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[favorsthebrave]

WHO: Luck and Clover
WHEN: Tuesday evening
WHERE: the general vicinity of the MAC.
SUMMARY: So Luck is currently fifteen and his memory has more or less been put through a blender, which is a recipe for... something. Fortunately Clover isn't likely to care too much if he forgets that he's not supposed to mention the whole 'I Was A Teenage Mobster'

Comments

[fourleafwords]

Luckily for Clover, her and her brother both had come through the magical interference completely unchanged. Clover herself had no interest in looking after kids (and Snake would probably argue that looking after her was task enough), so for the most part she was just annoyed by the whole affair.

You couldn't exactly schedule job interviews when all the places hiring were closed due to the employees being too short to reach the locks or security alarms.

But by some stroke of smooth-talking and blatant omission of some rather key facts, Clover had snagged herself at least a temporary gig as a professional driver. Who cared that she didn't have an international driver's license? Certainly not Clover. (It was honestly a miracle things went as well as they did, but don't jinx it.)

So it was early evening when Clover was swiping her tags at the front entrance; it was a good thing just about everything here was automated, or things could have gotten pretty bad

[favorsthebrave]

Not that Luck seemed to have quite grasped, from an outside perspective, that he was fifteen instead of closer to the vicinity of twenty; he was still dressed more or less exactly the same, and when her arrival caught his attention he straightened up out of his frustrated slouch and got to his feet, dipping his head in a nod of greeting that could almost have passed for one of his usual mannerisms. Sort of. "Clover."

[fourleafwords]

"Hey, Luck," was an almost easy reply, but the physical differences between this Luck and the real one were just enough to be uncanny. It was one thing to have a bunch of strangers turn into toddlers, but something else entirely for that one guy she kept bumping into to get cranked down like that.

With one hand against her jutting hip, Clover added dryly, "So who took the hacksaw to your legs, huh?"

[favorsthebrave]

She got a very blank look from Luck in reply to that; clearly he had, in fact, completely failed to get the memo that anything was different about himself lately.

"What?" He looked down at his own legs, and then back up to Clover, puzzled and a little dubious. What on earth was she talking about. "Nobody. My legs are fine." He said it in more or less exactly the same tone he might have used to say, 'what are you talking about?'