Nights like tonight, Papyrus remembers why he's left the cleaning of the gamer's circle to the cinder spirits: it's full of moving things. Dart throwing, ring tossing, water gun spraying... each and every one, a fun-filled activity for their guests! But he keeps twisting and looking at them, completely forgetting what he's doing.

Why's it so distracting? Search him. He's played fetch before, throwing and catching alike. Hard to avoid when you live in a town with so many dogs. And he's chased his young neighbor around, laughing as they hopped excitedly in the snow. Those were fine! Those, he was still very much himself.

This, though, right now? Those rings wibbling through the air, bouncing off the glass bottles and ricocheting all over the place...

His tail twitches and his shoulders raise, and all the world seems to shrink to tracking that movement.

Fling, arch and fall and fall to the ground. Fling, arch and fall and bounce back to the far side of the tent. Fling, arch and fall and bounce... right into Papyrus' hands, because at some point in all of this he pounced toward the flying object.

He grins delightedly at his prize, clutching at it as he slams into the counter, scattering bottles and rings everywhere.

He meant to do that.