Sans sat on the cold bench, knees held to his chest, as he glared hard at his nemesis. His nemesis didn't even have the decency to react to his righteous anger, sitting oh so innocently on the floor and not caring one bit about anything. Sans glared harder, growling lowly. Hate. So much hate.
Sans glanced up at his brother, but otherwise didn't move from his curled up spot.
Papyrus looked between them, concerned, then around the large crowded room. "IT'S ALMOST YOUR TURN. DO YOU NEED HELP AGAIN?"
Sans went back to glaring at his nemesis.
"OR... WE CAN GO GET YOU A LIGHTER BOWLING BALL?"
So. Much. Hate.