Okay... good. [Papyrus pauses to bump his wrist against Sans's shoulder, a follow-up affirmation that this is real, tangible, and expression of wordless gratitude.
But while it's not torture per se, waiting in the bathroom... it's not likely to be great, either. Seeing the mess of his chest, where he can still feel threads catching on his pajama shirt, and there's clearly bloodstains along the sides of it, and flaking loose along his hairline. Seeing his reflection, for the first time since all this... He takes a deep breath, and steps away.] I'll be, uh... a bit.
Take your time. You know I would. [Sans winks, and his face is locked in place this time, even though he's wondering exactly how bad things are, and if he should actually maybe stay near the bathroom just in case. He hedges his bets and stays upstairs, for the most part. Sans is exhausted, but for once he's restless, too, and that's enough to propel him toward changing out his bedsheets for clean ones. He's not about to make Papyrus take the couch after all that. He dumps his old ones on the couch--Sans can use those himself.]
[It's easiest to start the water and muffle the world outside as the room starts filling with steam. Distantly Papyrus can hear the ongoing motion as Sans shuffles about, but there's no haste or alarm in the sounds, so strange as his brother's mystery labors are, he has other things to focus on.
His pajama top isn't stuck to his sides, an almost pleasant surprise as he removes it - but it's pretty quickly clear, that's only thanks to running around dodging mannequins. There's too much caked blood in common places, between his sides and shirt, and fresh blood in the places most sharply throbbing - torn loose in all the movement, probably.
And in the further inspection... There's the strange soft indentations up and down his ribcage, the places where there simply... aren't ribs, anymore. The long lines of stitches, plainly holding skin together as much as any shirt needs the thread to stay intact. The... other stitches, along the edges of his face, where even a breeze hurts. The impression of white in the mirror at the side of his eyesight as he passes it, and stops to stare into it.
...He'd thought Sans's injury from the zombies had been bad.
...No wonder Kiara seemed confident he could survive losing some ribs, if he's holding it together like this.
...He'd just gotten used to his face.
Within a minute, he abandons the mirror for the hot water, which stings worse than just about anything he's known, but at least he can pretend the pain's not from crying. It's harder to muffle his sobs when he can't get a hand over his mouth itself, can't bite on the nearest towel or anything, but he does his best.]
[One thing about human bodies Sans has noticed is that they react to a lot of the same things his monster body reacted to, but differently. That seems reasonable enough--no magic, lots of weird watery fluids. Different mechanisms, but human bodies still react to shock, to happiness, to sadness. Humans and monsters can both cry.
Papyrus has always been freer with his emotions than Sans. Of course, that's not difficult. Papyrus will cry over movies and over particularly inspiring moments. When he was younger, Sans remembers tears about not making friends. What Papyrus doesn't cry over, not really, is his own injuries, and he's gotten more than Sans ever has. Minor electrocution incidents, training with Undyne... But nothing like this. He's never been hurt like this.
Sans doesn't know what to do. He freezes in the hallway when he recognizes the sound, muffled as it is. It's like a void has opened in his stomach and made all his insides drop at once, sucked up all the heat.
What does he do? He could knock on the door, but Sans wouldn't want someone to see him in that kind of state. Of course, Sans's opinions on emotional closeness aren't really the ones he should follow when it comes to Papyrus. But Papyrus--Sans doesn't think Papyrus would like it anyway. Because-- Because it messes everything up, right? This isn't--how it's supposed to be. Papyrus is very cool and very tough and very brave and he takes care of Sans. And all of those things are true, as far as Sans is concerned, but appearances matter way more to Papyrus.
In the end, Sans just leans heavily against the wall in the hallway outside the bathroom as his mind simmers. Even if it would knock Sans out, if he saw the person who did that to Papyrus right now, he would make his last bit of magic count.]
[Even in the privacy of the bathroom, the door closed with no sign that others are aware of what he's doing or wanting to come in, Papyrus can only cry so much. A few minutes sobbing wears him out, the exhaustion of everything catching up to him. There's only so many tears in him, even if there's plenty more feeling to inspire their flowing, and his eyes stop watering eventually.
Part of it's reflexive, a practiced tendency to try to hide the unhappinesses he hasn't decided to share. To put on a cooler, confident face, so... so the things that only he knows, aren't as real as the things everyone knows.
