Disclaimer: Don't own it yet. Maybe by next year? I also don't own those six AMAZING OCs.
A/N: Okay, I'm sorry if you feel like I neglected or didn't include enough details about your OC. As the story progresses your hear much more about them. Again, I'm sorry.
Indigo was awoken the same way he had been put to sleep. With a hard punch in the face.
He was in someone's kitchen, his hands and feet had been tied to a chair facing a large wooden table with dents that might or might not be from human heads. About fourteen men and women sat in various places around him, everyone looking more threatening then the next. Their expressions went from bored to child-on-Christmas day glee. Indigo could feel eyes flickering from his scrawny body, to his gore-splattered clothes, and then finally, landing on the dyed blue, spike-y monstrosity that sat on top of his head.
"Good Morning Mr. Kelly."
Indigo looked across the table at the young woman sitting between his new "friends" Christophe and Gregory (or, as he decided to name them, brit-shit and stupid-french-asshole-retard). She was, well, pretty. The owner of a thick mane of curly blonde hair and big (as ironic as it seems) indigo eyes. Not to mention a rather ….er…. full bust. Not that Indigo noticed or anything…
"My name," she smiled politely, "is Bebe Steve-S… Bebe S. "
"Charmed." The blue haired man replied sarcastically, in no mood for politeness. Once again, Christophe's (or stupid-french-asshole-retard's) fist connected to his face.
" What the fuck?" Indigo yelled, but through an incredibly swollen lip it sound more like "Wub da fuwwk?"
"You muz never deesrezpect a lady. Leetle cockzucker."
Bebe patted the Christophe's arm, "Anyway, Mr. Kelly please do not be alarmed, you are still in South Park. Sweet n' Pure corporations just need you to give us information on and Mr. Brofloski, your making a film about them after all. Just give us what we need and soon you can pretend none of this ever happened."
Indigo heard murmurs of conversation behind him.
"The dude looks like a pussy. Seven bucks he'll start to cry." A scowling guy wearing an ridiculous blue poof-ball hat muttered to his tan female companion with long black hair and GREEN side bangs. She elbowed him but her electric brown eyes danced with mirth. A wiry person, Indigo wasn't sure what gender, flipped a rusty red bang out of an olive green eye and mouthed "fucking lame".
Another man (at least Indigo thought it was a man…. he was enclosed in a huge orange parka) smirked and whispered something into the ear of woman with wavy coal-black hair wearing something that looked like a rainbow on acid. She raised an eyebrow and grinned before whispering it to a soulful looking black man who chuckled and told it to the serious looking woman with long snow-colored hair who looked like she had just stepped out of a classy business meeting. She, in turn, rolled her eyes.
The crazy looking blonde male perched on the counter squawked out something about 'underpants gnomes' but was soothed by a girl with short brown/blonde hair, vibrant green eyes, and a sweet southern drawl. A plain-looking guy picked at a scab and a sleek brunette with striking golden eyes and clothes that looked like they had just jumped of the pages of Vogue absent mindedly fluffed Gregory's hair.
Indigo took a deep, deep breath, "What is Sweet n' Pure going to do with my information."
"Every person in this kitchen is a hired killer. We are planning the assassination of both Stan and Kyle."
You know that feeling you get when assassins surround you?
When it turns out fourteen strangers need your help murder two decent human beings and if you don't comply your family will be killed?
And suddenly you notice dried bloodstains on the wall and a foul stink wafting from the closet?
That realization that nothing is "okay'?
That you are supremely, superbly, totally screwed?
No?
Indigo was beginning to.