[AN: Playing through the Stick of Truth rejuvenated my love for the South Park fandom, and as I'm playing Bully at the same time, I thought rewriting this would be fun. I've never written K2 before, so this'll be a positive learning curve, I hope!]
One of the pivotal points that attracted visitors to the small coastal town of Randlett wasn't the looming 18th century structures, or the cliffs that would occasionally crumble down and cause a few odd, yet somewhat high profile deaths. It wasn't even the restaurants, which boasted some of the highest Yelp! reviews on the east coasts of England.
It was actually, rather depressingly, a residential school that spanned across ninety acres. Originally an all-girls school, Sayersaw Valley had begun to allow students of both genders in the early eighties, providing both middle and high school education and boarding services for a ridiculously high fee. It was a place extremely well-off individuals shoved their kids in, most of the time separated from home by more than three counties. Some parents actually sought after a decent education for their children, however the majority just wanted rid of their tearaways. Sayersaw was, evidently responsible for the extremely large populous of teenagers that seeped into the town at four in the afternoon every weekday without fail; mulling around the pretty little tourist-trap every weekend, providing local business owners with a ridiculous amount of trade.
Kenny McCormick had grown up in Randlett, in one of the drastically less scenic apartment complexes that was full of drunks and drug addicts. He was used to seeing the rich, poncy kids, prancing around the streets in their cashmere sweaters and designer trainers and had, by default grown to absolutely loathe them.
As a child, even as a young teenager, Kenny had been actively jealous of the rich kids. Now he was independent, they were just a source of quick cash, necessary for Kenny's way of life. Because they could afford to replaced what Kenny stole from them, it was a guilt free trade, and on the very few occasions he had been caught out, a sly wink and a little sweet talking usually got him out of whatever hole he'd dug himself into. He'd usually still manage to make away with whatever he had taken, be it jewellery or a custom iPod, and would sell it to Harold, an old family friend who ran Randlett's pawn shop. No questions were asked, and he'd usually get given some crappy horror movie that old Harold couldn't sell to watch while the proceeds of his daily purse-cutting was put to good use.
He needed the money more than the spoilt little brats that mulled around the town, anyway. Having flunked the majority of his final year of school, Kenny had no qualifications to his name, aside from a single GCSE in resistant materials. Though he could've probably worked at one of the town's abundant cafés, he simply didn't want to. He had an expensive habit to fund, after all, something a ridiculous little barista job could never provide for.
It was noon, and Kenny was pleasantly droopy, a small smile on his face that he couldn't really control. He hadn't shot up in almost two days, so to finally be feeling the pleasant warmth, the enveloping safety that was unlike Kenny had ever felt was absolutely euphoric. The blond was clad in his underwear and a thin wife beater, a gentle breeze wafting in through the window.
He sat there for hours, fading in and out of consciousness until his euphoria faded into dry, awful feeling that he was so accustomed to now. The breeze rather suddenly flowing through his half-boarded window, replaced by dry, humid air. The warm feeling in his stomach had turned into full on nausea. It was still light outside, Kenny unhappy at having been awoken at such an early seeming time. He never usually woke up straight after trip, unless it had been a particularly bad one, which it simply hadn't, more average than unpleasant.
It took him a few moments to regain his bearings, to realize the rhythmical tapping he could hear wasn't actually in his head but on his apartment door. The disorientated dizziness that usually came with a trip faded, his stomach instantly beginning to churn. Kenny managed to ease his way onto his feet, shoving his pyjama pants on and stumbling somewhat drunkenly to the front door, managing to unlock it and throw the key behind one of the many storage boxes that cluttered his hallway in stupidity. The blond immediately let out a relieved sigh at the sight of a person he was not expecting to see, short and skinny in size, the teen messing with his jacket sleeve like it was the most interesting thing in the world, refusing to acknowledge Kenny.
"Oh, shit Tweek, I thought it was gonna be our friendly neighbourhood' drug fiend for a sec, there." The lankier male commented, brushing his bangs from his face and smiling somewhat drunkenly at Tweek, who fidgeted at being addressed.
"U-uh... Actually, that's s-sorta why I'm here. Craig wants h... His money." The smaller male, barely past sixteen responded, refusing to make eye contact. Kenny gaped at him.