But part of it... part of it is, he doesn't feel safe yet. Of course he doesn't, with no explanation what happened and no assurance it can't happen again. Once he's down to the point of hiccuping instead of sobbing, eyes and nose stinging with salty residue, he begins to notices how quiet the world outside seems. No more mystery sounds of moving things around. Probably Sans has fallen asleep in the middle of whatever he was doing... probably. He's fine, right? Nothing's happened in the few minutes of Papyrus being here, no second group of unknown kidnappers swooping in to take Sans as soon as they split up. Right...?
He clears his throat, coughs a few times to be sure he can keep his voice steady, then calls out:] S-Sans? Are you out there?
[Sans sure is here--he hasn't moved from that spot in the hall. He'd planned on pretending at having decided to take a nap standing up if Papyrus came out of the bathroom before Sans decided to move. He straightens up and makes sure his voice sounds casual and his response doesn't come too quickly.]
[And, more critically, not kidnapped. Not whisked away to some other location, some even more secret one that no helpful ghosts can point the way to. Not put in... cages... and... Papyrus tightens his hands on his knees and takes another deep breath, shuddering but putting the thought aside. Nope. No need for thinking that stuff, it's fine. But while he's talking, maybe there's something (else) Sans can help with, soon.]
And... I might, uh. Need some bandages. When I finish in here. Do you have any around...?
[Bandages. Is Papyrus going to try to do something to his face, or is there more? He doesn't respond for maybe a second longer than he should, but he tries to make up for it with the first thing that pops into his head:] Hey, nothin' wrong with a good hallway nap.
[Now, as for bandages...] I've got some in Sayori's backpack. [Specifically he'd dumped a bunch of first aid stuff he'd found down in that lab into there. Look at him, having some foresight for once.]
he should ask 'wait, where's Sayori?' but it's not clicking w/ the rest, so he's too tired to yet
Okay, good. [There's a faint scoffing sound, which Papyrus follows with a tired, almost rote scolding instruction:] Don't fall asleep in the hallway.
[Honestly, Sans. At least crash on the couch. Tangled up with holiday lights, or whatever it was they talked about.
...Maybe Papyrus just wants to fall asleep so easily. The water still stings in his wounds, making this an unlikely place for him to fall asleep. Drying off after's unlikely to help, to say nothing of anything they need to do to improve the dressings. And then, finding a place to sleep...?]
I mean, I won't do it again. [Not that he was actually sleeping in the hallway this time. Not that he'll actually refrain from sleeping in the hallway in the future. It's a double lie, but it's not like Papyrus would actually expect him to uphold that one anyway.] You gonna need help with the bandages?
[Sans's experience in self-wrapping has revealed that process to be kind of difficult.]
and he doesn't want to think about much of any of it
Uhh... I need, to finish up, first. [Sobbing while hiding in the hot water, while a little bit cathartic, hasn't done much for losing the grime, and caked blood, and stray rice grains these last days (how many?) have left him with.
But all the cleaning instructions recommend hot water and soap, and soap's the thing still missing from this equation. He scrabbles for the soap bar, lathers up his hand and presses it gently to his side, wincing at the suds sting in the wounds there.]
...G-give me a few more minutes. And I could, uh, use another pair of hands. And eyes. [Yes, in short.
One of the fortunate things is that all the worst injuries are up in his ribcage and head, so he can wrap up in one of those towels and figure out if it's worth washing the pajamas now, or later, or... just getting a different set. But first he needs to finish trying to get clean.]
Good thing I don't have to walk anywhere to get those. [They come conveniently attached. But considering what's happened, maybe he should feel lucky about that. Maybe he shouldn't think about that.] Bet I'll earn another quarter of a star. [Not even working hard enough for a half star, that's Sans.]
Yeah, you could! [Papyrus laughs, quiet and bitter under trying too hard to sound normal - and lets the conversation fade. Talking while actively cleaning himself is awkward, on top of the way dividing his attention leads to even hissed pains from clumsy motions. Better to let Sans loiter in the hall somewhere, hopefully napping rather than listening, and get this over with.
It's more than a couple minutes, between cleaning, rinsing, and letting the water drain as he dries off. But eventually he opens the door a crack, mask still on his face and a towel now firmly wrapped around his waist.]
Hey. I should tell you... my ribcage. Most of it's there, but... That's, uh. the worst. [There's no twitches in the masks's eyebrows or mouth to give away that that's not quite true, but his eyes dart away in obvious avoidance of the matter - and they've both seen his face, anyway.]
