I don't hate working at the Starr Shop. I'm usually so gloomy because of how boring the world is. But with her around-
Colette haphazardly plucked the paper triangle off to my right. She hissed a playful, "Dangit," while my scarf swiftly retrieved the projectile mid-flight.
As I rested my hands against the table, I couldn't help but lazily stare at her. She had already prepared her hands into the miniature goalposts for me to score in. She sported that same jagged smile that I had seen the first day I arrived. And her hair was no different than that initial meeting.
She had her left eye gleaming with excitement as I imagined her right was doing the same. Her snow-white bangs only covered one half of her face but I imagine that if she were to remove her black headband she'd have strands rolling past her nose.
The little cowlicks along the sides of her head matched the insane accessories that she wore with glee. A bright blue jacket with sleeves that hung past her waist. There were straps along the arms for some strange sense of style. Though with her brash and ridiculous actions one might mistake it for a straitjacket.
I took notice of the new golden badge that rested against her black headband. It resembled the circular end of an old-fashioned key. This same trinket had been attached to the ends of the draping blue strands of leather. Their shiny nature made me focus on her pants.
Grey sweats with a pink strip down the sides. I remembered wearing something similar on my first day. Did she buy them on accident or was this another one of her silly ways to get on my good side?
I sat there contemplating these abhorrent questions. And of course, I had let my face slack to match. Colette was crossed with this. "Edgar!"
Her sharp chirp snagged my attention. With a little stutter, I acknowledged, "Y-Yeah? Hmm? Yeah?"
"You're pouting again," She had her lips pursed with a judgemental gloom in her pupils.
How annoying. "Right. Sorry." Though her constant nitpicking grows heavy on my mental, I must admit she has my best interest in mind. Thanks to my constant glare I never get tips on the cash register so I've been doomed to backline work until I can change my tune. But I've never been one to smile without reason.
Colette continued her critiques, "You'll never make any friends with that mug. Unlike me!" She slammed a notebook thicker than my high school textbooks onto the table. I would often marvel at how she seemed to store it between reality itself. It would just appear beside her at the drop of a dime. And she never explained its otherworldly properties.
Summoning hearts that would tax the soles of those in its path. Engulfing her in a life-sapping aura. She would often marvel at my scarf's ability to intertwine its power into my body. How it could heal wounds without the need for ointments or surgeries. But to be able to rip apart even the most powerful of foes with a single kiss. That was scary.
"-and of course, there's this oil stain from Amber. She threw this at me when I followed her to her dressing room after her shows." Somehow, I had missed her rant. My inner monologues again have cut me off from reality. As I focused I found myself enamored by her presentation.
She showed me an array of ammunition dropped off by some of her favorite female Brawlers. A lollipop stick that had been discarded in a bin by the sneaky boy-wonder Leon. Somehow she had preserved a snowball that was hurled at her when she snuck into Mr. P's Snow-tel.
I never understood why but she found such joy when she was talking about Brawlers. These elite individuals were born with the advantage of heightened senses, advanced intelligence, and sometimes superhuman abilities.
I had been graced with such capabilities. As was she. And while I've never seen her compete seriously, I'm sure she would be a threat with her taxing shots.
As Colette continued her presentation I thought back to our first month together. I had been so cold to her. The fact she was a Brawler turned knots in my intestines. I swore she would just be another filthy elitist that looked down on humans and preached of a world filled with only the pure.
But as I listened to her insistent rants combined with her cheery nature I realized something. The way she interacted with the customers (Brawler or not) was with the playful demeanor of a big sister. The loving coos of a mature mother. And the gay stroll of an energetic child. All were equally amazing in her eyes. Though still, she showed obvious favoritism to the Brawlers inside this park.
I again found myself focusing on her hands as they flew across the pages. She was flipping with a feverish pace towards an end out of my sight. She called for my full attention as she explained, "Spike actually gave me this flower!"
I looked down and saw a blurry picture of a cactus. Though unlike your run-of-the-mill Cactaceae this one wore a purple vest with a sheriff's badge. He walked about as if he had a job to report for in the evening. And from what Colette would say, "He didn't actually say anything to me. But I remember chasing him down an alley and he threw this at me before he jumped the fence."
So that's how she got that flower. I stifled a laugh at her ridiculous tales. Though Colette caught my slip, "I saw that! You giggled."
I didn't want to lose this mystique I've built over the years. "Did not."
"Did too." She continued flipping through her book, "I knew you could smile." Though I hated it I did crack a small grin along the millimeters of my mouth.
Whenever she was around, the gloom just wouldn't stick.
