I'm not sick but I'm not well

It took him another few moments to catch his breath, his cheeks and nose flushed red with the effort of half-running and the frigid night air. Then, he he looked over at Kenny’s backpack and realized how small it looked. He didn’t think too much of it because Kenny was poor and therefore probably didn’t have that much worth packing in the first place. If push came to shove, he could borrow some of Butters’ clothes, which would fit close enough.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said and unconsciously mirrored the swinging motion of Kenny’s legs as best he could with his pack in his lap. “It just feels like any time I try to do anything, I get caught out for it.” In rare circumstances, he didn’t, but that was almost worse, like when he successfully faked his death and his parents chained him in the basement for days before he was able to convince them that he was not a demon parading around in their dead son’s skin.

“It’s too bad I couldn’t bring my minions with me.” He looked down at his backpack as if there was something deeply fascinating and sad about the way the rubber handle on top reflected the few flickering street lights. “I hope my parents remember to feed them, at least.” He had spent so much time in his room with them and their food that he had never had to worry about the hamsters going hungry before.

When the bus pulls up, Kenny stands first before turning and taking Butters' hand. Once they get on this bus, everything should be smooooth sailing. The bus driver looks at them with a quirk of her eyebrow, eyes darting around to find the parents that these kids belong to. But if she actually cared otherwise, she didn't say anything. The good thing about this time of night is that the driver is probably too tired and done for the night to give them trouble.

"Dude, Shut up."

He gently pushed Kenny's arm in rebuttal. Not out of any annoyance, but lighthearted and almost playful.

          “You’re a fucking freak, dude,” he said, a slightly higher inflection on ‘fucking freak’ than he would have used if it had been a legitimate insult.

“Sure,” he deadpanned.

“Shit!” Craig cursed, face contorting before checking for himself if the claim was true.

“Impartial… right…” he says, narrowing his eyes suspciously.  Ironically if Kenny had shown up a couple months earlier, Craig might have been more willing to talk.  At the very least, he knows he would have been able to shove Tweek at him for a while to have the day to himself.  Those two always seemed to share some weird bond or secret between them, but he never bothered asking what it was.  Now he can guess, but it’s a little late.

Anyway, he now hesitates to tell Kenny shit because of that bond, because it will either hold and make Kenny think badly of Craig, or it will shatter and make Kenny hate Tweek.  And God knows that Tweek need as many people who can tolerate him has possible.  Craig is doing… well enough on his own.

“Nobody’s really impartial about anything.  This town’s too fucking boring to not get invested in manufactured drama.”  Or real drama, in this case, he supposes, but the point stands either way.  Of course, he doesn’t really believe that Kenny is like the other vultures in South Park.  He’s just on the defensive.

He glances down at the cigs but shakes his head.  He has tried to be careful about substances ever since seeing what they did to Tweek.  Cigarettes may not make him go insane, but it’s better safe than sorry.  “Shit’s bad for you, dude,” he mutters, but it doesn’t really matter to him whether Kenny quites or not.  He doesn’t care to fight that losing battle at the moment.

▸   @parkacored   ⟶   ❛  "You have forced me to do something i really don't want to do." (from the shrek prompts for whichever boy you are feeling tonight)  ❜   ╱   (  shrek 2 , accepting .  )

“What!  What!” Tweek exclaims, whirling around frantically to face Kenny.  “I’m—ngh—not m-making you do fucking anything.”  Maybe he is, though, as he has heard that a lot in his life: I wouldn’t X if you hadn’t Y’d.  There is a lot in this world that is Tweek’s fault, and some of it he is self-aware about, and others, he has no idea.

This is one of those latter times.

          Butters had shoved a few changes of clothes into his backpack, as well as the meager allowance he had saved up and a couple of snacks out of the pantry.  He was still scared that his parents would find out that he stole from them and ground him, and he was ever unsure of this idea, but he had promised Kenny that the two of them would meet up and get on a bus out of here.  He doesn’t know where exactly they’re going or what they plan to do once they get there, but he trusts that Kenny has thought about those details already.

          He walks quickly down the street with his head down, a death grip on the straps of his backpack, waiting to hear his dad’s voice splitting the night air to demand that he gets back up to his room.  He only looks up when he knows he is closer to the bus stop and sighs with relief when he sees Kenny sitting there.  He has made it with no issues, and that’s all he supposes he can ask for at present.

“Good,” he says.  He only has one earbud in when he hits play on The Slim Shady LP, so he hasn’t closed himself off to the conversation entirely—lucky Kenny.  “’Cause there’s nothing to talk about.”  There verifiably is because Tweek dropped out of school, and when Craig came back, he had the left side of his face covered in stitches, which have since healed into gnarly fresh scars, but he doesn’t want to give any asshole the satisfaction of hearing him complain.  The town’s gossip cycle will keep spinning, whether or not he takes the time to feed into it, but he likes being able to say he had no part, especially where Tweek is concerned.

If there’s anyone who has been through e-fucking-nough, it’s that guy.

Eyes narrowed back in response, doubtful what should be said or done about something so vague. Still, it only took a second for patience to wear thin before retorting.

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ — Bebe huffs— in a way that absolutely doubles as a laugh. She lifts a hand to cover her mouth, though, as a smile finds it’s way to her lips. Plausible deniability.

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ — ❝ Oh my God . ❞ She lifts one of her legs, and pushes outwards with it, to shove Kenny away. So dumb.

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ — ❝ I’m sure your ability to balance is incredible , Ken . You should totally show me some time . So long as you’re prepared for me to fall head over heels for you over it . ❞

She pulls her hand from covering her mouth to rest it against her forehead with a dramatic flare, her other hand resting over her chest a la be still my beating heart. She’s fake swooning right now.

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ — ❝ You are not on Christian Mingle . ❞ Bebe shoots him a side eye at first, a seemingly judgemental little look that only lasts a brief moment before she’s unable to hold it, cracking a smile and rolling her eyes.

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ — ❝ You’re so dumb . Do you even skate ? ❞ The insult carries a mildly endeared tone— she may call him dumb, but that’s not ‘annoying’ or ‘two-faced’ or ‘a raging cunt  who literally doesn’t even know when to shut up like oh my god she just kept digging herself a hole it was sooo embarrassing and also pissed me off, like, so bad, kenny,’ (That one was the rant he’d been subject to last weekend, poor soul.)

Clyde lightly jolted at the sudden voice that managed to sneak up behind him, smacking his head on the top of the refrigerator as he turned to face none other than Kenny McCormick. He frowned.

"Is this really all that's here? Miller Extra Light and Budweiser 55?" He whined, then added to himself: At least have the audacity to buy something good if you wanna throw a party.

Clyde sighed and closed the fridge. There was no way in hell he was drinking any of that. He was a man of the highest caliber, meaning he only drank the highest quality of beer: Blue Moon.

▸   @parkacored   ⟶   ❛  What happened was horrible, and cruel, and unfair. You’re allowed to be angry.  ❜   ╱   (  sad , accepting .  )

Craig pauses in scrolling through his spotify to level one of his well-known coldly impassive stares at Kenny.  Not much has changed about it between then and now, except that the eyes are a bit more sunken, which he thinks is only noticeable if you’re looking for it.

“Sure, whatever,” he says, shrugging and looking down again.  “I am pissed off about a lotta things, I guess.  I’m just not rioting in the streets about it.”  Being with Tweek for so long had taught him that somebody always has it worse, and he doesn’t have room to complain without making an ass of himself.