[Sans is clearly tired, but the only visible injury is his bandaged arm. Judging by the loose, hasty application, he tied that on himself, and fairly recently. He's staring at Papyrus's face, or at his--his mask? Sans thinks it's a mask, anyway. Sans's own face twists up, not with surprise but with a sort of horrified understanding, as he realizes that Papyrus's face got--got discarded and replaced. It's better than dead, he reminds himself, but Sans can hardly put other thoughts together with that in his brain. He stands completely still, staring.]
I'm a little late. [There's that self-deprecating, joking tone, but he really is sorry for it this time.] Some of us figured out where you guys were, from some of the people here. [This is ostensibly a rescue mission. Well, maybe it's going better than Sans had thought it was going until he turned that corner.]
no subject
I'm a little late. [There's that self-deprecating, joking tone, but he really is sorry for it this time.] Some of us figured out where you guys were, from some of the people here. [This is ostensibly a rescue mission. Well, maybe it's going better than Sans had thought it was going until he turned that corner.]