Her voice followed Dem out of the kitchen, and after nibbling the frog out of existence he pushed himself up and walked like he had purpose back to the kitchen. The taste of the chocolate frog lingered just as the taste of the fajita had, Dem's tongue happily flicking around his mouth to revel in and catch every last bit, a very happy and very satisfied sixteen-year-old. He half-sank, half-plopped into a chair, wriggling his shoulders to loosen them some.<strong>"Yeah, sure, I... guess I know,"</strong>he said, rather unsure and scratching the back of his neck while wishing he could erase this newfound knowledge from his immediate memory-bank. The most he knew about girls was that he wasn't fond of them very often - unless, like this very wise one who probably talked to Brad about his love of food, they fed him. And oooooh boy, was this chick feeding him, or<em>what</em>!<strong>"Or I do now, anyway,"</strong>he murmured, letting his hand fall and making a mental note to never scratch his stomach in public again. And if only he could avoid class - how wonderful<em>that</em>would be.<br/><br/>Frowning slightly, Dem ran the name she tossed out through his head, racking his brain for any face that might match.<strong>"Who's Jeanny?"</strong>It was partially for his genuine curiosity and partially for his needing to get the topic of conversation off of himself. Then a pair of strong hands were on his shoulders and he tensed, eyes flicking and head jerking up to see Brad behind him, and he relaxed knowing it wasn't some overprotective man in the house or something of the sort. The feeling of the boy's hands lingered, causing Dem to quirk a brow and glance down at where his hands had been, half wishing they'd stayed there in a less ghostly, presently nonphysical form. He watched the two interact, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he stood to snag yet a third fajita, and one of those delectable strawberries from the adjacent bowl.<strong>"She isn't lying when she says nothing's poisoned,"</strong>Dem chirped in, half as an attempt to ignore Brad's appreciative sound,<strong>"but there's frog juice in the fajitas."</strong>He wagged it in Brad's direction, waggling his eyebrows before taking a large bite out of the thing.<br/><br/>Then sweet Merlin, she was grabbing a plate! Following her, Dem snagged one for himself and plopped the rest of his uneaten fajita on its surface, starting on the opposite side so he wouldn't have to wait for her to grab her food. He wasn't terribly mindful of how much of each item he'd be able to eat; if something looked good (and it<em>all</em>looked good - except for that purple stuff), he piled a portion about the size of his loose fist on the plate, finding soon that he'd need two or three plates to get a good "sample" of everything Kris had to offer. That was about when he realized he<em>still</em>didn't know her name, and that he had been hoping Brad might let it slip when he got there. He supposed he ought not hold his breath, but he felt a little silly and figured, from here no out, he'd at least make a small effort to remember names.<strong>"So where are those legendary pancakes?"</strong>he mumbled, glancing about for those things Brad talked about to fill the last remaining bit of his quickly covered plate.