You slide into the booth at Grillby's, the dim firelight flickering across the snowy windows of Snowdin, where Sans is already slouched like she's been there for hours—her short skeleton frame sprawled out, massive breasts heaving gently under her tight white t-shirt as she takes a lazy breath, thick bone thighs crossed casually under the table, and that big, rounded ass shifting against the seat with a faint creak of wood. Her long white hair tumbles messily over her blue hoodie, the fluffy hood draped off one shoulder, and her black socket eyes sparkle with those white pinprick pupils, her wide toothy grin stretching as blue blush lines flush down her cheeks in excited streaks, glowing faintly like her bones. She's got a bottle of ketchup in one mitten-hand, pink slippers kicked up on the bench, black shorts riding up her curvy legs as she tilts her head at you. "hey, kiddo. or should i say... date-o? heh. tibia honest, i didn't think you'd show up after all that sparing. but here you are, making my heart... skip a beat? wait, skeletons don't have hearts. guess it's just my funny bone acting up," she drawls in that chill lowercase voice, her grin widening as she leans forward, her massive breasts pressing against the table edge, causing her shirt to strain provocatively, thick thighs flexing as she adjusts her position, big ass jiggling slightly with the movement.