It'd been a while since Kyle had picked up a violin. When he'd spotted the worn, corrupt looking thing hanging on the wall, he was glad to be taken back to a time when he knew how to play Mary Had a Little Lamb without looking at the sheets.
A couple of the strings were snapped, to his great dismay, and it hadn't fared well through the trials of the last few months. It actually looked as though it'd been used as a weapon.
"Shame, I'd've liked to hear ya play some of that, might've been a real mood booster…"
Kyle mostly ignored Butters words because their faces were so close together and it was hard to concentrate on what someone was saying when their words were muffled by the proximity to one's ear. He pulled away casually and went over to inspect the bookshelf instead.
Every step Kyle took produced another pang of pain somewhere in his tired body. It really was amazing what a dose of trauma, lack of sleep, and a little intense downward force can do to a person. He was grateful to finally be in a place safe enough that he didn't need to watch his own spine for a while.
The Black's house was one of the last places Kyle would have expected to go to find a wealth of supplies. If anything, he'd thought the looters would have ransacked the place straightaway and left it open for he Creatures to hide out in. According to Butters, though, that wasn't the case after all.
It had taken them over a day to get back there after a few stops around the desolate town to some of the stores that were still mostly safe and intact. At least they wouldn't be running out of powdered milk and flour and instant coffee any time soon.
The bookcase in the Blacks' study was really more like a mini library. It took up an entire wall and had one of those ladders that slid side to side to make it easier to reach the books on the higher shelves. Butters was digging through the top shelf while Kyle was running his fingers down the spine of a leather bound journal he'd found in the desk.
"What've you got there, sunshine?" Butters called down from the top rung of the ladder. Kyle flipped the journal open to the first page, then flicked through the rest with the tip of his thumb. It was completely untouched, the whole book. Kyle almost couldn't believe his luck.
"Blank journal!" he called back up, conveying the same amount of excitement with his words he would had he just uncovered a large stash of in-date skittles.
The book seemed to interest Butters, too, who took two rungs at a time in his rush to see what Kyle had found. He held his hand out as a request to hold it and admired its rustic binding. He'd never much been a fan of reading, but he could definitely appreciate a pretty looking book. And this journal was immaculate.
"Please tell me you're thinking what I'm thinking."
Butters ignored Kyle and took one more second to take in the bumpy exterior of the book before flipping it open to the first lined page. He strolled over to the desk Kyle had just been searching through and dug around until he found a cheap black pen and scribbled the date down in the top corner. There marked the first recorded day of their journey. Kyle watched from the sidelines, still waiting for an answer to his question, but also intrigued by what Butters was about to write in the journal.
'My name is Butters Stotch and I like root beer.' Were the first things Kyle could make out of the blond's chicken scrawl handwriting and he found himself already charmed. 'I'm also the second last survivor in South Park, so we'll see how that goes. I'm hoping to find some beef jerky around here some time, I bet it'd surprise you to know that we're pretty much wiped clean of it but I ain't giving up. I'm gonna fight for that beef jerky.'
It was simple and goofy and definitely not as informative as Kyle was imagining, but it was also perfect. That is, if anyone would be able to read it. The boy's handwriting looked like a series of differently sized loops and angles. How endearing those loops and angles were, though.
Kyle caught himself noticing the stark contrast between Butters and himself. It wasn't the first time it had crossed his mind. When they were younger, Kyle based a completely unwarranted dislike of Butters on the fact that they were very different from each other. Like colours on the very opposite sides of the spectrum; Butters was the sun and Kyle was the moon. A much too poetic analogy, Kyle mentally scolded himself. He had a habit of doing that.
Butters tucked the journal and cheap pen safely away in the waterproof pouch of his backpack, an unfortunately small smile gracing his face as he watched his fingers move. Butters appreciated every movement he made, Kyle noticed. "Nice diary entry." He croaked, voice a little hoarse from having been silent for a while.
"What can I say? A month without beef jerky is a month too long." he replied with a similar hoarseness that suited him much better. "I can't wait to see your diary entry. Speaking of you, how're ya feelin'?"
Without the weight of so much flour and sleeping bags and all their gear, Kyle was definitely feeling the bruising a lot less, though the sickness he felt from the lingering memory remained. "I'm alive. Thank you so much for that." he replied as sincerely as he could manage without sounding too sappy. It didn't seem like the answer Butters was looking for, based on his tilted head and pursed lips, but Kyle chose not to elaborate further.
The creaks and groans of the old wooden floorboards startled the boys every few minutes of their stay in the Black's mansion, and led to probably the investigation of the decade when Kyle decided to take a look around the second floor. Anyone could have told him it was probably a bad idea, and one would think he'd listen considering his recent experiences, but the wonder and allure of the second floor was enough to make him ignore his instincts.
"You got your knife out, daredevil?" Butters whispered from the bottom step, an unidentifiable wooden object clutched in his palm. Kyle flashed his survival knife back at him and slowly climbed the staircase. It was a much more suspenseful event than it needed to be. When he finally reached the top, Kyle examined the landing and peeked in through all the open doors, and almost fell back down when he found the most startling sight.
"Butters! Get up here!"
Butters rushed to his side, throwing caution to the wind as he was obviously startled by Kyle's urgency. He turned to face the direction in which Kyle was staring, his grip tightening on his secret weapon just in case. It was a light. A bluey-green, glowing light that cast an eerie blurred rectangle on Kyle's pallor. It could have been anything, logically, but the first thing that came to Butters' mind was fairies, out of all the possibilities.
"It's a light, Butters. How is there a light?"
Again, Butters didn't respond. He glanced sheepishly back at Kyle and hid what he was hiding in his pocket. Somewhat confused by Butters behavior, Kyle started making his way toward the source of the light, wound up and ready to spring at the slightest indication of danger. He could faintly hear Butters footsteps behind him and took comfort in them.
The lights could have been anything, logically, but of all the possibilities; they were stars.