoko could consider becoming of an envot; of a diplomat. Her lexicon was one of banter and exposed emotion; notions of implication and allusion were doubtless lost on her. The crude way in which she conducted conversation was infuriating. Tomoko wanted to lecture her in how to say without saying. In making one thing or another clear without being incriminating. But that would break 'The Rules'. And 'The Rules' were everything.<br/><br/>She shook it off, and identifying a vendor by the established tells of a Mist native. Typically such denizens covered their mouths; this was often a question of gas masks and the like and their combat styles reflected this. However, it extended beyond that type of utility. For concealment or merely affectation, a simple piece of fabric at least was often the norm for Mist citizens. Tomoko could only speculate, with the information she had, that privacy was especially important to those villagers. Their elite unit since antiquity, the Seven Blades, were largely masked as well and so it couldn't only be a matter of veiled identity nor of resistance to toxins; no, it was a matter of national identity.<br/><br/>Their choices of colours tended to be whites, greys and blacks. However, the intricacies of their clothing nevertheless demonstrated their social standing. As such she chose a facemask of silk, bearing an intricately woven white tiger's maw against black alongside a multi-layered robe of white whorls against black. Finally, the look was completed with an ornate fan. Satisfied that her appearance was suitably ornate she donned the various garments and waited for the rest of the party to select appropriate outfits.