Ah, as promised, the second chapter! I felt like I was all over the place with this chapter, but I hope you'll be able to get it. Also, would anyone mind submitting an OC for this story? I desperately need one, it's crucial for the future of the plot, haha. Anyways, just use my oc form from my last story. I'll put it at the end of this chapter. Enjoy! R&R por favor!
It hadn't even been two minutes and we were already in the parking lot of Benny's. Dylan shook me and Georgie, telling us to "Get the hell out of the car." An exasperated sigh escaped my lips as I slid out the car, dragging Georgie with me. We hurried inside, since the fucking clouds decided it would be a good idea to start hurtling snow at us.
We got in a booth, and waved the waitress over. The same waitress they've known since they were 8, the one I've only known since I was 13. They ordered their usual black coffee, while I asked for a large amount of sugar and creamer. I needed to wake up, and get rid of the pain that had only ebbed slightly in my head. Sugar always made me feel better, until I crashed, and was left to roll around in my bed lethargically. Evan decided to take a jab at me, saying that only conformists used creamer and sugar, and said I was just as bad as the Britney and Justin wannabes at school in a joking manner.
I glared at him, his voice grating my ears and mind, not only making my headache worse, but pissing me off. "Shove it, pansy." I hissed, not in the mood for his foolishness. He smirked, and leaned back into the booth. A drop of water fell off his curly hair from the snow, and onto his nose. Stupid nose, it was pretty big. Stupid Evan, for being a big nosed asshole.
The waitress came and went, dropping off the coffee and my sugar and creamer, which I poured into my coffee into as quickly as possible. I put the warm mug to my lips, sighing deeply as the hot liquid went down my throat, giving me a jolt of heat and energy. I continued nursing my coffee as Henrietta, Dylan, and Evan discussed what we were going to do. South Park didn't have much variety in fun things for teens like us to do.
By the end of the discussion, they ended up agreeing on the usual place: Henrietta's house. I had already finished my coffee, as did Georgie. We already put our money on the table, waiting for them so we could leave. They finished, paid, and we went outside. The snow had let up a little bit, which I was grateful for. "Wait." I said clearly, being able to speak at a normal tone without my head pounding. "I need a smoke."
They looked at each other, and then silently agreed on taking a smoke break before getting into the car. I pulled out my pack, lit one up, and inhaled the sweet menthol smoke. It made my head completely clear, and I smiled to myself. I felt a nudge coming from my right, and looked over. Georgie was poking me, an unlit cigarette between his lips. I frowned, not really caring for him to smoke, but I pulled out my lighter and lit it anyways. He nodded his gratitude, and began taking a long drag.
Dylan came next to me, snatching my cigarette from my lips, taking a drag, then placing it back in between my lips, blowing the smoke in my face. I growled at him, as he smirked at me cuntishly. I finished it, snubbing it out into the ground, the other soon following soon, and we were yet again piling into the car. Henrietta sped dangerously through the empty streets to her house, where we piled out of the car, into her house, and eventually up into her room.
"Sweet Jesus, a bed." I deadpanned, falling onto Henrietta's familiar and ridiculously comfortable bed. Georgie landed next to me, grabbing a pillow, putting it under his head. Henrietta rolled her eyes at us, while she went to join Evan and Dylan on the floor. My head was hanging off the foot of her bed, so I could be included in their conversations. I played with Dylan's red and black hair. The red was still a violent shade, seeing as how Henrietta and I worked our magic on it only two days ago.
Evan pulled out his poetry book, reading a poem he wrote about disemboweling his father with a screw driver. I snorted, knowing he only wrote this to be funny. "You're so cool Evan." I said to him sarcastically when he finished. He shot me a knowing look, and he chuckled slightly. "Whatever Adian, you stupid conformist." I grinned at him. After hanging around them for a year, the use of the word 'conformist' wasn't used to insult people who followed trends anymore. We had grown tired of it, saying that it was "pretty gay" and "foolish" to act like we were better than others because we didn't follow the latest fashion trends. We still used it at times, but never in a manner as it had been.
Whenever we called someone a conformist, they would always say "HEY, aren't you conforming to the 'Goth' stereotype? Doesn't that make you all conformists?" I always found how we conformed to the stereotype as hilarious. Evan always got defensive about it, saying that by conforming to it was in a way, a non-conformist thing, because we conformed to something that other people didn't like. Though he didn't actually think like that then, he only wanted to find an excuse. Now, though, he does think that way, and the only reason we dress this way is out of habit, and the irony was too hilarious to pass up.
