It's really hard to feel passionate about opposing this, both because life is depressing and because Papyrus seems so genuine about it. Not to mention, the whole thing where he's being magically lulled into complacency probably isn't helping at all. He lets those words sink in, and then shakes his head more vigorously.

His angelic wings appear, a sweep of their feathers both blowing the dust away from him and moving him further away from Papyrus. He feels sort of drunk.

"No, look... That's it. I'm putting my foot down. Stop it," he slurs. "I'm not into this. I'm not really feeling it."

His angelic aura seems to be helping to clear his senses a little, but slowly.

"Can you give me a break, here? I don't wanna wake up on your dungeon or something..."