[If most of Papyrus's ribcage is there, then some of it's gone. They took some of Papyrus's ribcage. There's nothing that was done to Papyrus that isn't awful, but there's a very specific sort of cruelty in doing something to Papyrus's bones. How long had they been gone? By now Sans is aware that not everyone here was human to begin with, but he hasn't found anyone else in their very specific situation. Even if Papyrus had tried to explain, would anyone have gotten it? Sans's jaw tightens, but if he doesn't comment on how Papyrus looks away then he doesn't think Papyrus will comment on that.]
We'd better not tie anything too tight then, huh? [Sans talks like it's no big deal, like maybe Papyrus overexerted himself during one of Undyne's training sessions. How do you even approach this kind of topic? He swings the backpack, which he hadn't actually taken off yet, around and pops it open to reveal its treasure trove of random first aid items. There's a lot of bandages.]
Right. [Papyrus pulls the door open, backing into the room to let Sans follow. The bloodied pajamas are discarded on the floor, uncharacteristically unfolded, a few feet from the sink. There's a damp, somewhat stained towel beside them, and another wrapped thoroughly around his waist. And the injuries...
The mask covering his lack of face is likely still the worst, ringed in the stitches affixing it to his face, with some unseen underneath even attaching some muscles to it. But his sides have their share of stitches, long incisions around his sides - one on one side, two on the other - where skin and muscles sag and sink inward in a way that betrays the missing ribs. It's with unhappy, tense body language that he gestures vaguely at one, still not quite looking at Sans's face.]
Only... only as tight as needed, thank you. Maybe, if they have room, to grow back...? [That's his hope for his face, after all. Skin... grows back, if with scars, right? It's harder for ribs, and surely harder still without magic to ease it along... but maybe. The key right now is just making sure he doesn't die of leaking blood.]
Who knows with humans, right? These bodies are pretty tough. [Sans's vague agreement is very distracted, his face dropping expression entirely as he examines the incisions. The exhaustion and tension in Sans becomes immediately more obvious, but there's an unusually serious focus there too as Sans works through the problem of how to best handle wrapping this up. He's read a bit of human first aid by now, but "rib removal by rogue surgeon" wasn't covered, so he has to extrapolate a bit.
Okay. Sans actually pauses to wash his hands, and this attention to cleanliness may be the truest proof that he's taking this seriously.]
Lemme know if I'm hurtin' you, okay? [The chances of it actually being more painful than necessary are slim, though. Sans floats the gauze around Papyrus's back with his magic and wraps it by hand from the front--that way, maybe Papyrus won't see the uncharacteristic wobble that betrays his drained magic reserves.]
[Seeing Sans wash his hands, properly, while that pile of dirty laundry lies on the floor to the side... it's almost enough for Papyrus to feel self-conscious. But he's already self-conscious, uncomfortable with anyone seeing his torso and the situation of his face. Not to mention the sensation in his eyes lingering from having cried a while, the general aches and yearning for privacy after days in a room with others...
He does notice some hints of things awry, what with that expressionless face, but it's hard for him to read how much of Sans's tension is Sans, and how much is Papyrus projecting his own tension onto his brother's seriousness. It's not as if Sans is never serious, or has never taken things seriously - Papyrus wouldn't be so outraged by the persistent lazy habits if he didn't know from experience that his brother could behave differently. If it takes a kinda-crisis like this... he'll take it, and not tempt his brother's whims by drawing attention to it with more than a raised eyebrow.
...Not that his raised eyebrow is visible, he realizes after Sans's question, and he gives a subdued nod.] I'll let you know... if I notice any. [Any extra, that is to say. But that doesn't have enough bravado to it, and is almost dismal enough for the unspoken words to be spoken, so he doubles down to add:] B-Besides! I think the stitches... are holding a lot in. So the bandage threads, just need to catch a little more.
[Sans nods vaguely. Papyrus being upset is easy enough to pick up on, but there are so many reasons for Papyrus to be upset right now that it's hard to pinpoint anything more specific than that.] Yeah, just a little backup. It's gotta be more comfortable sleepin' with bandages than with nothin' on those. [Sans is the sleep expert, he can be trusted even if he's never had anything close to this kind of injury. It also leaves the option open for Papyrus to tease Sans about sleeping being the first thing he'd think about, if Papyrus feels like taking it. Sans doesn't like this mood, but there isn't anything he can really do about that.
