THUD.
The two hands of a slender figure slammed down unto a table- the stressed and unrelenting cough that they'd had all afternoon causing a game of leap-frog to unfurl in his ribcage. Daintily, the skeletal digits of the large figure pulled toward their chest in an attempt to seize the coughing fit, before they regained their composure, and reached out to take hold of their coffee mug- pausing to clear their throat, first. The mug was brought slowly to their teeth, and they took the fluid into their jaw, which colesced down and past their spine; shockingly, the fluid didn't paint the bottom of their pants an unpleasant brown in result.
"Positive."
They declared, carressing their chin in a thoughtful manner, and squinting down at the papers below their hands. Test papers, detailing the results of a new experiment. Several numbers and letters were scattered across the sheet- alongside a very pretty, dainty handwriting. Careful and calculated, like it was typed by a computer, but it was very clearly written in red ink. The assistant of the looming skeletal mass, presumably. In bold letters, a piece of the sheet was highlighted- 'Photon readings positive.'
It was always positive. It needed to be negative but- no matter HOW many times the scientist tried...
They set down their mug, before he were to slam his hand down once more, and then stood up. The joints in his back and legs releasing fluid and air that was stuck between them- causing an abrupt crack that elicited a long groan from the figure. Again, they cleared their throat. This cough was becoming troublesome, and they needed a break.
Reaching into the depths of their lab coat, they pulled out a long white stick- striped at the end with the warnings of carcinogen and cancer only by the pleasant tan. If only the object wasn't contaminated with the smell of raw tobacco and the nervous sweat of the figure's palms, it might just be something that would feel right to hold in your hands. The figure lit the cigarette's tan end with a match, before the emptiness of light was filled with exactly what it was void of- and a much larger figure appeared before them. Red gel pen in hand, and shoulders broad enough to qualify for any military, they spoke up; their tone soft as an angel, but thick as a lumberjack.
"Gaster, what did I tell you about smoking indoors? I could smell the stick of death from my throne room."
Their voice was soft as fresh butter, and it cut through the air as if it was sharp as a knife. It always had a pleasant ring in the scientist's earholes- who now looked pathetic in the eyes of a bystander compared to the giant muscle that was the goat monster before them. The scientist was unresponsive for quite some time.