The first thing he notes is the dramatic shift in just about everything - body language, tone, demeanor. The transition is palpable, and Sans watches with the faintest intrigue glittering in his eyesockets.
If she were doin' this back home, yeah, they'd more or less call it magic. She spins out somethin' blackish and oily with her hands, and then the walls are on fire. He don't have skin to worry about gettin' singed or burned or overheated, so he watches and waits patiently.
It's good, he thinks, real good, that not a one of these things are alive. Maybe they're sentient, but he hopes to god they're not. 'Cause nothin' deserves to die in droves like this.
"Neat trick," he says, once the inferno has begun to fade, leaving heaps of rotting, burning corpses, lacing the air with the reek of decaying flesh. "Glad those zombies weren't workin' for you."
no subject
The first thing he notes is the dramatic shift in just about everything - body language, tone, demeanor. The transition is palpable, and Sans watches with the faintest intrigue glittering in his eyesockets.
If she were doin' this back home, yeah, they'd more or less call it magic. She spins out somethin' blackish and oily with her hands, and then the walls are on fire. He don't have skin to worry about gettin' singed or burned or overheated, so he watches and waits patiently.
It's good, he thinks, real good, that not a one of these things are alive. Maybe they're sentient, but he hopes to god they're not. 'Cause nothin' deserves to die in droves like this.
"Neat trick," he says, once the inferno has begun to fade, leaving heaps of rotting, burning corpses, lacing the air with the reek of decaying flesh. "Glad those zombies weren't workin' for you."