[[ @littlehushedbird ; cont from here. ]]
Gaster let out a long sigh, a soft exhalation of air from his porcelain frame. So this Frisk was unnatural--particularly so, by Frisk standards. His eyes kept flickering to those peculiar wings. He wondered if they were a trait shared by all humans of their timeline. Now, however, was not the time to ask. He could see the way their hands shook, the grief etched into their face. He may have pressed--a bad timeline could mean so much--but tearing into what was now a readily apparent wound just felt cruel. They were only a child, after all.
He inclined his head, then his hands moved again to sign, “I understand. Then, why are you here?“
He, of course, was no native to the timeline either, but that, at least, was something he had no control over. He had an excuse.