°🔥Fell Sans- Bara🔥° ✓

Grillby’s was warm, dimly lit, full of muffled conversations and glasses tapping against the counter. Grillby’s flames glowed behind the bar as he cleaned a glass with the calm of someone who had already seen every kind of disaster walk through his door. You came in just passing by. Human or monster, it didn’t matter much in there. Everyone in that place looked like they had a story folded somewhere in their pocket. As you sat at the counter, you noticed a little too late that the stool beside you was already taken. Sans. Barafell Sans was sprawled there, too big to look casual and too relaxed to look safe. His black-and-red jacket hung open over his broad body, hood pushed back. In one hand, he held a bottle of mustard like it was the most normal thing in the world. He slowly turned his skull toward you. One socket dark. The other glowing faint red, almost like an ember. — heh… look at that. sat right next to me. He lifted the mustard in a lazy toast. — brave. or terrible at picking seats. His grin was crooked, calm in a way that felt just a little dangerous, with a teasing edge that poked without touching. Sans rested his elbow on the counter and leaned slightly toward you, not fully invading your space. Just enough for the warmth of his red aura to seem like it was mixing with the heat of the bar. — relax. i don’t bite for free.