Shredded Plastic

"Not destined to be recycled."

The path they followed through the forest wasn't all that flat or even, not like the ones they used to run down from school to the pond in winter for skating. It was like it'd been created just by foot traffic. How many pairs of shoes would that even take? The rest of the land surrounding them wasn't particularly grassy, but the ground was nowhere near pressed as hard. These are the kind of things Stan concentrated on as they walked forward, himself always at least one step ahead of Butters. He looked back at the man who was still cupping his hand in both of his. He didn't seem the least bit worried or upset. Butters just appeared to be taking in the scenery, head lazily turning from side to side, mouth slightly open but still curved up at the corners. Stan returned his sight forward and went back to thinking about the path. He noted a particularly narrow spot between two trees as he tried not to notice a stinging in his foot.

Although it was day, the forest was a little dim. Puffy treetops squeezed too close together. A lantern lit structure off to the right of the path was visible from a good distance. Butters confirmed that this is where he'd met the nice people. They approached the small building. It was held off the ground by short stilts. A ramp that wound around the entire square structure looked to be the only way up. Or they could just hop the railing. Stan opted for following the ramp though, taking in the unpainted wood walls as they ascended. The building had been constructed from wide planks and square nails that were monstrous in comparison to the ones he'd seen and sometimes used.

Fire lit lanterns hung from the overhang of the roof that kept the ramp and surrounding patio covered. Stan had to duck under them when they reached the top. He paused before knocking on the only door. There was looped rope where there should have been a doorknob. He couldn't hear anything from inside, and there hadn't been any windows for him to peek through. He would have thought that he would be able to tell if anyone were inside; the entirety of the place was only about as big as two of the bedrooms in his house. Smoke did filter out of what must have been a hole in the roof, so there must've been someone inside.

As he went to knock, the door pulled back and he was left with his fist raised in the air. The stout woman who stood on the other side laughed raucously. He wouldn't have been surprised if she shook the building to the ground. "Is this who you were searching for?" she asked.

"Yes!" Butters answered triumphantly.

She smiled widely, showing off white teeth that looked even brighter when surrounded by her dark face. "Come in, come in. I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

Stan was surprised when he saw three other people sitting inside the main room, which must have taken up most of the building. There were two other doors, but they were both closed. A fire burned in a clay-looking pit in the middle of the room. It danced when the woman shut the front door behind them. The three other people all sat close to the fire in chairs that didn't match. One of them looked like a plastic lawn chair that you could find at Wal-Mart any day of the year. All had a drink in hand.

"Ah, so you've found him!" A large man exclaimed. Stan could see what Butters had meant by dressed weird. He looked like he was wearing armor made with steel and chainmail. A large sword sat against the back of his chair, tall enough for the hilt to rest against his shoulder. It should have been too heavy to be of practical use, but Stan had the feeling that the man could wield it just fine.

A woman wearing a cloak said, "We knew there was hope to be found."

"Thieves are not ones to be trusted," another woman replied with a pointed look toward the one whose face was largely covered by the hood of her cloak. "Even if they do hail from Zaron."

"That's enough everyone; you're going to overwhelm the boys." Stan looked back at the woman who opened the door for them as she admonished the three adults in a motherly way. She was dressed normally, in a knit sweater and black slacks. "Go on, take a seat."

"A drow elf?" the bulky man questioned as Stan and Butters came closer to the fire. They sat down together on a short handmade bench that was free. "Never have I heard of a human risking the forest for one of your kind."

"I'd rescue Stan no matter what!" Butters said with confidence. Bile threatened to spew up from Stan's twisted stomach. His head still spun with confusion, but some of the strange terms these people were saying sounded familiar.

"Ah, true love," the woman who distrusted thieves said in a dreamy tone. She pulled out a small harp like instrument from somewhere Stan didn't catch. Her fingers strummed the chords a few times. The resulting noise assaulted his ears. "The finest material for a bard to weave."

