"Better believe it." Sans nods, between emptying another packet into his mouth. It drips down his ribs, sticking to them underneath his hoodie and uniform. He was going to have to wash everything again tonight -- a nightly occurrence when so little food on the ship was magical. "Over and over again. Could never seem to get rid of the kid."

Of course, he's sure that wasn't always a bad thing. Not that he could remember any of those timelines. Too bad.

"How 'bout you?" Sans raised another ketchup packet, in a sort of odd toast. "Anyone aboard the ship that loves pissing in your cornflakes at every opportunity?"