It's weird, how this lady thinks she can control them--

Ow, ow, ow her nails scrape against their scalp. It's not the worst pain they've endured, but it's still unpleasant, especially with the sound it makes. Like dragging scissors through sackcloth.

* You return the favor.

Frisk reaches up and grabs her wrist with both of their hands, normal one encircling it, needle fingers puncturing her skin as easily as the plate's.

"I said I'm not hungry."