South Park © T. Parker and M. Stone. Ella Tweak, Nico and Lilith belong to me.
Joining the Hushverse in this chapter:
Sarah Murphy: created by Sorrowsnow.
No big ramble before this installment. Too much serious business.
WARNING: Character death.
*
Ella's alarm beeped in the semi-dark. She put her head up, her hair a twisted halo of ratty curls.
"Tweek?" she said, rubbing her eyes. When no response came, she slapped the snooze button and fell back on her pillows. Fifteen more minutes, she thought as she dozed. My birthday gift to me.
On December 3rd at 6:02 a.m., under Nico's watchful eye, Tweek's narrow chest trembled and then stilled. It was a quiet death, marked only by a shimmering heat as Nico departed and the scraping of shovels against asphalt.
*
Across town, Kyle Broflovski woke to find fourteen inches of snow clogging the driveway.
"Bubbeleh!" Sheila Broflovski's voice floated upstairs.
"Yeah, I know!" Kyle slipped his coat and hat on over his pajamas and went downstairs. His mother followed him as he stuffed his feet in his boots and went to shovel the walk.
"You're going to be late!" she fretted. "I want you to take Ike to the bus stop before you go to school."
"Shit!"
"Kyle!"
*
Stan Marsh stood at his living room window. Cartman always picked him up at the last possible minute and some days he wasn't certain they'd make it to morning practice on time.
He watched as his father shoveled the driveway, carelessly flinging the snow on top of his car as he worked. When Randy Marsh reached the end of the drive, he turned and found the driveway clean, but his car covered in a thick crust of snow. He invariably produced a large brush from the garage and brushed all the snow off onto the ground. The expletives began. More shoveling. More piling of snow on top of car. More brushing. More swearing.
Stan had never been to hell personally, but he was sure it closely resembled having to watch his father's Sisyphean snow-shoveling ritual for eternity.
"He wasn't always a dipshit." His mother said, coming to stand next to him and sipping her coffee.
*
Eric Cartman's bright red Eclipse tore through the morning hush. He cranked up the volume on his iPod until the windows trembled.
There
was something in the air that night
The stars were bright,
Fernando
They were shining there for you and me
For liberty,
Fernando
Though I never thought that we could lose
There's no
regret
If I had to do the same again
I would, my friend,
Fernando
Three ignored stop signs later, he pulled up outside Stan Marsh's house, and hastily changed songs just as Stan pulled on the door handle.
Yeah
I'm out that Brooklyn.
Now I'm down in Tribeca.
Right next to
DeNiro
But I'll be hood forever
I'm the new Sinatra
And
since I made it here
I can make it anywhere
"Jay-Z again?!"
"AY! You're letting in the cold goddammit!"
*
Kenny McCormick pushed aside the shower curtain and stepped into the warm spray. He stood perfectly still for a moment, letting the water rush over his hair and down his face, a few drops finding purchase in his pale brows and on the tip of his long nose.
The warm water was a miracle in and of itself. His father always started the month of December by dabbling with sobriety, and occasionally it yielded something positive. Yesterday morning he'd done a little work for a local contractor and in the evening Stuart McCormick had tackled their dying water heater. The key was to enjoy it for what it was, because it usually ended abruptly on Christmas Eve when he had a drink 'to celebrate'.
Kenny reached for the shampoo and squirted an overly generous amount into his cupped hand. He squinted at his forearm and found a phone number written in black ink. Who-? Ah, who cares. Kenny grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed until nothing remained.
*
"You just looked so peaceful sleeping." Mrs. Tucker said.
"I'll be sure to tell them that when they put me in the tardy tank." Craig said, fumbling with the buttons on his coat on the way out the door. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the snow on top of his car. He looked at his phone. Twenty minutes until first period.
"Goddammit."
After five minutes of furious brushing, he was on his way, flying down Snowdrop Lane, his stomach twisting in knots. He was going to be embarrassingly late. Ella would be waiting for him at her window and now she would be late. They'd both have to spend first period in the tardy tank with the losers like Kenny McCormick.
He rounded the corner to Alpine court and then slammed on the brakes, dark blue eyes wide. The coroner's van was parked in front of the Tweak house flanked by two police cars.
*
"Sarah?!"
Damien, clad only in a pair of black jeans, tromped around his room, upending his clothes hamper, flinging clothes carelessly out of his closet.
"SARAH!" he shouted. Sometime around his fourteenth birthday, his voice had transformed from a squeaky falsetto to a deep and resonant bass. Damien's voice could be felt in the pit of your stomach, and right now his voice was not amused.
