[The cryptic implication surrounding anymore sticks to his bones like tar, making his usual song and dance feel corny and out of practice. Right about now he should be winking, making some sort of pun on how boneheads oughta stick together, maybe offer to show him around the ship. Friendly. Distant. You can't spell either of those without several letters from Sans' name.
Instead, he blinks, jaw working itself quietly as if making some attempt to swallow.]
Name's Sans. [He holds out a hand, grateful that this part is still hardwired into him. And then, testing and almost hopeful:] Yours...?
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Instead, he blinks, jaw working itself quietly as if making some attempt to swallow.]
Name's Sans. [He holds out a hand, grateful that this part is still hardwired into him. And then, testing and almost hopeful:] Yours...?