"And miss this sparkling repartee? I don't think so." But Sans was, at the very least, actively searching from something resembling a box of tissues. He knew what they were, of course, even if he'd admittedly never needed one himself. The search is a short one, stumbling upon a small stack of overly perfumed tissue. These people were way into their sandalwood.

Face mostly covered with one of them, Sans turns back with his clean hand outstretched.

"Name's Sans, by the way."