AN: The 8th is my birthday, so here is an early birthday gift from me to you all.
[h2]The Game of South Park: A Clash of Kings[/h2]
How did everything spiral into chaos so quickly? Now, here we are, sprinting away from the burning Hilton store, the inferno raging at our backs.
Between breaths that scorched my lungs, I could hear someone shouting about making schools free of devils and saluting to victory in german.
Whoever it was must be drunk- the fires must have awoken the homeless camping out here.
Wendy's voice cut through the din, half-laughing despite the madness. "The last time I heard this much German yelling was when Cartman thought he could bring back the Nazi Party!"
I didn't laugh. I was too busy wondering what was going through someone's head to restart that group of extremists. The thought of how Eric Cartman seemed like that kind of bigot made me think back—
I stumbled, lost in my thoughts, and the world tilted sideways. Pain exploded in my arm. The torn fabric of my mage robe revealed a gash where glass had stabbed into my skin, blood gushing out violently onto the ground.
"Oh my god!" Wendy's voice spiked with horror.
"Shit," I tried to hiss, but my throat seared with every word, punishing me for speaking at all.
"T-Tony are you ok?!" she screamed rushing over to my side.
We weren't alone. From around the corner, where there once might've been a queue for chalupas and gorditas, now stood an armored soldier, assault rifle at the ready, eyes wide.
"Hey, you two!" His voice boomed, authoritative and laced with palpable tension. "Don't move!"
The rifle's barrel pointed at us. Instinctively, my hands shot up in a plea for mercy. The crimson stream that shot out of my arm sprayed across the room, splattering against the soldier's face.
"What the shi—Ahh, gross!" he yelled, his voice pitching into hysteria. He raised his rifle into the air as he tried wiping the blood off his face. "Fucking disgusting, what if you got AIDS or something!"
Wendy grabbed my arm and pulled me closer as the German shouts of victory grew louder. Just as the soldier prepared to walk over to us, a shadow fell from the ceiling onto him. The soldier and shadow both tumbled behind Taco Bell's sci-fi table, out of sight. The army man screaming in horror.
His rifle discharged into the air with a series of deafening cracks, almost silencing his death cries. I flinched with each blast, but the noise, whatever was attacking him—it was our chance.
I yanked on Wendy's sleeve, her eyes wide with terror. We bolted for the exit, our footsteps lost beneath the soldier's death cries and the alarm that followed the gunshots.
"Keep pressure on it," Wendy blurted out between ragged breaths, her words tumbling over each other. "Elevate your arm—no wait, that's for swelling. Damn it, why can't I remember? My first aid badge is useless here!"
The irony wasn't lost on me; her frantic recitation of half-remembered tips was practically useless. Yet, her concern was touching. I pressed down harder on my wound, feeling my blood seeping out regardless. I could practically count the beats of my heart by the throbbing pain that accompanied each one.
Despite being far from the construction site at the mall, the adrenaline hadn't left Wendy, who continued rattling on with random first aid tips and telling me it was going to be alright. I listened with half an ear, not because her advice was of any use, but because her voice, strained and scared as it was, reminded me that we were still just two ten-year-old girls running for our lives.
Wasn't this town supposed to be a safe place?
First crazy trigger-happy drug dealers and mentally absent cops. Then Jesus Christ and the son of Satan. Now I had helped a little girl burn down a store owned by a Stupid Spoiled Whore to get her club to join a LARP game...
Why did I even do that?
I followed her through the labyrinthine alleyways, dodging past dumpsters and debris, my mind getting distracted by shadows as I felt myself getting lightheaded.
"Safe place," I whispered to myself, the words a mantra, and the pain of speaking keeping me awake. "Just need a safe place."
The sheer lunacy of the situation would hit me later—when I had time to settle and wasn't in the process of bleeding out.
"Almost there, we'll get to my mom's work and get you fixed up." Wendy panted ahead of me.
Our flight through the alleyways was a patchwork of shadows and gasps, each corner turned a desperate gamble. I could feel the slick warmth of my own life seeping away, the rhythm of my heart pounding in time with the pulsing wound. Wendy's voice had become background static, a persistent hum that I tuned out as we navigated the urban maze.
But fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor. From the darkness emerged figures as pale as death, eyes glowing red with an otherworldly hunger.
Vampire Kids, my mind supplied, complete with fake white fangs, their fake hisses slicing through the night like blades.
"Blood for the Dark Lord!" one screeched, lunging towards us with outstretched hands, mimicking claws.
Wendy grabbed my arm and pulled me back the way we came as they swarmed, apparently drawn to the crimson trail I left behind. My foggy mind reeled—were these delusional children or actual vampires? In the wake of the crazy week I've had so far here at South Park, I'm not sure anymore what is real or fake.
"Get away!" Wendy shouted.
We ran, but these kids, with their fangs and fervor, were relentless in their chase.
"Feast on her blood!" another shrieked, clawing at my arm.
"Go eat someone else's glitter!" Wendy yelled back.
Somehow, by some stroke of luck or perhaps sheer stubbornness, we broke free. We stumbled onwards, leaving behind the echoes of their threats. I scratched the crazy cannibal kids off my mental list of potential allies. Some recruits just weren't worth the trouble.
"There it is," Wendy gasped, guiding me now. "Let's get you inside."
The nondescript building on Main Street was open. Inside, the sterile smell of antiseptics filled my nose as Wendy patched me up. Bandages wrapped tight, her first aid badge coming in handy here.
"Thanks again," Wendy said, "for helping with the Hilton store."
"Anytime," I grunted, the pain in my arm overcoming the pain from speaking.
What great friends we have become, arsonists and survivors in one bizarre evening.
"The girls will agree to play with you, but watch out for Cartman," she warned, her eyes narrowing. "He's up to something, always is."
"Isn't he just acting as king?" I mused, my mind trailing off imagining the crown on my head.
"Maybe. But still," She turned towards the window. "It's late. We should hurry home and you need to come up with something for your cut. We don't want to get grounded or in trouble..."
I nodded to Wendy and watched as the girl left, my mind deciding to just walk home and climb up the side of the house. It's not like my parents would have noticed I left anyway.
Stepping out into the biting chill of the night, I let the clinic door close with a soft click behind me.
Taking a breath to steady myself I closed my eyes.
"Grounded!"
The shout shattered my reverie, and I spun, only to find myself facing twin pillars—Mom and Dad. Their faces, etched with concern and anger, were a stark contrast against the backdrop of night.
"Look at you!" Mom cried, her voice a mix of fear and fury as she reached for my bandaged arm. "Out after dark! Getting into fights! Wounded!"
"Grounded," Dad repeated, the single word a gavel slamming down. His eyes darted about, looking for something.
"Home. Now." Dad's command left no room for argument, the cold, unforgiving grip of his hand around my wrist only marginally less painful than the throbbing wound on my arm. We trudged through the darkened streets of South Park, my legs heavy with a mixture of exhaustion and defeat as we approached our home.
"Upstairs," Dad grunted, releasing me only when the door to my room clicked shut behind me. The lock turned with a soft click, sealing my fate. I slumped against the wood, exhausted, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders.
From the other side, their voices began to rise and fall in that familiar, discordant symphony of an argument. Mom's voice, shrill and edged with panic, pierced through the thin walls. "She's getting into fights, Chris! Did you see her arm! What if she had been seriously hurt?"
"Shh, keep your voice down," Dad hissed, his words laced with an urgency that always seemed to hover beneath the surface. "The more pressing concern is not about the fights, Kay. It's about being noticed. If someone sees..."
"Someone seeing?" Mom spat the word out like it was poison. "Our daughter is bleeding, and you're worried about 'someone' finding us? What about Tanya's well-being?"
I leaned closer to the wall, the cool plaster a stark contrast to the heat of my blood, still trickling slowly from the gauze. The mention of 'someone' never failed to send a shiver down my spine. I can't remember exactly who that person is, but the image of Being X always comes to mind.
"Her well-being is my priority," Dad said in a low growl, "but there are bigger things at stake here. You know what would happen if... they found out where we live."
"Damn it, Chris!" There was the sound of something—a dish, maybe—shattering against the floor. "Our daughter is not a pawn in some spy game! She's a little girl!"