The cloaked woman scoffed. "I remember saying that I would burn those hell strings the next time I heard them." The other woman quickly put her instrument away again.

The first woman disappeared for a while behind one of the closed doors. The other three continued their weird bickering. Each bizarre phrasing made Stan's head pound. Butters patted his thigh a few times when he squeezed his eyes shut. He'd been hoping to open them and see the interior of Butters' sedan, not the small lodge. "Hey, this kind of reminds me of that game we used to play when we were kids. Remember?" Butters asked him quietly.

It'd been when they were still in grade school. All the boys his age lived in a fantasy land comprised of the tropes they'd learned from movies and video games for most of a year. They'd eventually pulled most of the other kids into it as well. Stan looked at the people again. It was like they came straight out of some shitty RPG game. The oversized weapon, the armor, the clearly defined classes. "Oh god, it is," Stan groaned.

"I had a lot of fun back when I was Butters the Merciful!"

Stan rubbed one of his temples. His hand pressed back and onto his ear, feeling the strange new shape again. A thought suddenly came to him and an annoyance flared up. "I was never an elf!" Sure, he played with Kyle's clan of elves. In his pretend lore, he was really just a human who'd been raised by them though. He'd thought that elves were gay.

"Yeah," Butters frowned. "You didn't wear those pointy ears. Maybe they just didn't know that and assumed you were one."

"Who's they?"

"Well gee Stan, I don't really know. Whoever brought us here I s'pose."

When the stout woman rejoined them, she clasped two round things in her hands. She handed one to each of them before taking a vacant spot at the fire herself. Stan looked at the object in his hand. It looked like a chunky bracelet made of copper. Or just metal colored like copper. Butters was a step ahead of him. He'd already pulled the bracelet open and was closing it on his wrist as Stan looked over at him. A tiny noise came from it once it shut. It sounded like what a drill made for a Barbie would have. Butters attempted to pull it off again and failed. Stan then tried prying it apart from his wrist.

"It won't come loose," the woman said when Stan had yanked Butters arm into his lap in an attempt to get better leverage.

"What is this thing?" Stan shouted, still pulling at it.

"It's okay, Stan. It doesn't hurt or nothing."

The three people in medieval-esque clothing all held an arm up. Each one had a similar device on it. "You can't get out if you don't wear one," the thief explained.

"Legend tells that if one finds the stick, then they can return to their homeland."

"But you can't leave the starter area if you're not wearing one of those." The short woman held up her own wrist to show that it was bare. "If you refuse it, then you'll be stuck forever as a tutorial NPC like me." Stan choked on a laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Oh no!" Butters cried out. "Is there some way we can find you one of these neat-o bracelet thingies?"

The woman laughed, causing her chair to scoot back from the fire. Stan put an arm around Butters' shoulder. "Oh no dear, once you assume your role, you're stuck with it. I'm fine though. I got this nice little cottage, and some people are nostalgic enough to come back time to time and pay me a visit."

"Ann is better off than a lot of people. Many have spent years searching for the stick to no avail. They spend their gold on health potions and weaponry only to return broke and empty handed," the thief said. She spared a small smile on the older woman.

"Truly, Ann is who the bards should spin tales about. She is the start of every hero's quest."

The man stood, picking up his great sword with ease and sheathing it at his side. "We should venture before it grows too dark."

"Yes honeys, I suppose you should get going. Take the newbies with you, if you wouldn't mind."

The man looked at them. Butters admired the jewelry stuck to his wrist, while Stan stared his down. He'd put it on his lap and folded his arms, keeping his wrists far from it. "I will escort you north to Havenfort," the warrior said. "From there, I suspect you, drow elf, will find yourself traveling east to Larnion. To the west lies Zaron, where the human may find assistance if the wizard deems him worthy."

Butters asked, "Wizard? Do you mean Eric?"

"That is his name, yes."

"Oh boy!" Butters nudged Stan's arm. "Maybe we'll find the whole gang!"

