Rodeo and Noa
The only person in this whole damn camp who loves the alcoholic Jello cockroaches more than the bitches is the Dog King. He's not sure how many he's had so far, but when he wanders over to the picnic tables for another he's pretty sure it's gonna be enough to prompt his stomach to hire an exterminator.
Rodeo reaches for one of the roaches, plucking it up and holding it high enough that he can see through the world in red through its gelatinous body. As he's squinting through the roach, he spots a shape he recognizes on the other side of the table. He drops his Jello monocle away from his face, grinning widely at Noa.
"Hey there, Sharps," Rodeo drawls, calling Noa by the nickname he's had for her for as long as he can remember. "You had a roach yet? My baby girl made 'em." He says that like a proud father showing off a kid's science fair project.