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“If it fits, I sits.”
Asgore glared at his ex-wife from the shipping box, arms crossed. It only came to his knees.
“Asgore, now is really not the time.”
“Gosh darn it Toriel, Frisk is getting this twelve foot inflatable beach ball!”
She threw her hands up. “It will blow away at the slightest breeze, you moron! Besides, I already got Frisk a birthday present!”
Asgore leaned forward, packing peanuts squeaking under his weight. “They can only have one present?! Just let me do something nice!”
“...FINE, just get out of that box. You are an adult for Pete’s sake.”