It was certainly a lot darker out than it'd been before they entered Ann's lodge. Stan still hadn't put on his bracelet. Light radiated off the ones that were worn by the other four people walking with him. He kept his eye on Butters'. The blonde was enraptured by it, pushing the several buttons along the side of it and observing what they did. He'd discovered that it was like a computer on his wrist. There was a screen on the underside of his wrist with two flat buttons on either side of it. Stan watched as he made a map appear, which was followed by a blank screen. "Look at this!" he exclaimed once Stan looked away. Stan looked back down and saw rows upon rows of tiny pictures. Headshots of people that they knew. Butters pushed a button closer to the screen and found that he could highlight the pictures. "Wonder what this means."

They didn't have much more of a chance to try to figure it out as they were distracted by a chorus of soft sounds coming from far up the path. "We're getting close," the thief turned back to them to explain. Suddenly, her eyes went wide in the blue glow of the screen. "Get back!" she shouted at them.

Stan turned his head just in time to see a mass of fur and fangs running at them. Then the next thing he knew, he was sliding across the ground. He landed on his stomach off the path and in one of the sparse patches of long grass. Butters fell on his ass beside him. They looked back up and saw that the warrior was now where they'd been standing, arm still extended from having pushed them. Four wolf-like creatures pulled to a stop in front of the three people. They were about twice the size of the timber wolves he'd seen at the zoo, backs tall as the large man's chest. The canines' shoulder blades pointed high off their bodies. It gave the illusion of folded wings.

"Excellent! I could use some experience!" the bard joyously called out. She once again had her harp in her hands. Her fingers danced across the strings, but no sound screeched. Instead something Stan could only think to describe as an energy burst forth and surrounded her teammates.

The thief had pulled silver daggers from somewhere. She darted off the path to the side across from him and Butters. She moved fast enough to make it a challenge to track her. She only stopped when she appeared behind one of the wolves and had her blades dug into its body just inside of the extended shoulder blades. The beast whined sharply and fell to its side, freeing her daggers. Stan winced.

As the thief darted away once again, the warrior pulled forth his enormous sword and swung it across the small pack in one fluid movement. It sliced through the necks of two of the canines. One head fell clean off, leaving a trickling stump. The other cried in terror as blood began to gurgle from the wound across the front of its throat. Stan closed his eyes when he saw the thief move towards it.

The rest of the battle ended with a clang and more death whines. Stan didn't dare to look. Butters had scooted close and wrapped his arms around him. "Shh, it's okay. It's all over now."

"That wasn't so bad," the thief commented.

Stan opened his eyes to see the man wiping his gory sword off with a rag that he then tucked into the waist of pants. The warrior said, "Must have been born to a tamed bitch; they hesitated."

The bard flounced towards them, extending both of her hands. Butters let her help him to his feet, but Stan got to his on his own. "See, it's not so bad. It's rather exciting, I think." She stepped past Stan and bent down to retrieve something from the ground. It was his bracelet thing which she then handed to him. "You dropped your bracer. You should really put that on; you won't be allowed to carry a weapon without one."

The warrior was fiddling with his own computerized bracer, while the thief knelt down beside the slaughtered animals. With quick hands, she reached between their bodies and pulled out a small bag. "Two silver, fourteen copper," she stated after pouring its contents into an open palm.

"That's all?" the bard asked. "You aren't attempting to pull wool over our eyes, are you?"

"No, they must have really come from captivity."

The man snorted. "Probably got away from some under leveled rangers."

Stan bent over and retched onto the ground where his bracer had been. The tall grass poked at his face while vomit burned his throat on the way up. Butters rubbed his back when he had trouble getting all of it out.

They didn't talk as they followed the group to the large town filled with obnoxious music and even more obnoxious merchants. Stan felt numb except for his scorched throat and stinging foot. It was getting worse. At one point, he managed to have a flicker of worry over whether or not he'd start to limp.

