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Apart from the odd underage person stumbling upon the network accidentally and trying to gain access that is.

Always power dressed but always slightly different. She abhorred ankle boots because they cut off leg length and it didn't matter what was worn with them, they just didn't look right.

Claudette was a woman who didn't simply wear high heels. Claudette had crossed her legs, and sucked in air at the sensation that very action had caused. She had waited for that to fade and die before clicking the mouse and watching the transaction go through. But apart from that little sparkle that leapt out of her huge, saucer like eyes as that tingle had travelled, she had seemed maybe a little jaded, but also a more than a little preoccupied. A split second and she would have got a report back telling her if there had been such an issue. The way her eyes just seemed to be drawn to her own laptop more than the huge deal she had put through on the company's machine. IRC actually existing before the internet itself, as we know it today.

Claudette having found it, quite by accident when she was in her twenties.

Or potential issues if matters weren't kept in check.

As super-op, Claudette had various advanced access privileges afforded to her. Screen names logged and linked with advanced tracing of IP addresses.

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