"I know you could." Cricket's expression softens for a moment. Forrest is tough as nails, intimidating and admirable, and also somehow one of the most maternal people Cricket knows.

"I don't know if it had been invented yet back home," he says thoughtfully of the hummus. "Or maybe it comes from another country? It's good, anyway."

He giggles a little about the chickens. "Well, the fluffy ones're usually white, black, or buff and grey. The ones like that purple one over there aren't normally quite so bright. And the brahmas, the big ones, they're just white, normally."

He looks thoughtful. "Loki didn't do much to the rooster, though. Just put the bow tie on 'im. He's always that colorful."