[ tetora gestures for him to follow and david does, immediately and without any reservations. the winding back alleys and towering skyscrapers remind him of new york, and he stares around more than any average person would not just because this is an entirely different country (matrix reenactment or not), but because it's been so long since he's actually been outside during the day. he's been holed up in his dingy warehouse for a better part of a year, hardly ever going outside except at night, and even then his trips were limited. there's a sense of freedom here, even if in the confines of their shared minds -- it's the most relaxed he's felt in months.

the izakaya pulls a smile to his face, bowing his head a little in thanks for the tea. he curls his hands around the mug, breathes in matcha and something like barley; it's no chamomile, but it does the trick. ]

No wonder you're so polite. [ he takes a sip, scrunches his nose a little at the heat. ] Sort of. We don't have much ramen, but there's a hole in the wall sandwich shop down the road.

[ the izakaya ripples around them, a part of it fading away to be replaced by the interior of a tiny, bustling diner. a large blackboard hangs above the register, covered in sandwich names and specials scrawled over it in brightly colored chalk. the quiet of the izakaya is replaced by louder conversation, the sharp sound of a bell occasionally cutting through new york accented english. ]

They've got a line out the door every day, but it's worth the wait.