[When he takes action, they'll know it. Sans doesn't bother with the lot of them. He strides away, hands still crammed in pockets. Making his way downtown, walking fast, seeing some scaly beast-type sorts that look at him like his marrow is downright delicious, walking faster.]
Well, you know. I'm not a monster of action.
[They'd know, wouldn't they? A hooded figure watches from afar. Etcetera.]
no subject
Well, you know. I'm not a monster of action.
[They'd know, wouldn't they? A hooded figure watches from afar. Etcetera.]