[He's being worn down to the "bone," that much is obvious. Between not being able to tell the difference between the false people living here and the real ones and the fact that half of 'em could be dead - it's not reflecting well on Sans, not a minute of it. His skull is shiny with sweat when Sans topples, materializing outta thin air to land in the orchard in a dazed heap not two feet from where "Connor" is standing.
He's trembling, teeth gritted with the effort to keep himself awake and try to - lever himself. Upright. And keep. Moving.
three let's play how many threads can we have at once
He's trembling, teeth gritted with the effort to keep himself awake and try to - lever himself. Upright. And keep. Moving.
Little help, pal?
Or, uh...the other thing?]