Why was friendship so hard?

Colette had been working with the emo for two weeks now and she had made zero progress befriending the teen. Her classic tactic of pestering the people around her until they broke showed no signs of success.

Yesterday she had grown tired of their lack of conversation. So she decided to try and find common ground with a simple question. "Hey Edgar~" She had dived in for a hug but was sidestepped by the emo.

As she skid along the flooring he dryly responded, "What now?"

Our snowy sweetheart didn't skip a beat, bouncing back up like a rubber band. "Who's your favorite Brawler?" Colette looked like a giddy schoolgirl. It was a standard question within Starr Park but it was personally her favorite.

Unfortunately, Edgar didn't agree. His strange scarf drooped a bit as the question left her lips. She was able to fully absorb his disgusting grimace as his eyes narrowed. It looked like he would spit on her grave if given the chance.

She curled in on herself a bit as he leaned close, "I... hate... Brawlers."

Edgar stormed down the aisles; his scarf snatching up a broom and cleaning as he went. She was left alone in the aisle. She tried her best to comprehend how the words 'hate' and 'Brawlers' could even be said in the same sentence. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn't understand how he could hate Brawlers and work at Starr Park.

He and Colette hadn't talked since then. Not without her repeated attempts of course. No matter how hard she tried to strike up a conversation Edgar would give her the cold shoulder all the way until closing. He had cooled down this morning but she could still feel this inky aura coming off him. But she couldn't understand his feelings. How could he feel such rage towards the main event of Starr Park? The pinnacle of entertainment and pizzaz that was brawling. What happened to him?

She wanted to ask more questions but she could tell he wouldn't be open to answers. Now she was stuck behind the cash register. Alone and bored out of her mind. He was again absently restocking the shelves with a minuscule set of black earbuds buried into his canals. She couldn't help but stare at Edgar as he wandered through the empty aisles.

His bored expression. The way he would periodically toss his hair out of his face. She would chuckle a little whenever his scarf would pass him the wrong items to be shelved. He never scolded the magical accessory. He would instead politely instruct it of the correct solution. It was adorable how they interacted with each other. A symbiotic relationship that had evolved into a familial bond.

Upon closer inspection it defiantly looked like his connection with the scarf wasn't mechanical. Their bond wasn't a machine and its maker. It was some bond that tied them together with blood. But if he was a Brawler, why would he hate them so much?

"Maybe he's just a human." Colette rested her cheek against the smooth wood, "A cute human."

She was so engorged in Edgar's aura she didn't hear the front door chime. She did however hear a hand slamming onto her table. Standing in front of her with a face as red as his hair was Colt. The veteran gunslinger had stormed inside with his clothes a mess and his mood sour. "Colette!"

"Y-Yes?!" She would usually be so ecstatic when seeing a Brawler she wouldn't be able to speak. But with the heat the sharpshooter was producing she couldn't relax.

Colt dropped a canister on the cashier. "What is this?" She could hear his feet tapping against the ground.

Colette brought her head low and examined the can, "It looks like EMZ brand hair spray."

"WRONG!" Colt snatched up the canister, "This is sabotage. This hair spray advertises to keep your hair full and vibrant." Colt pointed to his head, "Look at my hair!"

Colette noticed how the usually slicked back style he sported had been replaced with a mop of hair falling over his ears. She gave her best smile, "Well it's a beautiful shade of red."

Colt started pacing the room. Silently mumbling, "red, red, red." He snapped in her direction, "I look like a grungy ginger! I can still hear those kids laughing at me. What woman would date a guy with hair this gross?!"

Colette's eyes drifted towards the aisles. Edgar had disappeared from their view. With pouty lips she mumbled, "I can think of one."

Colt slammed his foot against the ground, "Are you listening?!"

Colette threw up her hands defensively, "I'm sorry Colt. If you want, you can buy another can."

"Another can? ANOTHER CAN?!" Colt started kicking one of the Max Energy drink displays. Blatantly defacing Starr Shop's property, "I don't want another can. I want a refund."

Colette bit her lip, "Sorry. Griff has a strict no refund policy."

"GAH!" Colt screamed his frustrations. He had somehow wandered back to the front door and was punching a hole through one of Darryl's novelty barrels. "No refund huh? No refund?" He palmed the can like a professional pitcher, "Well restock this!"

Colette saw the instant just before the canister would collide with her nose. She could see the undead queen winking at her from the metallic container. Just before the projectile made contact, a wool fist blocked her vision.

Edgar stood to the side with a box of Spike-themed socks in his arms. The scarf showed him the crumbled-up can and he scoffed, "Sir. I'm sure the hair spray isn't the reason you look like a bloody cloth."