Once Sans has finished wrapping, he has to grab the tape with his blue magic. There's no way to hide the shakiness of his hold on it as he floats it over, but he grabs it in his outstretched free hand as soon as he can reach it.]
Must be, if you say so. [Papyrus has a tired smile in his voice, relieved for the familiar complaint to latch his thoughts onto instead. Classic Sans, able to weigh up the odds of a given sleep effort at a moment's notice. Snoozing wherever he'd been before teleporting to the door wasn't enough, apparently, and sleep's still on his mind...
Something in that thought doesn't sound right, but Papyrus is a little too tired to examine it fully. Instead he starts to yawn, wincing when the threads around his face tug and yank with the lower jaw's motion, and tries a few smaller yawns to get it out of his system.] I... could test it out. Soon.
[Even as he's saying so, the wobble of that floating tape catches his eye, and he squints at it with an obscured frown.] And... I guess, you could, too? [Nap, not test the tape. But maybe he can, if they both nap and something happens. Scary thought. But he wants to rest, with an intensity he's never known as a skeleton.]
'Course I could. [He's always ready to sleep! He even manages to sound proud of his spectacular sleeping capabilities. But if anyone here needs to sleep, it's Papyrus. (Okay, it's both of them. But Sans only cares about Papyrus needing to.) Once Sans is satisfied that Papyrus is bandaged and taped as properly as he can manage, Sans drops the tape and remaining bandages back into the backpack. That can just sit in the bathroom for now.]
C'mon, you can borrow some of my pajama pants. They'll be short, but that just makes 'em shorts, right?
[This is another upside to having gained a foot in height in his transfer to this human body, though not one that he imagined before. Of course, Papyrus's own house with his own pajama pants is next door, but even that short distance feels too far to walk right now. Also, this way Papyrus can see that Sans actually changed his sheets without Sans having to point it out specifically.]
[Papyrus makes another rote scoffing sound at the misplaced pride in his brother's voice, but quietly smiles behind the mask. He relaxes a bit with the banter, the moment feeling about as normal as it can given the circumstances, but mostly holds still for the bandaging and taping.]
Long shorts. [Papyrus can't call something below his knees shorts, that's more than halfway to pants.] Or short longs...? [It seems like there should be a word for that, but 'capris' doesn't come to his sleepy mind. Instead he dallies a moment, slowly twisting to test how the bandages stay in place... and catches sight of his reflection again, the white mask standing out even against his recently pallid skin. Reaches up, a finger tracing a couple of the stitches and wincing at the sensation. Under his breath, he mutters:] ...It'll grow back.
Long short longs. [Sans is very tempted to throw the pajama whatevers at Papyrus just to get him flustered, but he still can't risk hitting Papyrus in the face. It's a shame, because hitting Papyrus in the face with clothes would be very effective. As it is, he just has to wait for Papyrus to catch up.] Wait, better: shlongs.
[Papyrus hums along politely to Sans's first suggestion, taking another few seconds to examine his reflection with whatever distance his earlier sobbing bought him. His finger trembles on the stitches, so all-in-all, not very much distance. He drops it to his side, ready to try sleeping this whole thing off, maybe trying to remove the mask the next day... when Sans make that follow-up suggestion. Papyrus's eyes shoot wide open, and he turns to stare at his brother.]
What did you say?? [He misheard that, right? Sans isn't standing there making dirty jokes at him, is he??]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But while it's not torture per se, waiting in the bathroom... it's not likely to be great, either. Seeing the mess of his chest, where he can still feel threads catching on his pajama shirt, and there's clearly bloodstains along the sides of it, and flaking loose along his hairline. Seeing his reflection, for the first time since all this... He takes a deep breath, and steps away.] I'll be, uh... a bit.
no subject
cw: post-surgery fun
His pajama top isn't stuck to his sides, an almost pleasant surprise as he removes it - but it's pretty quickly clear, that's only thanks to running around dodging mannequins. There's too much caked blood in common places, between his sides and shirt, and fresh blood in the places most sharply throbbing - torn loose in all the movement, probably.
And in the further inspection... There's the strange soft indentations up and down his ribcage, the places where there simply... aren't ribs, anymore. The long lines of stitches, plainly holding skin together as much as any shirt needs the thread to stay intact. The... other stitches, along the edges of his face, where even a breeze hurts. The impression of white in the mirror at the side of his eyesight as he passes it, and stops to stare into it.
...He'd thought Sans's injury from the zombies had been bad.
...No wonder Kiara seemed confident he could survive losing some ribs, if he's holding it together like this.
