It was precisely because of those instructions that Foster believed himself in the clear to secretly practise the basics of his job; he knew he would be even more of a disaster than he already was, so better not to inconvenience others with his gross incompetence, right?
No.
Clearly not.
Because of course it was Papyrus who proved incapable of leaving the supply closet alone, even on vacation. Of course it was Papyrus, who Foster had somewhat hoped he'd seen the last of for a while--
He stares at Papyrus for a long moment, visibly struggling with his conflicting instincts, before arching his neck to put his face back down by the ground, his nose literally pressed into the floor as he bites down on the mop with those savage prehistoric teeth.
This time, they sink into the wood and he raises his head as if in triumph--or just spit(e)ful defiance, his chin slick with saliva, a wet spot left on the floor where his... uh, spit made contact with it.
His eyes are bright with determination.
And so brandishing his tool, he plants one hooved foot on the floor and pushes himself up, using the momentum from his rise to keep him upright until he can get his other foreleg underneath himself.
Now his mouth is full of mop, which means Papyrus can't get an explanation after all. Unless he wants to take that drool-soaked tool out of Foster's awful mouth...
no subject
No.
Clearly not.
Because of course it was Papyrus who proved incapable of leaving the supply closet alone, even on vacation. Of course it was Papyrus, who Foster had somewhat hoped he'd seen the last of for a while--
He stares at Papyrus for a long moment, visibly struggling with his conflicting instincts, before arching his neck to put his face back down by the ground, his nose literally pressed into the floor as he bites down on the mop with those savage prehistoric teeth.
This time, they sink into the wood and he raises his head as if in triumph--or just spit(e)ful defiance, his chin slick with saliva, a wet spot left on the floor where his... uh, spit made contact with it.
His eyes are bright with determination.
And so brandishing his tool, he plants one hooved foot on the floor and pushes himself up, using the momentum from his rise to keep him upright until he can get his other foreleg underneath himself.
Now his mouth is full of mop, which means Papyrus can't get an explanation after all. Unless he wants to take that drool-soaked tool out of Foster's awful mouth...
Ew.