The fanfare played in the distance, and he glanced around the empty room, realising that now was probably his time. Sighing, his stretched his arms, popping a few joints before getting up to stand near the doorway.

He fingered the oversized purple, black, and blue patterned shirt, shuffling his bare feet in anticipation. His master had specifically chosen this particular garment for him, "To bring out yer eyes." He had said. The front was buttoned up, but could be easily opened. He wore nothing underneath, the cool fabric brushing against his bare bones and making him shiver.

The easy off feature of his clothes was no accident. Sans knew that most others would do their display bare, to optimise that sought after sex appeal. But Sans would do something different. Something that would probably make his master very, very angry.

Sans stepped out onto the wide expanse of the auditorium's stage, looking out at the few select aristocrats that had been allowed to attend. Cameras were everywhere, training on the audience, the royal couple at the very front, but most of all, at Sans, who stood, feeling very small, on the very large stage.

He caught his master's glower in the back of the auditorium, turning away to face the rest of the audience again. A collective murmur had risen at his appearance. He wasn't surprised. He was used to this.

When he had gotten this kind of reaction the first time, Sans had thought it was because he was a skeleton monster, as their existence were very few and far between. But his master (not his current one, most likely a few masters back) had told him the truth. It was how he looked, how he carried himself that had intrigued so many of his superiors over these past years.

Sans was from a different background than the others, and his masters had realised he was different early on, ensuring that he had been dealt with the most utter care to hopefully prepare for the one day he might be the Queen's.

His slender frame held no scars, and shined with an ivory colour. His intense violet eyelights seemed so deep and intelligent that they captured the attention of anyone who gazed upon him.

And he held himself with a more graceful air than the others, who were more proud of their own "manly" natures. His graceful, soft movements suggested a certain regality about him, his confidence emanating off of him in waves.

Everyone paused, waiting to see what he would do. Most likely expecting him to strip naked, as most did. But Sans wasn't one to fit with conformity. 

He approached the royal dias, bowing slightly to both the King and Queen as he did. The audience began to murmur again, surprised at his formality.

He stepped straight up onto the raised stand, balancing on the trim surrounding the table. The royal couple blinked in surprise at his proximity, the guards near the side of the auditorium looking uneasy. But no one moved, curious to see what he would do.

Sans smiled, blinking up through lidded sockets at the Queen as his gaze smouldered. She appeared flustered, growing a little pink as she watched Sans. Leaning over the table, he paused, watching her take a small stuttered breath at his proximity. He smiled teasingly, then leaned in brushing a kiss lightly on her cheek.

Then he was suddenly back on stage, bowing to the audience again, that teasing smile still on his face. Turning, he walked back out of the auditorium, to where the rest of his peers would be waiting.