Colt had to give him a double-take. This trashy teen seemed to show up out of nowhere. "I'm sorry. Who are you?"

Edgar's scarf undid his nametag while the boy placed the box on the floor. He looked at the golden pin, "I think it says, Edgar."

Colt pushed his hanging bangs out of the way, "Oh okay. I see. You think you're cute."

Edgar matched his motion and pushed his hair up. His scarf began to flow in the wind dramatically, "I'm adorable."

Colt ground his teeth, "Yeah? Well, how cute is this?" The Brawler unclipped his dual six-shot revolvers. There was a wild rage in his eyes.

Colette. sensing the danger, ducked behind the counter. She had seen Colt's bullets rip apart brick and mortar establishments. She didn't want to be on the tail end of that hailstorm. Edgar alternatively rolled his eyes, "Wow... hardcore."

Colt forgot the concept of trigger discipline and began free firing at the teen's chest. Edgar effortlessly rolled into the many aisles he had just finished restocking. Colt's rain of bullets pierced through the cheap wood of the shelves and threatened to pierce the weak shell that was Edgar's skin.

Colette peaked over the tabletop and watched as Colt blindly fired into the shop. The deafening sound of his rapid gunfire forced her to cover her ears. From over the aisles came a petty shower of items. From loose ammunition to designer fashion anything Edgar could get his hands on was used to apply pressure. Colette was stunned watching the new hire fight so fervently. He said he hated Brawlers, but he was fighting just like the best.

During Edgar's brief offensives Colt would rapidly reload his revolvers and try to locate the teenager. He refused to move from the open as he figured a fight up close would be disadvantageous.

The snowy maiden wasn't a weakling. She knew that the only thing that could stop a Brawler's rampage was another Brawler. She readied herself to join the fray but was quickly shot down by Colt. He would randomly throw a hand her way and cover her position with explosive fire. "I'll deal with you later snowflake," he spat in her direction.

The subtle sound of feet touching down appeared behind Colt. "Forget about me?"

"Not for a second." Colt flung his hand back to clobber Edgar's skull. But the magical scarf smacked the revolver to the floor. Colt tried his luck shooting Edgar with his weak hand but the goth forcibly raised the barrel to the sky. Colt could feel his wrist getting compressed under the teen's grip.

While standing eye-to-eye with the make-believe officer, Edgar realized how pathetic he was. The emo-assassin had a gloomy frown on his face like he was bored rather than annoyed at the sharpshooter. Colt continued to fight him with his free hand and threw a slow-rolling blow. Edgar's scarf was the one to intercept it this time.

With one hand in the boy's palm and the other swaddled in wool, Colt was forced to helplessly fight his impressive grip. He had been thrown around by many monstrous men since becoming a Starr Park Brawler. But this kid could give El Primo, the arena splitting wrestler, a run for his money.

Any further contemplation Colt attempted was silenced by the smooth and heavy hands of Edgar. His fists belligerently battered Colt's broad jawline. His scarf's opposing end assisted in the clobbering by bashing Colt's teeth in.

The sharpshooter was forced to his knees, but Edgar's punches-o-bunches refused to halt. Though Colt was unable to fight back Edgar did not relent in smashing his fists down his throat. When he noticed Colt losing consciousness he slowed down. Instead of assaulting him with a barrage, each swing was carefully measured to keep him awake. Ensuring he felt every punch Edgar threw.

Colette was horrified as she watched him abuse the now surrendering sheriff. "Stop!" she screamed hoping to the senseless slaughter. While it was true that Brawlers could survive attacks that would kill mortal men, they could die all the same. Their bodies allowed them to heal at an accelerated rate but an attack with enough lethal force could kill them all the same. With the amount of blood he was losing, Colt wouldn't last much longer.

Edgar's eyes snapped to her and she could see them soften a bit. He relinquished his grip on Colt's right hand. He had to inform his scarf that they were halting their onslaught though it still got in one clean shot before he walked away.

Edgar walked up to the counter with a calm exterior. He had a bit of Colt's blood staining his cheeks, but he casually wiped it away before asking, "Are you okay?"

Colette's voice in her lungs. 'Am I okay? Are you okay?! How are you okay?' She wanted to scream at him. He was just a human. He shouldn't have been capable of such power. Yet he battered one of the first Brawlers to ever dominate Starr Park. She didn't know what to say to him. But someone else did.

"HEY!"

Edgar turned around to a single fire round aimed through his chest. The diameter of the bullet was equivalent to or greater than a baseball and it flew through him like a rock through looseleaf paper. Edgar banged his head against the counter before crumbling to the floor.

