That was somewhat different. In a universe where genetics were the playtoys of the upper-class, something new and unique tended to be coveted above all else. Nevertheless, it was relieving to know that this shitbag hadn't had time to alert anyone else on the market; Caine felt the customary target riding forever between his shoulder blades shrink, just a little.

"...that's something, anyway," he muttered quietly. Her admission sparked a little bit more of curiosity's fire, prompting him to ask, "Will gloves help?" He tended to wear them anyway, for better grip, as well as to conceal the longer-than-normal "claws" on the ends of his fingers. "If you get scared...do you change color, or something?"

Less than polite, but damnit. He needed to know these things. If he wasn't able to get a grip on her when the situation required, this job was going to jump about six levels of difficulty.