Julien freezes where he's been setting out food that's starting to look a bit less fresh than when he got it. He's not been a big fan of dogs over the past several years, not since he really started smelling like a bird, and of course the wounds that giant wolf gave him are newly healed and still tender. This one looks familiar, though, it has that aesthetic he became familiar with in Portland, and he groans as he places it.

"Oh, no, you're that psychop-" Julien stops himself. Not a psychopomp, not anymore. He's got that one supervisor role. Fuck. He'll remember it in a minute. He rephrases his starting sentiment. "Hey. You're with Sans, aren't you? Does that mean he got caught too?"

It's not a given here, in the Carnival, or even at home, but he doesn't think the dog is an instance of Sans, or a shapeshift.