Sans shuffles back a half-step, gauging the distance, the path of the two fireballs flung in his direction as he fires back a verbal volley of his own. It isn't worth dodging, there's nowhere to go. He gives up, but not without his irreverent humor.
"Goodness, gracious. Great balls of fi--"
The first fireball skims his sleeve, but the second one crashes into his perpetual grin. He collapses into a heap of dust--
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"Goodness, gracious. Great balls of fi--"
The first fireball skims his sleeve, but the second one crashes into his perpetual grin. He collapses into a heap of dust--
What? That didn't happen?