[Once Peter was upright, Sans returned his hand to his pocket, surveying the bone cage with a few beads of sweat at his brow. It didn't take much energy to keep them tangible, though Peter might detect a strange blueish flicker in the man's left eye whenever an infected strays too close. Right in time, they're pushed back.]

Should be. [He shrugs, sincere (if noncommittal).] How about you? Think you're gonna make it to the costume party?

[Sans winks, turning what might've been sarcastic in another man's hands into something your uncle might say. The casual air mixed with the magic and swarm of imprisoned infected made for a special sort of dissonance.]

Seriously, they didn't spit in your mouth or anything, right?