[ something is not right and fyodor can recognise it; whether this stranger is something more dangerous and trickier than the clowns he's used to or whether this slinky stinky fish is more than a simple earth-adjacent variety of eel, the fact is the sensation is wrong.

the merest crease between brows then he is giving this newly-not-stranger a look, flat as the scales of a fish. ] Gojo-san, I'm Fyodor Dostoevsky. [ and there is a pleasant newness in being able to give his name and introduce himself properly without the other party wanting to murder or escape him right away. after all, at surface value, fyodor is hardly impressive, more bones than skin. ]

It is not the slime, it is the potential loss of skin. Or poisoning shall we decide to eat it.

Are those appealing outcomes to you?