Listening to thinks the guy's been saying, Sans starts to wonder if he isn't dealing with a different... class of humans. Something like royalty, if he's that outta touch about what commoners or everyday people do and eat. He doesn't have an equivalent experience in his own culture -- the King eagerly mingled with his own people. Heck, Sans would hazard to say ol' Fluffybuns there got more outta tending his flowers and sharing tea with his citizens than he did the hassle of governing the entire Underground.
He was, uh, better at that, even. Much as he rolled with whatever the King decreed.
Humans sure are weird.
On the other hand, as he's been observing them, it looks like he's had some kind of stabilizing effect on the woman with him, who is no longer trembling, and even... tapping her foot? Eye lights don't really linger long, giving every impression that he's taking in the milling crowds as much as he's giving them just enough attention to not appear rude. That isn't the tapping of an impatient foot. Seems more like someone marking measured time.
Well, it ain't his business.
"Lady," drones the skeleton, somehow shutting an eye socket in a wink, "'dogs just so happen to be a famous pick-me-up where I'm from. Good choice."
Sans, it's the only choice. Well, besides the candy stalls all around, that is. He scoops up a 'dog, already placed into a bun, and holds it out for her to take.
"Stingy, aintcha?" Sans jokes, rolling his shoulders in an unconcerned shrug. Humoring the question, the skeleton drops the tip of a phalanx against the red bottle, yellow bottle, and the vaguely clear one full of a clumpy, green substance. "While she relishes her order, mayo be you could mustard the courage to ketchup with her. Heh heh."
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He was, uh, better at that, even. Much as he rolled with whatever the King decreed.
Humans sure are weird.
On the other hand, as he's been observing them, it looks like he's had some kind of stabilizing effect on the woman with him, who is no longer trembling, and even... tapping her foot? Eye lights don't really linger long, giving every impression that he's taking in the milling crowds as much as he's giving them just enough attention to not appear rude. That isn't the tapping of an impatient foot. Seems more like someone marking measured time.
Well, it ain't his business.
"Lady," drones the skeleton, somehow shutting an eye socket in a wink, "'dogs just so happen to be a famous pick-me-up where I'm from. Good choice."
Sans, it's the only choice. Well, besides the candy stalls all around, that is. He scoops up a 'dog, already placed into a bun, and holds it out for her to take.
"Stingy, aintcha?" Sans jokes, rolling his shoulders in an unconcerned shrug. Humoring the question, the skeleton drops the tip of a phalanx against the red bottle, yellow bottle, and the vaguely clear one full of a clumpy, green substance. "While she relishes her order, mayo be you could mustard the courage to ketchup with her. Heh heh."