"They're called cronuts, technically," Iris says with a smile, glancing down at the red-and-yellow lightning bolt across each pasty. "My coffee shop back home sold these all the time. They're pretty good, if you don't think about what they'll do to your waistline."

They even taste like the ones at Jitters, warm and fresh from the oven and lightly glazed with some sugar-y concotion she could never fully name. While she's content to have one or two? She's also set up her own booth to pawn off whatever she can't eat. Which, in this case, is a lot. The portal must've laughed at her, she swears - how else would everything on her booth come in some nifty shades of red and yellow??