Brawl Stars Short Stories

Who Are You?

Hello.

My name is Sandy.

I'm sixteen years old and one of the most popular (not on purpose) guys in my town. I spend most of my days working at a fortune-telling shop with my older sister Tara. The other half is spent sleeping. I'm not a gym bro. I'm not an artist. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not celibate. I'm just a regular teenager with a normal life and a loving family.

Except for one tiny, little, insignificant detail.

A plate of steamy pancakes was placed before me. The shining gold-encrusted saucer perfectly bounced off the embroidered tablecloth beneath it. My sister rested in the seat perpendicular to my own. She was also presented with fluffy confections topped with maple syrup. She was quick to retrieve her meal and walk away from the table. Not without first thanking our benefactor, Gene.

Gene.

You see, this is that miniature misstep in my wonderfully placid life. A purple presence that giggled in his unnatural language as he cleaned up the kitchen. He's been with us for as long as I can remember. He was there (I assume) for my first steps. He was there when I had my first fight. I've even asked for his advice on my first love.

With all of that, as he approaches me asking if I want more I politely decline and move to wash away my waste. When he takes the plate from me and merrily states that I can go about my day (he'll handle the cleaning). Even as Tara and I leave, entrusting him to take care of the abode while we get to work for the day. I still have one eternally unanswered question.

'Gene... who are you?'

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

I remember that day explicitly. It was a warm Tuesday afternoon. The sun had just begun its departure and bathed the ground with its powerful rays. I sat inside a clay box without central cooling so all the windows were glassless openings to the dirt street. We did have a tiny electric fan that I had on full tilt against my face. So I guess things could have been worse.

The sound of the people passing by served as an excellent white noise for my regularly scheduled mid-day nap. My technique had been perfected with years of practice turning my arm into the most comfortable pillow the universe had ever seen. However, my slumber was not detrimental to my awareness. The gentle shimmer of dangling beads to my left was enough to wake me.

Two bodies came from the blackout backrooms. One was my sister, she had on her best blue garb. She'd told me that the soft colors would work well for the news she'd have to deliver today. However, it didn't make sense for today's most recent client.

"I can't thank you enough, Madam Tara." A redhead with a big chin was being led away by Tara's kind glint. His deep forest green undershirt and black vest hugged his slim chest. The six-shooters on his waist gave a clamoring tune to his arrival and eventual departure.

Tara pushed aside her teal blue shawl and provided a one-eyed smile, "Mh hmm'hm hmhhmhm hm hmhm mhmhmhm..." she motioned towards his hips, "hmh M hhmhh mh'h hmhm hmh hmm hm hmmhm."

Obviously, Colt had no idea what she was saying. He turned to me with a hopeful glance, "*yawn* She said that you're about to get a call," and again I drifted into a soft snooze.

On cue, his phone bubbled up with some tune that I'd heard over the radio a million times. He playfully snickered back, "You are a clever lady Tara. I better leave. Duty calls."

With that, he dashed out the wooden door and loudly yammered on his merry way. Tara's sophisticated demeanor quickly fell. She turned to grumble, "Hmhh hmhhh... hmm'hm hmhhhhmmhh hmhhh. Hmhh hmhm mhh mhhmh hmm."