A/N: Okay, so I made this chapter longer, because, well... My chapters are too short.
Disclaimer: South Park is not mine... Matt&Trey, bless their souls, were kind enough to grace us with their ideas. God with Matt&Trey's lives. The quote is from my brother - who is in his senior year. No, he's not stupid, he was just BEING stupid. Our mom said something and I was like, "What about foreplay?" My brother laughed and said, "For a second there I was thinking, 'Foreplay? What game is that?'" It was genius. Hinkypunks are from Harry Potter - owned my J.K. Rowling (who messed up with the epilogue.) Marie Calendar pot pies - though pretty delicious - are like, CALORIE HELL. Okay so the sweatshirt was all made up in my head EXCEPT for the bear. For those who didn't get it, the bear is Flippy from Happy Tree friends; Happy Tree Friends is owned by Kenn Navarro and Rhode Montijo. Note that for the sweatshirt I did not look to see the ones they sell, I simply imagined that Shelly had ironed on Flippy. Darkwing Duck is owned by Walt Disney Studios. I miss that show. Van Halen rock tee belongs to Van Halen (oh snap who'd've thunkit?!) Bebe's boots are Naughty Monkey. iPods are Apple. 'Dangerous Games' is from Jekyll & Hyde.
When the World Comes Down…
A South Park Tale.
Chapter Seven
"Foreplay? What game is that?"
The remainder of the ride was filled with bickering, laughing, one death, angry fists, a spilled cup of coffee, and someone screaming: "Oh dear God, I'm a hinkypunk!" When they arrived at their appropriate schools and the children trudged to solitary accordingly, Stan was patiently letting everyone behind his seat passed, delaying his own departure…
"Dude, think you'll move any time soon? I have to watch Carman crumple under the weight of pot pies – Marie Calendar's have so many calories in them – and high plates of those buffalo wings from Raisins," Kyle attentively said, as he poked the raven's back, noticing that the loser was wearing his sister's sweatshirt. "You're wearing your sisters shirt, Stan."
That was enough to start the taller teen out of his calculations. He looked at the sleeves of the jacket he had hastily grabbed on the way out the door. Sure enough, they were donned with little stars and skulls; there was an ironed on green bear wearing a uniform, smiling on one sleeve, and looking about ready to kill on the other sleeve. It was clearly a girly shirt – a piece of cloth in the shape of a heart sewn onto the left breast to confirm this.
"Aww, fuckit!" Stan yelped, suddenly glad that there was no one left in the vehicle and that the bus driver didn't speak English – although he was still very good at screaming for them to get out, free with animated hand gestures. "Can anything else go wrong today? I mean, seriously! I eat burnt eggs, get called a queer-mo a dozen times – not that that's new material – but then I get that embarrassing note that could actually back up Cartman's lame-ass theory! Plus I think I just broke your gift, now I just ruined the surprise," a gasp of breath and an agitated look out the window, "I. Hate. Life!"
"Jesus, you really are meant to be a miserable, fun-sucking, Goth. I'll make sure to tell the football team for you."
Stan looked up at his friend – 'Psh, some friend,' – and managed to glare half-heartedly. "I really should sock it to you one of these days, you lousy excuse for a super best friend!" He then punched Kyle playfully as they slowly advanced towards the door.
He quickly forgot his 'wardrobe malfunction' as they left behind the still shouting Hispanic and advanced towards the giant building that loomed over them. "Okay, so I don't hate life, but can I at least hate school?" He bat his eyes fake innocence at the Jew, who, in turn, pretended to contemplate the request. With a tone that implied that it was going against every one of his beliefs, Kyle accepted the opinion that he himself shared, and then stole Mr. Marsh's hat.
They raced across the grounds, Stan slowly steering his friend into the school, hoping that the sea of people would cause Kyle to stop short. Just herd the teen into a crowded space and then jump him.
This was indeed what happened – with one minor, unforeseen detail: Kyle had lost his grip on the hat, dropping it somewhere during their frenzy.
