Mission For The UnLoving; xx
For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it. – Ivan Panin.
Christophe glared at the British boy in front of him. He let a small sigh escape his lips as said blonde boy grinned manically at him. "Come, now, Mole. Have you not learnt anything in the years we have been working together?"
"Togezer?" Christophe repeated, "Ah, oui, if togezer means completey on my own as you only look over ze damn cameras! Zis is 'ardly a togezer job, Gregory." The French boy growled. Gregory laughed and patted Christophe's cheek, ignoring the smooth skin as he pushed the boy backwards onto the sofa.
"Christophe," He said softly, in a soothing voice. "You must know by now that this mission isn't really a mission, per say, but a challenge - a life challenge. God wants you to find love.. Promise me Christophe - me - that you will find something to live for. Even every mercenary has something to live for. Even I."
"God?" Christophe laughed, "God wants me to 'ave love, oui? God can go fuck 'imself, as can you Gregory. I will go anyway, I 'ave places to be - and muzza's to corrupt." He muttered, speaking purely of his own mother. "Also, Gregory, I will not promise you anyzing. Ever."
Gregory smiled, "You promised to help the boys from La Resistance." He said, circling his own palm with his fingertip. Christophe's lips curled into a smirk as his best truthful excuse came to mind.
"'Ow could I 'ave said non? Did you see zat Jewish boy 'e was quite ze looker," Christophe stated, a small laugh echoing through his ears, from Gregory's lips.
"Exactly."
Christophe ignored the British boy and looked at his airplane ticket. Collorado, South Park. He sighed softly and ran his fingers through messy brown hair. "Au Revior," He muttered.
-x x x x x-
"Shut your fucking face, you fat piece of shit!" Kyle yelled, his arms flailing into the air as he slammed them back down onto his desk, throwing his chair out behind him with the back of his legs, and glaring at the fat boy beside him.
Cartman snorted, "All I did was call you a Jew, you fag." He muttered, running his fingers against the pages of his Geography text book. Kyle sighed in defeat, sitting down on his seat, arms folded and ignoring the stunned look of his classmates at his reaction.
"You know you did more, Cartman." He retorted, "Every day, I come here. I sit down and all I get is, 'Oh hey Kahl, still got that faggy Jew stick up your sandy vagina?' I'm sick of it, fatass!" He growled, slamming his own text book open.
Cartman whistled slightly, not bothering to retort to Kyle's hormonal outburst. Stan nudged him from behind.
"Dude, calm down." He muttered, thumb jolting toward the door to show Kyle that the teacher, and another boy had come into the classroom, a bag slung over his shoulder. Dark brown hair was messed up - but suited the boy. His torso was dressed with a tight white shirt, covered by that was a long dark brown jacket. His trousers, were baggy jeans, clinging onto a slim waist and hiding the bottom with big combat boots. Kyle looked over at him, a whistle of approval escaping Cartman's lips.
"Well, it seems that Sandy has found himself some Jewday cand-ay." Cartman joked, a few snickers coming from around the room. Kyle's lips parted as he stared at the new boy, who's eyes scanned the crowd of kids, before settling on Kyle with a small smirk.
"Do not bozer to introduce me, I 'ave no need to want to be friends wiz any of zese people," The new boy muttered, "I will sit zere, oui?" He muttered as if reading Mr. Garrison's mind. Kyle groaned and rolled his eyes - sick of the old teacher who nodded with approval.
"Well, this is Christophe DeLorne," He muttered, shrugging and turning to the board - Mr. Hat sat on his desk alone and unused. But Kyle didn't focus on that - but at the new boy sitting beside him, feeling the cringe of familarity inside of him as he watched the boy.
"Okay children, now, today we're not going to be doing Geography, and for the fact that our new student is fluently French I find it only fair we learn some of the words he might call us, or say to us. Okay? Now, get out the text books from the back please Kenny, and Stan you get out the books from the cuboard over there. I want you all to pair up with the partner on your left." Mr. Garrison informed the class, looking up at the clock, "I'll be right back, children."
Kyle glanced to his left, then to his right. Well shit, he thought.
"Why do you stare at me az if I am going to 'urt you?" Christophe asked as Kyle turned to him again, eyes narrowed in something Christophe couldn't really put his finger on. Kyle shrugged at the French transfer and let his hands fall into his palms.
"Do you ever get the feeling there's someone you know, but you don't?" He asked.
Christophe laughed slightly, "Sometimes, zough it depends on w'o zat person is, and 'ow we connect, or 'ow zey stand out. Somezing like zat, why?" He asked.
Kyle frowned. "No reason." He replied, "..Let's, just get on okay? I'm done with praying that Mr. Garrison'll leave me alone and thanks to you and your French-ness, I won't be in detention anymore for not being able to answer a question."
"You 'ave trouble learning zis language?" Christophe asked, an eyebrow raised as he kicked his own bag in thought, looking at Kyle. The American boy shrugged his shoulders, pulling at the straight, red hair that hung by his cheeks.
"Sometimes, not all the time." He muttered, ashamed and feeling stupid at not knowing what the French boy would say half the time.
"Here you go, my lovely," Kenny whispered, passing a book to Kyle and then plopping one down on Christophe's desk. Kyle smiled as Kenny winked to him, wiggling his hips suggestively and laughing back at Kyle.
"Is 'e your boyfriend or somezing?" Christophe asked.
Kyle snorted, "No, Kenny's completely straight." Kyle explained, then shook his head, sticking out his hand and smiling. "Kyle Broflovski."
"Bonjour, Kyle. You already know my name from up zere." He nodded toward the space in front of them, taking the red head's hand and shaking it with his own.
Almost immidiately as their hands touched Kyle's eyes narrowed. Their was a familiar softness on the palm of Christophe's hands, yet a gentle roughness at the bottom of them. His fingertips were gentle and smooth as the parted from Kyle's, stroking his wrist as they moved apart.
"On what part of ze French language are you .. finding difficult?" He asked, watching as Stan threw Kyle's book onto his head, a laugh escaping the black haired boy's lips as he shuffled back to his seat. A glare shot in his direction from Kyle.
Christophe sighed.
"Everything?" Kyle replied after a while.
Christophe nodded, "'Ow about I 'elp you?" He said, "I could be a tutor or somezing, you know, ze person zat 'elps anozer outside of school?"
Kyle blinked, then grinned, "Thank God I met you." He laughed.
Christophe's eyes narrowed slightly. "God? Ugh, I 'ate zat piece of sheet. Could we kindly not mention zat bit of crumpled up fuck in zis lifetime, please?" Christophe asked. Kyle blinked rapidly and frowned again.
Déja vu, He muttered.
"Hm, sure. But why do you hate him so much?" Kyle asked.
Christophe sighed slightly, "Et's not zat I 'ave a very big - Well, I 'ate him, oui. But you would 'ate him too, if he made your muzza try to abort you in ze most stupidest ways. Wiz a coat-'anger to ze 'eart still in ze womb? 'Ow painful." Christophe sighed again.
Kyle frowned.
"..Mole?"
TO BE CONTINUED..
Oui/Non - Yes/No.
Bonjour - Hello.
Au Revior - Good bye.