AN; This story WILL be finished by July or I swear to God I am going to shoot myself in the foot. We're getting close to the end so I'm pretty confident. Maybe 2-6 chapters left. Well, in case I forget later I'd like to thank all my reviewers. I LOVE YOU ALL! I'm sorry I've been such an epic fail at updating but now that summer's here, I hope to finish most of my stories and then get Average Ordinary Everyday Superheroes back up and running again. Thank you all once more from the bottom of my heart!
Also, I'd really love to reach a 100 reviews, so for every 10+ that reviewer gets a one-shot for any pairing, any category they want. So, the 70th, 80th, & 90th reviewers get a one-shot and then 100 hundred gets a full blown story. I'm also doing the same for fanart, oneshots for every picture! And not just for this story either!
So review, I am officially your prostitute! ;)
Also, final note, how many of you want Kenny to make a reappearance after this? Let me know.
*End of Ridiculously long Author's note*
His explanation is expertly crafter; there had been a hooker revolution. Cartman had left for a business trip and they had all fled. He had been helping them plan out routes to go to and calling safe houses. There were only a few of them left now. Kyle's eyes were wide with happiness and a smile spread from ear to ear. Stan was the same, his arm wrapped around his waist. Powder was sniffling softly into her shirt, smiling. Craig looked unimpressed.
"I'm not impressed."
He almost screamed in frustration,fingers grasping the roots of his hair and ready to yank. What more does he want from me?, an annoying voice in his mind he named BitchTweek wailed unhappily. "Look, if it makes you feel better," he gnaws on his bottom lip. "I'm not a prostitute anymore."
Oh nononono NO!
Bad Tweek, very bad! How the hell are you supposed to go through with your plan if you don't have easy access to Cartman? Bad, Tweek! Stop talking this instant! BitchTweek was on the verge of hyperventilating. Right now, this instant, young man! You listen to your subconscious!
But at the shocked, overjoyed expression on Craig's face, his spray of word vomit continues. "I di-did-didn't have anyth-thing to pack and I-I couldn't r-r-risk anyone finding out where I go, s-s-s-so I just w-w-wa-walk-walked here." Craig scoops him up and spins him around, booming with laughter.
"Fuck yeah!"
Kyle whoops happily and does a little jig, abruptly ending when they're angrily shushed by Powder. "Yeah, yeah, so happy. Shut the fuck up, I'm trying to watch Maury."
"I love you too, Powder." He sits on the far end of the couch, with her feet propped up in his lap. Kyle sets off to make a victory dinner, with Stan armed with a fire extinguisher they borrowed from the hallway.
Tweek had given Craig a look and the taller had responded with a dead pan, "I pay rent, the rent funds the building, the extinguisher is part of the building, therefore not only do I own the building I own the fire extinguisher."
"Whatever C-Craig. It still seems li-like a dick move tu-tu-to me."
"You haven't seen Kyle cook yet." Powder yawns, shifting around on the couch. "You'll thank him soon enough."
Stan screams and the "fwooosh" of the extinguisher is overpowered by Kyle's angry shout of "Stop that, dude! They were totally supposed to do that!"
In the end, victory dinner is a large platter of deviled eggs and blackened objects that are supposed to be latkes. "There was meat too." Stan offers "But it-"
Kyle slams his hand over the boy's mouth. "He lies."
They eat in front of the television, Stan tearing apart the latkes and tossing them up in the air for Kyle to catch. Power takes the rest of the couch, leaving Craig and Tweek to make themselves comfortable on the floor.
He chews thoughtfully, head resting in the crook of Craig's shoulder. It's good enough, he supposes, he's used to worse and happily takes everyone's leftovers while Kyle beams with pride. "They're just like my brother!" The Jew complains to him. "He bitches about my cooking but when he's too caught up with his PS-whatever-the-fuck-it-is and wants food it's all "Kyyyyllleee, I'm huuuuuuungry, Kyle, make me something to eat, Kyle, Kyle, blah, blah, blah"!"
"I hear you. Urk!" Tweek says empathetically. In truth, he's never cooked anything for himself in all his life, let alone for someone else.
"I knew you would." He gently cuffs Stan upside the head and smiles. "Now, just what am I supposed to do with this lump?"
"Love me forever and ever?" Stan offers through a mouthful of potato.
"Mhmm. Yeah, whatever."
Powder pouts as the couples snuggle. "Forever alone." She sniffs, rubbing her eyes sadly.