"Kyle. Buddy. You just made my day worse," Stan said, not exactly mad, but instead it was as if he had admitted to something he had been in denial about for the better half of his life. He stood up from where he had crouched, head between his knees catching up with Kyle's trained respiratory system – 'darn asthma!' – and asked calmly, "Know when you dropped it, man?"
Before Kyle could give a negative, a girl piped up a few feet away, "Holy eff' I'm wearing Stan Marsh's hat!"
The boys looked to see who had chanced upon the tattered blue and red hat. They both locked in on a girl about as tall as a seventh grader. She was wearing a long, maroon button-up over what appeared to be a Darkwing Duck tee, with brown plaid Capri's that managed to appear almost normal length on her short stature, and of course Stan's hat. Her face looked like she was in shock, a faint blush slightly hidden under her black and yellow glasses. Over all, she wasn't bad looking, per se, just average.
"Dude, there's some midget in your hat," Kyle stated simply, not even trying to hide the insult.
Stan just stared in stunned silence.
The girl continued to look at the red rim that graced her forehead, even as a boy with dirty blonde hair and another girl with raven black hair cascading from under a pink beret came over, the latter saying, "Well, this won't do, I never got to wear Stanley's hat," her face held a cheesy hurt-girlfriend look, but she soon broke it off with a laugh, "I don't think that even Kyle was allowed such an honor?" Glancing at the redhead in question, she raised one delicate brow.
"What exactly are you implying?" Kyle's own brow was raised in retaliation.
There was a long silence in which the two teens stared each other down, both analyzing the other. It soon broke though, as both smiled and engaged in a sunny hug, small chuckles present in their eyes.
The tall blonde seemed to be unabashed by this greeting as he held out his hand for the slightly awestruck Stanley to take. As he did so, the teen said with a smile, "Hello, I'm Andy Shane, Wendy's cousin. I've been dumped here by my folks – they got tired of me, I suppose." As these words flowed out with a slight southern drawl, his eyes wandered down to the girl in Stan's hat. She was ten inches shorter than him, making it difficult to see her face.
Finally though, the girl looked up to take a look at the four giants surrounding her. She smiled brightly – without showing teeth – and said, "Hello! I'm Opal Manning! I'm only a freshman, but I swear if you cross me I'll throw a penny at your eye!" She smiled, again, avoiding opening her mouth as before.
Needless to say, the four were taken aback. The girl had seemed so quiet and shy! Nonetheless, Stan mustered up his courage and poise to say, "Hey, penny-thrower, before you do that, can I have my hat back…?" He pointed meekly at the item that still sat atop her head. She glanced away for a second, as if she wasn't going to comply, but then reached up and passed it over.
"Gee, I am so sorry! I guess I got totally lost in the fact that you wear that hat. It's like, a really awesome hat I hope you know. I've dreamt of wearing it ever since I saw the first episode!" Ignoring Stan's quizzical look, she added as an after thought, "Nice sweatshirt by the way. It brings out your eyes." Shaking the poor boy's hand, she apologized once more, and with a mumble about Froggy pincushions, walked towards a random classroom.
Left in the wake of the frivolous little eccentric, the four stood there, no longer sure what to do. The globules of soon-to-be brainwashed youth just flowed around them. "Shake It" could be heard blasting from someone's headphones.
"This year is out to get me, dude." Stan said, looking over at Wendy, the only one of his three hall-buddies who wasn't laughing.
~*~:~*~.~*~:~*~
The second bell rang as the last couple of students leaped into their first period. Looking around, the classroom was pretty basic. There were cheesy posters of William Shakespeare, Robert Frost, and Mark Twain on the walls; the desk, situated near the back of the room, had a pile of books on it. Nineteen students were scattered along the rows of neatly aligned desks, among them was an excited Stan.
Stan was always quite partial to writing; he loved to just write about funny senseless wit. The time he spent with his Goth friends probably heightened the ability he actually possessed – around those kids, feelings were written and angst was embraced – something that he probably never would have touched if he hadn't met those kids.
