[...that was. A noise Mettaton made. It's not his fault!! Keats making jokes is like the audio equivalent of finding a four-leaf clover in the middle of a desert - it will never not make Mettaton laugh in gleeful disbelief.
Despite the joined hands, he pulls his own back enough to "punch" this idiot in the stomach, desperately trying to compose himself.]
And you barely sing better than Russell Crowe, so I guess we're at an impasse when it comes to which one of us is the worst.
no subject
[...that was. A noise Mettaton made. It's not his fault!! Keats making jokes is like the audio equivalent of finding a four-leaf clover in the middle of a desert - it will never not make Mettaton laugh in gleeful disbelief.
Despite the joined hands, he pulls his own back enough to "punch" this idiot in the stomach, desperately trying to compose himself.]
And you barely sing better than Russell Crowe, so I guess we're at an impasse when it comes to which one of us is the worst.
[He leans in to stage whisper.]
(That's a lie. It's you.)