After I finally calmed down (which took a LOT of affection and puppy-dog eyes on Butters' part), we continued our trek up north towards Canada. After a few hours of walking (luckily, Butters brought snacks), we reached a strange split in the land. Even though there was snow on the ground where we were walking, there wasn't any just a few feet away. Sitting on that split was a small shack next to a red-and-white rail across the road.
"There's the Border." Butters whispered from his spot tucked under my arm. My eyes narrowed slightly. How troublesome.
As we approached the border, a Canadian mounty appeared at the gate.
"Nope. You see? No matter which way you go, I block you." the mounty gloated, looking down at us with a smug look on his face. I held up my passport, not in the mood for his antics.
"Ah! I see you have…a passport!" the mounty sounded surprised, "Alright, hand it over." He took the passport, glancing over it briefly before handing it back to me. "Papers seem to be in order." he said, sounding slightly disappointed. Must be pretty boring here. "Very well. I hereby grant thee access to the great nation of Canada!" He then turned to the shack and called out, "Open the gate!"
Butters and I looked at him expectantly. He looked around as well, before muttering, "Oh, I'll get it. Hold on…" He then went into his post and opened the gate. I nodded in thanks before moving down the path. We needed to get somewhere heated; Butters was shivering. I wrapped my cloak around him, holding him closer to me. Before long, we reached the Canadian capital Ottawa. I sighed with relief, but then looked at Butters worriedly when he sneezed violently.
"Hey, buddy. Is your friend okay?" a Canadian man asked me. I looked at Butters, who nodded.
"I-I-I'm f-fine, s-s-sir." Butters stuttered, shivering violently. The cold weather of Colorado was nothing compared to the chill here. I've been in temperatures like this before, so I was used to it, plus I have a high tolerance for cold. Butters, on the other hand, seemed to be unable to handle temperatures below those of Colorado winters, at least not for long.
"Why don't you stay with me for a while?" the Canadian suggested, "My wife'll make you some hot chocolate."
Butters brightened at the mention of hot chocolate, so we followed him to his home, which was nearby. A Canadian woman, who I assumed to be his wife, greeted us.
"Welcome home, dear." she said to her husband, hugging him before turning to us, "And who are these two?"
"These boys come from the United States." her husband replied, "They are very cold, could you fix them some hot chocolate?"
"Oh, yes, right away!" she said happily, heading to the kitchen. Within minutes, Butters and I were sitting on the couch across from the Canadian couple, sipping hot chocolate.
"So tell me, boys." the husband began, "Where are you from?"
"South Park, Colorado." Butters replied pleasantly. I nodded, happy that my boyfriend was no longer shivering. The couple gasped.
"Did you say…South Park?" the man asked, a little breathless. I nodded as Butters gave them a confused look.
"Yeah, why?" Butters asked.
The couple looked at each other.
"Harry, do you think they know Peter?" the woman asked her husband hopefully.
"Peter?" Butters asked, completely perplexed. I just tilted my head slightly.
"He was our son, who was adopted by a couple in South Park. I think they call him…Ike?"
I looked at Butters, whose eyes lit up in realization.
"Oh! You mean Kyle's little brother!" he said in sudden understanding. I arched an eyebrow. Kyle has a little brother?
"Yes! Yes! The Broflovskis adopted Peter…I mean, Ike, and have been taking care of him. His brother and his brother's friends even came here to Canada during Christmas one year to get Ike back when we foolishly took him away." the woman said guiltily, "Is he doing okay?"
Butters looked about to reply when I got up and took my cup to the kitchen. I pointed out the window at a large palace at the center of the city.
"Oh, yes. That is the palace where the Prince and Princess of Canada live." the man informed me. I nodded, heading for the door. Butters got ready to follow me, but I held up my hand to stop him.
"Sage?" he asked me, a slight whimper in his voice. I walked up to him and placed a hand on his forehead, indicating that he hadn't recovered and needed to rest. I then pointed my thumb at the Canadian couple, reminding him that they wanted to hear about their son, which I could understand. He looked at me like he was going to argue, so I gave him a quick peck on the lips, shutting him up. I heard the couple "aww"ing at us, but I ignored them. I squeezed his shoulders to snap him out of his daze, and he nodded in understanding.
"Okay, I'll stay here." he consented, "But please be careful."
I nodded, walking out and heading to the palace. It looked like a massive brown mansion, but there was a royal energy about it. It was surrounded by a moat, with only a small bridge leading into the palace. Inside, the floor was covered with gray tiles. The walls were covered with framed pictures of Canadians, who I assumed were previous rulers, and there were mounties posted everywhere. Two of them, dressed similarly to British guards, stood on either side of a red-and-white rug, which led to two thrones, where the Prince and Princess sat.
