ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FAN FICTION – EVEN THOSE BASED ON FICTIONAL PEOPLE– ARE ENTIRELY MADE-UP. ALL LOVECRAFT REFERENCES ARE RESEARCHED… POORLY. THE FOLLOWING STORY CONTAINS LEWD SEXUAL HUMOR AND DUE TO ITS LONG INTROSPECTIVE MONOLOGUES IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE. _|_|_|

Butters

I can never help feeling like I'm responsible for everything.

Well, maybe not everything-everything, but everything around me that seems to go wrong, or can be considered weird and unnatural. Probably because my whole life my parents brought me up to think that I was weird and unnatural. They've always acted like they were the most faultless people on the planet, who just happened to get stuck with a kid who screwed everything up. And, you know, for a long time, I believed them. I believed that I was a rotten little shit. I believed that there was something inherently wrong with me and that I couldn't fix it, no matter how hard I tried.

Until I realized I didn't have to always be 'me.'

I mean, here's the thing. My name is Leopold. Nobody ever calls me Leopold. To me, Leopold is some strange enigma I'll never understand. Even my parents call me Butters. Everyone calls me Butters, unless I'm in a mode that requires them to call me something else. Just never Leopold. I came to the conclusion a while ago that maybe Leopold is the person that my parents think they see, and he is one messed up demon spawn of a kid. He fucks everything up, and makes everything go wrong.

Maybe I do have MPD. I doubt it, though. I've taken meds for it. Hell, well, I've taken meds for a whole bunch of things I probably don't have. Maybe Leopold does. I'll never know.

Because as far as I'm concerned, I have control. I have control over who I am and when and why. When I was a kid, I always had playtime. Every kid has playtime. Every kid pretends he's something else, or someone else, whether it's a fireman or Godzilla. Every kid pretends.

I don't.

I become.

I've always become.

As I grew up, I 'became' less, narrowing playtime down to personalities. Or, should I say, people. Ideas. Sides of me. Id, ego, superego? I have no idea. Probably. Because it breaks down pretty well.

Ego's easy. Butters. Most of the time, I'm Butters. Cuz I've always been Butters, as far as I can tell.

Id's easy, too. Professor Chaos. I first became him back in fourth grade, and relied on him ever since.

Then superego. I don't know if she's superego or just a second ego, but if we're going for three parts, here, the best in the trio has got to be Marjorine.

It was the costume aspect that did it. 'Butters' has always been too afraid to change too much. I get this. Change is too hard. But the costume… that was another story.

It was just like stepping onstage and being someone else in a play. I'd done it for so long, as a way to bring out different sides of myself that just wouldn't make sense to reveal as plain old Butters. Chaos was one end of my extremities. Chaos didn't take shit, Chaos was the culmination of every destructive thought I'd ever had. Marjorine, though, was different. I could really let loose as Marjorine. I could be outgoing; strong in a different way, rather than the kind of strength Chaos had. Marjorine was confident, popular, fun… lots of things nobody would expect of Butters. I liked being able to change. I liked being able to escape.

If there was one thing I couldn't escape, though, it was still that pressured feeling of guilt. Or was it guilt? Maybe it was exhiliration. I don't know. I've been so confused all my life, maybe I read words wrong in my psychology books. Maybe I read things wrong in the dictionary. I have no idea.

I just know that I always kind of felt that the reason Mysterion and the League continued as long as they did was sort of thanks to me. Well, Chaos. As Chaos, I liked playing puppetmaster, since I could never pull strings around my parents. I could give people a run for their money, so to speak.

Back in elementary and middle school, it was an absolute ego trip. The League paid more attention to what Chaos was doing than the guys at school seemed to listen to me and my opinions. I mean, that's what it started out as. Wanting to get noticed. After that, though, it became an ongoing battle. Chaos against the League.

Chaos against the world.

Now, it's become more of a one-upping. The League, I'd begun to notice, had taken a heightened interest in the goings on of the local Cthulhu Cult. As Chaos, I'd been locked up (thanks to Eric Cartman) for most of their rendezvous with the real Dark God Cthulhu, so I could only ever speculate on what they'd been doing, and why that otherworldly monster was so important.

General Disarray was the one who filled me in.

I'd signed on a redheaded kid named Dougie, two years my junior, to be Chaos's assistant, General Disarray, pretty much from the beginning. To be honest, the kid had good ideas, and could call me out when mine weren't grand (or original). And, in fact, he'd been known to, from time to time in the past, do things independently of Chaos, such as his prying into the Cthulhu case.

He came to me a few weeks after the original Cthulhu battle in the Gulf of Mexico, with a notebook full of observations and newspaper clippings. This was during one of our meetings, which happened far less methodically than the League meetings, I should add, in the storage unit we were able to use. It was strange: he'd called me for the meeting that time. Otherwise, it was always the other way around, and had been ever since. Of course, I hadn't known he'd done any outside research, so it was a good thing he had lured me down.

When I arrived, he, only a second-grader at the time, dressed to compliment Chaos in silver (tinfoil, back then), General Disarray stared through his silver-coated glasses at me across from our small briefing table, and slid the notebook over to me.

"What's this?" I wondered.

"Stuff we should think about," said Disarray.