"Aw, don't be sad." Kyle says, patting her hand gently. "I'm sure you'll find that special someone someday soon."
"Whatever, Kyle." She rubs her belly. "I just can't wait to get this little bastard out of me."
Tweek gasps in shock, placing his hands on either side of her belly. "Don't u-use such la-langu-gua-age in fr-front of little Tw-Twilla!" He says.
She pouts. "So, the list of things I can't do grow even longer, huh? No drinking, no smoking, and now no cursing? What the hell am I getting out this deal?"
"Now you h-ha-have an excuse to act, urg, like a, a, a complete and tota-total bitch anywhere you w-w-wa-want and nobody will e-ever bat an, urk, eyel-li-lid?" Tweek offers after a second thought.
"…Good enough. I'll take it and run."
Craig snorts with laughter. "Hah."
Her gaze zeroes in on him. "What's so funny?"
"The idea of you running anywhere." He answers plainly.
Tweek chokes on air and there is a moment where everything is silent before she bursts into tears. "Craig! Dick move, bra, dick move!" Stan exclaims as the woman waddles off.
"Well, she asked! If she didn't want to know, why did she ask?" He defends.
"Craig, my friend, you have a lot to learn about women." Kyle says fondly.
"What? Tweek, babe, back me up here!"
"Sorry, Cr-Craig, I-I-I gotta ag-agree with them. Nng. Dick move."
"Traitors!" He accused. "The whole lot of you!"
"Whatever." Kyle snorts. "We're just saving our own asses. Don't pretend like you wouldn't do the same."
"...Damn you, Broflovski."
Powder's wail shakes the pictures on the walls and they all flinch at the sound of something breaking.
"That sounded expensive." Tweek murmurs to himself. Craig flinches again.
"Look, dude, just go apologize. Then buy her some ice cream. She'll love you again. Trust me." Stan observes.
"Traitors." He repeats before walking off to face certain death.
-I would end it here but I still have a thousand and four hundred words to fill so let's check on the surviving members of the South Park Crossdressers, hm?-
PIP;
Phillip Pirrup smiles graciously as strangers flit into his home. His boyfriend Christophe bows his head graciously but the Brit isn't fooled. He can see the white of his partners knuckles as people file in. His poor little poppet has been coddled, kissed and baby talked into throwing this party for him and hates every second of it. He rubs his arm comfortingly as the door closes for the next five hours. His white turtleneck becomes uncomfortably warm as the room fills, but he feels like his face is going to split open with his smile.
He adores parties and he's never had one thrown for him before. "To Mr. Pirrup and his partner!" Someone toasts, their glass of white wine sparkling pleasantly in the light.
Everyone agrees, chatting amiably amongst themselves as their host blushes a furious shade of red in delight.
"Kizz azzez." Christophe murmurs in his ear. Pip covers his laugh with an awkward cough, elbowing the French man gently in the side.
"Behave."
"I am behaving, can't you tell?" He says sarcastically. "I absolutely love partiez."
The blonde sighs and takes his hand, squeezing it gently. "It'll be over soon enough, dear."
"You owe me for zis, Pirrup." He hisses as he's dragged away by some overzealous woman in a tiara. Fuck, he sighs, I suppose there's only one thing to do now. Satan? Are you there? It's me, Christophe. You owe me big time from that mission last summer, remember? I've come to collect. If you can hear me, strike me down where I stand.
Nothing?
Damn it all.
What kind of world was this, where you couldn't ever trust the eternal prince of darkness anymore?
"So then I told Charlotte, darling you should really meet Charlotte, she's a doll and you two would have the most beautiful children I have ever seen. I can already tell. Don't make that face sweetie it'll freeze like that. I know you'll love her when you meet her, I can tell. So I told Charlotte, Charlotte, sweetie, you're so beautiful why do you insist on wearing that same brand of lipstick everyday when there are so many other more flattering colors? And she says, you know, Ms., it's actually a very funny story. You see-"
"Excuse me." He smiles charmingly, keeping mouth closed lest his filed teeth show. "But az much az I hate not knowing the outcome of this ztory, I muzt find Mr. Pirrup. It'z quite an urgent matter."
She blinks owlishly then smiles. "Well, of course, by all means, go!"
