The sudden shift in Mikey's questioning is almost painful. The last thing he wants is to be treated like he's made of glass.

Donnie keeps his hand out even when Mikey retracts from it, fingers flexing before curling into a fist as he draws it back towards him. "Some kind of magic stone substance? I'm...not really sure. But no, it doesn't hurt. It's just...part of my skin now."

He lets his arms drop across his lap then as he works out his words.

"...Michael, how old are you?"