"...Later," they agree reluctantly, shoving their desire to quiz them on enjoyable stuff somewhere in the back of their head.

Frisk glances at the rain-spattered windows, for some reason. As if that could show them the time, or the date. "Not this time," they say, incidentally stumbling towards other-Frisk's muted thoughts, "nobody really knows, and starting a party late when everybody's all over the castle wouldn't...be fun."

They stretch out. "'Leven. I think. I'm not...actually getting bigger." They're probably going to look nine forever.