I thumbed through the notebook, through the chicken-scratch scrawlings of a seven-year-old hand, through the clippings of old arrests for Cult activity, until I was able to read a full account by a man named Jack Brollin on the full Gulf story. It was the battle that ultimately saw the end of the American national superhero Captain Hindsight (I may or may not have also been responsible for that), and the rise of Mint-Berry Crunch as a new symbol, though after the Gulf battle, he was nowhere to be found. Mysterion was mentioned as well, as was the Coon.

The Coon had, apparently, been able to team up with Cthulhu… get him under his command somehow. Eric could do that. Eric was a very manipulative person. Or, well, he's a strong personality. He's one of those, 'if you can't beat him, join him' kinds of people. I'll admit that I'm a joiner. Minus the Chaos thing.

During their partnership, Cthulhu and the Coon had caused unprecedented chaos. All that destruction, and I'd been stuck in a cell with nothing to do but wonder how long I was going to be grounded for once I got out.

Angrily, I slammed the notebook back down onto the table. "Chaos?" I shouted, pointing emphatically at a quote from Brollin's article. "Says so right here! Nationwide chaos. That's our platform, General Disarray!"

"Right!" Disarray agreed with a nod. "So, what're we gonna do about it?"

"We're… we're gonna… well, we're just gonna have to do something even worse, that's what!" I proclaimed. I'll admit that Chaos hasn't always been as strong a personality as he is to me now. Originally, he was thought-driven. He was how I punched out my anger, so to speak. This was the first time I'd been faced with making a real decision. "Tell you what," I decided, "let's keep reading about this. Well, I'll bet there's all kinds of chaos Cthulhu can—can unleash if we can figure out how."

General Disarray grinned so broadly his freckles disappeared under the frames of his glasses. "I like it!" he said. "So where do we start reading?"

"Elementary school, my dear Disarray," I answered. "Elementary school library, that is."

"School library doesn't have anything," said Disarray. "I checked."

"Oh. Well, all right, then. Town—"

"Town library doesn't, either."

"Then there's always—"

"Right, the internet."

"Nope," I grinned. "Inter-library loan."

"So that's our course of action?" Disarray wondered. "We read? Reading stuff isn't very evil. Even if we're reading about evil things."

"If we don't understand what we're up against, Cthulhu might not surface again," I told him. Even though, yes, in the back of my mind, I was stalling a little, since I had no idea how to proceed even if we did get all of the information on the Dark Lord we needed. I told myself we'd figure that out over time.

And, wouldn't you know it, we did.

Reading up on the subject, of course, took a while, but I had my ways of getting around and gathering information here and there. Other things distracted us in between, of course. The Cthulhu deal was basically so that we could beat out the Coon, Mysterion and the rest of the League. Whatever we could do to deal them a loss was sure to be satisfying. It just always seemed to come back to the Cult with them.

I started sneaking around the Goth clique starting near the middle of sixth grade, since sometimes I'd see Mysterion trying to get information out of them. Oddly enough, they were colder toward me for a while, until the day I caught up with them directly after one of their meetings.

General Disarray and I had been staking out at the McElroy place, attempting to listen in, but with the ultimate goal of the evening to get a one-up on the Goths over Mysterion. We managed to grab one in conversation: the oldest of the four, a thin, sullen boy with curly black hair and a fixed look of apathy, who walked with a cane and wore beaten coattails no matter how hot or cold the weather. The only way we were able to talk to him was by Disarray stealing his lighter as the guy went for a smoke.

"The hell do you want?" he asked of us tersely, the unlit cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth.

"Information," I answered, taking the lighter from Disarray. I tossed the thing up in the air and caught it, over and over; teasing a dog with a toy. "I collect it. I live on it."

"Aren't you that Professor Chaos guy?" the Goth wondered, starting to chew on the cigarette for need of nicotine. "Shouldn't you be, like, off causing chaos? What's this information crap?"

"I want to know more about Cthulhu," I stated blankly, glaring at him. "I hear he's got a bit of a reputation for chaos himself."

"You want chaos," said the Goth, managing, with lightning reflexes, to nab the lighter before I could catch it again, "you should look into his messenger instead. Who the hell knows when Cthulhu's gonna wake back up." He struck the lighter twice, igniting a flame which then allowed him to fill his lungs with smoke. Pocketing the lighter, the Goth, breathed the smoke out into my face, and I held my ground so I wouldn't cough.

"Messenger?" I wondered.

"Read the damn Necronomicon," snarled the Goth. "If you can find one. Meantime, here. Drew this earlier today. Didn't know the reading would turn out to be so lame as just having to talk to Professor Chaos, but whatever." With that, he drew a card out of his trench coat pocket and slapped it down into my hand. "If you do happen to meet up with the messenger, though, I might be impressed. We need it if this is ever gonna work."

"This?"

"Summoning Cthulhu again."

"But—"

"I'm done talking to you now."

And so we were left, quite literally, in the Goth kid's smoke. Disarray looked up at me and said, "Want me to go after him?"

"No, let him go," I decided, glancing at the item in my palm. It was a yellowed Tarot card, turned face-up. On it was an illustration of what I can only describe as pure chaos. In a decidedly medieval style, it showed a man falling from a burning, crumbling tower being struck by lightning, and the whole thing was bordered by skulls.

XVI: The Tower, the card read.

