"...indeed. My creator fell faint at the very sight of me, and others have had even less kind reactions to my visage, kupo," the moogle intones.

Frisk would never admit it, but... for the brief moment that the moogle was illuminated, a visceral fear gripped their gut. They push it down, but they can't help but to feel guilty for even feeling a flash of horror at the poor moogle's appearance. They open their mouth to suggest something, then think better of it, turning to whisper into Kuja's ear. "Um... maybe we should offer the poor guy some dinner or something? If he eats? I dunno, I kinda feel bad that he's stuck out here in this shack."