Clover Valford-Hart was the bubbly and even somewhat naïve girl who, after her parents' death, is put in the care of her Godfather, Harry Hart. As she grows older, she becomes somewhat of a daughter to the Kingsman agents and earns a job as an assis...
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After getting into a change of clothes, of which Clover adorned one of Eggsy's windbreakers and a necklace Harry had given her for her birthday, the pair met up with an impatient Agent Whiskey who was sitting in a white convertible jeep with the top down.
"Bout time," He muttered and Clover rolled her eyes.
"Got the passes from our contact," Eggsy told him, their contact being Liam who was trying to get rid of them for £30 after his girlfriend, who he had planned to go with, dumped him. Eggsy helped Clover into the back before hopping into the passenger seat. Clover leaned forward, her arms resting on both chairs. "You're gonna love Glastonbury."
"Well, that's the easy part, kid." Eggsy and Clover looked at him confused and he nodded to his left, "Take a look in the glove box."
Eggsy opened it and Clover leaned over his shoulder curiously, resting her chest against his shoulder blade as he pulled out a small metal box. He opened it and the pair looked over at Whiskey.
"Fucking hell, Bruv," Eggsy said with a smirk, brandishing the small condom-looking device, "Thought everything was supposed to be bigger in America. Is this why you overcompensate with these massive cars?" Clover laughed.
"Goes on your finger," Whiskey told the pair, "The surveillance tracker is in the tip. Apply light pressure for three seconds to release it." The pair nodded in understanding and decided not to pester him further as he started driving, though not before they looked at each other with wide, cheeky grins.
. . .
Clover had never been to a music festival before, unlike Eggsy who was once a pro at sneaking into them. People bustled around her and she looked around at the event in awe as she bopped her head to the song, swinging her's and Eggsy's interlocked hands to the beat.
"Okay," Eggsy said, his eyes on his phone as they neared the VIP area, "So according to her Instagram feed...Charlie's ex-girlfriend is up ahead at the VIP bar. Which one of us is gonna plant the tracker?"
"Bands, please," The security guard said. The trio extended their wring, showing their bands and he nodded. "Yeah, that's fine."
"I say we all make an approach..." Whiskey began as they walked past security, "Whoever gets on best, goes for it."
"It doesn't have to be a competition," Clove said, looking between Clara and the boys as they walked onwards.
"Yeah," Eggsy agreed, "Why don't we just go up to her...shake her hand, pat her on the back, whatever, you know. Job done."
"The hand is not a mucous membrane, you two, neither is the back," Whiskey told them and the pair looked at him in confusion. "They teach you anything at Kingsman?"
"What's a mucus membrane got anything to do with this?" Clover asked.
"Our trackers are designed to enter the bloodstream," Whiskey said, holding two fingers and his thumb aloft and Clover finally got it, scrunching her nose up, "They circulate harmlessly, providing full audio and GPS."
