In this, Frisk will find no sympathy from Sans, because some of the frosting went into his eyesocket, ew. He straightens up the best he can, still laughing a little dizzily, and makes an effort to reach in and try to scrape it out.
Then he looks over at Frisk, and even that discomfort is forgotten at the sight they make. Sans goes into a fit of laughter so hard that he has to wrap both arms around his aching ribcage.
"you, uh, you got something on your shirt." He jabs a finger at Frisk's chest, where there is indeed a respectable amount of frosting smeared. Not that Sans' clothes are in much better shape.
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Date: 2016-02-06 04:38 pm (UTC)Then he looks over at Frisk, and even that discomfort is forgotten at the sight they make. Sans goes into a fit of laughter so hard that he has to wrap both arms around his aching ribcage.
"you, uh, you got something on your shirt." He jabs a finger at Frisk's chest, where there is indeed a respectable amount of frosting smeared. Not that Sans' clothes are in much better shape.