Sans smiles when he sees them stop, sees them hold out their arms. He wants nothing more than to be the one doing the dragging. But then his expression freezes, briefly wounded, when he sees them tense.
Fortunately, they're not the first one to have that reaction, so his confusion doesn't last. Sans looks down at the knife like he'd forgotten it was there - which, on some level, he had. Then the skeleton sighs in irritation at himself and tosses the knife away, where it lands point-down and stuck in the soil. Then he waves a hand so that the blasters spin out of existence. "sorry about that. just, uh...wanted to be a little more prepared in case i ran into that guy again. you know?" He's aware that it's not exactly a good reason. He's aware that they'll probably still disapprove. They generally seem to disapprove of him putting himself in danger, and that's probably not exactly going to change now.
He thinks about what else he can do to reassure them, and then realizes. Ah. Sans holds up his hands in front of his ribcage, palms up and empty, and closes his eyes. His soul takes shape there, pale blue and fragile. It doesn't do much to prove that he's their Sans, perhaps. But maybe it will at least lay their fears to rest that he's a bad version. No LOVE, no execution points. Just the one HP, back where it belongs.
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Date: 2017-06-16 11:45 am (UTC)Fortunately, they're not the first one to have that reaction, so his confusion doesn't last. Sans looks down at the knife like he'd forgotten it was there - which, on some level, he had. Then the skeleton sighs in irritation at himself and tosses the knife away, where it lands point-down and stuck in the soil. Then he waves a hand so that the blasters spin out of existence. "sorry about that. just, uh...wanted to be a little more prepared in case i ran into that guy again. you know?" He's aware that it's not exactly a good reason. He's aware that they'll probably still disapprove. They generally seem to disapprove of him putting himself in danger, and that's probably not exactly going to change now.
He thinks about what else he can do to reassure them, and then realizes. Ah. Sans holds up his hands in front of his ribcage, palms up and empty, and closes his eyes. His soul takes shape there, pale blue and fragile. It doesn't do much to prove that he's their Sans, perhaps. But maybe it will at least lay their fears to rest that he's a bad version. No LOVE, no execution points. Just the one HP, back where it belongs.