"Enough!" Dad's voice cut through my reverie, sharp and commanding. "We'll discuss this in the morning. For now, our 'son' stays locked in."
"Chris, you can't just—"
"Kay, please." His tone softened, and for a moment, I could almost imagine the pleading look he must have given her. "We need to be cautious. For all of our sakes."
The house fell silent then. I slid down to the floor, knees drawn up to my chest, and closed my eyes.
This sucks.
I found my way to my bed, my side hurting, but exhaustion winning out in the end.
The dawn's light barely pricked through the curtains as I tried to ignore the throbbing in my muscles, the stiff ache of my bones. Last night I must have stayed awake too long, or maybe this bed just sucks. I contemplated just laying down and attempting to go to sleep longer, but the steady rise and fall of my parents' voices, forced my eyes to open.
Another morning argument, and this time it was about missing underwear of all things.
"Are you kidding me?" My mother's voice, shrill and disbelieving, cut through the air like a blade. "All our underwear? Gone?"
"Someone broke in last night!" My father replied, "It's happening again! I told you that-"
"Shh! Keep your voice down," my mom hissed, "What if Tanya hears?"
I pressed my face into the pillow, willing their conversation into white noise. The absurdity almost tickled a laugh out of me, but it got stuck somewhere between my throat and the grim reality that I had to get up.
Groaning in protest, I rolled onto my side and pushed myself up. My body responded with a symphony of complaints, each movement an encore of soreness. Shuffling to the closet, I braced for another mundane start to the day, only to find an empty drawer where my underwear should've been. A bizarre theft, leaving me stranded in a sea of denim and cotton.
"Just...Great," I muttered under my breath. No soft fabric, no comforting embrace of elastic—just cold, hard jeans against my skin. It felt like wearing armor without padding, readying for battle in the most awkward way possible.
The murmurs downstairs swelled into a full-blown debate as I descended step by step. Mom's voice reached a crescendo, "We have to do something! What if they come back for more than just... undergarments?"
"Fine!" Dad's retort was curt, a verbal slam of the door. "I'm going to the police. And I'm buying us all new underwear."
"Make sure they're cotton," Her voice of concern now threaded with practicality.
I lingered on the last step, unseen, as Chris rushed out of the door.
The clatter of dishes and scents of brewing coffee beckoned me toward the kitchen, my body protesting every movement.
"Morning," I muttered to Mom, seeing a freshly open bottle of wine.
"Ah, Tanya, you're up," Mom observed belatedly, only after she had taken a generous gulp of Merlot. "You can wait for your father here or go out. He shouldn't be long."
"Outside sounds good," I lied, not moving an inch.
She furrowed her brows, her gaze shifting to the bandage on my arm.
"Let me take a look at that," she said, setting the open bottle aside before motioning me over to her. I moved over and presented my arm to her at the unspoken command. She gently unwrapped the white cloth from around my injured limb. To our mutual surprise, the wound wasn't nearly as bad as it looked last night. A small sigh of relief escaped her lips as she examined the now mostly-healed cut. "You can't keep doing this, you know." she looked at me, "Getting into fights, worrying your father like this."
My nose curled a little at the smell of alcohol on her breath as she continued, "I know, I know. I was a girl your age. So listen up. If you're going outside and getting into fights with boys, you need to remember a few things. First, always stand your ground. Don't let anyone push you around. Second, be smart about it – use your words before your fists. And if it comes to it, aim for the balls– boys hate that. But seriously, try to avoid fights and talk things out. Violence isn't the answer. Now, go out there and be the fierce, smart girl I know you are. And if anyone messes with you, tell them they'll have to answer to your mom!"
Not really expecting her to just lift my grounding like that, so I just nodded at the advice.
She hummed in reply before realizing drinking a large bottle of open wine in front of her daughter was probably not a good look, and rushed to put the wine away.
I almost rolled my eyes and turned to the living room settling onto the couch.
My phone was soon in hand, the screen illuminating a storm of messages that scrolled quickly.
"ALL our panties are GONE!" the texts screamed in digital hysteria. Heidi Turner, quick to cast blame, pointed a virtual finger squarely at the boys. Accusations flew, talks of how perverted Kenny was, and suddenly, amidst the emoticons and exclamation marks, 'Tony' was labeled a 'two-bit thief' and far worse.