Most importantly though, he knew he would like this class. Stan's attitude in his classes was important – his teacher determined his attitude, which in turn determined his grade. The teacher was a tall, straight-backed man who was easily judged to be in his early thirties. The man appeared to be a strict man – short black hair, side burns, slight stubble, and glasses; but under close inspection, one would notice that he wore a Van Halen rock tee, over a gray, long sleeve shirt, with wrinkled black dress pants. His feet were covered with black and white wingtips.
The first words out of his mouth were: "Shouldn't there be more of you?" The man had clearly never been to South Park. "Aren't there any more sophomores at this school who can handle an advanced literature class? I think it's every persons' responsibility to know the language they speak and be able to use it not only correctly, but beautifully as well.
"Hello, my name is Mr. Turner. Let's start by finding our seating arrangements," He began walking around the class, handing out torn off pieces of scratch paper, "On this slip of paper I would like you to write your name, your favorite color, your favorite genre of music, and your favorite genre of movie."
Stan looked up and stared at the man for a while, 'Who the heck goes this far for original seating?' He pondered for about three seconds before deciding that his day was hectic enough without frying his brain first period just because his teacher was a whack-job. He quickly scribbled down 'blue', 'rock', 'comedy/thriller', then lightly tossed it to the edge of his desk.
Minutes later, when the papers were collected, Stan found himself sitting next to Kenny and a girl with short, shaggy, black, red, and brown hair; she wore a blue zebra-print, low cut tank-top over a yellow rock tee, and tight, red plaid pants. Her feet were adorned with green sandal slip-ons. The paper at the head of her desk read, "Laverne Kress".
Done observing the strange girl on his right, Stan turned to face Mr. McCormick, "Hey, dude! I didn't know you were in Advanced Lit!" Stan was delighted to see that one of his best friends was in a class with him. It was indeed a pleasant surprise but still a surprise nonetheless. "How did you get in, dude? No offense, but you never seemed to put any effort into writing last year…"
Kenny gave a smirk, leaned across his desk to the teen next to him, and whispered, "If you absolutely must know… I cheated on the tests last year. They think I'm a total genius. Not that I'm not, I just don't like writing about all these corporate shit-head lies," Noticing Stan's skeptic look, Ken concluded, "That's my story and I'm sticking with it."
Stan wondered how much of what Kenny said was true. He had once heard Kenny murmuring a couple words when they were eating breakfast at The Village Inn before trying their hands at skateboarding, but the waitress came by before he was able to ask Ken what it was he was reciting. The Goth kids had given a nod of approval though.
The Laverne girl leaned forward to look across Stan and at Kenny. From her blue lips she said, "Stop trying to be impressing, jerk-wad. You're probably just scared you'll lose some kind of 'awesome' title just because you're not academically challenged; if you really are crappy at writing you shouldn't insult those who actually wish to be great by being in this class. Now, please sod off, get a life, and let me sleep." The grumpy girl sniped with her heavy British accent as she laid her head against the desk to as she promised.
With a glance at Stan, Kenny started to chuckle, and as the teacher began writing the titles of 'great stories' on the chalkboard, he said, "This is going to be a fun year, dude!"
~*~:~*~.~*~:~*~
Fifty-five minutes later, across the hall, three doors down, Kyle sat, bored, in Trigonometry. Yes, it was wonderful that he had made it into the Junior's math class, but he was alone in a sea of older students. He soon found himself waiting for the teacher to arrive to distract him.
From his view in the back of the room, he could see Christophe "Zé Mole" Cheever and Gregory Ackerman looking over some sort of old blue-print of what appeared to be the school. Alfie, the other Goth kid from before, was sending daggers towards Mike Makowski. Although the four were interesting enough in their own ways, he really didn't like to associate with any of them.
As Kyle sat there, contemplating switching down to the Geometry class with the rest of the sophomores – a futile thought, what with his expectant mother – he wondered how Stan's Literature class had gone and if he was missing anything interesting by taking his AP Lit. Honors course, 'Why the hell do I have to be so smart? Why the hell isn't Butters in this class? Why the hell is there gum on my shoe?'
Just when the idea of jumping out the second-story window to try and escape entered his mind, Bebe Stevens walked into the classroom.
"Hey, listen up everyone!" Bebe's voice was rich as ever, but it had grown to have a mature, diplomatic ring to it.
