I would like to change my breasts.

You look down at your tits, and up at the receptionist. She seems busy, so you give yourself a thorough feel, considering what you would like to change. You wonder briefly what the artificers can do until you look down at the paper on your lap -- after you ticked the box next to "change my breasts," a new question appeared beneath it. You're mildly surprised, but pleased that the artificers can apparently influence at least a sheet of paper. You think over your newly presented options.