Kay…this chapter isn't so OC abundant as I planned. But I did introduce Reggie =D Yay for Miick!! Next chapter is gonna be the bus so the wonderful OC's will be featured more than. And yeah, I've written so much for this only being Jude's second day of school. But fear not cos I'm not gonna be AS detailed (still detailed but just not spending one chapter on like every class she has) after her first week at SP High! So, R&R please, I've been getting like less reviews for this lately (not pointing fingers buut) The more you review the more I'll feature your OC because reviewing shows that you actually have interest in this story so. Yeah. Hahaha ENJOY 8D
PS: Yesterday, April 8th was the sixteenth anniversary of Kurt Cobain's death, so everyone listen to Come As You Are by Nirvana as a tribute even if it's a day late!
--FLOWER POWER--
~~Mick~~!
Disclaimer: South Park, OC's & We Got The Beat by The Go Go's aint mine.
Hangout And Be Cool
See the people walking down the street
Fall in line just watching all their feet
They don't know where they wanna go
But they're walking in time
They got the beat
They got the beat
Yeah
They got the beat
See the kids just getting out of school
They can't wait to hang out and be cool
Hang around 'til quarter after twelve
That's when they fall in line
Kids got the beat
They got the beat
They got the beat
Yeah
Kids got the beat
When I wake again its 8:00 o'clock. I wonder if Kevin's still in my living room. Anyways last weekend I had a shitload of time to decorate my whole fucking bedroom. And seen as I'm absolutely ADD I'll tell you about how bodacious it is. So the floor is covered in this rad purple shag carpet and I painted the walls bright red—Lacy wanted them pink but screw her. There's my crappy ass bed with my weed under the mattress and my bong in it somewhere or other, and there's a dresser with a mirror that I wrote all over with red lipstick. The baby blue paint on my dresser is chipping off giving it a hundred year old appearance. The shag carpet is barely visible under the tons of clothes and old toys and makeup and even maybe some books covering it. And the scarlet walls are plastered with posters; Nirvana, The Sex Pistols, Janis Joplin, The Doors, The Beatles, Kurt Cobain, Deep Purple, Jim Morrison and of course my idol; Jimi Hendrix right above my bed. And then there's the pretty lava lamp on the floor and my stupid bedside lamp which is propped up on a box of records. That's my room. It's sorta cool actually. And then it occurs to me that although I brought clothes with me when I showered—I never got dressed; I'm still wrapped up in a towel and my hair is kinda damp and it's all knotted. So I leap into a pile of probably-dirty clothes on the floor and begin throwing them around. Aha there's something clean; it's a so-old-that-it's-see-thru lavender tank top with beads hanging down from the straps and from the bottom, so after finding an atrociously kiddie polka-dot bra I pull it on. And now for pants…hmm not much selection; either my ripped blue jeans—the only jeans that I own—or an assortment of not-so-excellent skirts Belladonna gave me. Eww. Wait…wait, OH HELL YES. Shorts, I do happen to own one pair of frayed denim short shorts. On go my very girlish checkered underwear—shut up I don't like matching bras and underwear—and then the shorts. Hmm this outfits a little boring. Accessories, that's what I need. My peace sign necklace of course…and then like ten hemp necklaces that I made along with some hemp bracelets and anklets annnd, what else …hmm…AHA! My hoop belt. There. Wonderful. I kick on my Converse—ouu they've gained a hole in the heel, heinous and now it's time to take a few hits from the bong.
As I take some hits from my most excellent reddish-orangeish-yellowish bong I walk about the house. Suddenly a hand pries away my bong. "Huh…whaaa?" Is my intelligent reply.
It's Kevin—he never left? I'm honestly surprised dad let him stay. "Mornin to you too" He murmurs, wrapping his lips around MY bong, goddamn him. Ahh well sharing is cool. After he's finished he arches his back and smiles lightly "Wanna drive to the bus stop?"
"Uhh" I scratch my head "Sure" I continue to scratch at my head and then—"HOLY SHIT, is my hair blue??!"
Kevin snorts, he pulls at the hem of his white tee and nods slowly "Yup" A look of complete horror crosses my face and I bolt to the bathroom. Oh my god. I take a double-take and then begin to run a brush through my mane. Maybe it won't be so blue when it's brushed. Yeah. Right. My hair—straight, thick and chest length with straight-across-the-forehead bangs that are just a little too long—isn't brown anymore…it's fucking blue. I can't believe I forgot about that rather bogus incident. "Oh bogus" I groan cos against my darkly tanned complexion the midnight blue is so awkward. Sure this color might look fine—if I were like ten shades paler and had blue or green eyes. "Major bogus" I smack my head against the wall repeatedly until Kevin pulls me away from the mirror.
"It doesn't look" He smirks cockily "That bad" But even high I can hear the sarcasm from a mile away.
"Ughh" I whimper pathetically "Fuck my life" And as if thing's could get any worse, Lacy decides to walk in.
Her drawn on eyebrows lift as high as they can go "Judith!" She scoffs "Was this boy here all night…and what in God's name did you do to your fucking hair?"
I scowl at her "None of your business, and my hair? That's kinda your fault, YOU LEFT YOUR FUCKING HAIR DYE WITH THE SHAMPOO!"
