Can I take you to dinner? Watty's edition

HUMAN-!! KILL IT!!

The lobby spared no expense when it came to grandeur, gold flecking its every gilded surface.

Large china vases withheld canopy after canopy of pearl-hued wildflowers— oh, a thousand pardons- this isn't where we left off, was it? Let's see... You were swerving down Apex Avenue, Sans steering through with the mad glee of a getaway driver. He cackled as he jutted inwards and outwards through the New York traffic, wheezing as the Roadster drove smoothly along the cobbled road. "Ahhh..." He sniggered, phalange brushing mildly past the side of his skull as he worked himself down easily. "Heh... ah, ya know bub, ya never told me what'd make ya say yes to me." He mused as he kept his socketed gaze ahead, the rumble of the engine almost coveting over the sound of his own voice. You were still staring blatantly out the window, set in a glare. "I did tell you. 'Leave Grillby alone.'" "Mm, somehow- I don't think that's the only answer, bub." You swivelled to frown at him, his grin spreading. "I'll leave it alone, I'll leave it alone. Fer now—"

You huffed, rotating back to the window. "Can I just say something, Mr Sans?" "Sans. Just Sans is fine- that is, unless you wanna call me somethin' more imaginative..." He leered to which you scowled at, gaze still drifting over the blurred scenery. "There's nothing 'just' about ya, and there are a million things I could call ya, but I ain't. I can promise ya, I'll be resistin' ya every second—!" You spoke bravely- boldly— He cracked at this, clutching the steering wheel as he threw his skull back, roaring with mirth. "Ya do that, sweetheart-!! Just makes it more fun! Heh... besides," he calmed himself. "yer cute when ya do it, tryin' to act like a big Bruno! Ha!" You sank, feeling much alike a child dismissed as you wrapped a loose arm around your waist. In many a way, he was righ—

The Roadster suddenly lurched forwards juttingly as it halted, flinging you flat against the windscreen with a yelp as Sans roared, fuming at the single-file line of cars in front. "AW-!! THE HELL-?!! MOVE IT YA SHMUCK-STAINS!!" He growled, slamming his bony fist down, jamming it against the horn furiously, the Roadster letting out a series of honks that matched Sans' wrath. "I fuckin' hate these traffic lights!" He spat sulkily, slumping against his seat as he laxed under the tension, jaw still set. You sank further down as Sans started verbally abusing the congregation before him before the Roadster puttered forwards at the green signal, Sans hunched over the wheel, grumbling under ragged breath. The scenery started to blur voraciously by again, children blending in plastered backgrounds, men into women, trains into— "... Mr. Sa— Sans. Sans, if you're taking me to France then ya kinda missed the train station." You pivoted,  a wry grin plastered against his skull.

"I know."

You blanched. "Just where are we going?" You frowned accusingly, him chuckling. "Gotta get ya all cleaned up. I'm takin' ya back to mine." "I'm already dressed though. I don't wanna drag this out." You shifted, frown still etched. "Yer not goin' in that." He admonished, gesturing to your work dress. "C'mon, it'll be like that... whaddya call that human fairytale? ....Help me out here, sweets- it's on the tip of my tongue!" You flailed for a split second before he clicked his phalanges in recognition. "'Cinderella'- that's it." He slapped his phalange against the wheel, looking almost relieved. "While that's very kind of you, if ya think some flashy dress is going to make me magically forgive your tresspasin' well, you're wrong." He sneered at this disdainfully. "I'm not askin' ya to forgive me-!" "Then what are ya hoping for outta this?" "Hell, you humans have to have everythin' explained? Is it a crime to go to a nice place with a cute chick?" "When you're avoiding my question! Now tell me! Whaddya want?"

Oh, that fire again. He loved it. It was then he turned, with a gleam in his sockets that you couldn't quite approve of-

"You'll see when we get there."

—

You had pulled up along the sidewalk, ripping the door open before Sans could have his 'gentleman' way with you. A figure, tall in the shade of the shadows that had watched you arrive sniggered, watching keenly as irritation sprawled across Sans' features, locking your arm in his as he led you inside. Most peculiar... it noted with a hint of intrigue as it dissipated in a thin line of filthy red smog, a trace of a harrowed grin still playing upon it's— The doors to the lobby were thrust open by a moody Sans, elbow squeezing taut against yours as he strode through. It wasn't long before eyes fell towards you, but instead of disgust- these were the subtleties of fluttering lashes, twirling hair, airy laughs, giggles of the surrounding women. The not-so-subtle subtleties of coy glances that were rather thrown, baseball-pitched— not at you, but him. And he loved it. It was to be expected you supposed. People could be anyone so long as the dangling bill (specifically the hundred) fit them. He reciprocated easily, winking with a broad grin as he got caught in the crossfire of blown kisses. You didn't mind-  you were just another woman to him.