Sans sat at the bar alone, a bottle of mustard in his bony hand. He looked tired like usual, his red glowing eyes dull, and an emotionless toothy grin on his skull. The patrons of the bar avoided him, not waiting to be on the receiving end of his temper.

As you drew closer, getting into what Sans would consider his personal space, despite being a respectable distance away -- he snapped at you

"Whatcha' want?" He said, his gaze piercing into your soul "Ya lucky I don't blast ya, human."