[ A fair point? Grout looks closely for any hint of sarcasm in the robot's face _{can robots even look sarcastic? he's excited to learn}, because the feedback from his invisible informants is... not great. They'd have him believe that Mettaton is mocking him. This, delivered with jeers of ^idiot! He'll take off your arms and cook them, in words that match the rhythm and the tenor of the creaking wagon wheels.

He doesn't look like he's being mocking. ]

That does seem wise. I shouldn't like to go swimming with you either.

[ He doesn't raise his voice over the talking. He has years of practice at resisting that.

Grout pulls at his ear, wishing they'd appreciate his effort.

(He's done that more than once on the journey; often enough for it to seem like an ordinary tic, a habit when thinking, maybe earache. Something mundane.)

Thoughtfully: ]

It would put one in mind of a man-sized toaster going into an equally overlarge bath.