I kept that card in with my Professor Chaos gear from then on, after Disarray and I returned to our slowly-perfecting base to look up the meaning of it. Among the readings are: Chaos. Crisis. Ruin. Disillusion.

But, then again…

Revealing the Truth. Explosive Transformation.

Damn, did that card ever say a lot about me.

– – –

That card, though it remained with my Chaos gear, influenced another, shall we say, 'explosive transformation' of mine. One that sometimes gets Disarray questioning my loyalty to Chaos. I keep reassuring the kid, I'm still Chaos, too. I still have that side of me that yearns to be on top, that needs to have one over the League, that needs to cause destruction and annihilate the things that have made my life unbearable.

But there's also Marjorine.

Middle school sucks. It just does. It does for pretty much everyone who ever has to go through it. I've always sort of had a sunny disposition, even if I was, as a kid, prone to wake up to the sounds of my own screams. So I took middle school like I took everything else: as best I could. Between added coursework, and figuring out what track I wanted to take once I got to high school, and getting ripped on by the guys for signing up for the artistic things instead of baseball or cross country or whatever, and getting yelled at for things I didn't do by my parents, I got very close to breaking down. Sometimes I got too depressed to even go on a usual Chaos rampage. Sometimes, I just wanted to be happy.

So I started thinking back. What, in elementary school, had made me happy? Was there any one particular moment that really made me shut my mind off, forget about absolutely everything, and be happy?

It was a small sliver of time, hardly even a day, but there was one instance that stood out. When I'd separated from my usual friends and been, instead, one of the girls.

The whole thing was Eric's idea, and it was all to steal something from Heidi (the cute brunette Kyle ended up dating a couple years ago) and the other girls in class. He'd come up with this elaborate scheme to infiltrate Heidi's slumber party—this is back in fourth grade, again—and get that coveted item for the boys instead. Obvious solution? Fake a guy's death and send him in as the new girl. Eric's choice for the role was me, and, as I've said, I'm a joiner in most of Eric's schemes, so I went along with it.

I faked my death right in front of my parents and got a wig and some girly clothes at a second-hand store and called myself Marjorine. And once the girls had accepted me, I loved it. I loved it. It was liberating, it was almost ambitious. The girls had been cold at first, but Wendy, bless that girl's heart, seriously, had suggested a makeover to cheer me up. That night, the makeover was more than just hair and makeup… it targeted my self-esteem. Marjorine was a Pygmalion. She was fun, outgoing… on her way to becoming popular.

But I couldn't keep pretending I, Butters, was dead. The façade had to end, the clock had to strike and all that. Marjorine, though, while she hadn't reappeared physically, lived on in my mind. I wasn't done with her yet. So I called on her to save me, the summer before eighth grade.

One night, online, I used some saved-up gift cards for eBay that had been sent my way from various family members who probably didn't even know how old I was on the birthdays they'd sent the cards along, and perused the auction site until I found exactly what I was looking for. The 'kicker' part of the idea, if you will. It was a blonde wig. A layered one, with bangs, made of real human hair, that fluffed out like feathers but could still be styled, and hung down to the shoulders. Before I could second-guess myself, I clicked the button to finalize the purchase, and two weeks later, I had it in my possession. From the school drama closet, I stole a second mannequin head, and propped it up in the dark part of my closet next to the head that modeled my (at that time) newly updated Professor Chaos helmet.

When my parents were away, I took out the mannequin with the wig and set it up on my desk. For a while, I just sat there, kneeling on the floor, head propped up in my arms, which I'd crossed along the front of the desk, admiring the wig, wondering what I should do with it. It was expensive, not that I'd used real money to buy it, but still. I messed with the ends a little, and then, before I knew it, I lifted it and set it on, making sure it was securely in place.

The rest came together almost in a blur. I had a sewing machine and an old green bedsheet; one met with the other, and a few minutes later, I'd made a skirt. It was summer, so I made it short, and it paired well with a white tank top I usually didn't wear, since it was kind of tight. I took a few minutes to wash up, setting the wig back as inspiration on the desk; even though my body hair's really light, since I'm blonde, I went at it anyway, shaving off everything on my legs, and even armpits. Once out of the shower, I felt like a clean slate. Making sure my hair was thoroughly dry, I went back into my bedroom and put everything together. I threw on a pair of tight black bicycle shorts over a pair of briefs, then pulled on the skirt, which wasn't bad considering I'd whipped it up without much thought, then the tank top and finally that fantastic wig.

Taking in a deep breath, I sped down the hall back to the bathroom, where I paused in front of the mirror. A little smile crept up onto my face, but I wasn't done yet. Not caring about the consequences, I raided my mom's makeup. I knew the whole deal: foundation, rouge, eye primer, eyeshadow (I chose a soft gold), liner, mascara. Just a little lip gloss and I was done. Now I could take a look.

And, what do you know.

Marjorine was back.

I don't like to brag, but I think I made a pretty convincing girl. All of a sudden, I was filled with confidence. Seventh grade had been horrible, but Marjorine made me feel like eighth was my chance. If I could be Marjorine, I'd have a totally different experience. She could turn things around for me. If I could just get everyone else to accept her.

