[Is that better, that he stopped feeling it after? That... whatever digestion process is happening, somewhere underground, Sans isn't screaming in pain through it? Papyrus can't bring himself to ask anything like that. Instead he commiserates, continuing to space himself between phrases so the syllables flow more smoothly.]
A... startling pain, for anyone. [Inconceivable pain, for anyone.] I did-n't... You were, here. It... bit you, from there?
[There's an edge of hopelessness to the question, though he tries not to let it show in his face. But if there's any truth to what maybe-Jonas has been saying. Feeding off their minds, their souls, all the time, from anywhere in the Canyon...]
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A... startling pain, for anyone. [Inconceivable pain, for anyone.] I did-n't... You were, here. It... bit you, from there?
[There's an edge of hopelessness to the question, though he tries not to let it show in his face. But if there's any truth to what maybe-Jonas has been saying. Feeding off their minds, their souls, all the time, from anywhere in the Canyon...]