With a glance over at Christophe and Gregory, the blonde knockout's eyebrow twitched - the two were clearly not paying attention to her. That would change if she had anything to say about it… Or throw at it. She turned around, grabbed at the eraser resting in front of the board, and, with deadly fist poised, hurled the eraser at their desk.
The eraser smacked into their blue prints, releasing a bomb of grey dust particles into the two males' unsuspecting faces, thus causing The Mole to leap backwards, falling out of his chair, and onto the floor. Gregory haughtily commanded, "Take evasive action, good man!"
Bebe, quite taken aback that the two teenagers were behaving so much like the adults of South Park, simply stood quiet until Mike nasally slurred, "Why so surprised? You did it, per se." To which she regained her composure by straightening her blazer and shifting to balance out the weight distribution on her coral Steves Delight 2 D-Ring boots.
Bebe leaned her bottom against the desk and said, "Now that I have your attention, I would like to announce that Mrs. Crawford, your Trig teacher, fell off a stool when she had a penis running around in her kitchen and broke her hip," Alfie scoffed, "So, I will be filling in for her today and possibly the rest of the week."
The Mole, now composed and sitting forward in his seat, growled, "Why ze fuck would zey ask you? All zese Americans are stupeed beetches." He picked up the eraser and threw it over his shoulder, where it bounced up and hit a girl in the face.
Bebe, unfazed, simply folded her arms and elaborated the given condition of their teachings, "I was late to class this morning for private reasons; a man was walking by, blubbering about not having time to find a sub for the class. That was when he noticed me and asked if I had any experience teaching – he thought I was twenty. I told him that I tutor students, and then he shoved me towards the class with a sheet of guidelines."
Kyle, now losing interest, took out his iPod, turned it to his play list labeled 'Broadway Musix', and started to drown himself in 'Dangerous Game'. Just before he fell asleep he thought, 'This is going to be one long ass day…'
~*~:~*~.~*~:~*~
After two more insignificant periods of grueling torture – in which Cartman mouthed off Clyde for offering him a cupcake and Butters for taking it instead – lunch had finally arrived. As everyone filed into the cafeteria, our favorite quartet found they were back together.
"Stan!"
"Kyle!"
As the two ran towards each other in slow motion, Butters walked between them. "Hey fellas! Guess what! I have a girlfriend! She isn't even from Raisins!" He danced happily, "She just walked over and asked me out! She says that we need to go out on a date to make sure it's cool, but I think I'm in the clear, right?"
The four stood staring at the bubbling blond, "Butters has a girl…?" Cartman twitched uncontrollably; he bent his knees as he continued, "Oh dear Lord, it's the end of the world!" He grabbed onto Kenny's shoulder to stay himself from falling, "Kenny, Kenny help me… The world – it's gone dark."
Kenny just laughed as he held up his fist, "Pound it, Leopold, my man!" He looked at Cartman – which proved to a hard task to do, as Cartman was slumped, and he's six inches shorter than the impecunious boy originally. Rolling his eyes, Ken continued, "Cartman's just jealous because Bebe broke it with him during the summer. Apparently this whole bet thing was starting to tick her. Said that he was so spastic that he was a disgrace to all girl-kind. Harsh." Needless to say, his voice was nowhere near as serious as his words implied.
While this happened, Stan peeked around Butters' giddy figure and let his face droop – Kyle had completely forgotten their slow motion, corny, beach scene hug. Instead, the redhead was picking fuzz off of his Master of Puppets tee. Stan huffed and bypassed the blond to speak directly to the alabaster toned teen, "Kye, we should go get some of that kosher food while we can." He patted the Jewish boy on his shoulder, and the two walked into the cafeteria.
As the two friends stepped out, another stepped forward. Wendy walked up to the three psychotic looking teens, a look of assessment on her face. "What exactly are you doing?"
The boys in question only faltered a little in their bizarre displays of emotion – Butters continued to do his little jive of shaking hips and bobbing head, Cartman still held to Kenny's arm with a deadly grip, trying to get a hold on the situation, and Kenny simply stood laughing.
