Do I look like a guy, [Sans rumbles softly, smiling and smiling and smiling as he sits there and stares at Chris, unblinking, goddamned merciless with the hard spike of intensity being driven down the vein of discussion like a razor blade scraped over stone,] who's in denial?

[He braces his spine against the counter. His hands slide down to either side of him. He grins on like always, like not a damn thing is wrong.

Not a damn thing is wrong. He can feel this, all of this, teetering precariously on a precipice he don't feel like lookin' over, and he knows it is because he knows this was just kinda bound to happen. And happen it did. Like clockwork. Ping.]

But, uh. Yeah. Okay. Let's go there.

[His tone is nothing short of utterly reasonable as he opens a hand.]

What's your plan, huh? What's it you're all thinkin' you'll do? Since, clearly, you've all discussed this at some length.