Summary: Crow? I think not!

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for certain residents of the Multiverse to get together for activities: holiday celebrations, birthday parties, casual meet-ups, etc. Geno had participated in all of the above at one point or another- primarily, due to Reaper's insistence. (Which was no doubt a ploy to show him off to all the other unmarried Sanses.) He very rarely decided to host such events himself, and he was beginning to remember why.

The glitchy skeleton sighed into his cup of lemonade. All the while, wearily regarding his younger self as the scientist ceased detailing a notepad and pulled out a pair of binoculars.

"Sci, please stop researching my husband." Geno tiredly urged, wishing more and more that he went through with forgoing social interaction for the day.

The lab coat-clad Sans adjusted the binoculars in front of his glasses, arguing, "But there's so much about him we don't know! For example, what makes his magic so powerful? Is it his magic that's so deadly, or does he naturally produce a fatal toxin? Are we certain he's a crow and not a species of raptor?"

The bloody glitch raised a brow. "Have you been skipping sleep again?"

"Geno, he is a primordial god akin to a force of nature. The odds crows existed at the time of his conception are statistically low." Sci pointedly gestured toward where Reaper had settled across the room, crouched close to the floor while holding his prized possession: a sandwich. "Just look at him eat!"

Geno watched as the raven-winged menace (that somehow became the love of his life) violently shredded the poor heap of bread and cheese before shoving it between his jaws.

With a hum, he slowly hid his face behind the glass in his hands. "I... can't deny there is no way to prove or disprove your theory."