Sarah Murphy poked her head in the door, her chocolate brown eyes widening at the state of his room. Festoons of tangled clothes were draped over nearly every surface.
"Yes Damien?" she asked calmly, hurrying over to tackle the mess before it got completely out of hand.
"Where's my black shirt?"
Sarah paused. A full 95 percent of the shirts Damien owned were black. One had to answer carefully.
"Which one would that be?" she asked, restoring some of the shirts to hangers in the closet.
Damien turned to look at her and Sarah's heart pounded as it always did when he looked right in her eyes. He was furious, but his fury made him beautiful. Everything about Damien was extraordinary, but his dark eyes, broad muscular shoulders and slim waist were the icing on the cake. A very angry cake.
"The Italian silk. Not the plain one, the one with the subtle stripe pattern and pointed collar." Damien said with a look that told her she'd better find it.
Sarah took a step backwards and plucked the shirt in question off his bed.
"This one?" She asked sweetly.
Damien snatched the shirt and pulled it on, buttoning it quickly. He stood in front of his full length mirror and eyed his reflection critically.
"It works." He said. He turned and slapped Sarah on the backside. "Get to school, and you're excused tomorrow."
Sarah cranked her iPod as she left his room, nearly bumping into Lilith who was looking uncharacteristically gloomy.
Gloomy was just about right. Lilith had been pretty fucking gloomy since her father married Satan last April. She and her brother Nico had inherited Damien and all the baggage that went along with having the AntiChrist for a brother. Damien and Nico fought spectacularly whenever they crossed paths. The newlyweds had been on an extended honeymoon for about eight months now, and Satan's minions had given up trying to keep order in the house in their absence.
Her father had never been brilliant. He was an arch-demon, and thus very busy, but Lilith missed him stopping in to tuck her up in bed. Her brother, who had always been a complete asshole, now seemed determined to restyle himself as an all-powerful complete asshole. Without her father's intervention, he was well on his way. The first step to tapping into one's inner reservoir of demonic power was the torture and sacrifice of an innocent. Today, December 3rd, Nico had taken that step and it left Lilith cold. She knew her brother. He was jealous, wrathful and scheming. She was pretty sure that he had the sack to topple the throne of Hell, if left unchecked.
These unsettling thoughts led her to Damien's room. The AntiChrist was lacing his boots and looked up as she tapped on his open door.
"Lilith." He said.
"Hey D." Lilith settled herself on the end of his bed, looking grave.
Damien frowned. "What?" Lilith was okay. Damien had thrown an unholy tantrum when his father announced his engagement to her father Ashmodei. He'd done everything he could to sabotage the relationship, but they'd ended up married last April and were now off on Big Gay Al's Big Gay World Tour with a few dozen other gay couples. Lilith minded her business and was careful to stay out of his way. Nico, on the other hand, was a complete asshole.
"Its about Nico." Lilith said, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. Damien didn't say anything, so she went on. "You remember how I told you a few weeks ago that Nico was messing with those kids?"
"No." Damien said, indifferently, turning his attention to his reflection in the mirror.
Lilith closed her eyes. "Damien, don't be a dick. I told you. Last summer he went to Earth. To South Park. Two kids, a brother and sister, saw him arrive." She waited, but Damien said nothing as he combed his hair. "I told you. The Tweak kids."
"Oh yeah." Damien continued combing. "Now what?"
"Tweek died." Lilith said.
Damien stopped in mid-comb. "Tell me he had leukemia or something."
"Nico." Lilith said.
Damien snapped the comb in half. Wispy flames flickered around his fingertips. "He dares?! He has no right!" Damien looked around the room for something to incinerate.
"I'm worried D."
"Worried?!" Damien settled for torching a pillow. "He's supposed to be confined to minor mischief! Souring milk... siring animals with two heads… hiding remote controls! He's going to upset the hierarchy of Hell!"
"I know." Lilith said quietly.
Damien grabbed her arm with one hand and traced a large oval in the air with the other.
A portal hung in the air before them. The shimmering ether was full of images –tall pines, mountains, children playing in the snow.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Earth." Damien replied. "Before dad finds out."
*
Yeeeah. Don't hate me cos I killed Tweek. This is South Park, after all. You just never know.
This was a hard chapter to write. Still not happy with it. Anyway, We've got Sarah Murphy on board now. A new OC will join in the next couple of chapters – Amy McCormick, created by ZombiesOnYourLawn.
Today Cartman's iPod featured:
Fernando, by ABBA and Empire State of Mind, by Jay-Z.
Why does Cartman listen to ABBA when nobody is around? Because it was two in the morning when I wrote that.
Bear with me readers, there's a method to my madness. ^.^