Calling the guys didn't even cross my mind. Eric was away at summer camp that year (another of his mom's attempts to make him mildly sociable, rather than maliciously sociopathic), not like he'd be the best person to go to first with this… Kyle and Stan buddied up all summer, so they were hard to reach, even though they'd probably have been the nicest to me if I'd gone to them first… the other guys, well, they just weren't ready, yet.

The only logical person that came to mind to call was Wendy.

I use logical to describe both the idea and the girl herself. She'd be the one who'd get the situation. Who'd understand my need and want to try something new. Assuming I could get past the inevitable shock stage with her, since even she would most likely react that way first. I wanted her advice, though. I wanted her support. If I was gonna do this, by gosh, I was gonna do this. I was going to become, if only temporarily, Marjorine again.

Before I could second-guess myself any more, I picked up my cell phone, looked up her home number, and dialed. I chewed the inside of my cheek while I sat there waiting for her to answer. My left hand was clinched around my cell, and my right gripped the hem of my skirt at my knees. This was the most terrifying thing I had ever done. And I had done some terrifying things… just nothing ever this personal.

Finally, after three rings, there was an answer.

"Hello?" came the voice on the other line.

"Hi, Wendy?" I tried, telling myself not to freak out and get scared.

"Yeah, this is Wendy. Who's this?"

"It's Butters." Even dressed as Marjorine, I had to use that over the phone, especially if this was going to work.

"Butters? What's up, why're you calling me?"

"I, uh… I had a little question," I said, still forcing strength into my words.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Can I swing by sometime?"

"Butters, what's the matter?"

"Please, Wendy? It's… well, it's real important."

"…Sure, I guess," she conceded, sounding pretty confused. Who could blame her? I wasn't making any sense. "Do you mean now? My parents are both out, so—"

"Could I?" I said. My voice was failing on me, but I had to press on. I had to get Wendy on my side. She'd been so good to Marjorine, she was always so nice to everyone. Even when she and Stan had their falling-outs and breakups, she'd stay nice to the guy and support him. Wendy was a powerhouse of a girl, but she was not unkind. "Wendy, it's real important…"

"S-so you've said," said Wendy. "Well, I don't mind, Butters. I'm happy to give you advice if you need it. Is that what this is about? Advice?"

"Something like that."

"Then come on over."

So I did. I found a little clutch my mother never used, and swept a couple of things in there… wallet, keys, a little brush I could use on the wig. To secure it even further, I found a green headband and slid it on, careful not to mess up the style. Before leaving for Wendy's, I checked myself in the mirror, and again let myself smile.

"Marjorine," I whispered at the mirror, at my reflection. Our reflection. "I'm Marjorine."

In the reflecting glass, Marjorine smiled. Because I was well on my way to feeling happy, maybe. I didn't know if trying to bring her back would work, but I had to try. When I left the house in last-minute drag, I realized this was the most impulsive thing I had done on my own—without involving Chaos—for a while. Chaos had a special time and place. Marjorine… Marjorine could exist at any time, anywhere.

Marjorine very well could have been freedom.

I stepped lightly all the way to Wendy's house, half-afraid that one of the guys, or, worse, my parents (who weren't due to return for a while, but that had never stopped them from being in awkward places before), should see and accost me. Luckily, nothing happened, and the next thing I knew, I was standing on her front step.

After drawing in a deep, 'what the hell am I doing?' breath, I steeled myself and took action.

"Wendy?" I called out, as I knocked on the door.

"Butters," I heard her say from within, "hi, I was just wonderi—" The door opened, and Wendy was instantly aghast. I couldn't blame her.

I knew that she did not want to be the next one to speak. She shouldn't have to be, I realized. I was the one that had to do a whole heck of a lot of explaining. Nervous, I began kneading my knuckles together, and began, "Uh, heh… h-hey, there, Wendy. I guess now you know why I said this was urgent and all…"

"Get in here!" she hissed, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me inside. She shut the door, didn't really slam it, not really-really, behind me and pressed her back up against it. "Stand there," she commanded, waving her hand at the general area in front of her. I stepped over a little bit, but Wendy shook her head. "There!" she pointed, to a spot more in the light. "There!"

I took the place she asked me and looked down at my feet. I was wearing flip flops, since they were the only shoes I had at the time that went with what I'd chosen to wear that day. Wendy took a good, long look at me, then dug at her hair with her nails.

"Marjorine was you?" she spurt out. "You were the one at Heidi's party back in fourth grade? You were the one that—"

"Y-yeah," I said, kneading my knuckles together again. "Guess you're pretty mad at me, huh?"

"Well, no, I'm not mad, I'm just wondering, like… why? When did you decide you wanted to—"

"Well, originally, it was Eric's idea," I told her, wincing. I was so used to my parents hitting me after coming out with reveals like this, I never put it past anyone else to want to. "He said that if our group had a girl…"

"Eric Cartman!" Wendy screamed. "That fucking asshole! What kind of personal gain was he going for that time? What kind of—"

"But, Wendy, I like it," I interrupted. "M-maybe Eric meant it for something else, but I liked being Marjorine. I liked being one of you girls. I-I kinda miss it. I only went back that night cuz my parents thought I was dead." That had been a mistake. My father had chained me in the basement for a week after that, claiming that I was some demon spawn. My mother had only let me out when she noticed I wasn't eating. No thanks to them, of course.

Wendy paused, then looked me up and down again. "So," she said after a moment, while I stood there awaiting her review. "You want to be Marjorine."

