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Heads turned. Why wouldn't they? It wasn't everyday that someone with these proportions sauntered into a bank. It definitely wasn't everyday that someone with these proportions dressed like a french maid did. Definitely not. Mighty Maid laughed softly to herself, the accent coming through. She loved the attention. Such dirty minds, all of them, watching her saunter and strain in her uniform. She even stopped to bend over and dust for a moment. One of the tellers turned to look at her more quickly than the rest, a young, pert thing with short red hair. It was to her that Mighty Maid continued.
"Bonjour," she started, her french accent so over the top that the teller almost laughed despite herself.
Instead she shook her head, professional and composed. "Can i help you?"
"Oui," Mighty Maid drew her duster once more. "For ze rest of your life." She started to bring it back and forth and back and forth, drawing the teller's eye as it sparked strangely. "You serve everyday, yes? Serve all these ugly, boring customers. Zen you go home, have your silly leeetle life. You come back here each and every day. You find your purpose, but they're so dull. You want to serve so badly. You scream it on the, how do you say, ah, the inside. But they're so unworthy. Not like moi. I am the one you've been waiting to serve. Perfect in every way." She tittered as she started to draw the duster back and forth first over the woman's chest and then up to her face. "Don't you agree my bank maid?"
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