"Dude, I gave him like, a hundred last week! Why the Hell does he need more money?!" He exclaimed sharply, Tweek flinching.
"No... D-don't shout, shit! Craig said that you're s-screwing him around and he doesn't like it. I-I'm not gonna hurt you," Kenny almost snorted at that, Tweek would have probably vomited if he had accidentally squashed a fly.
"...But you need to get the rest o-of the debt sorted, a-alright? Soon, or else... He'll send Romper after you, and you'll be minced. Like p-poor Kevin." Tweek turned to leave, Kenny grabbing his wrist and making Tweek's sharp features face flare up in fright.
"Tell your boss that we had a deal. And that if wants to bitch at me for money, he should send somebody isn't a fuckin' crack head." He demanded in an unusually cold snarl, letting go of the quivering blond who immediately ran off, terrified.
Kenny slammed the door, kicking it with his bare foot upon closing the glorified plank of wood. He grabbed his hair, pulling at it madly as he retreated into his barely viable bedroom, a futon and a broken wardrobe he'd nabbed at a yard sale alongside all his scattered belongings, needles, pictures of scantily clad women hanging from the walls.
He had debts. It was hard not to have debts when you used drugs beyond a recreational purpose, because you felt like you surely would have died if you couldn't secure that next fix. He'd never wanted to be like his father, have so little money to spend on living expenses, but it happened naturally, a normal sort of progression, in Kenny's opinion. The truth was, when he had first begun to dabble in drugs, he'd bitten off far more than he could chew, owed Craig Tucker far more money that he was comfortable with. For the most part, Craig was a reasonable man, so he'd agreed to hold off the debts if Kenny paid him a fixed monthly fee, as well as providing the money up front for all the gear he wanted to purchase in the mean time. He supposed even the most reasonable of men could grow inpatient, though.
Kenny changed into jeans and a simple t-shirt, racking his brain for ideas on how to tackle his latest obstacle. He had savings, more than five hundred dollars stashed in various cupboards and drawers around his squalid apartment, but it wasn't enough to pay off the rest of the money he owed. After returning to the box that he had thrown his keys at to retrieve the damnable metal, he finally managed to control his rapid breathing. The blond shoved his tattered old trainers on and turning to leave the house.
He walked until he hit main street, a usually rather tranquil walk that would have been far calmer if it hadn't been for the crowds of teenagers and tourists that gathered there daily. Still, it was a good place to pillage a few fancy phones from the back pockets of unsuspecting rich kids. Which was what he immediately made to do one he had hit the main part of the street, which was still streaming with life even late in the afternoon. He snatched an iPhone covered in fake rhinestones that was hanging out of an entitled little whore's pocket, making a mental note to check the photo library before eventually pawning the thing. A girl like her must've taken dozens of nudes, Kenny thought with a lazy smile. She shot him a pleasant, almost inviting gaze that wasn't returned. Though Kenny would've usually jumped at the chance, he simply had too much on his mind for another careless encounter. He turned a sharp corner, intending to climb the slight incline of stairs that made for a quiet contemplation spot, as it wasn't usually a place tourists were aware of.
It was quiet. It took less than two minutes to reach the top, though the stairs were vast and steep. The pathed terrain overlooked the sea, glistening many a breathtaking shade of reds and oranges. The sight was captivating, even to Kenny's warped sense of beauty, the man who only found ready-to-inject heroin even remotely attractive. Women were just pawns, a pleasant gateway to another natural high and nature was usually just nature, shitty and boring, bland. This sight was beautiful, though, as was the figure that loomed near the overhang.
Kenny stopped suddenly, squinting through the bright sunset. The figure was petite, couldn't have been more much taller than Kenny's kid sister. Their hair blended with the glorious shade of scarlet the sun had tinted the sea, which was probably why Kenny was staring, if it hadn't been for subtle curves, a black winter jacket that swayed gracefully even in the harsh amount of wind that there was up here, the wind that made Kenny's hair immediately tangle and knot together. He didn't know if it was the figure simply blended with the moment, but for a split second, Kenny was utterly infatuated, more so than he'd ever been with anything that he couldn't snort, smoke, or inject in his entire life.
It all faded when he spotted the red and white badge sewn onto the bag hanging from the redhead's shoulders; the optical lense camera in the figure's iron grasp. Expensive looking, sleek, a new model, Kenny could tell.