"A-at least for a while."

"Why?"

"To escape a little," I admitted. "To not feel like I have to be Butters."

"But why Marjorine? Why a girl?"

"Cuz sometimes I feel like I should be!" I blurt out. "I don't know. I'm always feeling real confused, but when I got to be Marjorine, I felt like I could fit in a little. And think straight. If I don't start thinking straight now, in high school, I'm gonna go crazy!"

"And you want me to help you?" Wendy wondered.

I nodded. At that moment, I realized I was probably being stupid. Of course she wouldn't have just sprung at it. Nobody in their right mind would, I thought. I was just being weird again, right? "I just… I just thought that, maybe, cuz you helped me out when I was Marjorine before, and cuz you're real nice and all… I mean, I'll do you a favor, too, Wendy, heck, I'll do you lots of favors, but…"

"I-it's okay," Wendy said. She drew in a deep breath, sighed it out, then continued, "All right. Just tell me exactly what it is you want me to do. Like…"

"I dunno, help me be a convincing girl?"

Oddly enough, Wendy stifled a bit of laughter. She looked at me kindly, then smirked and said, "I always kind of thought you'd make a decent girl. All right, I'll help you. But you've got to totally commit."

"Oh, I will!"

Wendy then offered me iced tea, and we moved the talk into her kitchen. I was eager, ecstatic, overjoyed. We talked a little about Marjorine. About how I'd bought the wig, and about my insecurities, and all the while I'd make sure to throw in compliments to Wendy, so I didn't feel like I was mooching off of her time and generosity. The more we talked, though, the more genuine she seemed to want to help me out. I'd been right to come to her after all.

"If you ask me, Butters, the person who needs the most convincing is you," said Wendy, stirring sugar into her iced tea.

"We—you just called me 'Butters,'" I pointed out. As I said it, I retreated into myself. I sank into the chair, fiddling with my knuckles.

"Right," Wendy nodded, without skipping a beat, "because I look across the table and that's what I see. You aren't committed to Marjorine yet. I don't think you've figured out who she is. If she's really a different part of you, like you said, then let me see that. Why did you want to be Marjorine again, anyway?"

"Sh-she got me to be more confident," I told Wendy, who nodded again.

"Okay," she said, turning it into a leading statement. She tapped her spoon a couple of times on the rim of her glass to dispel any excess sugar, then set the thing aside. "So is that the first thing you want to work on?"

"What?"

"Confidence," Wendy repeated. "Let's see confidence."

"I—Wendy, I—"

Again acting without hesitation, which is one of Wendy's strongest points, she walked around the table and gently took hold of my hands. Because I was interrupted, I stopped knocking my hands together, then instantly looked down at them and realized what Wendy was doing. Kneading my knuckles together like that was a nervous habit that I, Butters, have always had. Most of the time, I barely notice, but Eric had pointed it out to me (kind of loudly) before I'd 'gone undercover' as Marjorine that first time, so I started off really watching out for it, trying to keep it under control… but later into the evening, I hadn't had to worry, because I, Marjorine, wasn't nervous enough to do it.

I lifted my head and saw Wendy smile. "You ready?" she asked me. I answered with a nod. "All right, come on. Let's give you another little makeover."

"You mean it?" I wondered.

"I do."

Before I knew it, I was up in Wendy's room, and she was sifting through boxes in her closet for clothes to lend me, and I was standing at her vanity nearby peeking at her wide variety of makeup. Wendy organized her things very neatly… by color in some areas, and by brand in others. She wasn't really a brand person, though, so that seemed to mainly be skincare, rather than eye and lip stuff. It all fascinated me, though. I poked through her eyeshadows, matching and blending colors on the back of my hand until Wendy had finished her own task.

"These are last season, so let's hope we don't see Bebe until we can get you something new," Wendy said, handing me a stack of clothes. Bebe Stevens was so fashion-forward, even going into eighth grade, that I believed Wendy had reason for saying that. Despite her best efforts, though, Bebe wasn't always a bitch. I think she liked the mean girl façade because it let her get away with things, but when it's just her and Wendy, Bebe is actually very nice. Just very concerned about what one wears.

I rifled through the clothes, trying tons of things on until I found a sundress I particularly liked. It was white and blue, with a summery A-line and ruffles at the top to cover the fact that I was very obviously flat. Wendy helped me pick out complimentary eyeshadow and lip gloss, then taught me the secret to smudgeless mascara. I listened and watched intently.

It really was like Pygmalion.

The transformation was almost immediate… the gratification was instantaneous. Wendy worked magic, all summer long. She'd help me out with just about everything, from clothes to mannerisms to mode of speech. There were times when I would have to re-convince her that, yes, I wanted to be a girl. I wanted to get everything exactly right.

As I developed her, Marjorine became, just as I'd hoped, much more confident. For the most part, Wendy took me around to places that I didn't usually go, to give me a little boost in terms of talking to people and carrying myself. She asked for very little in return, even though I felt like I'd sort of shoved her into helping me. At one point, she said the greatest thing ever, which made me feel pretty darn great: "You don't have to do anything for me, Marjorine. The way I see it, I've gained a new friend." I was quick to hug her for that one, and we kept getting tight as days and weeks went on.

