A/N: I don't really know where I'm going with this? I have ideas, but no concrete outline. So I'm a bit nervous, I'll try to type something out so I have a guide. Anyways, I see a couple of different characterizations of Craig a lot. The blah blah plain and boring type. And this nasty bully type. I wanted to both for this story, somehow. Anyways, who's Mark you ask? Good question! Mark Cotswold was a one time character in season three's episode 'hooked on monkey fonics'. Remember him? Yeah. I was just um, overcome with a lot of thoughts about this pairing and this came out. idk it might suck. Oh well. Enjoy, though. Chapters will be fairly short. Sorry.
There wasn't much to say about Craig Tucker. Or at least, if you asked Craig himself this is what he'd say. It's what he wanted- to be camouflaged, hidden among the trees and foliage that is the student body of Park County High School. Much to his despair, it's unobtainable. The things you do in your past doesn't define you in the future. However, it does help shape how other people see you.
It started before Mark Cotswold came in the picture, really. Craig is an asshole, was even more so before Mark came into play. He had all this repressed anger that would come out with torment of the student body. A raised fist, a push and shove. Then Mark Cotswold beat Kyle up, and in the midst of Craig declaring his admiration and respect, Mark socks him in the face.
He stood his ground to the school bully.
For his sister, and for himself. He already raised some respect, but in that moment when Mark's fist collided with Craig's mouth he gained a hell of a lot more. It was ballsy, territory unmarked. No one dared to raise a hand on Craig before. But Mark did.
The silence that fell among everyone as Craig spit blood into his palm was eerie. Through black lash Craig looks up at Mark and he still has that fist raised. Try me. He's saying. But Craig looks at Kyle's poor state. While Craig may present a tough exterior he's mostly just talk. No one's ever tried to defy him. No one's ever fought back.
Craig doesn't try Mark, though. Instead retreats with a blank expression on his countenance. He wipes the blood onto his jeans, steps back.
Craig knows his own strength and he knows not to mess with Mark anymore. Craig also knows Mark's ability to hold his own, and with time he doesn't have to. People do it for him, with Craig people were at his beck and call out of fear. With Mark there may have been a bit more admiration of him. He put the school bully down a few notches. That was as cool as all hell in South park Elementary School.
Craig doesn't know what it was, but that punch in the face was something he needed. He doesn't know what it was about it, but he didn't feel the pressure to be the one calling the shots anymore. It was relieving. But it also became stressful. At first it was like walking on eggshells, he had to watch what he said and did because if he looked at someone the wrong way he'd be on the receiving end of Mark's fury. Mark was the defense of the weak. Craig quickly learned not to play the bully anymore. The eggshells broke his skin and his feet were bleeding all over the floor. However instead of letting the pricks and cuts persist he jumped out of the pit and let his feet heal. He adopted a plain and boring attitude with ease, quickly growing bitter and quiet as the years progressed. Living in South Park made him sick, made him sick of adventure and abnormal and crazy. And although this probably bothered Mark, the apathetic demeanor, it wasn't harming anyone. Not anyone but maybe Craig himself.
He left Craig alone.
And then he moved, fucked off to nowhere after sixth grade.
Bare feet brush against the concrete pavement of the sidewalk. It's the ending of june and the beginning of July, and July is the only month in South Park that has weather that isn't chilling. The closing of June is the beginning of the sticky heat. Clyde has convinced Craig to go to Stark's pond after much prodding, as they only have two goddamn days of freedom this summer before they are both in the work force.
JMart was their destination for the rest of the school free months, and possibly their curtain closing of high school. After this summer, they would be seniors.
Craig's arms are folded, slightly self-conscious about his thin, stick like, gangly arms. He towers over Clyde with thin, long features. The shorter male stands in a chubby short confidence that frustrates Craig. Clyde used to be kind of insecure being labeled the second fattest kid in class, but he carries his weight with an attitude of 'I know I look good, thanks'. Most likely from all the attention gathered from his dad owning a shoe store and the benefits the ladies found out of dating him.
There is a crowd at Starks, a kind of party that a couple of the now-seniors of Park County High School are throwing at the pond. Craig nose is greeted by the scent of alcohol, which is immediately shoved in his hands by a grinning Kenny Mccormick.
"Sup, Tucker?" Kenny greets, standing next to him. Craig lets out a grunt of a response, stepping forward to get away from him. Craig still was wary of Kenny, of anyone even associated with that social group. Craig steps his way through grass and dirt to sit at the picnic table set up with food. Music plays in the background, loud and booming. Some catchy song about aspirin and pizza. Beats Craig.
The pond is full of partiers, the area surrounding it full of fellow class men. Not everyone is seniors here, from what Craig can see. Craig's half lidded eyes fall Ike Broflovski showing off some kind of brainy facts to Karen Mccormick, most likely trying to impress her. Those dark orbs briefly flick to some girl with a mess of curly hair. Beautiful, truly. Even with the puffy, Hermione hair thing going on. She looks kind of familiar, but Craig pushes that aside. Probably just some chick from North Park crashing the event. Whatever. Not like Craig cares.
Craig takes a sip of the beer, putting it to the side. His eyelids close, shielding his vision from the world. What he lacks in the view he makes up for with sound. He hears the chatter of his acquaintances, friends, foes. The sound of water as people tread through it, the music loud and clear in his ears.
The dark haired male rests his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow pressed on to the table.
The night persists and eventually the effects of beer starts to wear on Craig's bladder. With a groan of distress Craig wakes from his half slumber. With sleepy eyes and his mouth a straight line he sees that someone has joined him at the picnic table. This wouldn't have fazed him had the person not been staring at him with a raised chin, looking down at him as if he was some interesting species at a zoo. The guy had blue eyes, brown hair in a neat curl framing his face. He was toned, lightly so. And probably a few inches shorter than Craig, though bigger in width.
"What?" Craig spits out, brows furrowing. He pushes himself up from where he sits and flips this guy off, what was his problem?
The other teenager doesn't say anything in response and makes it Craig clench his two rows of metal adorned teeth together, annoyed. He turns around and leaves, having to pee and not wanting to be stared at by this creep. The nameless, curly haired brunette watches Craig as he retreats.
"Pass the mawsh mewwows." Clyde says with his cheeks stuffed already with the fluffy white sweet. Craig is walking next to him, the moon hanging high in the sky. The stars litter the black surrounding in. It's pretty, and Craig wishes he had brought his camera. He lazily passes the sweets to his friend, who is rolling his bike down the street with them.
He's drunk, swim trunks damp and hair sticking up at all angles. They're a block away from Craig's house where they'll crash. And when they arrive there Clyde drops his bike behind the bushes in front of Craig's lawn. He stretches out, letting a long, dramatic yawn escape his lips. Craig slips the key into his front door and twists the knob, turning it. He leaves the door open for his companion, and Craig stomps up the stairs to his room. He steps though the door way, into the neat, organized space that he has called his own for most of his life. Without waiting he rummages through his pile of laundry and pulls out a t-shirt. Not bothering to change out of the swim trunks as he didn't even get them wet. Craig pulls the fabric down over his torso, too big on his skinny frame. He slips into bed.
One more day until his new job. Or hell. A few more weeks until the beginning of the end of this chunk of his life.
His eyes close in and he hears the sound of Clyde stomping up the steps after laying in the dark of his room for a few minutes. The brunette mumbles out a goodnight and eventually Craig falls into a dreamless slumber. The sound of their breathing fills the gap of silence in the room, the crescent of a moon provides a night light.