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By now, Eggs was sure Clover and he were playing trove bingo. The question was not if they were playing a game of chance, but which charm they were playing in. Any of them were possible, though some had better odds than others. Clovers was the obvious bet, but the obvious bet for games of chance was always clovers. That was the charm which centered around luck the most, good or bad. And while pots of gold had close to zero chance of being the right charm, that was for gloating, sharing or one-upping victories, not getting more of them, it was possible because he’d had been seen doing a jig with no less than three Eggs time clones. He did a jig around almost everyone, even aliens and, in one unfortunate incident, their most excellent host, but he wasn’t in troves with any of them and charms always meant something different when someone was flirting versus when they’d established a relationship.
And boy had they ever established a relationship. The two of them had started with a star-heart-horseshoe trove with a horseshoes charm trump because it was Clover’s favorite, involved the most jigs and old superstition said the horseshoes gave a couple the ability to travel in time. That was why he and Biscuits were mistaken as horseshoes even though his feelings were urequited. Unfortunately, the only one he was horseshoes for was Clover, who made the star-heart-horseshoe trove the sultry, lascivious quadrant that, though it did not scream ‘breed me,’ did scream sex.
Contrary to popular belief held by the less informed, which was anyone except leprechauns, the charms did involve fucking in the more traditional manner. The dances were just that, a jig, a samba, a salsa, a waltz, a mating dance to catch the eye, and shout intentions to the heavens before shouting names. Eggs would know, not only was he a leprechaun, but four Clovers were screaming his name as they took turns with him. How Clover had gotten lucky enough to have four of himself around, Eggs wasn’t sure. He wasn’t known for his smarts, but for being a dangerous moron who did not keep his time clones on a tight leash. One of them might have taken a Clover or four with him, that was definitely something he would have done were he not getting it on.
Clover had never thought he’d be into initiating sex with someone the same size as him, bigger was best in his books, but there was something very ballons about Eggs which drove him butt fucking wild. Maybe it was the knowledge that he and Biscuits were destined to be horseshoes, but Eggs was too dense to see his feelings were not unrequited at all because Biscuits was pining after him just as much as he was being pined after. They were both morons throwing moons at one another, the charm of unrequited, invisible feelings, without even knowing it. Maybe they’d wise up and he’d join in a moons with the three of them because of his own moon-clovers-heart trove feelings for their potential relationship.
Or maybe not. That would be pretty lucky too, he certainly couldn’t complain while Eggs was spilling lime green over every inch of Biscuit’s oven. Thanking Eggs’ time clones for bringing him along by fucking the clone they’d, maybe, become in some hours was the best idea he’d had since doing his last jig. And fortunate to have worked, everything was coming up Clovers.