Colette screamed as she ran around to check on him. His eyes were dull and she couldn't hear his breaths. Slowly rising with a bloody nose was the rampaging Colt. He spat out a wad of blood as he put away the spare gun. "That hurt..." he examined his face. He could feel the dents in his cheek, "THAT HURT!"

Colt stomped towards Edgar's corpse; shoving Colette to the side and using his heel to widen the hole in his chest. Colette shoved him to the side and tried to use her body as a shield. Colt just picked her up by her oversized jacket and threw her to the side. "Ah, this is nice." He again marveled at the soppy sound of Edgar's lungs squishing beneath his sole. "Stomping a hole through the trash and walking it dry. Just how I like it. Humans think they can measure up to genetic perfection." He twisted his toes around in the gash, "Pathetic."

Colette watched as blood stained the sheriff's foot. Edgar's body would convulse a bit with every stomp but he was unable to scream in pain. She couldn't retract the steamy tears rolling down her face. With a banshee-like screech she charged forward, a golden aura encompassing her body.

Colt turned into her hands smashing into his face. Her surge forward carried him with her as she smashed Colt's face back into the shop's interior. When she rushed back to her starting position she bolted back to Edgar's side. His head rested against her thighs as she prayed that he was still alive. His pupils had gone white with time. Again she cried a little, hoping that someone would come in and save him. Wondering why she wasn't fast enough to stop Colt. Wondering why he came to a park full of powerful monsters if he's only human.

Her silent prayers were interrupted by the defining chinks of Colt reloading. She looked up at two metal barrels pointed towards her. "Check out my guns."

Colt rained hellfire down on Colette. The girl tried to jump out of the way but several of the bullets found their mark along her legs. She was forced to roll to the side just below Edgar's stagnant feet.

Colt walked with a braggadocious swagger towards the fanatical girl. "Oh, Colette. Little fangirl Colette. You used to be so special. Everyone couldn't stop talking about the fan who joined her heroes." Colt picked her up by her hair, "But look at you now. Waisted and gasping for air." Colette groaned as Colt put the revolver against her cheek. "Guess it's true. Never meet your heroes."

Colette sneered, "I want my friendship bracelet back."

"Heh. I threw that thing away the moment you gave it to me."

Colette tried to move but her legs had gone numb. "What are you gonna do? Kill me?"

"Kill you? Colette. Colette. Colette. I wouldn't kill you, you're a Brawler. You're purebred. There are so few of us alive, why would I kill you." Colt peaked behind him, "But him... The less gene-less the better."

A swift shot to his ankles put the redhead on his rear. He dropped his guns again as he rubbed his aching behind. "Who has the balls?!" Colt demanded.

Wool wrapped around his neck and yanked him to the ground. As quickly as he was wrapped up the scarf relinquished its grip. Colt found himself laying on Edgar's corpse. He was startled by the scarf's ability to respond even when its owner had passed away. Maybe the fabric was alive as well.

He tried to sit up again but was snatched down by two smooth white arms. He nervously turned around and stared into the flaming inferno within Edgar's eyes. His cool demeanor ran like rats from light as he desperately tried to break free. But try as he might he couldn't break Edgar's deadlock grip. And from his prone position, he had no way to defend against the approaching Hail Marys.

Each punch from Edgar's scarf hit with the force of a bowling ball. Colt felt like he was facing a professional. A force equivalent to the men and women he had faced in the arenas. The same ones that could collapse buildings under their biceps. Yet somehow this scarf was matching his strength.

Colt could feel his brain rattling around inside his head with each blow. And worse than that, he noticed that the attacks were getting stronger. He soon blacked out from the mind-numbing pain. But just because he was unresponsive, didn't mean Edgar would stop.

It wasn't until a pair of gloved hands reached down that they were pulled apart. Griff threw Colt off to the side shouting the entire time, "What are you idiots doing?!"

Griff was disgusted at the amount of carnage he had missed. Bullet casings were lining the linoleum flooring. Woodchips scattered across the shelves. And he could feel the cold air pouring out of the shattered glass fridges.

Giff looked down at Colt's mangled face, "YOU! You did this?"

Colt spoke through a broken jaw, "Augh-ah gleh-boh."

"You're gonna pay for all of this!" Griff started dragging Colt by his blooding shirt collar. Colette could already feel her wounds closing as Griff dragged Colt out. Her boss didn't show much sympathy, "Darnit Colette. This is why I can't leave you in charge. All brawls are to stay outside of Starr Shop!"

Colette winced both from the scolding and the feeling of her body mending the wound. As the pain slowly faded she remembered Edgar. He had been shot through the chest by a bullet the size of a coconut. Even a brawler would struggle to survive an attack of that magnitude.