"Well, well, what have we here?" the Prince said when he saw me, "A hero from the south? Not just anyone can pass the guard at the great border. You must have beaten the odds and obtained…a passport." What's so hard about getting a passport? "I am the Prince of Canada, and this is my lovely wife." he said, gesturing to the Princess, who proceeded to queef. Lovely. "How can I help you?"
I handed him the abortion records, expertly hiding my embarrassment. The Prince glanced over it, the Princess looking on as well.
"What's this? Hmm…" the Prince hummed in thought, "Sorry, but I don't know what this says. I've seen this language, but I believe it's only spoken in a specific part of Canada." He walked over to the window, staring out over his country, before turning back to me. "I suggest you travel west of here and seek out the Earl of Winnipeg. He can tell you where in Canada they speak this freakish tongue." Even the Prince of Canada doesn't recognize French? Seriously?
"But I warn you." the Prince said, sitting back on his throne, "The wilderness of Canada is filled with Dire Wolves!" Dire Wolves? I stared at him blankly, which led him to continue, "You know what Dire Wolves are, right? They're like wolves…but they're DIRE." I mentally facepalmed. The Princess just queefed again.
Refraining from rolling my eyes, I left through the side entrance. One of the guards told me that the Princess queefing twice when meeting me was a great honor, while another one offered photos of my visit with the Prince and Princess. Given the choice between two 8x10s and six 5x7s, I took the 8x10s, since I really only needed two (one for me and one for Butters, although I don't really NEED one of me).
After a quick glance in the window of the house, where Butters seemed deep into an interesting story, I headed west down the road (the only road). It only took about an hour to reach Winnipeg.
"Welcome to Winnipeg." a mounty greeted me, "This is a conservative township, so mind your P's and Q's." He then shrugged as he added, "Do whatever you want with your T's and M's, however." I nodded slightly in acknowledgement, not that he noticed. I headed for the center of the town, where everything of importance is. There, I found the Earl of Winnipeg.
"Hm. What's this? A foreigner?" the nearly-bald Canadian said, sounding a little shocked, "How can I help you, buddy?"
I handed him the document, and his eyes lit up when he saw the writing.
"Ah, yes. This writing is definitely Canadian." He then looked at me critically. "But why should I help a foreigner when Winnipeg is completely overrun with Dire Bears?" he asked himself.
"Dire Bears?" I thought to myself. Then, an idea forming in my head, I faded from sight, moving faster than the eye could see. Before the Canadian even knew what was happening, I was on his desk, my Dragonfang pressed against his neck. He turned to me, still not entirely processing the situation, but when I grinned psychotically, my eyes gleaming with a predatory thrill that even he understood, he got my message.
"Say, buddy, you're pretty good! Tell you what. Kill off all the Dire Bears in the north part of town, and I'll help you however I can!" he said, sounding nervous. I just nodded, sheathing my sword and heading toward the northern part of Winnipeg. I saw a group of Canadians gathered around one of their own. He was lying dead, a huge gash in his stomach spilling his intestines.
"This man was killed by a Dire Bear." one of the Canadians told me, "You know what Dire Bears are, right? They're like bears, but they're dire." I nodded absently, heading north. A mounty stood in my path.
"This is the entrance to the Dire Bear den." he said. His eyes widened when he noticed my Dragonfang, which I had unsheathed and was now holding. "Well…at least it's you and not me." he shrugged, already giving me up for dead. I simply walked by.
As I entered the den, I was faced with three large bears. They, like the Dire Wolves I had run into on the way to Winnipeg, were much larger than their American counterparts. They also had strange abilities, which I found out when one of the bears shot lasers from its eyes. I narrowed my eyes before summoning three clones of myself (a thief ability). As the three clones wounded the bears, I appeared in front of them and, as my clones disappeared, I slashed all three of the bears' necks at once, mimicking the injury that killed the Canadian. As the bears collapsed in a pool of their own blood, I heard a chorus of astonished murmurs. I turned to see a group of Canadians standing at the den's entrance. Several of them were holding up their phones.
"That was amazing, buddy!" one of them cried happily, "This is going on every social network!"
I just shrugged, pointing my bloody Dragonfang at the three bears. The mounties seemed to understand.
"Come on, guys! Let's skin these bastards!" one of them yelled to the others.
As I stood by the den's entrance, getting congratulated by several Canadians (who insisted on having their pictures taken with me), only one thought crossed my mind.
"I am understood by Canadians. Is that good or bad?"