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[spaghettimonster]

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[spaghettimonster]

I'm sure you can eat one. But you don't have the stomach to digest it! [Not that either of them has a literal stomach, but they both know what they mean there. It'll give Sans a terrible time, if it doesn't just fall out those ghost ribs.] You're just not metal enough.

[ribticklers]

[Sans leans forward across the table. He's got that "friendly bar buddy who wouldn't hustle anybody" kind of stance going, except this is Papyrus he's talking to and Papyrus knows him too well for that to actually work.] Yeah, yeah, but do you wanna bet? [No this is a bad idea this conversation should stop.]

[spaghettimonster]

[Listen, narrator. Dear voice of sensibility and life advice. This is not a time for making smart decisions. This is a time for feeling a little reckless and stupid, because they've already gone back on the food policy, they might as well see what's going to go wrong now.]

Well, first, you tell me - what are you going to do when you can't eat it?? [This is the opposite of stopping this conversation.]

[ribticklers]

Like that's even gonna come up. [But it's not a bet if he doesn't ante up.] Three days of chores. [He can't pick anything as grand as a week, Papyrus might suspect something's up. At least, more than he probably already does, given how Sans treats bets.]

[spaghettimonster]

Three days. [Papyrus is impressed enough to make a point of showing it. That's not as outlandish and unbelievable as a week would've been, but from Sans it's still quite the number. Really emphasizes that there's some kind of hustle going on - has his brother learned to disintegrate things in his mouth and hasn't mentioned it? Keeping new powers under wraps until they're useful... It's a very Sans thing to do.]

Well. Well. I can't deny your courage. The commitment of putting that on the table... [Now he really has to think, what can he offer to one up that energy?]

[ribticklers]

So what's your offer, huh? [Papyrus better make it something good. Not that Sans thinks he won't, really, but Sans set a standard here with the three days of chores thing.]

[spaghettimonster]

I think you'll find you'll be sorely tempted to throw it! Because. I am offering. [He outright dramatically pauses.] To learn to make those greasy frisbees you like to eat. And. Then. To make them for dinner, for three days.

[Matching the bet in numbers and personal dislike of the task alike. He's not completely joking in encouraging Sans to throw the bet, for all he's not backing down. And as for the part where he's offering to eat these same burgers for three nights... Well, if he secretly runs the memory of the flavor of his ghost friend's gift, that's between him and whatever in his skull lets him taste things.]

[ribticklers]

[Sans's grin widens.] You're on. [Will Papyrus be able to learn to make a decent burger? Irrelevant.] We can use one you've already got, but I pick which one. [So Papyrus will know it's not some sort of trick, secretly-cake bolt, but also Papyrus cannot select one that's bigger than Sans's mouth or something.]

[spaghettimonster]

[Well then, they're really doing this. He doesn't need to prep his phone with an emergency number, given the easy access, so he just stands and stretches before starting to lead the way to the garage.]

I just want to be clear, don't get any ideas here. My tool supplies are not an all-you-can-eat buffet. [The occasional illicit snacking on a scratched bolt or screw or whatnot aside. He doesn't do it that often - batteries are still better, providing metal and electricity.]

[ribticklers]

[Sans follows along, not teleporting this time.] Yeah, yeah, I'll stick to the hotel. [Dream buffet.] And those burgers you're gonna make me.

[spaghettimonster]

I promise they will be terrible. You will regret eating them, like you should have regretted them all. [He is lying, if he's going to learn to make them and eat some himself, he's going to put some effort into it. And not an Undyne enthusiasm style effort.]

[ribticklers]

I'm gonna intend to enjoy 'em so hard it won't matter. [That's not how intent works at all, especially not here.]

[spaghettimonster]

Wow, what an incredible power! If only you put it to eating healthy food. It sounds like you're more than capable of it! [Maybe that is how intent works for people with bird and ghost traits, Papyrus is willing to tentatively believe it. But only for the sake of razzing his brother.]

[ribticklers]

If you intend to put vitamins or whatever into the burgers, d'you think that's as good as putting actual healthy stuff in there? [It's absolutely not. Sans grabs a bolt off the nearest table with no regard for how clean it might be. Good thing Papyrus actually keeps his stuff clean.]