"Figures," I whispered, thumb hovering over the keyboard, poised to craft a defense but deciding against it.
Why waste words when they'd be lost in the cacophony of misplaced anger?
"Tony, you're such a sneaky jerk."
"Yeah, stealing our undies is low, even for you!"
"I always knew Tony was up to something shady."
"Seriously, who steals underwear? Get a life, Tony!"
"Guys I don't think Tony would do this..." Thanks Annie. At least you have my back.
"And hanging out with that perv Kenny? Gross."
"Kenny and Tony are probably in cahoots."
"Let's not forget Butters. That guy gives me the creeps."
"Tony, Kenny, and Butters are like a trio of weirdos."
I scrolled through the chat, muttering under my breath, "This is so not fair."
"Alright, Tony, time to own up! We know you've been swiping our undies!"
With each vile insult, I could feel a sting.
The barrage of digital venom continued to lash out from my phone's screen, a tempest of teenage fury over pilfered panties. And then, like the sudden calm at the eye of a storm, Wendy's words of reason pierced through the tirade. "Guys, stop! This is stupid. Tony was with me last night."
Midway through reading her message, a garish popup ad for cheesy poofs blazed across the chat, jarring me from the onslaught of accusations. I swiped it away with a flick of irritation, only to find that a girl named Leslie had joined Wendy's call for a ceasefire.
"Seriously," Leslie chimed in, "Tony's innocent. We had a meeting about all working on solving the Hilton debacle, remember?"
A collective pause seemed to hover in the virtual ether, as if the girls were collectively tilting their heads in remembrance. Heidi's subsequent apology came through with a shy face emoji that almost made me smirk. "Sorry, Tony. Guess we got carried away."
"Guess so," I muttered under my breath, feeling the slight unclenching of my jaw as one by one, apologies pinged in, their sincerity questionable but not worth the energy to doubt. I made sure to send a friend request to Leslie, it's nice to have a girl friend with common sense.
The chat shifted gears, the topic of our stolen intimates set aside as excitement bubbled over today's LARP plans. Bebe's handiwork on the costumes became the new focus of adoration, and I could visualize the intricate designs she must have concocted—armor stitched with fantasy and flair.
"Where are we meeting up?" someone asked eager for a day of escapism.
"I'll check with Cartman," I typed back, knowing full well the inevitable headache that would ensue from engaging with him.
"Be careful with that asshole," Wendy warned.
"Always am," I wanted to say, but I let the sentiment hang unspoken.
My fingers hovered over the screen, ready to send a message Cartman's way, when a notification slid into view—a friend request from a "Kyle" accompanied by a message.
It seemed that news in our microcosmic world traveled on the wings of sparrows— Or blue birds that Tweet.
"Stan says you've got the girls on board for today's LARP," Kyle had typed. "If you're rolling with the elves, meet us at the outpost by noon."
I exhaled, a silent laugh catching in my throat. The weight of decision pressed upon me—Cartman with his Grand Wizardly guises or Kyle, the High Jew Elf King, offering an alliance as fragile as morning dew.
I leaned back against the worn couch, considering the pixels that held such sway over the day's events. The thought of slipping into the mage's robe, of spells and incantations, beckoned like an old friend.
For a moment, I let myself imagine the outpost, swathed in the verdant embrace of make-believe forests, a place where reality loosened its grip and fantasy reigned supreme. A place where I, speechless though I might be, could weave magic and strategy with equal deftness.
The phone's screen dimmed, mirroring the clouds outside that veiled the sun in a gauzy shroud. Time ticked away in heartbeats and the soft thrum of blood in my veins. To choose Cartman's kingdom or Kyle's elven enclave was to tip the scales in a game where the Stick of Truth, that fabled branch of destiny, sat in the middle.
For in this choice lay the echoes of future victories and defeats, the laughter of comrades, and the bittersweet taste of pretend betrayals.
Finally deciding on a course of action, I sent the girls an address and time, before replying to Kyle's message.
