As long as Rhys has lived, he doesn't think he's ever seen someone wax poetic about janitorial work. Maybe there's a claptrap or something back with Hyperion that loves their job and doesn't constantly bitch about cleaning up after a bunch of messy Hyperion employees. Rhys knows he can be messy and, when he thought he'd been getting a promotion, he'd been tossing litter left and right, thinking he was hot shit.

How the mighty had fallen.

"So, your name's Papyrus?" Rhys asks, eyeing him up and down. His name was Papyrus and he was a skeleton. This talking skeleton (Rhys could see his bones and everything) was trying to hype him up about janitorial work.

"I'm Rhys," he says, extending his hand, the non robotic one, for a handshake. "So, what do you do that you like cleaning stuff up so much? You got a little claptrap in you?"