"I apologize onze more." He turns away and smiles. "not charming my azz." He whispers triumphantly. He sneaks upstairs, padding silently to the master bedroom. He digs a package of cigarettes from the nightstand and his favorite lighter, a pale blue one Pip bought him with his first paycheck. "If you're going to smoke', he had said, smiling widely. "You might as well not smell up my carpets even more with those foul matches." He inhales and leans over so the smoke will be carried away by the light breeze.
He flicks the ashes to the ground and takes another slow, deep drag. The door closes silently and he stiffens. Pip would never enter a room unannounced. It just wasn't his way. He pretends like he doesn't notice, crushing the cigarette out with the bottom of his foot and kicking it off the balcony. He leans over to put away the pack and grabs his gun, pointing it towards the intruder. Christophe chuckles when everything is still. "I know you are zhere." He calls out quietly. "Why don't you just ztop hiding like a coward, hm?"
The shadows shift slightly before the light flickers on. "Hello."
Christophe smiles thinly. "Damien. Eet iz nize to see you again."
Gary;
He tucks his hair even further under his beanie, staring at the floor as the manager hands Kenny his key. "Room 16." He says dully. They walk quickly, keeping their heads down and their eyes open.
Rule 1 to surviving on the run, Tweek had said. You've now lost the luxury of chain anything. From now on, mom and pop stores are your best friends, so are sleazy motels. They're cheap, untraceable with bad security.
They had ditched the whores they were riding with a few hundred miles back, taking half the money they had before taking off running.
Rule 2, never travel in a straight line or a pattern. Zigzag, retrace your steps. Spider-web yourself.
His butt ached from traveling on a rickety old bus all day and he was starving; Kenny hadn't let him get anything from the snack machines; hadn't allowed him off the bus. "You're my responsibility now, kiddo, and I'm gonna keep you safe."
Gary somewhat appreciated the concern; it was nice for a change, to have someone worry about him.
Very nice.
He warned himself not to get used to it. Kenny was sly and sneaky. He didn't want to start to depend on someone who might ditch him at a moment's notice.
They toss their backpacks on the floor, taking out Dollar Store brand clothes before stripping down and changing. The bedroom has one bed. Kenny opts for the floor and a pillow, and his cheap sleeping bag. Gary washes some of his clothes, his socks and underwear mostly, with his only extra shirt. Their clothes together consists of two pairs of cargo pants, two pairs of matching red and white striped sweat suits, two pairs of sandals, two pairs of jeans, four shirts, a lone Louisiana state university hoodie someone left on the bus and a plastic crucifix Kenny let him splurge on at the crank machines at the Dollar General. He hangs up his clothes to dry then retreats to the comfort of his bed while Kenny flips through the four channels quietly. They're running low on money and both of them are worried. They can't do much without identities and the things they can do aren't much better than what they used to do. Kenny flips onto his stomach and yanks his battered up notebook from his backpack. His plan was to write a book, then live of the profit from that for the rest of his life. He gnaws on a pen and sighs, closing his eyes tiredly.
"I can't do it." He murmurs. "I just can't."
Gary bites his lip He's done the math and they have about a hundred dollars left. Not much when the cheapest motels are around 50 a night. "We could be extreme couponers." He offers.
Kenny cracks open an eye. "What?"
"Extreme couponers." He states. "Like those ladies on the television. They dig around people's trash for coupons, then get thousands of dollars worth of food for free."
The older chuckles thoughtfully. "Well that solves our food problem kid but not our living arrangements. Where would we live? Where would we get the rest of the money we'd need?
"Flea markets."
"Gary, I love you but you need to start elaborating more."
"Flea markets. We take the leftover food or stuff we just don't want and sell it at flea markets. There are hundreds of them down here. Remember, it was on the brochure we found?"
"I remember." Kenny stares at the ceiling. "It's not a perfect plan." He adds finally. "But it's a good one and we might just be able to make it work. Maybe."
Kenny speak for God damn it why didn't I think of it first?
Gary nods. "And people sell all sorts of crap there. What if we actually sold something they needed or wanted?"
"You're onto something there, kiddo." He turns on his side. "Let's sleep on it. We have a long day ahead of us."
"M'kay." Gary closes his eyes and sighs in content. He certainly wasn't dependent on Kenny. In fact, if anything, Kenny needed him. Kenny was the type of person that would never fight or bother for himself but give him something to protect and he would show just how lion hearted he could be.
No, he certainly didn't depend on Kenny…but it was rather nice having him around. Not to mention it was his duty as a good Mormon to help those in need and clearly, Kenny needed him too much to ever leave, right?
…
…
…
Right?