"Meet you at the outpost," tapping out my allegiance on the glass that separated me from the world of elves and wizards. The message whisked away, dispatched to the digital ether, and I felt a curious lightness settle within me.
I sent a message to Cartman after, "The girls will meet us at the school."
And finally, I typed up a message to Princess Kenny, "Don't come to school today." I contemplated letting Butters know of the plan, the image of his friendly doe eyes looking at me making me question if this was the right move…
But no. He is the most devoted of the bunch to Cartman.
With the decision made and my plan in motion, I set the phone aside.
Let the games begin.
Leaving the house in short order I pulled on my tattered mage robe, its frayed edges brushing against my legs as I walked. It wasn't much, but it would have to do for now.
As I reached the meeting spot, I saw a familiar face waiting for me - Stan Marsh, the human traitor who had sided with the elves. He grinned when he caught sight of me, and I couldn't suppress a wince as he clapped me on the back.
"Good to see you, Tony! Glad you finally saw the light and joined us elves," Stan said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. I nodded in response, if only to not show some nervousness.
"Come on," Stan gestured towards the gathering crowd. "Kyle, our Drow Elf king, is about to give a speech."
We followed him through the throng of eager elves, their brightly-colored costumes standing out against the drab landscape of South Park. The atmosphere was electric, and I couldn't help but get caught up in their excitement.
"Listen up, everyone!" Kyle shouted, silencing the chatter around us. "With the alliance of the new kid with the girls-" he motioned towards me "- and the elves of Larnion, we will have enough strength to finally take down the humans of Kupa Keep!"
I nodded along with the speech, this was all part of my strategy, and by the end of the day, all the kids would have me as their leader. I just needed to stick to my plan, no matter what.
"Let's do this!" Kyle roared, and the crowd erupted into cheers. As I stood among these new allies, I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. They trusted me, and yet, I had my own intentions in mind. But it was necessary – for survival, for adaptation, and ultimately, for a place where I could truly belong.
With a deep breath, I steeled myself for the battle ahead. I had come this far, and there was no turning back now.
My fingers hovered over the screen of my phone, poised to type out the information Kyle needed. He looked at me expectantly, his green hat adorned with a yellow star sitting slightly askew atop his curly red hair. "So, where are the humans hiding?" he asked impatiently.
"Ye-yeah," one of the elves sneered, clearly unimpressed by my silence. "Why don't you tell us, hotshot? Think you're too good to talk to us or something?"
Ignoring the taunt, I began typing out my response, 'The humans are at the school,' I wrote. 'The girls will meet with them and attack from the back.' As I showed the message to Kyle, I couldn't help but feel a sense of morbid satisfaction at the thought of pitting these kids against each other. They both seemed like assholes.
"Perfect," Kyle nodded, seeming satisfied with my answer. "We'll attack from the front. That fat bastard Cartman won't stand a chance!" Cheers erupted around us, filling the makeshift Elven Kingdom - really just Kyle's backyard - with an electric energy.
With my part here done, I slipped away from the clamoring horde of elves, making my way towards the agreed-upon meeting place with the girls. As I left the kingdom behind me, I couldn't help but wonder if this was truly the right path to take. But it was too late for second thoughts now.
I pulled out my phone, replying to a message from Cartman demanding to know our whereabouts. 'The girls will be there shortly,' I typed, 'Just making sure they're ready.'
"Ugh, hurry it up already!" came his impatient reply. "We need to get the Stick of Truth back ASAP!"
I sighed, my fingers tapping nervously against my phone. As I walked towards the meeting point, I knew I had set a potentially disastrous plan in motion. But survival and adaptation were key, and if this was what it took to secure my place among them, then so be it.
"Let's do this," I whispered to myself, steeling my nerves for whatever chaos would ensue.
The sunlight streamed through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the grassy field as I approached the girls. My heart raced in anticipation, previous nervousness now replaced with determination. Wendy, clad in a shining pink paladin costume, smiled warmly and greeted me with a firm handshake.
"Welcome to our ranks, Tony," she said, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Thanks," I replied, my voice barely a whisper.
Bebe, dressed as a striking valkyrie, looked me up and down before scoffing at my tattered mage robes. "Oh no. You are NOT going to LARP with us in that. Makeover time!" She snapped her fingers, and seemingly out of nowhere, several different mage robes appeared, each more stylish than the last.