"Cartman's surprised that I got a girlfriend! It's not official, but, gosh, Wendy! I'm so excited! I go on a date with her tomorrow night! My dad won't ground me for going out on a school night neither; he'll just be glad that I'm not gay after all!" Not once did Butters' smile drop in intensity. He just looked down at Cartman – who even he had surpassed in height – patting his back and continuing, "He's just so happy for me!"
"No I'm not, you queefer! Where's my bitch?! I need a ho too, you know!!" Cartman cried, waving his arms everywhere to emphasize his doubt and loneliness.
Wendy punched his arm, "What the heck, Eric?" She punched him again, "You should be happy for Butters! You're just angry because he isn't gay for you!" She's silent for a minute, "And don't be offensive to women."
"What, you crack bitch? Are you implying that I'm gay? That's fuckin' bull crap! I didn't even do anything to insult your friggin' race, Wendy!" He shoved his 'not so pudgy anymore' finger in her face. Only two inches taller than her, they stood practically at eye level, "Dumb, whore!"
"Shut up, Eric, you selfish asshole! Women aren't a separate race, you idiot!" She grabbed his hand and pushed it away, "Fat lard!"
"For your information I've thinned out!" He smacked his stomach, "See that, Wendy? That's my gorgeous body that you want!"
"Like I would ever want you, you disgusting jerk!"
Butters looked over at Kenny, "Should we stop them?" He pulled at his finger nervously, and then cracked his knuckles absentmindedly with his thumb – one finger at a time.
Kenny scratched his neck, "Honestly? We probably should, before they start strangling each other… Like, tighter than they are right now, I mean." He picked a bit of ear wax out of his ear, "Another honestly? I am too lazy – much more interested in hearing about your date. She hot?"
Butters gave the two feral beasts one last glance, "Well, she's really easy to spot, just look around for a giant head of—there she is! Chelsea!" He pointed over at a girl walking down the hall.
Kenny raised his eyebrows, "Wow Butters… Wow!"
The girl, now stopped at her locker, wore a tore up, white shirt with the British flag covering the front. Covering her bodacious hips was a black-laced skirt with yellow material ribboning it; the edges of the skirt were cut in a jagged, triangle pattern. Heavy steel-toed boots, reaching up to her knees, weighed down her feet.
However, Kenny's eyes were trained on her head – more accurately, her hair. Cresting her skull was a three-toned cut: framing her face were strands of a color treated blond, black locks were visible just behind her ears, but the most noticeable was the jelled up section in the rear and the long flow reaching to small of her back.
"She… Looks like a pink haired Yu-Gi-Oh reject…" Kenny absentmindedly said his voice wrapped up in a big bow of disconcertion.
The shorter of the blonds tilted his head to the side, "I hadn't thought of it like that… I think it's neat though!" He turned to Kenny, "I just think it's going to be the slowest day of my life! I mean, I have to wait for today to be done, and then I have to fidget through school tomorrow!"
Cartman and Wendy were now pulling each other's hair, both screaming for the other to stop. They fell to the ground, still not letting go.
Looking down at them pathetically, Craig – who was passing by with Thomas and Tweek – said, "Honestly, you guys are on the ground, but Wendy is pulling on the wrong end!"
Craig was then beaten severely.
Sok~Munki: Okay, dear lord... It took me forever to do this... AIISA,D killed me a million times to get me to do this. I know it kind of ends, but that's just because that was the last notable part of the day. Next chapter will be the next day. I'll probably be so ticked at the cut off that I'll sneak in and change it later.
Yes, I know Brat Prince, I mentioned shoes again, but in my defense it's Bebe.
I swear to God I'll be more diligent about this! I was just distracted by band stuff. Kind of.
Okay, so... In the next chapter, the plot will actually be put forth! HO SNAP, yeah!
Oh, yeah... I know I dropped the OC bomb on you guys, but like, Opal is actually me. Andy and I won't appear much - fillers we are. Laverne is to be hitched with someone perhaps? Her and Chelsea are like a duo. As for Chelsea? Chelsea will have to fight for Butters with a cannon character. I just love the idea of two appealing girls fighting over Butters. =]