Invasion
by Athena2693
A/N: I'm not usually one for this sort of fic...but everybody gets to the point sometimes. South Park is invaded by OC's and no one is safe.
Thirteen. Oh, what a wonderful age! Full of new experiences and magical adventures. This enchanting age seemed to have fallen upon the once-children of South Park as if overnight. Even the ones who had been thirteen for so long they were now actually fourteen, as in the case of that Tucker boy. Such was the way of teenagerdom.
What a strange transformation that took place. The girls dropped their dolls and jump ropes in favor of a cellphone in one hand and a tube of lip gloss in the other. While the boys, who had once been so occupied by petty trivialities such as football and video games, now turned their attention to more serious matters, such as football and video games. What a change that has commenced!
Now let us set the scene. Saturday afternoon in the Broflovski household. A crowd of fresh-faced milk-fed lads gather around the glowing hearth of the television, passing between them the pearly white controller of a Nintendo Wii. What is presented in LCD high def imagery? Of course nothing but the familiar faces of Mario and Luigi and all their friends, laughing gaily as they course their way through the perilous yet delightful Rainbow Road. What joyous, innocent times!
Oh! But what do we see here? When we just happen to peek out a lightly frosted window towards the street before us? Why, it's an entire army of girls! And they appear to be marching, hyena style, towards us! Whatever could they want?
The lively scene of the boys in their comradery is brought to a halt by the sudden banging on the door. The sound was foreboding, reminiscent of the clang of a prison cell's door being drawn and locked tight. All the boy's eyes turned towards the sound, a quiver on the lips of a few.
"I'll get it," the resident "nice guy" Butters Stotch offered, hastily pulling himself from the comfort of his favorite seat, namely, one Eric Cartman. Seeing as no one else wished to move for some inexplicable reason, his offer was accepted by absolute stillness.
As the naïve young blond's hand reached for the gleaming crystal door knob, again came that solid, foreboding thud. The pale fingers curled around the knob, slowly turning, the metal inside creaking like an attic door. As the heavy wood slowly swung open to allow the fresh mountain air entrance into the musty living room a terrifying sight greeted the once carefree, larking boys.
A sea of estrogen, in all shapes and sizes and colors. Purple eyes and blue hair and tiny miniskirts and vampire fangs and waves and waves of badly applied makeup.
"Uh, gee girls, can I uh, help you," Butters questioned hesitantly, having no idea who a single one of these ladies were, seeing as he saw no sign of a familiar face. If Wendy or Bebe or Red were in there anywhere they were overshadowed by the sheer number of these new girls.
"Oh my gawd," one of the girls in the front row cried out in indignation. "Don't you recognize your girlfriend when you see her?" Butters looked to the right at the girl who had spoken. She was approximately six foot four with hot pink hair, with purple glittery stripes of course, and was wearing a furry white hat with cat ears. As well as, for some reason, a tiny little t-shirt reading "No, I am NOT a Mexican," despite the fact she obviously was, holding a taco in each hand. As with every other girl out there, Butters had never seen her in his life.
"Who? Me? What?" Before the little blond could get another word out he found himself surfing the wave of almost alien-like females while his wiggling and struggling failed to free him from their constraints. The last thing he heard before being engulfed totally by the screaming, squawking tweens was an obviously masculine voice crying out "Quick! Shut the door before we lose anyone else!" Then everything went black.
"Wendy?"
"Yeah Bebe?"
"It's already like, two o'clock, should we give up on the guys meeting us for hockey?"
The dark haired girl looked down at her watch, then glanced back up at the ice of Stark's Pond shining in the sun before them.
"Give them fifteen more minutes. If they don't we can just practice our figure skating routine for the show."
"Alright," the blond agreed, turning back to her copy of For Whom The Bell Tolls. She truly hated Hemingway. Damn tenth grade honors.
Should I continue?