"Choose one," Bebe commanded, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently.
I hesitated for a moment before selecting a blood-red robe that seemed fitting for my new role. As I changed into it, I couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence. The robe was not only stylish, but it also felt like a symbol of my commitment to this twisted plan.
Wendy asked, "So what's the plan, Tony?"
I pulled out my phone and typed out the details, my fingers moving swiftly across the screen. 'Force both elves and humans to peace by making them fight each other, capturing the leaders, and taking control of the Stick of Truth. We will rule the town as one kingdom.'
"Interesting plan," Wendy mused, her brow furrowing. "But will they really go along with it?"
"Trust me," I replied softly, "They'll have no choice."
The blood-red robe draped around my shoulders seemed to seep into my very being. I could see the doubt in Wendy's eyes as she studied my face, her own pink paladin armor a stark contrast to the darkness that now surrounded me.
"Are you sure they'll agree to a loss?" she asked, her voice hesitant. "The boys can be pretty... stubborn."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead opting for a dismissive shrug. "By the rules of the game, they have to listen to me," I said, "Besides, Princess Kenny is on our side."
Wendy chewed her lip, still not entirely convinced. But there was no time for further debate; the wheels were already in motion, and every moment we delayed only increased the odds of our plan falling apart.
"Psst, Tony!"
I glanced to my side as a voice cut through my thoughts. Standing before me was Leslie, With only a wooden sword in hand, and wearing a yellow shirt adorned with a robot head and green pants – She didn't look like she was really into the whole dress up LARP thing.
"Hey... um, Tony, right?" Leslie asked, "I'm Leslie. I just wanted to say that I can't wait to be friends."
I hesitated for a moment, weighing my options. Even if her intentions weren't entirely clear, befriending her could prove useful. So I just nodded in agreement.
"Great!" Leslie grinned, "Now, let's go kick some boy butt, shall we?"
"So, when's the attack supposed to start?" Wendy asked, interrupting further conversation, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Leslie seemed to lose all emotions on her face and just stared at Wendy for a moment before walking off.
As if on cue, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out to find a message from Cartman, his words laced with impatience and frustration: 'Where the fuck are you and the girls? The elves are attacking the skewl!' I couldn't help but smile at the chaos unfolding, feeling a surge of dark satisfaction at the thought of our enemies pitted against each other.
"Perfect timing," I murmured, quickly typing out a response in the girls' chatroom. 'Attack the boys (minus Kenny and Me).'
Wendy glanced at my screen, her eyes widening as she took in the message.
"Alright," she said hesitantly, gripping her pink sword tightly. "Let's do this."
I watched as Wendy took a deep breath, steeling herself for the upcoming battle. Her eyes blazed with determination as she turned around to look at our army.
"Listen up, girls," she began, her voice steady and commanding as she addressed the eager crowd before us. "Today, we have a chance to make history. For too long, we've been pushed aside, ignored, and underestimated by the boys in this town. But now, we have an opportunity to show them what we're capable of – to finally be taken seriously!"
Her words were met with enthusiastic cheers, the girls' faces lighting up with excitement at the prospect of turning the tables on their male counterparts.
"Remember," Wendy continued, her gaze sweeping across our little makeshift army, "this isn't about revenge or petty grudges. This is about proving ourselves as equals, about earning respect, not through force but through strategy and cunning."
I bit my lip, feeling the weight of her words bearing down on me like a heavy burden. Was I really doing the right thing? Or was I just setting us all up for disaster?
"Are you with me?" Wendy asked, her voice ringing out through the crisp autumn air.
"YES!" came the resounding reply, the girls' voices blending together in a chorus of solidarity. I forced a smile onto my face, swallowing down my hesitation and joining in the clamor.
"Good." Wendy nodded, satisfaction etched across her features as she turned to face the school. "Now, let's show those boys what we're made of! CHARGE!"
And so, with hearts pounding and spirits soaring, we charged forward into the school yard.
AN2: This whole story is pretty much a joke, but I am having too much fun writing it.
Have a meme.
If you spot any errors let me know so I can fix them.