"A 'dog," the skeleton corrects, those dim eye lights sizing up the human in the cloak first for a lengthy pause before he goes on to explain to the other, "Apostrophe-dog. And speakin' of dogs--"

That sure is a talking, walking--well, sitting skeleton. Unlike Emil, this one looks squat and diminutive, the hollows of his eye sockets somehow seeming tired despite the friendly, comfortably lethargic grin he aims now at Eichi.

Huh. Not that he knows much about the age demographics of humans, but he thinks maybe they're young-ish. Not as young as Frisk, on account of being... taller.

Pale phalanges spread over his 'table' of wares, little more than a plank or two balanced between two folding chairs, on which an admittedly fairly tidy row of hot dog rolls sit with steaming 'dogs inside them. Near at hand are squeeze bottles of ketchup, mustard, and relish.

Only the red bottle seems to have seen much use. The other two are practically full.

"Your dogs are probably barkin'. C'mon, buddy, why don't you and your pal take a break? Common means cheap. Only 2 units."