There's a muffled clatter as Papyrus sags against a nearby wall, heavy with relief to hear that Mettaton's glad to hear from him.
Not that he ever doubted it or anything, but, after that terrible half conversation... With some of the things Mettaton hinted he was thinking...? Papyrus hasn't been, entirely, sure whether some kind of bad feelings might have been festering. Sitting, soggy with shed and unshed tears alike, unresolved and unaddressed as soon as either of them wanted to, to go by that last comment.
"Oh no, did you?" Papyrus says in dawning, unhappy realization. "I wasn't... um, able to pick up the stone. At the time. I didn't manage to get out unscathed... I was really unfortunately scathed. And other problems, unrelated to fire."
He's rambling a little himself, but he manages to cut himself off before dropping that he died so early in the conversation. That just doesn't seem like an over the stone-phone story. It helps that he doesn't also really want to talk about fire, as relates to fireplaces, kitchen stoves, or soup just this minute. He also doesn't want to think about a red-eyed, waxen shape melting out of resemblance with Sans in the middle of attacking him, or... the ground swallowing him up and chewing.
With a rattle of bones, he shivers and shrugs the whole topic off his mind. Later! Later. There's something else to get back to first.
"But!!! More importantly, I did not have any more problems with, uh, terrible books! Terrible books that... Well, d-did you look at, that book? Because I think I need to apologize, but explaining my apology... I don't know where to begin."
cw, allusions to his experiences in the Stranger, the Flesh, and the Buried.
Not that he ever doubted it or anything, but, after that terrible half conversation... With some of the things Mettaton hinted he was thinking...? Papyrus hasn't been, entirely, sure whether some kind of bad feelings might have been festering. Sitting, soggy with shed and unshed tears alike, unresolved and unaddressed as soon as either of them wanted to, to go by that last comment.
"Oh no, did you?" Papyrus says in dawning, unhappy realization. "I wasn't... um, able to pick up the stone. At the time. I didn't manage to get out unscathed... I was really unfortunately scathed. And other problems, unrelated to fire."
He's rambling a little himself, but he manages to cut himself off before dropping that he died so early in the conversation. That just doesn't seem like an over the stone-phone story. It helps that he doesn't also really want to talk about fire, as relates to fireplaces, kitchen stoves, or soup just this minute. He also doesn't want to think about a red-eyed, waxen shape melting out of resemblance with Sans in the middle of attacking him, or... the ground swallowing him up and chewing.
With a rattle of bones, he shivers and shrugs the whole topic off his mind. Later! Later. There's something else to get back to first.
"But!!! More importantly, I did not have any more problems with, uh, terrible books! Terrible books that... Well, d-did you look at, that book? Because I think I need to apologize, but explaining my apology... I don't know where to begin."