We smiled though, and laugh, and make jokes, those are things that we do that aren't labeled as Goth. Though those things didn't happen enough for people to think of us as 'normal'. We didn't dress any different either. We didn't get minds of our own outside of our little "label" during freshman year.
I was thrown out of my thoughts as something was thrown at my head. My head snapped up, and I was face to face with Henrietta, who looked peeved. "What the hell?" I questioned, becoming slightly peeved myself. "I called your name like 5 times again, Aidan." She replied, putting emphasis on my name. I sighed, being reminded about how she repeatedly called me just an hour or two ago. "What do you want?" "Do you have to work at that godforsaken store this weekend?" I groaned. I worked at the Hot Topic in our mall. They rebuilt it after Henrietta and everyone burned it down in fourth grade. I'm sad that I wasn't there to witness it.
"Unfortunately, yes." I let my head fall, looking at the ground. I don't exactly hate the place, they sell merchandise from all my favorite series, and for some bands and artists I like, it's just I always get the "oh-I'm-so-emo-because-I-shop-at-Hot-fucking-Topic" customers. Those posers who act like their lives are depressing, when in reality their just bratty rich kids who want attention. Their lives are nothing like Evan's, whose mom and dad got divorced, both blaming him for it, his mother refusing to take care of him, making him live with a father and step-mother who despise him. Their lives weren't like Dylan's, whose dad walked out the moment his mother uttered the words "I'm pregnant." Their mothers didn't constantly go into random fits of rage and depression. Their mothers didn't constantly kick them out, only to have the police to force them to take them back. They didn't live like Evan and Dylan did, so they didn't really know what pain was. That sounds a bit stereotypical of someone whose been labeled "Goth" for god knows how long, but seriously, that's what their lives were: painful.
"In the morning, right?" Dylan asked in his soft, raspy voice, breaking my stupor. "Y-yeah," I managed to get out. "We can do shit after. I get off at like 2." "Great, we could hang at your place after." Was Evan's two-cents. I nodded my head, humming in agreement. I was glad they liked going to my house and hanging around my mom, unlike Henrietta's whom they despised, including myself, because she was over-bearing and obliviously obnoxious. My mom made us coffee, let them crash at our place when they were wasted. Her hair also resembled Dylan's in color, only the red was more subdued. She also didn't stick around, unless we asked her to.
"Hey Adian," I turned my head to Georgie, who had finally spoken for once. "Yeah?" "Can I stay at your place this weekend?" I frowned. Georgie had been asking me if he could stay over a lot lately, and it started concerning me. "Georgie, you know you don't have to ask. Everything alright?" concerned laced my tone. Everyone else picked up on it, even Georgie himself, and they leaned in, concern lining their faces subtly. "Y-yeah, I just felt like getting out, is all." He replied, seeming to shrink in on himself. This was always his reason. He wasn't one for talking about his feelings, so I didn't push it, not wanting him to cry on me. Not that I've ever seen him cry, or show much emotion at all for that matter. He always seemed bored. If anyone truly fit the Goth stereotype out of our group, he'd have it for personality. "Alright, man, you can come over today if you want y'know." He nodded, and went back to lying down with his eyes closed.
I looked at him, my frown growing deeper. I felt Henrietta, Dylan, and Evan boring holes into my head. I sighed, turning to them. They gave me quizzical looks, asking me to tell them what exactly just happened. I shook my head, and changed the subject. "So, what do you guys feel like fucking up today?"
Do you guys like her name? It sounds like aye-den. It's spelt funny, I know, but whatever. Anywho, here's the OC form!
OC Application:
Name:
Age :
Looks ( if you could include a picture/drawing of your character, it would be greatly appreciated ):
Personality :
Likes :
Dislikes :
Sexual Orientation :
Crushes :
Friends :
Best Friends :
Hometown :
Background ( why they moved to South Park, their home life, etc. ) :
It would be very appreciated if you submitted one, I'll only pick a few though.
Just so you know, if they're over dramatic or mary-sue/gary-sueish they won't be picked.
Make an OC! Review! Love you guys!
