Sans is good at parties. Good at mingling, good at talking about absolutely nothing, good at blending in like he's always been there. Wearing suits, though, now that he really doesn't like. Oh, he's wearing one, but he can't stop being aware of how he's wearing one. It fits fine but it feels like it's too tight at the same time. And while fitting in here is certainly to his benefit, if he wants to stay away from mandated movie nights and injections of drugs, he can't stop feeling like--and maybe this is paranoid, even for him--if he keeps doing it, he's not going to be able to stop.

So, when he spots Maureen stepping outside, he follows. His eyes go to the stars immediately; it's actually a surprise to see she's looking, too, but a welcome one.

"Nice view, huh?"