Considering the state of Trench, anyone's a target to nick something off of if you're able to. Besides, Sleepers tend to be recognizable to the locals, and that's as much of "tourist" stamped on your head as, well... yeah. The "don't fuck with me" vibe is a good help as well.

As least they're not the humming pallor of fluorescent bulbs from a school or hospital, always giving off that static ticking noise at unnerving times. The lights are silent and glow a warm yellow, reminiscent of street lamps from a decade past. Dabi settles into the booth Nara'a picks and flops the hand-written menu off its pedestal over to Nara'a to take a look.

"No shit." They don't agree on many things despite their ability to work together. Ironic thing is, Dabi wouldn't disagree about the world; it's the people who are more often the rotten part. And he's well aware he's also included in the "rotten" side, and doesn't give a shit. This side is the one that'll help him achieve his ambitions. That's all that matters. Well, not here. Trench can't do anything for what he really wants.

"Nah, it ain't subtle at all. Hero worship and inspiring heroes are extremely different." Glancing at the bartender, Dabi only needs one look to get his order in. Then back to the miqo'te. "World's gonna change one way or another. All depends on who's still around to see it and shape it."