Des blinks. In a manner reminiscent of someone that's found themselves very abruptly and unexpectedly in front of oncoming traffic. If the traffic was, y'know, girl-shaped. Which a surprising amount of traffic is.

"The fuck names their kid Peanut?" he mumbles, mostly to himself and only slightly out of some level of self-preservation. His eyebrows beetle themselves together as he watches Patrice yanking on the g Peanut's broom. "You really gonna pry that out from under her?"