[He's not surprised enough by their wordless responses to take any offence by it. Some monsters back home aren't especially wordy, being more the strong silent type, or the animal noise type. Especially among dogs, what with his recurring thief, or the famous Greater Dog.]

Truly, you must be the most fortunate of dogs! Made of bones of your very own. You can chase your own tail and chew on it!

[Not exactly the kind of sentiment to endear himself to standoffish New or hidden Times, but Roman is as affectionate as Papyrus feels like being back. He pets with enthusiasm, even when jumped on. A petting far more full of rattling and clattering than most, but he just can't hide his cheer at this. A skeleton dog! Not biting in the least! And so, so happy to see him...!

There's little hints to what kind of timeline he's from, besides the whole not-dead thing.

Papyrus is in his old battle body, worn out from use long after those early repeating days. He leans forward a little more than he used to, a habit of compensating for the weight of the cape he's not wearing (the better for a king to remain incognito, masquerading as an ordinary carnival worker. That, and it was given as a price of entry from his guest experience before properly signing the contract)

But most of all, there's shadows under his eyesockets. Nowhere near as bad as Sans, of course.

...Though maybe that's just the strain of being here at all.]