The nervous energy is familiar to him, if only because there are days when he cannot seem to find the ability to sit still himself - those are days that he goes flying, or here in Milliways he will walk the paths through the woods, or go down to the Caribbean inlet and watch the waves roll in against the shoreline, do something to explore the grounds.

Juice is fetched, as is the rest of the bread once it finishes up - he plates her up a healthy amount, brings silverware (she can choose to use it or not, he will not care or judge, same as with the soup last night) and napkins.

"Now this will be a bit hot," he says. "And there are berries in here," he pops open the container. "Some of the strawberries - these are the red ones here, you do not want to eat the green part - are a bit mushed, but they are still fine to eat. And this," he grabs the whipped cream canister, shakes it, then squirts a healthy-sized amount onto his plate. "It is a sweet cream mixed with air to make it puffy. I like it on mine."