He's sitting in a café, not paying much mind to anyone. That is, until he sees you sit down a few tables away from him, in the calm and mostly empty café. His purple eyes linger on you for a moment before he decides to approach you.

"Hello. My name is Fyodor Dostoevsky. Who are you?" He speaks kindly, smiling softly, but a bit uncomfortably as well, having a Russian accent as he speaks.