Another busy day of battle, death, and money drew to a close, the last match on Summoner's Rift of the day ending as blue team's nexus exploded magnificently, having sustained one too many hits from purple team's fed, backdooring Tryndamere.
Purple team's shopkeeper, known by his friends and the public as "Fat Stacks", began packing up his wares, knowing that on the other side of the map, B-Dosh, the blue team's shopkeeper, would be doing the same.
B-Dosh was carefully wrapping up the Doran's Blades as the summoners milled out. He could hear at least some low mutterings and whining about "that gay ass no skill champion" or who fed who, but it wasn't any of his business. B-Dosh was a bit peeved that he had lost his bet with Fat Stacks on which team would win, but he accepted it philosophically. It was his own fault that he bet on the summoners who obviously were better at fighting with each other than the other team.
Fat Stacks had already finished stowing all the items onto his wooden ship and was pulling it towards the exit portal, ready to meet B-Dosh and collect his winnings, when the announcer's voice rang out, broadcasted through Summoner's Rift and all of the Institute of War.
"Attention! Attention all summoners and champions! The Rito Administration has deemed the Deathfire Grasp item to be too unstable for all matches, and it will be removed from all shops until further notice! All summoners, please take this change into account, especially those participating in the important Demacia vs. Noxus match tomorrow!"
"Shit." The two shopkeepers grumbled upon meeting at the exit. An item removal meant that they would have to dump their stock of it, and doing so definitely wouldn't bring profit. Even worse, the majority of the summoners would give them a very hard time for the item removal as if they were the ones responsible.
"Maybe it won't be so bad this time." B-Dosh said while forking over the money.
"Yeah, and maybe Elo Hell is real." Fat Stacks replied sarcastically, "Face it B-Dosh, we're like frickin weathermen when this crap happens. We're just doing our job and we get ragged on. I wouldn't bet on it if I were you, you've already lost one wager today."
The two stepped into the exit portal and appeared in the Institute of War. Fat Stacks' fears were confirmed as dozens of bronze summoners immediately mobbed them, shouting out complaints and insults.
"What the hell you guys! You can't take away the DFG!" One summoner protested.
'Don't you know who pays you?" Another spat out.
"Muh-Veigar! Muh-Ahri! Muh-dekaiser!" A few complained.
"Oh my patch 4.20 Warwick!" B-Dosh shouted, "Get your filthy bronze hands off of us!"
Fat Stacks tied his ship to B-Dosh's mount and climbed on as the shopkeepers forced their way through the crowd before they could be burned at the stake.
A safe distance away from the crazed summoners, Fat Stacks dismounted and took his ship, stumbling somewhat as he started the journey home.
"You all right man? You don't look so ah-ah-ACHOO!" B-Dosh sneezed
"Yeah, probably just the heat from those scrubs. Your allergies acting up?"
"I think they are, see you tomorrow man. We got a big match tomorrow."
The two friends parted ways, ready to relax and call it a day.
High Summoner Chale Lenjerr enjoyed a coffee in her office, excited to preside over the big Demacia vs. Noxus match happening in a few hours. She always worried for important matches like this. She had double checked the summoners, the champions they would be fighting with, and any possible issues with the map or the audience. The only thing that could possibly go wrong at this point were the shopkeepers.
Two of the phones rang. They were next to each other and direct lines to B-Dosh and Fat Stacks. Apprehension growing, Chale picked them both up, knowing they would both want to talk at the same time.
"Hey boss, we can't come in today." Fat Stacks sniffled.
Her face contorted in rage before she regained her composure and leveled her voice.
"You do realize that we have a very important match today? This has been in the works for months and we can't postpone it."
"We're gonna be bedridden for a while. I think we caught bronzitis yesterday after we got mobbed for the DFG removal." B-Dosh explained
"Damn them!" Chale slammed the phones onto the desks before calming down and continuing, "I told those idiots to wash their hands before and after every game! Do you two know anyone, and I mean anyone, that could possibly take your places?!"
"Well..." The two shopkeepers hesitantly started.
"YES?!" Chale practically screamed at them
"Our nephews both work as cashiers for a McDonaldbain's. I don't think they're good choices but they are related to us shopkeepers..." B-Dosh offered
"They have some experience taking orders and selling items?"
"Technically yes, but-"
"Perfect, they're hired. Tell them I'll pay them what they make in a year for today's job." Chale decided as she hung up.
"Alright..." She sighed to herself, "We're doing this."
"I'll take an ice cream with the poro toy, shaken, not stirred." A McDonaldbain customer ordered.
"Eh, eh-heh-heh, hey Bunhead." Beaver, the nephew of Fat Stacks, said to his friend as they worked the registers and completely ignored the growing line.
"Uh, uh-huh-huh, what?" Bunhead, the nephew of B-Dosh replied.
"Hey, are you listening?" The customer asked.
"Heh, my dumbass uncle just called. He says we get to be League shopkeepers today. Eh-heh, they're gonna pay us."
"Woah!" Bunhead exclaimed, "And like, we can talk to those hot champion chicks. Uh-huh-huh, we're gonna score."
"Eh-he, yeah, heh-heh." Beaver laughed.
"What are you idiots talking about?! Get back to work!" The manager shouted at the two idiots.
"Shut up! Eh-heh, shut up, bunghole!" Beaver called.
"Uh-huh-huh, yeah, shut up you butt-knocker. We quit, dumbass. We're gonna score." Bunhead said as he left the restaurant with his friend.
To Be Continued
Author's Note: Yes Beaver and Bunhead are basically Runeterra's version of Beavis and Butthead.