[h3][b][color=d1d3d3]Vera Gradus[/color][/b][/h3]
Vera wasn't sure how long it had been. With the window more or less luminally sealed off with drapes and blankets she had broken off from a 24 hour sleep cycle. Deciding it was finally time to get out of bed she began her normal routine. Unwrapping the protective hide from her arm she took note that it was particularly mangled, probably best to find a better system to keep from carving herself up in her sleep. The hide was definitely an improvement from binding her arm to the bed frame as far as comfort was concerned, but really she need some kind of custom built armor for it. She carefully got dressed, making sure not to slice open herself, or her clothing, and retrieved  various implements. She measured and recorded the size, thickness, and hardness of the various plates, scales, and spines that now made up her right arm into several journals. This was the second sleep cycle with no apparent additional mutation and the pain was more or less gone, just a deep and dull ache in a few places.

Slowly flexing the various joints she made note of the ranges of movement, and compared them to her other arm. Some had improved from the last cycle but, they were still less than before the mutation started. The rigidity of the spines and the depth of their attachment made rotation of the forearm stiff and somewhat limited, forcing the shoulder to compensate if she wanted to hold her arm out straight with her palm down. The length of her claws and the bulk of the plates on her fingers made it next to impossible to form a fist that wouldn't either break something or slash open her palm on impact. The scales on her palm and the lack of pads on her fingers make it difficult to hold small rigid objects without just spearing them with her claws.

She reaches out for one of her books with her right hand pausing shortly before contact and letting out a nervous chuckle, “Still not quite used to that.” Grabbing the book with her left hand as to not slice through it she flips through the pages one handed eventually finding the section she wanted. A copy of one of the few fragments she could find on lichdom: the pinnacle of the death element; it was a mere description of such an entity, nothing useful, just a reminder of her goal. “One day,” she mused before closing the book with a light thump, “but I need to get more artifacts before we can learn enough to start that.” She takes the time to aggregate the data thus far collected on her arm into a kind of informal report and make a redundant copy before hiding the various journals across her room and returning the tools to their place. She then grabs her cloak and throws it over herself making sure to cover her arm, she locks her door on the way out and heads to the cafeteria.