A head resolves out of the darkness. The rest of the body follows, coalescing into being with little fanfare further away from where Sans is.

Gaster's mouth is as thin and as flat a line as features will allow, and his left hand hovers closely over where his soul would be.

"✋︎ ⌖✌︎💧︎ 💧︎❄︎✋︎☹︎☹︎ ❄︎☟︎☜︎ ⚐︎☠︎☜︎ ⌖☟︎⚐︎ 👎︎✋︎👎︎ ✋︎❄︎📪︎ ❄︎☟︎⚐︎✞☝︎☟︎📬︎"

He doesn't manage to look quite at Sans, instead at some point just above or behind him to at least pretend at eye contact.

"📬︎📬︎📬︎✡︎⚐︎✞📬︎ ✡︎⚐︎✞ ☠︎☜︎☜︎👎︎ ❄︎⚐︎ ☝︎⚐︎📬︎"