[It is striking enough, the change in demeanour. Fukami would wonder at it more, were the situation slightly different. As it is, he unties his scarf and opens up his coat without much protest, shrugging it off. Underneath, a simple black shirt, cut at his elbows. Black gloves. And his tentacles.]
...These ones are all about the same.
[He'd wrapped them around himself to shield himself at the time, though he doesn't say that. Fukami's hand hovers over them, the bright and angry red skin-- it's the ones on the left side of his body.]
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...These ones are all about the same.
[He'd wrapped them around himself to shield himself at the time, though he doesn't say that. Fukami's hand hovers over them, the bright and angry red skin-- it's the ones on the left side of his body.]