The dog pauses, upper lip curling unconsciously into a snarl, as if she's trying to guard her meager meal from another predator. A couple beats pass before Nimona gets it together enough to pull her lips back over her teeth; her whole chest expands on a tired sigh.

"I'm not a person," she mutters. "And... nah, this is good. I like floor salami. Way better than table salami."

She sweeps some of the cold cuts closer with a paw.