Papyrus accepts the herding, making his way to the couch with more stiff movements and more of a backwards falling than a sitting down. He accepts the blanket, too, but not in an important nap way - he just rests his hands on the material, insofar as they'll stay still. "...I watched a movie."

His eyes slide away from Sans's watchful expressions, looking at the blanket like it's fascinating. It is, in a way - it's a different texture than the armrests were.

He could maybe recite whole scenes of the video, if he tried. If the words themselves would stay in his head. The voice stays with him, the overall impressions of the story it told. Repeating ideas in a wavering space, with him restrained and exhausted yet unable to stop moving or watching. A wonderful country, beautiful communities, strong yet fragile, so vulnerable to questioning... under siege from an ambiguous yet relentless menace. He doesn't want to undermine anyone's lives.