Sans resigns himself to just hanging out on the ceiling for awhile and leans against a support beam. It's mostly just boring up here. Down here. Whatever. He's pretty used to gravity being essentially just a suggestion, so the grammar doesn't matter.

He shrugs casually. Just a skeleton on a ceiling. No big.

"what can i say? it's magic. he doesn't burn anything unless he wants to."

Also, he's pretty sure Grillby has fire insurance.

Sans watches Bill go for the ketchup and his expression turns mock-forlorn.

"aw, come on. don't go wasting perfectly good dream condiments."