A residential wing adjoins the throne room. It looks like a recent addition to Sanctuary II's architecture, the walls haven't corroded or crumbled the least bit and the doors have a more angular style than the rounded portals elsewhere in the ship.

Proxima leads the way without further comment. The residential complex seems deserted for the most part, but Grim catches a glimpse in passing of a hulking creature--humanoid, but larger even than Thanos--in the wing's gymnasium.

Finally, they arrive at a smaller room in the furthest hall of the complex. Proxima stops, the sight of the room's entrance eliciting a pang of melancholy.

"This used to be my room," she says. "You don't deserve it."

"Probably not," she agrees blandly. (A cell, she thinks, but doesn't say, would be more appropriate.)

Proxima leers, waits for Grim to enter the room, and then saunters off.

Its not an uncomfortable room, as spaceship quarters go.

-- Single bed, a little undersized but Grim's probably had worse in that department

-- Small corner chair, desk with writing supplies

-- Tamperproof interface screen recessed into one wall 

-- Some posters and ceiling ornaments

-- Thick rug covers half the floor, colors evoke the night sky

-- and... toys?

Yeah. Dolls, building blocks, that sort of thing.

Weird.

At least there is a bed.

As for the toys...well. She guesses Proxima's been here for a long time. And well. She can use the writing supplies to draw if she needs to.

For now, she lowers herself down onto the rug, and clears her mind, trying to make sense of this. (She doesn't even notice drawing the shadows around her again.)

She gets some very good thinking done; she has plenty of time, and she sits upon a very nice rug.

...It is a very nice rug. Good thinking done, Grim figures it's as good a place as any for a nap.

"There's a bed right there, y'know."

If Grim doesn't rouse right away when the door opens, Gamora will use a foot to gently prod her awake.

The smirking alien has her arms occupied with a tray of food.

"Got more questions for you. Also, sustenance. Rise and shine?"

She doesn't get to the foot prodding stage, Grim is awake before Gamora's even properly in the room.

"This rug's comfortable," she says as though that explains everything. "What did you need to know?"

Gamora regards Grim the way one would an adorable new pet.

Which is maybe a little disconcerting, considering she's looking at someone who snuck into her home yesterday, shot her, and killed her brother?

She sets the tray down on the desk in the corner, sits down on the edge of the bed, and rattles off another list of questions. These ones have to do with Grim's abilities, and the abilities possessed by her various colleagues back at Damien O'Reilly's Assassins'R'Us.

"Take your time. Eat. Corvus will edit our conversation down to just the essentials after I leave."

Eh, she's seen more peculiar behaviour, and she saw that hesitation yesterday.

She gets to her feet, and it's pure force of will that makes it seem like an easy movement.

She's thoughtful as she pokes at the food, trying to work out the best way to summarise. In the end she starts with herself, giving an overview of her abilities with weapons - she can handle just about anything, but it's firearms and projectile weapons where her skills are best - and a slightly pared down explanation of her more superhuman abilities (at least some of her survival came from people underestimating her). Then she lists who she can think of, and gives an assessment of their combat skills and any other abilities they have. She admits that her list might not be complete.

"Right. Good. I think that'll do for now."

Just like earlier in the infirmary, she double checks the audio on her recording device before rising to go.

"For whatever it's worth? I hope you survive a while. You seem nice." Well. Relatively speaking, nice.

That gets a confused, slightly disbelieving look, but a slightly grateful nod as well. And she'll keep herself busy until the next time someone interrupts her - steadily more difficult katas, drawing, meditating and catching short naps.

No clock in the room (unless the interface screen can display one? she hasn't fiddled with it yet) but by Grim's best guess about five hours pass before her next meal gets delivered.

No Gamora this time. An elderly Chitauri sets the tray of refreshments down.

"Food. Eat. I wait." 

Chitauri come from beyond the boundaries of the Milky Way, and so their native language eludes the translation conventions of more local dialects. This one clearly knows at least a few words in translator-compatible tongues.

"Questions."

The Chitauri fumbles around for a recording device, presses play, and then the device plays out a handful of innocuous-seeming questions about Grim's background in a bored Gamora's voice.

At the end of the message, the recorded Gamora says something to the effect of: "--is there anything else, Corvus?"

A gravelly voice responds in the negative and the recording clicks off.

The Chitauri envoy then helpfully switches the device to record mode.

She eats obediently, and, with obvious reluctance, responds to the questions about her background - noticeably peculiar are the fact that she can neither give an accurate age, just a best guess, or identify her mother.

Once she's finished eating, and answering the questions, she hesitates, and then holds out a pile of drawings. "I- those of my Father's employees who I met face to face. They are good at avoiding having names attached to images otherwise."

The Chitauri gingerly gathers up the pile of drawings.

"To Corvus?"

"Yes," she confirms. "More information to help."

And then she's alone again.

A similar length of time to the previous empty stretch passes.

Then the tray-bearing Chitauri returns. The envoy moves in lockstep with a Chitauri warrior, and the two flank a stooped figure in a billowing black cloak.

"Grim O'Reilly. Fascinating specimen. Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

"And yours- sir?" she rises to her feet as she speaks.

Corvus smirks, glances down at a datapad affixed to his forearm and taps in some quick notes with preternaturally nimble fingers.

(Hypothesis confirmed: specific deferential response to 'male' authority figures)

He looks back up at her.

"My name's Corvus. Second brother of the Children of Thanos--hmmm... first brother now, I suppose?"

Tasteful cackle.

"I suppose, sir," she agrees politely.

He's still smiling.

Some smiles show cheer; some merely show teeth.

"I serve as the Sanctuary II's chief archivist. I'm the one who cross-references new information. Verifies it. Ferrets out contradictions and falsehoods." He ducks into her room, motioning for the Chitauri envoy to set down Grim's dinner as he does so. "You've been a very good girl so far, in that respect. Please do keep that up."

"I'll certainly try," she promises. "I can't promise my information will always be accurate, things do change."

Corvus' eyes narrow slightly when the prisoner implies that he, an information specialist, might somehow be unaware that true intel can become false intel over time.

"Well. I suppose that's a good reason not to withhold anything too time-sensitive?"

He crouches down in front of the low desk in the corner and spreads out printed copies of the illustrations Grim produced earlier.

"And on that note: I have several inquiries about these drawings."

Corvus makes a bunch of inquiries. It's clear, now, why he came down here himself this time instead of sending another intermediary. His questions have a fine attention to detail, and they alway build off of the answer she gave to the question before. Earlier, he'd just been seeking context. Now he's seeking truth.