[ Oh, he missed that face; was going to miss that kind of reaction dearly. Now he doesn't have to... How terrible. It's like being re-shackled by sentiment in record time! It's so soon to resume agonizing over it. ]

[ Obviously he kicks the geta off, which immediately disqualifies him from the competition, just so he can trail after. Fyodor must've known he'd invite himself along. With hardly any time to reclaim his own shoes, slip them on, and catch up to the retreating back he just barely manages it.

But not before dropping the wig on some random person's head on the way out. Snickering. ]

Oh? What's this Dos? The service must've been preeetty bad if you're willing to add "dine and dash" to your long list of evildoing.