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