I'd never really had a best friend. I had people I'd hang out with and such, but nobody I'd ever hang out with exclusively… unless you counted Dougie, but that was just as Professor Chaos, and unless you counted Eric, who kinda used me and who I kinda felt a little differently about in terms of friendships.

At the end of that summer, just before eighth grade started, Wendy arranged a little 'girl-talk' at Tweek Bros. Coffee, the local café at which one of our classmates worked. He was indeed there, that day, too… Tweak, the most neurotic kid in class. Since his father owned the place, he worked just about all day every day there during the summer—even at only thirteen—the poor kid. Naturally, some of my nerves came back once I approached the counter. Not that he was one of the more judgmental guys in class, but still… he'd been in on the original Marjorine plot. He might've had a different opinion than, say, the cashier I'd never met at the Gap.

Turns out, though, Tweak may have been a half-focused mess, but he wasn't narrow-minded. He didn't even recognize me at first, but when I told him to call me Marjorine, he said, in his twitchy high tenor, "Oh. Oh! Uh… yeah. I remember you. You wanna be Marjorine now?"

"I'm trying it out," I answered.

"That's cool." At that point, Tweak's father called for him from the back, and he flipped out before excusing himself to head to the storeroom far behind and away from the counter.

Wendy and I walked over to a table with a street view from the window, and when I sat down, I couldn't even start to drink my coffee, since I'd started laughing. I looked down at the drink I held in my hands, nails polished yellow, skin glowing, and let myself laugh. Because, darn it, I was happy. We'd done it. I felt happy, and outgoing, and confident and bright and new.

And I told Wendy that, and thanked her again. Wendy smiled, took a sip of her extra-foamy latte, then said, "I think you're totally ready to debut, Marjorine."

"Yeah," I grinned, grabbing a couple of sugar packets off of the cart on the table to sweeten up my own drink. "I feel better. I think this is gonna be a good year."

"I think so, too," said Wendy. "Which is why I invited a couple others to come hang out today."

"You what?"

Wendy laughed. "Today is girl time, remember?"

No sooner had she said that than who should stroll in but Bebe Stevens and a selected entourage. If anyone knows how to make an entrance, it's Bebe. I mean, the girl is put together: long—long—blonde hair that falls into enviable natural curls, big, expressive hazel eyes that pop no matter what eyeshadow she's wearing, and the fashion sense of a Fifth Ave designer. At the time, I remember thinking that I wanted Bebe to get taller so she could be a model (though now, as of sophomore year, it still wasn't looking likely).

The entourage included Annie, Millie, Red (Kenny's middle school, and even high school, crush), and of course Heidi (who at the time was dating Kyle). As a group, they flocked over, and Wendy got up to hug her friends, starting with Bebe.

"Hey!" she lilted, her voice inflecting up a bit. "Thanks for coming!"

"Oh, please!" Bebe laughed. "You mention meeting for coffee and I'm there."

Wendy smiled once she'd made the rounds, then gestured to me and said, "You remember Marjorine, right?"

It took a couple of the girls a minute, but they all more or less made the connection at the same time. None of them seemed weirded out, though. Had I decided to keep Marjorine going only a couple years before, maybe they would have thought it was strange, but with everyone at collectively thirteen or fourteen years of age, high school mindsets were settling in, and judgments were carefully thought out.

"Hey, yeah." Heidi was the first to speak. "Good to see you again." She was smiling when she spoke to me, so I smiled in return and gave a wave. Heidi looked around at the other girls, then said, "But, uh… just to clear it up, you are actually, um…"

"You guessed, huh?" I figured, stirring the sugar around in my coffee with a wooden stick.

Heidi shrugged, and sat down, prompting the other girls to find seats as well. Wendy started going around taking orders from everyone and collecting five-dollar bills. Smart, Wendy. She was leaving me with the throng, alone to socialize. That girl had such a talent to understand everyone. "Pieced it together pretty easily, yeah," Heidi said.

"But, you're gonna be Marjorine now?" Bebe wondered.

"Well, maybe not all the time, but sometimes," I told her. "I like being Marjorine, and all, but sometimes, I gotta be Butters, too."

"Hey, that's cool," Bebe shrugged. Her eyes then went wide, and she grabbed my hand to make a thorough inspection of my nails. "Oh, my God, I totally love this color! Where'd you get this? I can't find yellow like this anywhere!"

"U-uh… the drug store, actually," I said, surprised at how quickly conversation had started. "You gotta root around for the really good stuff."

"I guess! Did you do your nails yourself? They look amazing."

"Thanks," I returned, realizing I was probably grinning madly. "You should get some, it'd match your sunglasses," I noticed.

"These?" Bebe guessed, reaching up to where her bright yellow aviator sunglasses pushed her hair back on her head. "You're so right!"

"I like those, by the way, that's a good style."

"Right? They're J-Lo, but I found them cheap."

And just like that, Bebe and I had started up one of the most normal conversations I had had in a long time. The other girls joined in, as well… we talked fashion, movies, summer recap. Wendy returned, and we continued for well over an hour. Girl time. It was fantastic.

When we started to disperse, Bebe gave me a wave and said, "See you in school?"

"Sometimes," I reminded her.

"Sure. Just let us know when you feel like hanging out."

"Yeah, Marjorine," Red added, squeezing my shoulders as she stood up. "You're one of us, okay?"

