For as many consecutive years now as Thor has lived on Earth, some of the quirks of humanity still take him by surprise. Killer clowns, apparently, are one of them. The crease between his eyebrows deepens slightly but he nods. "The public's interest changes by the moment, too. Maybe next year there won't be so many."

Which is. Not exactly helpful, he knows. A year is little to an Asgardian, but to a child, it's not as though they've had centuries of learning patience just yet. If Eindrid feels left out, it's not going to bring any more peace to Loki's house.

He shrugs, setting the basket down on the bench to his other side, and casually offers his brother a small handful of blueberries. The arctic growing season is short, which means they're fairly tiny, but intensely sweet compared to those grown in warmer climes. "Does he have to do the shopping part?"