[Hey, you've gotta keep up appearances, masked-man. They know how it is. Frisk leans back against the wall, a faint smile toying at the edges of their features, barely perceptible.]

Quite a lot, actually. Did you know there's a sleeping potion so powerful that it's called the Draught of Living Death? [They shrug, noncommittal.] I mean, you probably did.

[But the ingredients to that particular potion they'd been certain to look up when they next had the time, writing them on the inner skin of their forearm.]