11-21-2018, 12:38 AM
DR. W.D. GASTER
✯  THE MAN WHO SPEAKS IN HANDS
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Gaster did not eant to remember what he'd done, what had happened. But the memories, the resets, all stuck to him. This was not Snowdin, his home, it would never be. Nor would it be Hotland, his work place. This appeared to be the surface, but the dog could not recall the barrier being shattered. Gaster sighs, writing this in "hands" in his notebook. He would need to run tests on these things.
Unlike his child, he did not think he was great. Not anymore. He went on a walk to clear his mind -- rubbing his temples with a paw. And then, he sees something odd. It... it felt like Papyrus. His son. No, that's crazy! Papyrus would've had to die... Genocide. It hits him like a brick, and he feels uneasy. He watches the skeleton-pattered canine walk with a bounce in his step. No, no. He needed to say hello. The scientist smiles, rushing over to his son, "Papyrus! Oh, my little noodle!"
Unlike his child, he did not think he was great. Not anymore. He went on a walk to clear his mind -- rubbing his temples with a paw. And then, he sees something odd. It... it felt like Papyrus. His son. No, that's crazy! Papyrus would've had to die... Genocide. It hits him like a brick, and he feels uneasy. He watches the skeleton-pattered canine walk with a bounce in his step. No, no. He needed to say hello. The scientist smiles, rushing over to his son, "Papyrus! Oh, my little noodle!"
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