She wanted to weep but Griff allowed her no time to mourn, "Colette. You and Edgar get this messed cleaned up."

Griff slammed the door shut before she could respond. She silently cried, "But Edgar's... he's not a brawler."

"You okay?" Edgar's voice drawly questioned.

Colette saw him standing above her with a bloody-hand outstretched. His scarf mocked his movements by reaching out its soaked tail. He was still sporting that same bland expression that he wore when they first met.

Colette took his warm palm, cringing a bit from the coarse liquid across it. "How did?"

Edgar's scarf reached behind him and snatched up a pair of broomsticks. It kept a dingey tail across Edgar's chest as he spoke, "Let's get this cleaned. He'll probably be pissed when he gets back."

Edgar started casually sweeping around the shelves he originally ducked behind. Colette was still frozen from his shocking survival. She pulled him in her direction, "How are you alive?"

Edgar looked confused, "I healed."

"No. No, Brawlers can heal small wounds and gashes, but fatal strikes are still deadly."

"Yeah. That's why I'm alive."

"You aren't a Brawler!"

"I never said I wasn't a Brawler."

Colette stuttered, "B-B-But you..."

"I said I hate Brawlers."

Colette was stunned by the revelation. He was so adamant about his disdain for Brawlers that she never assumed he would be one himself. She couldn't wrap her mind around that. Not without help. "Why do you hate Brawlers?"

Edgar turned away from the fanatic fan. Something about that question always shut him off from her. Even now he chose to avoid the question, "Let's just start cleaning."

Colette again found herself unable to form a sentence. She was so confused. But prying any further would surely fray the thin rope of a relationship she had managed to tie between them.

The two silently began sweeping with Colette stealing peeks at the emo Brawler as she made her way around the shop. She noticed how the scarf refused to move its woven tail from across his pectorals. Her curiosity got the best of her. "How did you heal your chest so quick."

"We've been over this. I'm a Brawler, Colette."

Colette poked the aforementioned area. He winced beneath her touch, "You had a hole in your chest! A hole the size of your fist. You're not a healer are you?"

Edgar looked away from her with a small blush. His scarf visually huffed with frustration. When Edgar felt it reveal his chest he quickly covered it up with his arms. Again the scarf made a puffing motion. Instead of dealing with his constant resistance it quickly pulled on the ends of his shirt.

With the emo's head wrapped up in black linen, Colette had a full view of his body. Past the chiseled stomach and just below his perky pecs was a scar the size of a softball. She could see the cut slowly changing color to match his skin tone. Staring with a mystical amount of wonder at how a brawler's body would rapidly replace dead cells with childish ease.

Edgar quickly pushed the shirt down. He tried to bring his scarf up and hide his face but the fabric quickly pulled itself down again. He couldn't bring himself to look her in the eyes. "It's... the scarf." The aforementioned item did a little salute at its mention. "It's a hand-me-down. From my dad. It can heal the user. But it can only heal a percentage of the damage it can do. So I have to hurt others."

Colette was having a blinking fit. Edgar was a bit concerned about her with how long she was silent. Colette squeaked out, "That's... SO COOL!" She screamed into his droopy face. "You really are a Brawler." Colette gasped with star in her eyes, "You're the coolest BRAWLER!"

The scarf made way for her as she reached in for a hug. She ended up resting her chin on his sturdy shoulder. Edgar was flabbergasted, now desperately trying to pry the crazed girl off him. "Psh... wh-Whatever! Like I care if you like me."

Colette couldn't tell if he was blushing or frowning from his profile. His scarf had other ideas. As Edgar managed to separate the wild woman, the scarf snatched her back in. Wrapping the pair up in its woven embrace.

Colette snickered into his ear, "I knew you liked me."

"No! It's the scarf. It has a mind of its own! I totally don't care about you."

Colette could hear his voice warbling. With a mischievous smirk she asked, "Really? Then why did you protect me?"

She could hear Edgar's heart beating out of his chest, "Uh-Uh. I just... really hate Brawlers!" Edgar's scarf smacked him on the head, "It's true!"

Colette pouted a bit. "So you hate me?"

Edgar again looked to the side. With a bit of regret he managed a, "You're not that bad."

Colette was again diabetically sweet, "Then you like me!"

"NO!"

Colette could hear from his weak defense that he was warming up to her. She could also feel a strong connection swapping between them. She took a peek at his arms. His fingertips were jumping about like a praying mantis. His body seemed to scream he was uncomfortable, but she felt so safe inside his arms (or at least his scarf's arms). And she could see an inkling of a smile forming across his distressed lips.

As she kneaded her chin into his collarbone she couldn't help but coo, "Well you're my favorite Brawler."