The figure standing out here has thrown his arms over the railing, where perhaps they dangle over the edge, or they might be criss-crossed and pillowing his chin, hard to tell from this angle, with his hood up and his back to her. That railing casts a deep shadow over his legs, making the bare bone that pokes out from under dark track shorts look like just pale, particularly skinny limbs.

In any case, it seems that his attention is almost wholly engrossed in the night sky above, what of it he can see with vegetation climbing up the residential building and all. It even takes him a moment to notice her presence -- what can he say? Seeing stars, the real ones, not just glimmering crystals clustered on a subterranean ceiling, is an arresting sight.

At just five feet tall, he might even be mistaken for someone much younger, but the moment he responds with a low, droning rumble and a Brooklyn accent, it's easier to pick his age as at least a few decades older.

"Heh heh heh, nah, not a thing. And I'd know, I took a nap earlier."

That's when he turns, angling his skeletal grin at her as a bony phalanx prods at the side of his bleached-white skull, his sockets hollow and dark.

"Slept like the dead."

Man, just look at you, hamming this crap up. She probably isn't even going to get spooked, Sans is just poking fun at the usual reaction.