Neither Gregory nor Christophe liked to be kept waiting. They were both punctual people that liked to get things done as quickly as possible. So obviously they were more than a bit annoyed when Craig and Tweek hadn't showed up 10 minutes after they were scheduled to meet. Gregory paced while Christophe grumbled and constantly dug, filled, and redug a hole in the ground. Gregory checked his watch again. They weren't too early, were they? At last he spotted the other couples headed in their direction. Craig had his arm wrapped protectively around Tweek, flipping off anyone who looked in their direction.
"Finally," Gregory muttered as Tweek and Craig approached them. "What took you two rogues so long?" He got a middle finger in response. Of course he did. "Well you're here now, and that's what counts I suppose. So where are we going for the date?"
"Where Cartman goes everyday for lunch," Craig said simply. "KFC." Gregory actually squeaked in fear. KFC? A crowded, greasy, disgusting hole that dared call itself a restaurant and served food that was more fat than substance? Christophe snickered at his reaction.
"What ees ze matter, mon cher? Too dirty for a pussy like yourself?" he smirked.
"You're more of a fag than us real fags," Craig scoffed. Gregory puffed up his chest with pride, crossing his arms.
"I am not!" he protested. Christophe grabbed his hand and inspected it.
"Silk gloves, oui?" Gregory refused to answer. Christophe removed the glove. "Your 'ands are clean, your nails are cut with a French manicure, and zey smell like peppermint. You iron your own shirts every morning and your 'air 'as enough gel een eet to catch on fire eef I brought a brought a lit cigarette anywhere near eet."
"... you kissed me," Gregory said in retort. Christophe was to argue when Clyde sighed loudly, obviously annoyed by the two of them.
"Goddamn it can we just go?" he asked. The two were more than happy to oblige with the idea.
The group of four sat at their table, eating in silence. Gregory wriggled uncomfortably from time to time, not touching his fried chicken. Christophe gladly picked at his leftovers, not caring that his filthy hands were touching food that went right into his mouth. Craig ate quietly, occasionally looking around or taking a sip of his drink. Tweek had finished his insanely large amount of coffee and was just nervously looking around the whole place for Eric, shaking and tugging his hair and shirt. However, no matter how much any of them looked around the place, Eric Cartman was not there. It was strange. Anyone could tell you that even after all these years, Eric still loved the Colonel and his fried chicken more than anything else. His file had said he ate at the restaurant practically everyday. Just their luck they go on his off day. Gregory grumbled along with his stomach- he needed some real food. Christophe noticed and offered him a piece of chicken. Gregory scoffed and turned away. No way was he going to put that greasy piece of… fat that called itself chicken anywhere near his mouth. Christophe said something under his breath, then grabbed Gregory's face with one of his hands and spun it to face him. Gregory opened his mouth to protest, but found fried chicken being shoved down his throat instead. Gregory gagged on it, chewing to help it go down easier before swallowing. He sent a nasty glare at Christophe, who merely shrugged.
"You need to eat," was all he said. Gregory could've insulted him, or yelled at him for getting his face greasy and dirty. He was about to, especially considering Christophe's smug expression. But he didn't. Instead he pulled him close and kissed him, surprising the Frenchman. He pulled away, taking Christophe's smirk with him.
"*Ce que l'enfer n'était que de Gregory?!" Christophe sputtered.
"You know, we are in America, love. You really should be speaking English, or at least Spanish," Gregory said, still internally gloating over his small victory. Christophe slapped him, but not hard enough to do real damage.
"... yeah you two are definitely gay," Craig said. He stood up and grabbed Tweek's arm. "We're leaving." Gregory shooed them off, too preoccupied with Christophe to say a proper good bye or argue. Christophe glared daggers at Gregory, and the two were locked in an unofficial staring contest.
"I 'ate you," he growled.
"**Je t'aime mon ami," Gregory smirked.
"Don't you dare use my language with your piece of sheet accent," Christophe scowled. He stood and stuck a fresh cigarette through his teeth. Gregory tried to offer his lighter as a peace offering, but Christophe ignored him and used his own rather beat up one. He left the Brit, walking outside the KFC. Gregory sighed. He had pushed it too far. He followed his friend, trying to get him back. Christophe continued to give him the cold shoulder, no matter how beautifully Gregory could weave his words. Gregory stopped and took a deep breath. He about to start yelling when he heard a soft groan come from the alley he was next to.
"Mole, did you hear that? he called.
"Did I 'ear what, you being a pussy?" the Frenchman finally grumbled.
"No no, I'm being serious here." Gregory turned towards the alleyway. "Hello?" The groan came again, and Gregory looked over at Christophe. He seemed puzzled as well, over their little spat for the moment. They were back in business mode. Christophe gripped his shovel tightly, to use as an in-case weapon. Gregory walked a step ahead of him. There was obscure lump at the end, shoved into the corner. The groans seemed to be coming from it. Gregory flipped his lighter to illuminate the shady end of the alley and gasped at the sight. There, curled in the corner, with the words "RESPECT MY FUCKING AUTHORITY FAGS" sprayed painted on the wall above him, was Kenny McCormick.
(A/N: OH MY GOD I KILLED KENNY. You have no idea how much pain I was in for this chapter. Oh Jesus man. Eherm. Well that happened. Reviews s'il vous plaît? French:
*- What the hell was that for Gregory?!
**- I love you my friend)