Stiles twirls a pair of scissors around in his hand (and succeeds in whacking the tip of an ear with them on accident, ouch). So, this is a new venture?

“Aw, that’s too bad. It’d be easier to buy some of these off you than try to make my own.”

As if to demonstrate why, he gestures to his workstation. Stiles has all but butchered his shirts trying to imitate what Papyrus has taught them. The cuts he’s made are uneven, with the fabric fraying at the edges from clumsy handling. It hasn’t been on purpose; he has difficulty focusing, which doesn’t translate well to work like this.