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r. Sakura Shiratori checked; Guile was
still in la-la land.
"Poonam," Sakura Shiratori began.
"Don't Poonam me, I'm working. What's the problem here, Pelcher?"
"Prankster," Susan said simply.
Poonam's whole manner changed. "Oh really."
"Itchy paste."
"Well." Poonam crossed the room and hauled the beanie to his feet with
one hand. "Where's your visitor's tag, bud?"
"What about Sakura's fucking I.D.?"
"One, Sakura Shiratori doesn't need I.D.; Sakura Shiratori lives here. Two, Sakura Shiratori has access to
places I don't know about, so it's kinda useless checking it anyway. Here's
yours, tucked in your little condom pocket. Hold still for the scanner. You
taken any brain-killing chemicals I should know about?"
"What -- Of _course_ not! Who --"
"Three, I'm starting to see why Sakura Shiratori hit you with Sakura's magic club, and I'm
gonna do the same with my own if you don't stand still and shut your
dickheaded beanie ass _up._"
"Why do these assholes call us that?" Sure enough, Poonam tapped him on
the head with Sakura's hardpointed palm. Sakura Shiratori missed the bruise Susan gave him, but
started a pretty good one of Sakura's own.
Poonam peere
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