[@Old Amsterdam][@TheRedWatcher][@Alias][@LemonZest1337][@knifeman]

Following Travis directions weren’t so bad, he kept a hold of Travis hand just in case. So he wouldn’t bump into anything or seem completely inadequate at walking the streets. People didn’t really look at them all the much, but they also didn’t expect what they were. Simply why two young people were walking down the street bleeding. 

People were weird to him. He didn’t understand them. Couldn’t understand them. Sympathy and empathy were concepts he was all aware of, but had trouble lending them unless he felt the person receiving it deserved it in some way. Such as if in the near future Travis were to talk to him about something he might lend him some sympathy or empathy. 

People were even weirder because they didn’t understand the concepts and moral lessons they toted around. Be kind to others, lend assistance, not a single person walked up to them in this moment. He wondered if their Human God would have been pleased with them. Praised them. He use to read the Bible back at “home”. And God told you to be kind to your neighbors, but he saw very little kindness. 

He finally made it to the store Travis described. He felt a sudden sense of nervousness looking at The Birdcage. It was so strange to see a cafe that must have been inspired by the Europeans who must have visited Japan with Asian influences. It didn’t make him homesick in the sense that he missed it, it made him homesick in the sense that it made him want to puke at its sight.

Entering the building the first thing he smelled was the scent of something sweet being mixed with the smell of freshly made coffee. There was a woman behind the counter with raven black hair, with a tied braid at the side. There was a man dressed all in red.

 A bubbly looking girl with brown hair that nearly had him pause for a second, something about her lured him to stare at her much longer than he should have. Blue dress, nearly inspired by a Chinese cheongsam white stockings, little blue flats. He only moved to seem roughian looking individual on a stool.

This is where impressions mattered he supposed. 

“Hello,” he said quietly, “This is your friend.He was hurt when we were attacked.”