Slaver's Street Orphanage

The dwarf holds it in front of herself and closes her eyes, focusing on the gemstone before tossing it and catching it again. A short shower of crystals follows, as red-orange lace gloves spread across her hands to her elbow, the camisole that is her only garment rippling in the breeze and unfolding into a frilled red-orange dress, her copper-coloured hair wrapping itself into a milkmaid's braid that wraps about her head like a coronet as black stockings grow up her legs and sturdy-looking hiking boots manifest about her feet. She opens her eyes as a nine-chambered harmonica gun appears in her right hand, and she smiles and looks down at herself before opening the cubicle and heading back to her bedchamber, walking quite quietly for somebody in boots like hers.

"Eep! Where'd you come from?" The glass elf is a little startled, and briefly disappears almost completely as she jumps. All that's left is a faint network of black marking her blood vessels as the ink in her body hasn't fully dispersed, which is why she's waiting here for another injection. Not that she wants to be, but if she skips it she'll get it then get sent to the oubliette in the basement and spend a night or two in a box next to the gith. "A wish? Anything? I wish to escape the Orphanage." That didn't take long, not like the dwarf did.