[By the time they seek to bring their collection home, Frisk will understand they're fake. The seashells are too heavy for their size; and when Frisk holds a perfectly shaped conch to their ear, they can't hear the sea, like the movies told them they should. Still, they look very pretty, and even once they don't, they'll remain on Frisk's windowsill for a very long time.
The crunch of sand under tatty slippers lets them know they're not alone. Straightening, they watch Sans with a steady gaze, blinking slowly as he crouches, picks up a shell. Offers it with the sort of care used when they'd gotten into hotland for the first time; too cautious, a little slow to react, a little timid with their choices.
Maybe he thinks they'll bite him.]
...Thanks!
[Turns out, his ACTion was one of the better ones. Frisk doesn't offer much of a smile, but they're happy enough to accept his gift, placing it down with what they've already gathered- intent on arranging them by size. Or perhaps shape. Colour?
An arrangement of some kind. It seems to make them happy, whatever it is.]
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The crunch of sand under tatty slippers lets them know they're not alone. Straightening, they watch Sans with a steady gaze, blinking slowly as he crouches, picks up a shell. Offers it with the sort of care used when they'd gotten into hotland for the first time; too cautious, a little slow to react, a little timid with their choices.
Maybe he thinks they'll bite him.]
...Thanks!
[Turns out, his ACTion was one of the better ones. Frisk doesn't offer much of a smile, but they're happy enough to accept his gift, placing it down with what they've already gathered- intent on arranging them by size. Or perhaps shape. Colour?
An arrangement of some kind. It seems to make them happy, whatever it is.]