New Body Mod

[*Archangel]

Kierisen begins making inquiries around the cage, looking for someone with the skill, mundane or magical, to modify her natural fingernails. "Something in a sharp, retractable metal," she says, clicking her red-painted nails to emphasize her wish, "nothing too long, just about like these."

[*Midnight]

She grins and curtsies in her ragged robe.

"Yes miss. Come to The Mortuary and ask for Jula."

[*Archangel]

Kiera leaves the girl and walks back toward the prison. She considers all the ways she might find a lovely young girl to donate her own hands. She even considers the thought of a prisoner who has nothing else to lose, or no way to refuse.

[*Archangel]

((as no one has posted anything in this, is it safe to assume Kiera finds some mad scientist, wizard type that can do what she wants, and dump some gold into a trash bin to pay for it? If so how much? I don't want to take NPC RP too far, but as I don't plan to use this for anything other than flavor RP I won't worry too much if it sits idle for awhile.))

[*Midnight]

//Had hoped you'd find a pc, but I can always find a bit of time to rp.

Kirsen tries The Festhall and the up market botiques of The Lady's Ward. They cater to the aesthetic and the stylish, and whilst there are plenty of people who would sell "claws" to primes who would play at being fiends there is nothing functional or durable. She is about to give it up as a bad job when one morning she is stopped on her way to the prison. A tall waif like girl, and girl is certainly more accurate than woman stops her.

"Excuse me miss. Were you the one asking about the nails?"

[*Archangel]

Kiera looks the girl over, a bit surprised, but long aware that looks are always deceiving in Sigil.

"Yes. I have an idea of the biology of it, but not the process. Do you know someone who I can talk to?"

After that Kiera reaches into her pouch for two gold jink, knowing the girl would be more receptive after the tip.

[*Midnight]

She doesn't take the tip she waves it away.

"Oh no miss I don't want jink what I propose is a trade. You see putting the metal claws into living flesh it just won't work."

The waif smiles. She is young and pretty or would be if she looked after herself. She has greasy hair yellowed teeth and bags under her eyes. She taps a badge on the baggy brown robe she wears, the symbol of The Dustmen.

"But dead flesh will, all I would need is a pair of hand, a pair of pretty delicate hands if that takes your fancy."

[*Archangel]

Kiera puts the gold back, looking slightly confused, and a little shaken.

"Do you mean you would need my hands, or transplant others hands in place of mine? I'm not sure I understand the process."

[*Midnight]

The waif smiles.

"In a way miss both. You do understand the idea of an undead graft? We replace what you have now, with something stronger something more fitting."

She looks Kirsen up and down.

"Something that could wield a scourge or a lash for centuries and never show a sign of age or weaken, and would have the improvements you want."

[*Archangel]

Kiera considers the girl's meaning for a moment. The idea is both repugnant and intriguing.

"And this could be done so that no taint of the undead is noticeable? No rotting fingers, or odor of death? Fresh hands to become my new ones?"