[spaghettimonster]

I'm pretty sure we literally tested that, already?? [You know, Sans, with the whole eating everything in the house incident? Child vitamins, yes, but there's protein powder in one of the cabinets specifically because of Papyrus scolding to add it to food.] Hey, wait, don't just grab the first one you see, I need to verify this. [Did Sans plant a fake bolt in his workshop for the unlikely chance they would get into a betting contest? Unlikely, and yet.]

[ribticklers]

D'you think I plant candy bolts with your stuff just in case? [Gosh, it's like Papyrus thinks he's trying to hustle him or something! Sans will hand the bolt over. It's a regular bolt.]

[spaghettimonster]

I know better than to put it past you! Especially what with shortcuts. [Could Sans teleport objects without himself with his powers these days? Papyrus isn't sure. But he's only half-joking about his suspicion of being hustled, as he turns the bolt over in his hands, eyes flickering through every form of perception he's figured out. There's clear reluctance and suspicion as he pulls it closer to his face to spin entirely around, then hands back to Sans.] When you find it hurts to eat, there's no shame in giving up! The house is pretty clean as is, I'm sure chores won't be onerous.

[ribticklers]

[Sans takes the bolt back.] I'm gonna eat this bolt and you're gonna eat those words. [Sans tosses it into his mouth, where he has positioned one of his invisible hands to catch it. He pulls it back out of his skull and down into his ribcage, letting the hoodie obscure it for him for now.]

Done. [Sans can't exactly open his mouth to show Papyrus, but it is true there was no clattering noise like it dropped through.]

[spaghettimonster]

In one gulp, huh? [Papyrus doesn't remotely hide his skepticism and careful study, looking for signs of something getting pulled on him. Can his brother shortcut items without shortcutting himself, again? That's the kind of ability Sans would conceal until he can use it like this. But there's no warning flicker or other tell he can see, and it's hard to make a convincing accusation at Sans without something like that as a backing.] ...How does it taste?

[It's not really a helpful test, he already knows that he's catching flavors in things that did not previously have flavors. The odds that Sans would share them is astronomical. But it's at least the kind of question Sans should have some kind of answer for.]

[ribticklers]

Chewing wasn't part of the bet. I'd break my teeth. [Not that Sans uses his teeth to chew... That's not the point, okay. He is just the picture of innocence right now, except for how this is Sans and he doesn't really ever look innocent.] Tasted like metal. [Sans has tasted metal before, so he's just going to go with the safe option.] How do they taste to you?

[spaghettimonster]

[Despite his intention to keep a close watch on Sans for tells about just what he's pulling here, Papyrus rolls his eyes.] Like, a particularly savory hard candy. A flavor palette you're sorely missing out on! While your guts are surely getting sore. [He focuses a minute, pulls up the recorded memory, starts trimming bits off it.] And, speaking of, digesting was part of the bet. How is that going for you?

[ribticklers]

No soreness yet. If you're waitin' for me to get a stomachache, you're gonna have to wait for me to get a stomach. [Never mind that he must have some sort of magical stomach... But it's true he's fine. Which is probably only more suspicious.]

[spaghettimonster]

Bullshit, you've called out of work for stomachaches before. [Along with a myriad of other implausible excuses, but that doesn't change the fact that they can feel sick. From time to time. Papyrus narrows his eye sockets, crossing his arms as he continues to study Sans's annoying smirk.] Maybe it's not acid, but we worried about batteries for reasons. It's observation time, Sans. [Papyrus isn't conceding this until he can't think of excuses.]

[ribticklers]

[Sans figured Papyrus would be stubborn about it, first of all because it's Papyrus and second of all because Papyrus is right to be suspicious. Sans shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets and takes advantage of the way his hoodie shifts when he does it to pull his invisible hand down farther, closer to the hem of his shirt. Still well-hidden, but he can't just keep it under there forever; he'll have to dump it somewhere.] Can we observe on the couch? With some TV, maybe. [Maybe a nap. You know. Very serious observation.]

[spaghettimonster]

Yeah, okay. [Staring suspiciously at his brother will be more entertaining with an ongoing audio track, at least. And sure, he could just load something up to listen to internally, but then he risks laughing at things nobody else hears. Embarrassing!] In honor of your impending illness and housework, I guess you can even have first pick.