The Volunteer | CxE Book 2

Break Time

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.