[Maria simply nods, not about to spit at the hospitality being granted, anything would be savory after what she had been through. She eyes down the food when it's put in front of her like it's water in the desert, but the self control she exhibits should be admirable to a fault. She reaches for her gloves and peels them off with care, one finger at time. She sets them on her lap. She smooths them out. Composure as she pulls over the bowl and plucks a peach slice out with her porcelain white hands.

The moment the food touches passes her lips, a wave of desperation hits her and that composure is gone. Politeness isn't a thought when your body remember's it's starving. Both hands are in the bowl and she's shoveling the food into her mouth like a bear.]