"Real humans don't eat that stuff," Clint countered. "Even Americans. It only happens at like... fairs. Because everything thinks no one is looking." It made sense. Somehow. "But wait, explain. How's the food different? It is magic? Oh god, does it like, talk?"
If Clint hadn't just had his hearing aids magically fixed, he probably would have missed all that muttering, but as it was, he just smirked and unlidded the guacamole dip for the nachos. "He's a good boy," he said simply. And then paused. "Uh. Does that mean I'm cuddling with a person secretly?"