"Mice, yes," he affirms detachedly, having a very hard time with the 'dancing' portion of this dance-and-talk combo. Admittedly, he has a pretty hard time with the 'talk' part, too, as basically every conversation partner he's ever had can attest.

"Disgusting... it was disgusting, wasn't it--? Only such a disgusting thing could have resulted from my magic. Untested, disgusting... almost more repulsive than useful!" That was the first time he'd successfully made such extensive changes--there hadn't been time to test it before. Well. There had been time. But there hadn't been anything in it for him any more... he'd lost motivation, purpose. His original intention with those experiments had been to fashion a replacement for Mimikyu, but he'd grown increasingly bitter and given up.

Hours and hours of tireless, tiresome work abandoned--until the Hunt. Sans had been right to deny him. Stupid, rotting creature that he was, even Foster could understand that much--! His motive had been wrong, his timing had been wrong! No, he was not until then meant to succeed--but he did succeed! His efforts had borne their disgusting fruit at exactly the right time.

And now...

"But it worked! They served their purpose, and now they rot."