Butter occasionally oohed and awed over the sights they passed. There were crowds everywhere in the streets. Sometimes someone would break away and clasp hands with one of the three that led the way. Stan noted it was like most other first cities in the few RPG's he'd played. Carts with goods parked along the stone paved streets. Store after store and house after house crammed together. Fires flickering inside illuminated the outdoors. People wandered aimlessly, shouting news into the evening. There seemed to be a different band at every corner, most completely instrumental.

"Look Mom, an elf!" a boy yelled and pointed at him. He tugged at his mother's long skirt. Stan grimaced. His hair had gotten pretty long from not having the energy to trim it, but his damn ears must have been poking through.

"Let's take them to the Lucky Priest," the bard shouted to the other two. "I wouldn't mind spending the night there myself."

The Lucky Priest was the stereotypical combination of tavern and inn. It was spacious inside with two roaring fire places and a bar that extended across the entire back wall. Circular tables were scattered systematically across the wooden floor. Stan saw a set of stairs the led to the second floor, which only came to half the floor space of the bar. Up there, Stan spotted rows of doors. It was set up like the cheap motels his uncle sometimes stayed at during hunting season.

The three left Stan and Butters at the only empty table while they approached the bar. Stan tried to make out a familiar face through the sea of chattering patrons. The people were of all ages wearing ridiculous armor or equally ridiculous street clothing. Dresses had corsets on them and men's sleeves were puffy. The others returned with five lidless pewter steins. "Ale. You need it," the warrior said.

The thief placed something on the table in front of him. It was a silver key that looked suspiciously like his house key. "We managed to get you a room for the night."

Stan took one of the steins and brought it to his mouth with both hands. He didn't return it to the table until it was nearly empty. The alcohol tasted terrible, worse than the cheapest of beers. Still, it made his head a little fuzzy in a good way for the first time that day.

"It does not take long to grow accustomed to this way of life," the thief said. "Some even say they enjoy it."

"I would be one," the warrior said after taking a short swig. "I came into this land an obese programmer who made extra money rolling joints for kids. Now look at me. I tame monstrous wilds for settlements and protect innocents from bloodthirsty beasts."

"Wow!" Butters exclaimed.

"This life is a dream."

"It's a trap," the thief muttered loud enough to be heard. "Don't foolishly place belief into this land. Things happen here that simply shouldn't be."

"Are you on about this again?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Yes. Physics get tossed out completely when convenient, random designs from our old world creep into this one, and it all—"

The bard cut her off with, "Living here is all about perspective. It can be a nightmare or it can be a happily ever after, just as it was in the old land. What is important is that you find friends to survive alongside. Not many make it long on their own."

"We aren't staying here," Stan said. They would escape just as they always had. He wasn't sure who all these people were, but he knew he had a distinct advantage over them. They hadn't spent their lives in South Park.

"Oh boy Stan, do you really think we can find the stick? I'm already starting to miss our babies."

"That cats will be fine," he assured his fiancé when a look of concern took over his face. "We need to find the fatass. He always has something to do with these things." Stan sighed. He really didn't want to get sucked up into this mess, but it was probably the only way they'd get through it and back to reality. "We'll stay here tonight and go to Zaron tomorrow."

The bard and the warrior laughed, both spraying traces of ale. "Elves can't go to Zaron. You'll be struck down before you can even pull your weapon."

"And you should head towards Larnion. The high king sends recruiters out each day in search of lost drow elves. You should consider yourself lucky; your people are set up very nicely here."

"The high king? Do ya think they mean Kyle?" Butters asked. "I haven't seen him in years."

Stan didn't respond. He didn't know what tone his words would take. All he knew was that he thought of his childhood best friend more than he should have.

"You won't be able to go until you put your bracer on though," the bard said in a singsong tune. "Can't leave Havenfort without one."

Stan looked at the large bracelet in his hand. Without so much as a scowl, he pulled it apart and placed it around his wrist. It snapped back together and he could make out where the screen would be. It didn't light up though. He tapped at the buttons.

"It takes time. It's registering you."