...He'd just gotten used to his face.
Within a minute, he abandons the mirror for the hot water, which stings worse than just about anything he's known, but at least he can pretend the pain's not from crying. It's harder to muffle his sobs when he can't get a hand over his mouth itself, can't bite on the nearest towel or anything, but he does his best.]
no subject
Papyrus has always been freer with his emotions than Sans. Of course, that's not difficult. Papyrus will cry over movies and over particularly inspiring moments. When he was younger, Sans remembers tears about not making friends. What Papyrus doesn't cry over, not really, is his own injuries, and he's gotten more than Sans ever has. Minor electrocution incidents, training with Undyne... But nothing like this. He's never been hurt like this.
Sans doesn't know what to do. He freezes in the hallway when he recognizes the sound, muffled as it is. It's like a void has opened in his stomach and made all his insides drop at once, sucked up all the heat.
What does he do? He could knock on the door, but Sans wouldn't want someone to see him in that kind of state. Of course, Sans's opinions on emotional closeness aren't really the ones he should follow when it comes to Papyrus. But Papyrus--Sans doesn't think Papyrus would like it anyway. Because-- Because it messes everything up, right? This isn't--how it's supposed to be. Papyrus is very cool and very tough and very brave and he takes care of Sans. And all of those things are true, as far as Sans is concerned, but appearances matter way more to Papyrus.
In the end, Sans just leans heavily against the wall in the hallway outside the bathroom as his mind simmers. Even if it would knock Sans out, if he saw the person who did that to Papyrus right now, he would make his last bit of magic count.]
no subject
Part of it's reflexive, a practiced tendency to try to hide the unhappinesses he hasn't decided to share. To put on a cooler, confident face, so... so the things that only he knows, aren't as real as the things everyone knows.
But part of it... part of it is, he doesn't feel safe yet. Of course he doesn't, with no explanation what happened and no assurance it can't happen again. Once he's down to the point of hiccuping instead of sobbing, eyes and nose stinging with salty residue, he begins to notices how quiet the world outside seems. No more mystery sounds of moving things around. Probably Sans has fallen asleep in the middle of whatever he was doing... probably. He's fine, right? Nothing's happened in the few minutes of Papyrus being here, no second group of unknown kidnappers swooping in to take Sans as soon as they split up. Right...?
He clears his throat, coughs a few times to be sure he can keep his voice steady, then calls out:] S-Sans? Are you out there?
no subject
Yeah, what's up?
no subject
[And, more critically, not kidnapped. Not whisked away to some other location, some even more secret one that no helpful ghosts can point the way to. Not put in... cages... and... Papyrus tightens his hands on his knees and takes another deep breath, shuddering but putting the thought aside. Nope. No need for thinking that stuff, it's fine. But while he's talking, maybe there's something (else) Sans can help with, soon.]
And... I might, uh. Need some bandages. When I finish in here. Do you have any around...?
no subject
[Now, as for bandages...] I've got some in Sayori's backpack. [Specifically he'd dumped a bunch of first aid stuff he'd found down in that lab into there. Look at him, having some foresight for once.]
he should ask 'wait, where's Sayori?' but it's not clicking w/ the rest, so he's too tired to yet
[Honestly, Sans. At least crash on the couch. Tangled up with holiday lights, or whatever it was they talked about.
...Maybe Papyrus just wants to fall asleep so easily. The water still stings in his wounds, making this an unlikely place for him to fall asleep. Drying off after's unlikely to help, to say nothing of anything they need to do to improve the dressings. And then, finding a place to sleep...?]
there's a lot to think about
[Sans's experience in self-wrapping has revealed that process to be kind of difficult.]
and he doesn't want to think about much of any of it
But all the cleaning instructions recommend hot water and soap, and soap's the thing still missing from this equation. He scrabbles for the soap bar, lathers up his hand and presses it gently to his side, wincing at the suds sting in the wounds there.]
...G-give me a few more minutes. And I could, uh, use another pair of hands. And eyes. [Yes, in short.
One of the fortunate things is that all the worst injuries are up in his ribcage and head, so he can wrap up in one of those towels and figure out if it's worth washing the pajamas now, or later, or... just getting a different set. But first he needs to finish trying to get clean.]
no subject
no subject
It's more than a couple minutes, between cleaning, rinsing, and letting the water drain as he dries off. But eventually he opens the door a crack, mask still on his face and a towel now firmly wrapped around his waist.]
