Undyne stares at him, eyes wide, but she doesn't feel panic. She doesn't feel her SOUL sinking in her chest, when he nods, confirming she's not real. She doesn't feel growing horror in the pit of her stomach.
She feels nothing at all. Which is appropriate, considering she's apparently not real.
She lets out a shuddering, held breath through her fangs. Her eyes narrow at... not at Tim, or even at the faceless human doctor, but at the air between them.
It's fine. This isn't really something she could've predicted, but... does it even really matter? This is probably a stupid dream or something, and struggling against something that's ultimately pointless seems like a lot of energy she doesn't feel she still has in her to expend.
She doesn't have the determination left to insist she's real. That she's not an "it". That she has a will and a mind and a physical body, even if she doesn't seem to have any of those things right now.
She gives up. She folds her arms. She backs up into the corner of the room -- not much movement needed for that, considering the tight quarters -- and slides down the wall to the floor.
"Fine," she says, defeat in her voice. "I'm not real. You got me. I'll just be over here, not being real. You can figure out how to fucking get rid of me, punk, 'cause I ain't gonna help."
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She feels nothing at all. Which is appropriate, considering she's apparently not real.
She lets out a shuddering, held breath through her fangs. Her eyes narrow at... not at Tim, or even at the faceless human doctor, but at the air between them.
It's fine. This isn't really something she could've predicted, but... does it even really matter? This is probably a stupid dream or something, and struggling against something that's ultimately pointless seems like a lot of energy she doesn't feel she still has in her to expend.
She doesn't have the determination left to insist she's real. That she's not an "it". That she has a will and a mind and a physical body, even if she doesn't seem to have any of those things right now.
She gives up. She folds her arms. She backs up into the corner of the room -- not much movement needed for that, considering the tight quarters -- and slides down the wall to the floor.
"Fine," she says, defeat in her voice. "I'm not real. You got me. I'll just be over here, not being real. You can figure out how to fucking get rid of me, punk, 'cause I ain't gonna help."