My heart thudded. "You mean it?"

"Sure we do!" Heidi chimed in.

"Gee, thanks," I said, grinning too broadly yet again. "I… well, that means a lot to me."

The other girls nodded and we said our goodbyes, but Wendy walked out with me. "There, see?" she said, taking and squeezing my hand in hers as we left the building. "Things are gonna be okay."

I thanked her yet again, and marched on home brimming with satisfaction and confidence. My parents threw a fit, they'd been throwing fits all summer about me being in drag, but I blew them off. Marjorine was free. I didn't have to take their lectures if I didn't want to. I'd made it through summer. Now it was time for the rest.

Little by little, I ran into the guys over the remaining few days of summer. Kyle found out first, when he was set to meet up with Heidi after she and I had been with a few others at the mall for a while, and then of course Stan found out from him. (Stan and Wendy were on one of their break periods at that time, otherwise I'm sure it would have been the other way around.) Clyde found out from Bebe, and Kenny caught wind pretty fast. Token and Craig got word from Tweak, and so on and so forth until there was only one to go.

As I'd been planning, I attended the first day of school that fall as Marjorine. I went in before anyone else so that I could speak to the teachers to prepare them, and request that, despite all records, they only call me 'Butters' if I showed up as Butters.

Once everyone else started filtering into the halls, everyone feeling the rush that came with being eighth graders, I flitted seamlessly between groups, greeting friends and welcoming younger students as well. Eventually, I found myself in conversation with the trio of Stan, Kyle and Kenny. We were able to just talk normally, too. Nothing came up about Marjorine vs. Butters as far as appearances. They just treated me like a friend, which I was, and which was all I asked of them.

But of course, with the three of them around, the fourth was bound to arrive. And arrive he did. Eric Cartman, the entity that had been missing from town all summer, lumbered into the hallway and greeted the three that most often put up with him, "Hey, cocksuckers, what's goin' on?"

"Oh," said Stan, "I was wondering why summer had gone so smoothly this year."

"Fuck you very much, sir," Cartman retorted, shoving through to claim a locker (in middle school you just grabbed whichever locker you could, and slap your lock on it first and hope you got a good one). "God, my mom sucks. Summer camps are for gay little wusses and little fucking kids! God! Now the bitch wants me to get a job, too. I'd just tell her I'd kick her in the—"

"I'd totally listen, except I don't care," Kyle muttered, which got me and Kenny laughing a little. Now that I'd actually made myself vocal, Eric, upon stuffing his locker, turned to look at me, expecting Butters, but getting, of course Marjorine.

"W... what the fuck is this?" he sputtered, looking me up and down quizzically, his pointed eyebrows arching in awkward positions through a range of expressions. I couldn't help it… I blushed, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"This is Marjorine," said Kyle, almost forcefully. His subtext read, So be nice. I showed a sideways smile.

"But…" said Eric, flabberghasted, "that's Butters."

"Yeah," Stan said, "but it's been Marjorine for a while, now."

"She's one of the chicks now!" Kenny added, muffling his words into the scarf he was wearing. In September, Colorado mountains were already quite cold.

Eric, as was to be expected, just started laughing. Most likely directly at me.

Kyle started fuming. "Goddammit, Cartman," he snapped, "you are such an asshole!"

"Butters is dressed like a girl!" Eric chuckled, as if nobody else knew.

He knew just how to make me feel all awful. "You know, Eric," I said, feeling my hands clench into fists, "I'm pretty sick of you picking on me like this."

"It's too easy, Butters, what are you, a fa—"

That did it. "You can just shut up, okay?" I shouted at him. "Well, I'm tired of this. This is me, and if you don't like it, well… well, that's too bad." And with that, I stormed off.

I didn't know why I kept trying to impress Eric, but I did. Oh… okay, that was a lie. I damn well knew. And I'd keep trying and trying, and pushing and pushing, no matter how stupid the result always ended up being, no matter how bad I felt afterward. I tried as Marjorine more than Butters, actually. Another perk to her.

Oh, once school started up and things started making me angry again, Chaos routinely came back, too, but every couple weeks or so, I'd end up spending a few days as Marjorine, right up to the end of middle school and beyond.

– – –

Which brings me to now.

Now, the end of sophomore year of high school, everyone at school, even if not especially the teachers, knew me as both Butters and Marjorine. I did get treated differently depending on who I felt like being that day, but I figured people were just interpreting my shifts as separate entities. I could see how they'd think that. After all, each name carried different characteristics. There were a few people who could and would be able to blur the line a little better, and they were: Wendy (of course), Bebe sometimes, Clyde sometimes, Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Eric.

Eric did behave differently around me as Marjorine, but I think that had to do with the fact that I don't take his crap as readily when I'm her. Eric liked pushing me around, and I kinda liked letting him, as Butters. But as Marjorine, I liked to see how far I can push him in retaliation. It's a game I started playing. A game I was especially good at on the weekends.

On the weekends, see, Eric worked. He'd kept up a job since he was thirteen, believe it or not, at one of the downtown electronics stores. At only fifteen, he'd wormed his way up the ladder to assistant manager. To keep the title, he was required to work every weekend. It kept his mother happy, and gave him a steady cash flow which he subsequently enjoyed flaunting. Then again, we all had jobs by that point, at least in the summer and at Christmas if not also on school-year weekends, but we'd let him brag it out.

