[ Most of those names don't make any sense to Sans, but Bloody Mary? He's heard that from one of the movies he'd dig up on old staticy VCR tapes and scratched DVDs that washed up in the Underground's subterranean Junkyard. He snaps his phalanges (somehow...) and points one up as soon as he hears it.

However, Sans waits until the big guy finishes placing his order, a chuckle shaking his shoulders once he's settled into the bar stool. ]

Good call. I'll take a Bloody Mary. [ He leans over to wink up at the human: ] Killer name, huh? [ That bony hand pats the stool next to him, in a wordless invitation to join him, since he's paying. ] Mary never find out if they're a bad combination, pal.

[ As he straightens -- only to bend his elbow on the edge of the bar and sag his whole weight into the cup of his palm, placed against his oddly pliant cheekbone -- Sans scans the room of shifting bright lights, pounding music, and multitude of gyrating bodies with half-lidded indolence. He hardly seems engaged in the festivities, so much as lazily amused. Most come to the bar to grab a drink and get back to the dance floor, or the little lounge spaces tucked around, and--uh, some blocked off rooms, for some reason?

Whatever. ]

Y'know, where I'm from it's usually customary to give your name after a monster's given you his.