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Maximos didnt really respond, except to bite into a cookie.

He had decided not to regard the rudeness of tossing something at the dinner table.

The blue tortilla proceeded to be munched, and as it was it seemed to gum up the many mouths that tasted it, eventually hardened making the fruit appear to be nothing more than a yellow apple with lots of blue spots.

Sadly, Tomorrow would not find a single painting of anything in the dinning room....or any room. Maximos kept his past to himself, as it seemed to bring him nothing but regrets and sadness. Decoration was left to Walter. There were some beautiful vases, odd artifacts and books....lots of books. In this dining room alone there were 6 book racks, roughly 24 feet tall, fully loaded, yet perfectly organized and dusted.

Infact, despite how homely and simple it was decorated, the entire house seemed to be just that....a decoration. There were none of the things that made a house a home in this place. No pictures, no little souvenirs, one may even wonder if all these rooms and corridors of this giant house were not a shadow themselves. A hallow abode hiding something dark.

But thats was neither here nor there.

Maximos' eyes fell on Grace as soon as she started to speak.

You always look a lady in the eye when she's speaking to you, thats just proper etiquette. It had been a long time since Barton and he had honestly wondered how all the members of their small party were fairing.

It also made him wonder somewhat where Ms. Verandi had gone too, but he decided not to pry into Grace's business or what could possibly be a sore spot.

Oh, thank you...

He said courteously.

...you dont have to--

His tongue stopped the moment his eyes met the postcard he was being handed.

--whoa.

It was gorgeous. The dim lighting, the dark, almost morbid setting. The sight of a large spire swirling into the sky. The picture spoke to him in a way he simply did not have words for. He could see himself in that small town below, being watched by a myriad of stars beside a foreboding pillar of black.

Slowly his eyes looked up as he took the card offered him, falling on the woman before him.

Thank you...its...absolutely beautiful.

Chomping on a pie that seemed to taste like bile - he was eating it anyways, he didn't like to waste food - Donner 'looked' over the Shadow's shoulder to the postcard.

He didn't get it. Was this place a place of importance to Maximos? If it was, Donner hadn't been there, or heard of it from the Shadow before. At least, the artist's rendition had made it hard to notice any conceivable landmarks, aside from the giant spire, which looked to him more like the tail-end of a woman's black locks as she fell from the sky, like a photo taken a second too late.

Stepping back, he went back to the table, looking over the food present once more, his bearded face blank as he ran his fingers over the foodstuffs. The Shadow's reaction had sent a pang of almost-forgotten nostalgia down the giant's spine - Maximos had always been a sucker for the little things in life. Donner remembered one time when he had 'traded' Maximos a common white pearl, near worthless in this day and age, for a collection of gems worth a sizable continent.

That look of blind innocence...the forgotten breath of excitement...

Donner let out a long breath, his face creasing into a frown as his metallic hand unwittingly squishing a creamcake, the pastry and cream oozing out between the cool shining metal fingertips.

He gripped his hand, a short hiss and a shot of coolant emanating from his wrist before he detached it, removing it completely from the arm, before he began to scrape the bits of cream from the grooves with his tongue.

Like everything else in this place, it had a bittersweet taste.

A look of surprise cut through the flat emptiness as one of the shadows lifted up and presented Donner with a basin of water.

The astonishment passed quickly, and Donner dunked his hand in the water, swishing it about, shaking the cream and puffy pastry clear before lifting the hand out of the water, shaking the water off it into the basin before rubbing it dry on his pant-leg. "...Thank you..." He murmured automatically, before reattaching the hand, shoving the base of the palm into his wrist with a click and a hiss, something latching onto something, the palm and fingers flooding with fluid once more.

"Thank you..."

Within the darkness a massive hand gripped Grace's handkerchief, gently pulling it from her grasp. He used it to gently buff the metal, using it to pick some pieces of pastry out from the plating.

"...But it wont rust."

Blowing on the handkerchief removed the little bits of pastry from the handkerchief, which was then pressed gently back into Grace's hand.

"To create fire, you need accelerate, oxygen, and heat. To create rust, you need water, oxygen, and iron." His words tumbled out of his mouth, a verbal spouting that was almost as mechanic as his arm. "With fire, the greater the accelerate, the harder the burn. In the case of rust, the more acidic, the higher the pH compounds of the water, the faster the rust spreads. Also, the greater the oxygen around the fire, the faster it burns - ergo, the greater amount of dissolved oxygen in the water, the faster the rust builds."

"The metal the arm is made of is a titanium/steel alloy with a galvanization of secondary adamantium via electro-plating. These different metals all have rust-resistance oxides, and there is cathodic protectors embedded within several of the arm's points. These allow me to regulate my own electricity through the arm constantly, making electrons which keeps the rust from forming on the metal."

He opened and closed the hand. If you listened very carefully, you could almost hear the whir of gears, the hiss of hydraulics. A small smirk spread across his face, shattering his stoic aspect. "...It also helps if your wife is a competent rune specialist."

Grace just smiled at John, not having much interest in chemistry beyond it's medical purposes. She tucked her handkerchief back into her bag without looking.
"Four...if your plan succeeds and the girl is returned to the way you remember her." Grace interjected at Maximos's mention of lunch... there would be four of them including Rae!

Not at all.

Maximos corrected with a friendly smile.

Whether or not she regains her memory she's welcome to lunch, it looks like she's been through a lot today, eating up will help her recover.

In Maximos' mind there was no need or desire to fight for success. He owed Raven the attempt, but attempt was the most he could do. Despite what happened, she was his friend, a close friend, and he would take care of her and treat her as one, no matter who she became. If she could not regain her memories and protect herself or her children, he was fully prepared to do it himself, at least until she returned.

--

Rae would awake, before panic or worry overtook the warm, calm, friendly, and somewhat aged voiced that was Walter's gently filled the air, along with a gentle poke directly at the center of her forehead. Her third eye, with a barely noticeable amount of help from Walter would be opened, and channeled allowing her eyes, soon after seeing the black to see properly. For her the darkness would fade away like a haze or a sheet in front of her eyes letting her see everything clearly.

She would be in a bedroom, gently laid on a large queen size bed, in a room seemingly adorned for a queen.

Good afternoon, I hope the Lady enjoyed her rest. How is the Lady feeling?

Walter would be standing directly beside the bed, his left arm folded across his stomach, his right arm down by his side, and a smile on what appeared to be a 60 year old face with a monocle in its right eye.