It wasn't long after that that Stan and Butters made their way up to their rented room. It was smaller than their bedroom at home, but the bed was bigger, barely leaving room for the door to open. A single nightstand stood by one side. A lit candle sitting on top of it was the only thing illuminating the windowless room. "Boy, they sure do have something against windows here," Butters commented. He began to pull his dirtied sweater off, revealing his pale thin chest. If he looked hard enough, Stan could find a few yellow curled strands of hair on it. There wasn't much though, which Butters often fretted about. He didn't really grow facial hair either. Stan wasn't a particularly hairy man, but he looked like a bear compared to Butters.

When his eyes trailed down to where his skin turned pink and puckered, Stan had to look away. That scar was his fault. It didn't matter how much Butters pleaded for him to think otherwise.

They both stripped down to their boxers and got under the covers of the bed. They felt dusty and lumpy. Butters scooted close to Stan. He imagined they looked engulfed on that oversized mattress. Stan wanted to kiss Butters. The acidic taste of vomit still coated his tongue though. He opted for placing a chaste peck on the blonde's forehead. Like most of their nights together in bed for the past several months, the thought of sex didn't even cross Stan's mind.

"I'm glad you're here," Butters commented, snuggling his face into his spot on Stan's chest. The top of his head rested against his jaw.

"I wouldn't leave you." He hadn't exactly had a choice, but, if he had, he was pretty sure he'd have chosen to come to this screwed up place and be by Butters' side. He'd done so much for him; he owed it to him. "I was worried when you didn't come home. I tried to find you."

"Did…Did you see my parents?"

Stan paused. "Yeah."

"What did they say?"

"No dude, don't worry about them."

"But I want to know. Did they miss me at all?"

"They didn't know who you were," Stan sighed. "Nobody remembered you. I called around and nobody remembered any of the kids in our class. They must be here then."

Butters didn't respond for over a minute. "Well, I'm happy you remembered me at least," he finally said before pulling away to blow out the candle.

They laid in the dark silent room for what could have only been minutes. Stan somewhat marveled at the fact that the bar had been loud when they left it, but he couldn't hear a trace of it up here. Mostly he just thought about how he could have used another drink. Butters distracted him from these thoughts with, "I really have to pee." Hearing that, his own full bladder made itself known.

"Yeah, let's go find a bathroom or piss outside or whatever they do here."

Butters kept close to Stan as they wandered back down the stairs, clothes hastily pulled back on. He asked the first person who came close enough to him and was pointed toward a door in a front corner, opposite of the entrance. It was unlocked, so they pushed through.

Neither one of the two expected they would find fully modern bathroom. Dull, but indoor plumbing wasn't something to be taken lightly. Stan flipped the seat up on the toilet and heard a familiar clink. It was actually porcelain too. He unzipped and saw Butters did the same. They pissed in silence, except for Butters giggling once when their streams crossed.

Not only was there a toilet in the dingy room, but a sink as well. Stan washed his hands quickly, flicking water off when he was done. Butters, as usual, took his time. He mumbled a song to himself to make sure that he lathered his hands the proper amount of time. Usually, Stan found this endearing. It worried him that night. Butters wasn't a weak man by anyways. No, he was actually a lot better than Stan in most ways. Still, if this world was like any typical video game, then he feared that his fiancé wouldn't fare well.

While Butters dried his hands on a rag that had been lying on the side of the sink, Stan caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. Through the grime he finally saw the ears that were catching him attention. "God," he grimaced. It was worse than he thought. Not only were they long and pointed, but stuck out as well. It was like they were trying to be noticed. "A fucking elf."

"I still think you look cute. At least you don't have those funny eyebrows like in the movies."

Stan pulled at one. He didn't seem to have much feeling in the extended cartilage. "I look like a goat."

"Aw, don't say that. You'll make me sound like some kind of pervert." He gave Stan a quick kiss on the cheek and then opened the door. Butters waited for Stan to walk out first, and then nearly stepped on his heels the entire way back to their room.

Note: Thank you so much to my first commenter and first follower! :D