Right. [Sans looks over at the refrigerator. It looks a little like he's reacquainting himself with the layout of the kitchen. Finally, he drops onto the ground, standing on two feet again. He's made of somewhat fewer wings now. Speaking of wings, he's finally aware of them too, it seems, because:]
Heh, sorry, this probably isn't great for you, huh? [Sans isn't quite ready to give up on all the wings, but like a trick of the light they shift to something resembling small solar sails. There. Non-organic. Sans likes the feathers better, but he can compromise.]
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Heh, sorry, this probably isn't great for you, huh? [Sans isn't quite ready to give up on all the wings, but like a trick of the light they shift to something resembling small solar sails. There. Non-organic. Sans likes the feathers better, but he can compromise.]