At least I would like to say that. But as she continued perusing her pages she, unfortunately, fell on a certain redhead's section. The self-proclaimed sheriff of Starr Park was staring back at me with a shit-eating grin. Of course, the vain bastard would be one of the Brawlers willing to pose for a picture. Just looking at his piss-plastered face made my chest ache.
Thankfully Colette shared this newfound discourse for him. She quickly shut the book with some sweet apologies. "Let's umm... finish the game." She set up her finger goalposts with a teasing, "I'm close to winning."
I scoffed at this outlandish claim. "Close? It's 10-3 me." My scarf dropped the paper football into my palm. With minimal effort I flicked the fold through her poles. It comedically collided with her adorable button nose, "11."
Colette retrieved the tool from her lap. "The tortoise beat the hare didn't he?"
Of course she would bring up some children's tale. She is a little girl at heart after all. Though as she smiled at me I fought the urge to return her giddy grin. Instead, I blew a frustrated breath while sitting back in my seat. I was able to kick my legs up and cross my arms against my chest.
Colette began to complain until she saw my scarf move. With firmly shut eyes I was able to communicate my idea. The purple and white fabric responded swimmingly by curling up around my head. I could feel it forming the hoop I had requested. A woven circlet about a softball wide was now resting above me.
I could hear Colette's confusion. So with another tired sigh, I hinted, "This is a hard target to hit. If someone were to flick a paper football through this I'd say they would get... I dunno... ten points?"
I managed to crack open an eye just as it clicked in her head. The way she lit up warmed my ever-cold heart. She even stuck her tongue out a bit like an intense infant. Then she brought her face down to the tabletop so she could better see the angle she was shooting. Her childish antics were too much for me to handle. So I sat back and closed my eyes once more.
How I wished that we could have done this all day. Just goofing off and playing silly games. But our relaxing game was rudely interrupted by our obnoxious boss. Griff busted through his office door demanding, "What do you think you're doing?!"
I swiftly sat up just as Colette plucked the ball. It snapped against my face like a pestering fly. I shot her a sideways glare before refocusing on the sentient cash register.
I wasn't the type to ask questions. Robots in this park were strange-looking to say the least but this guy was extra off. I couldn't tell where the robot began and the cash register ended. And he didn't talk like any of the other bots I've seen walking the strips. It wasn't the robotic drawl of a preprogrammed text-to-speech system. Instead, he talked like a greedy old man. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was somehow mutated into the being I saw before me.
"Colette! Edgar! What are you doing?!"
I looked to my experienced elder. Colette gave him a chipper response, "We're playing paper football, sir!"
Griff didn't share in her chipper tone. "On company time?!"
I quickly took over, pointing out into the barren shop. "To be fair, sir-" a stiff breeze passed through the empty corridors- "it's a Monday afternoon and nobody is coming in."
Griff seemed miffed, "There is always something to do while at work." He walked towards the refrigerators, "What about the drinks have you stocked them-" he opened the door and saw a mountain of fully stocked Starr Park beverages- "up..."
Colette chimed in, "Done."
Not deterred Griff moved towards us once more. "Well, what about the cash register? Have you-"
"Organized the drawer?" I had already opened the register to show off. The bills were not only straightened but I had also flipped them so all the presidents' heads were facing up. The coins had been lined up like a slot machine and the excess rolled into sleeves. "Literally the first thing I did this morning."
I repressed a smarmy grin less I reflect that excuse for an officer. With a toss of my hair, Colette and I awaited Griff's next attempt at an argument. He settled on, "What about the floors?"
Colette and I looked down. We could see our reflections in the freshly swept and waxed flooring. We both turned to him a bit bored, "Really?"
With a befuddled sigh Griff succumbed to our pre-emptive planning. His cash-hungry eyes turned to tired sevens, "Listen. I know you don't have anything to do, but you can't sit around on the job. It looks bad for business."
I wanted to argue with him about how our relaxation couldn't possibly sink this shop. Luckily for my big mouth, Colette was quick to say, "Then we'll just call this our break."
"No," Griff pointed out. "Can't take your breaks in here. Still looks bad." He trudged over to his office door and solemnly locked it. He came back and gave us good news. "Both of you get out of here. Your thirty-minute break starts now."
Colette jumped with joy, "YAY!"
Griff halted the celebration, "Ah ah ah... Unpaid thirty-minute break."
This time I managed a condescending, "Whoopee." My scarf matched my mood by folding its arms over my chest.
"None of the sass Edgar. Now both of you, out. Times ticking."
I rolled my eyes at our boss. "What are we supposed to do for thirty-gah!" A heavy tug on my scarf lurched me away. Looking over my shoulder Colette was dragging me like a stubborn dog out the front door.
"I have so many ideas!!!!"