Things are easier to laugh at in retrospect. Maybe it's something that damages in the long run, especially for someone like Mark, who exists more in the present than he does either past or future, who'll take how he feels in the moment and carry it along as much as necessary— for him to be able to laugh at events in the past just means that they're more likely to be repeated. He's been called an overgrown child before. Lessons don't always stick. The chicken is one such example: every single time it comes up, he just ends up laughing more about the matter, because it's so outlandish, ridiculous, proof right there that humanity has way too much time on their hands if they're concerned about the mistreatment of a chicken who has, at least, been whisked away from a life of egg production. The impulse is hard to fight, even if he knows that Eduardo is a lot more sensitive about the matter than Mark himself has ever been.

"You named it Sean Parker," he huffs a little laugh, lips curving upward. "How apt. Do you eat her eggs?"

It's juvenile, but it's the first question that crosses his mind.