Hey. I should tell you... my ribcage. Most of it's there, but... That's, uh. the worst. [There's no twitches in the masks's eyebrows or mouth to give away that that's not quite true, but his eyes dart away in obvious avoidance of the matter - and they've both seen his face, anyway.]
no subject
We'd better not tie anything too tight then, huh? [Sans talks like it's no big deal, like maybe Papyrus overexerted himself during one of Undyne's training sessions. How do you even approach this kind of topic? He swings the backpack, which he hadn't actually taken off yet, around and pops it open to reveal its treasure trove of random first aid items. There's a lot of bandages.]
This skeleton has a bad bones to thread ratio these days
The mask covering his lack of face is likely still the worst, ringed in the stitches affixing it to his face, with some unseen underneath even attaching some muscles to it. But his sides have their share of stitches, long incisions around his sides - one on one side, two on the other - where skin and muscles sag and sink inward in a way that betrays the missing ribs. It's with unhappy, tense body language that he gestures vaguely at one, still not quite looking at Sans's face.]
Only... only as tight as needed, thank you. Maybe, if they have room, to grow back...? [That's his hope for his face, after all. Skin... grows back, if with scars, right? It's harder for ribs, and surely harder still without magic to ease it along... but maybe. The key right now is just making sure he doesn't die of leaking blood.]
getting ratio'd in the worst possible way
Okay. Sans actually pauses to wash his hands, and this attention to cleanliness may be the truest proof that he's taking this seriously.]
Lemme know if I'm hurtin' you, okay? [The chances of it actually being more painful than necessary are slim, though. Sans floats the gauze around Papyrus's back with his magic and wraps it by hand from the front--that way, maybe Papyrus won't see the uncharacteristic wobble that betrays his drained magic reserves.]
no subject
He does notice some hints of things awry, what with that expressionless face, but it's hard for him to read how much of Sans's tension is Sans, and how much is Papyrus projecting his own tension onto his brother's seriousness. It's not as if Sans is never serious, or has never taken things seriously - Papyrus wouldn't be so outraged by the persistent lazy habits if he didn't know from experience that his brother could behave differently. If it takes a kinda-crisis like this... he'll take it, and not tempt his brother's whims by drawing attention to it with more than a raised eyebrow.
...Not that his raised eyebrow is visible, he realizes after Sans's question, and he gives a subdued nod.] I'll let you know... if I notice any. [Any extra, that is to say. But that doesn't have enough bravado to it, and is almost dismal enough for the unspoken words to be spoken, so he doubles down to add:] B-Besides! I think the stitches... are holding a lot in. So the bandage threads, just need to catch a little more.
no subject
Once Sans has finished wrapping, he has to grab the tape with his blue magic. There's no way to hide the shakiness of his hold on it as he floats it over, but he grabs it in his outstretched free hand as soon as he can reach it.]
no subject
Something in that thought doesn't sound right, but Papyrus is a little too tired to examine it fully. Instead he starts to yawn, wincing when the threads around his face tug and yank with the lower jaw's motion, and tries a few smaller yawns to get it out of his system.] I... could test it out. Soon.
[Even as he's saying so, the wobble of that floating tape catches his eye, and he squints at it with an obscured frown.] And... I guess, you could, too? [Nap, not test the tape. But maybe he can, if they both nap and something happens. Scary thought. But he wants to rest, with an intensity he's never known as a skeleton.]
no subject
C'mon, you can borrow some of my pajama pants. They'll be short, but that just makes 'em shorts, right?
[This is another upside to having gained a foot in height in his transfer to this human body, though not one that he imagined before. Of course, Papyrus's own house with his own pajama pants is next door, but even that short distance feels too far to walk right now. Also, this way Papyrus can see that Sans actually changed his sheets without Sans having to point it out specifically.]
no subject
Long shorts. [Papyrus can't call something below his knees shorts, that's more than halfway to pants.] Or short longs...? [It seems like there should be a word for that, but 'capris' doesn't come to his sleepy mind. Instead he dallies a moment, slowly twisting to test how the bandages stay in place... and catches sight of his reflection again, the white mask standing out even against his recently pallid skin. Reaches up, a finger tracing a couple of the stitches and wincing at the sensation. Under his breath, he mutters:] ...It'll grow back.
no subject
[That has to get a reaction.]
no subject
What did you say?? [He misheard that, right? Sans isn't standing there making dirty jokes at him, is he??]
no subject
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)