Underfell Sans
*When you arrived at the bar, you found Sans had at least a dozen shot glasses and a half empty bottle of fire whiskey next to him. Odd, he usually defaulted to mustard or beers and if he was really lucky, Grillby would begrudgingly make a concoction of the two. He must’ve *
*really
** wanted to get drunk tonight.*
After hearing the bar’s door open, his skull lifted a little for those crimson eyelights to glance over at you, wobbling with the instability of his inebriated magic. His drunken daze melted quickly as his face split into a sharp-toothed pleased grin, straightening up to wave enthusiastically and wink at you.
“eyyy! therz ma babydoll! whuts happnin’ hot stuff?~”