The words are uttered so discreetly–a volume taken in caution of eavesdroppers. In spite of a world that warns against showing any signs of concern, compassion, care, for it can be perceived as being soft, an easy target, Sans still warns the other skeleton of the bloodlust thickening the air that he seems so oblivious to.
Maybe it’s because he’s so oblivious; he doesn’t have a fighting chance if caught unawares by such a cheap tactic like the element of surprise. More obvious yet, maybe Sans wants to spare one who looks so similar to his younger brother an untimely demise.
“ya can’t stay here. go home or find shelter,” murmurs he with blank sockets watching for movements.
I’M IN WHAT, NOW? -A flinch sends the thinly frosted layer of his shoulders’ recent ice accumulation, tinkling around his boots half-sunken in the snow. After a short staring contest with vermilion Velcro straps, he’s fairly certain that aside from the frozen dandruff flakes he'd rattled off his plastic armor, the snowdrift he’d stomped through on his way to the sentry station is all he’s “in”, at least--standing in, anyway. Some frenetic footwork on his behalf, leaves the patch properly flattened, and also leaves him without a doubt that his shorter company’s warning had been little more than a trick even the most amateur of “made you look”ers would find petty.- IT’S JUST SNOW. I MEAN, SURE IT CAN GET A LITTLE SLICK SOMETIMES WHEN FREEZING OVER AT NIGHT, BUT OBVIOUSLY IT’S...-He toes some fluff onto his boot before launching the frozen bit of ground out of the small crater hammered into the snowdrift.- QUITE PLIABLE AT THE MOMENT!
-Practically parading over to the sentry point, he plops onto the station’s counter with a resounding rattle as his armor settles into his splinter-sporting seat. How long had it been since he’d manned of these? Just grabbing the counter’s edge and hearing the iced wood creak reminds him of nights spent distractedly playing solitaire on his phone and spilling hot chocolate through his teeth, a sugary effort to ensure his mind was sharper than an icicle whenever a human would finally bumble by. But those days seemed as aged and irrelevant as the solitaire icon on his phone. Papyrus wondered if these other skeletons still played solitaire under whichever rock they’d clambered out from under.-
WHAT AM I EVEN INTERRUPTING? YOU’RE JUST SITTING THERE! -Papyrus puffs, twisting his skull around to fix the strangely Sans-shaped skeleton with an undeterred curiosity fueling each flippant gesture he flings over his shoulder.- BESIDES, ON THE OFF CHANCE THERE IS DANGER, THEN OBVIOUSLY--YOU REQUIRE THE AID OF A GREAT WARRIOR, LIKE MYSELF, TO WARD IT ELSEWHERE. -Right after he finishes scraping the counter clean of frost, that is.- YOU WOULDN’T HAPPEN TO HAVE A SQUEEGEE BACK THERE, WOULD YOU?
