[ confetti egg— it takes a few seconds, but once the gears have clicked to which egg he's talking about, falco nearly, just nearly drops the bowl of batter he's rearranging by a hair. instead, he only drops a fork in and rushes to collect the clattering bowl on the table, doubletaking sideways to make sure (out of pure instinct) that the confetti egg isn't the one getting cracked. ]

Oh, o-oh, [ realizing it was a curious joke (?), falco's messy hand is placed right over the top of where his apron hugs his chest, luckily away from the batter splatter one hand lower, and he too, smiles . . . through a heart attack. ] hah, that's— no, I mean yes, [ the small eggs!!! but already flustered with his own fluster, falco brushes the side of his face, accidentally adding a streak of flour to his cheek. ] the big one's the thing I wanted to show you. When he wakes up. I found it at home when I got out of that jungle.

[ he almost says game, but that wasn't a game. that was jungle royale. ]