One particular weekend, the weekend after I'd learned about Wendy being the new town hero Marpesia, incidentally, I drifted into Eric's store. It was a slow Saturday, and I caught him at the counter, chewing gum and flipping through a magazine… most likely the same auto mag he'd been toting around since his mother had admitted that she was getting him a car once he turned sixteen (which wouldn't happen until July).

"Working hard, huh?" I asked, walking right up to his counter.

Eric, unemotionally, let the magazine fall closed and blew and popped a bubble. "The hell do you want?" he asked me.

"I was just riding through town and thought I'd say hi." I'll mention, at this point, that as soon as I'd turned fifteen, I'd bought myself a moped. I'd saved up and bought a moped. I kept it locked up at Wendy's, but for the past year I'd been riding the thing to school and through town, and it was pretty darn nice.

"Kay," he said blankly, "you said hi. Get out."

I pouted and leaned against the counter. "Not like you're busy right now," I pushed, leaning right up close to him.

Eric snapped his gum at me and rolled his eyes. "Marjorine," he griped, "I don't have time for this right now. Clearly, I am a very busy and important person."

"Looks like you're just reading a magazine to me," I said, glancing down at the mag, then back at him. "Okay," I transitioned, "pretend I'm a customer. Help me out, Eric. There's something in this store I want."

"So go get it and bring it back to the fucking counter."

It took a lot of restraint to not laugh. This was my game. See how far I could get and hope I wouldn't get pushed away. "Actually," I said, noticing a thread on his shirt and flicking it away for him, "I'm pretty sure this is one-stop shopping."

Eric slapped my hand away. "Marjorine, what the hell?" he barked, blushing. Aha! I'd got him blushing. Time to go in for the kill.

"So, what're you doing after work?" I asked him. It was rare that I actually got up the guts to ask Eric out. I had a string of rejections behind me, but I'd kept trying. Just to see if my fascination for the irritating guy really was a crush. And to see what might happen if he ever agreed. "That new burger place just opened up a few blocks down… I could give you a ride, maybe, and we could—"

"Already been," Eric shut me off. "I was like, first in line when they opened." Well, I'd no doubt about that, really.

"Okay," I shrugged. "But if you're free, I—"

"Ugh, are you… seriously, are you asking me out?" Eric wondered, giving me an awful, disgusted look. That guy really did have a huge cold side. I was bound and determined to find the part of him that was normal, though. I liked something about him, what the hell was it..?

"If you don't want to, your loss," I said, leaning back away from the counter.

"I'm not going out with a dude, Marjorine, that's lame. And also gay."

"Duh?" I laughed.

Eric's eyes narrowed to points, and he stood back, folding his arms over his chest. Oh, hell. That was it. I liked his aggression. I liked how easily he could take control. As I've said, I'm a joiner, when it comes to him. I'd do anything he said. Even if it was…

"Fuck off."

"What?" I'd expected rejection, just not that strong. Then again, I never knew what to expect from him. He was, if this makes any sense whatsoever, a predictable wild card.

Eric sighed. "I'm not gay. You're creeping me out. Get the fuck out of my store."

I stopped short. That was it, game over, he'd won again. Oh, sure, I could try to push further, but it wasn't going to work. Not today. "Fine," I conceded, backing off. "One of these days, though, Eric," I added, as I was backing up toward the door, "you'll see I'm not all that bad to be around."

"For now, you're pissing me off," he grumbled.

"Well, fine!" So I left.

I rode home alone, found myself back in my room, and promptly tossed a pillow against the wall. I stormed over, picked it up, and tossed it again. "Why do I do these things?" I shouted at myself, picking up and throwing the pillow again. "Why do I even bother?" Pace, pillow, toss, repeat. "I'm so stupid! Ugh, maybe I'm just always being stupid!"

Pacing this time brought me to my closet, which I slid open. As I stood in the doorway, I stared over at my Chaos gear. Angrily, I grabbed up the Tarot card that was still in my possession and brought it over to my bed, where I sat in a huff. I grabbed at my hair, which had grown pretty long over the past few years, and stared down at the image of the burning tower.

Chaos, change, explosive transformation…

One of these days, that was all going to make sense. One of these days, I'd settle.

Lately, I'd come to realize something. The more effort I put into personalizing and becoming both Chaos and Marjorine, the less I knew about Butters. It shouldn't have been any big secret to myself… being Butters wasn't easy. I was constantly either confused or being told that I was for reasons I couldn't piece together.

I did start getting concerned that maybe one day Butters would be gone for good, that either Chaos or Marjorine would win. I'd adapt depending on who I felt like being around, and sometimes it seemed like Butters wouldn't fit in anywhere, as much as it would have been great if I could.

I was sixteen after all. Life was gonna have to start sometime.

– – –

– – –

Authors' Note:

South Park is -c- Matt Stone and Trey Parker!

This was a fun one to write! ^^ Butters is an interesting case, and I (Jizena) hope I've done him justice!

Again, these first few chapters are mostly introduction into the characters and the world... lots of flashbacks right now but next week (Kyle narrates!) we get back to the present! Hope you're enjoying the story~~ :3 See you next week, on Wednesday, July 13th!

~Jizena and Rosie Denn~

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