Lacy has her hair up in curlers; her face is already painted on. "You're becoming a real handful Judith and--" Her eyes trail down to the bong I'm holding "IS THAT A BONG??!"
I roll my eyes "No shit Sherlock"
"That's it!" She snaps, throwing her hands skywards "I'm having a talk with Saul tonight, I want you OUT of this house you little delinquent!"
"Oh fuck off Lacy" I flip the bitch off "Come on Kev" I whip my army bag over my shoulder, toss my bong into my backpack, throw on a fringed buckskin vest and then walk out the door. Lacy can kiss my ass.
Kevin's vehicle is about…the most hick it can get; an old red pickup truck with rusting, chipping paint and a retro flair, definitely from the 50's. 50's cars have always been my favourite. They're rather gorgeous. "Nice ride" I muse, tossing back my hair—my bloody blue hair—and hopping into the passengers seat of the ancient Ford.
Kev nods and turns the key, the truck roars to life. Damn, this is a fiiine machine, even if it is kinda trashy. "Dad gave 'er to me when I turned eighteen" He smiles wistfully and runs his hand over the steering wheel. "a 59' Ford" He grins wolfishly and pulls out of the laneway of the McCormick's shack/house.
"Thanks for the ride dude!" I wave Kevin off and stride towards the bus stop. Sure enough there's Craig standing with three other guys and holy shit…there's Kenny, sitting on the bench right as rain. "You're alive!" I exclaim, running over to him and laughing. "I actually freaked for awhile there"
Kenny smirks "Geez I was dead for one night and you hook up with my brother? Nice Jude-Bug" Guess that's my nickname now? "Niiice" But with that nonchalant look painted on his face he genuinely doesn't seem to care.
I roll my eyes playfully and then run over to Craig "Hey Craiggers"
He cocks an eyebrow and breaths out a line of cigarette smoke. "Hey Jude" He says slowly, taking another deep drag off his smoke and exhaling. Even in the daylight his eyes are fucking electric. And then I notice who's accompanying him and I can feel a blush rise up to my hallow cheeks. Standing next to one another I realize that Craig and Stan could pass for twins. They're both tall and skinny with black hair and blue eyes. The only differences are—well Stan's skin isn't quite so tanned as Craig's and their eyes are the most opposite colors of blue; Craig's are pale and crystalline…like the sky and Stan's are dark and sparkling and…lustrous. They both have black hair but Stan's is stick straight and has undertones of blue while Craig's hair is curly and has undertones of reddish brown. Dude…they could still be brothers.
"Hey Stannie boy" I catcall, I'm still flushed but it probably looks like it's just from being out in the cold—I hope.
"Hey Judey" Stan grins, showing off that adorable set of braces. Suddenly his eyes widen "Dude…what happened to your hair??!"
I cringe and bite down on my lip "My step mum" I can feel my body twitch "left her hair dye where my shampoo normally is and…" I can feel the usual happiness on my face drain out quickly. There's only one thing I hate in the entire world…and her name is Lacy Stapes.
"That blows" says another boy. He's---big to say the least, not fat just built like a football player and has windswept heather brown hair and chocolaty eyes to match. He's wearing blue jeans, Adidas high tops and a red jacket. Who the hell is he? "I'm Clyde Donavan by the way, I dunno if we met…"
"I don't think we did" Despite how pissed off/depressed I am right now I can't help but give the cute brunette a peevish grin "I'm Jude Monroe" Clyde Donavan…that's the dude Lucky used to date I think…the one who's with some Belle SnowRaven chick now. I don't fucking know. "And having blue hair is not supreme at all"
"It doesn't look that bad" Stan chirps
"Yeah Kev said that too…I could tell he was being sarcastic, and you" I jam a finger into his chest—he's wearing a t-shirt sporting the face of Kurt Cobain, excellent—and look up at him. "Are lying"
Stan raises his brows "I'm not lying!" He places a hand on each of my shoulders to emphasize his point. "I swear Jude!"
"Sick hair!" The fourth boy of the group whooshes past me. Whaaa--? Oh, he's on a skateboard, which would explain the insane speed he's moving at. At first I can't really tell what the hell he looks like, just that he's tall, pale and thin (that seems to be a trend with these South Park boys) and sports a mop of black hair. He's in a grey beanie, white sweats and a grey long-sleeved-shirt thing…a nice change from the skinny jeans every guy here is usually caught wearing.
"Who's that?" I mutter, I need a few more hits, so I take my bong and lighter out and sigh. Mmm pot in the morning is so bodacious.
"That's Reggie" Clyde pipes up, his face is chubby cheeked—don't get me wrong, he's not fat. He just has that unbelievably cute and childish quality to him, kinda like Alice does.
"Hey Rox, get your ass over here!" Craig yells, taking out another cigarette and lighting up. He's as much of a chain smoker as the freaking Goths. Not like I can talk. I went like ten minutes without mari-jane and I was complaining. Craig and the Goths with cigarettes, Vean with alcohol, Tweek with coffee and me with weed. Pretty sad when ya think about it. We're a bunch of teenage addicts.
The ravenette wheels his rather fine board over to us and halts. A half-smirk turns up his pink lips. He has green eyes, kinda like Kyle's only lighter. "You're new" He nods, it's not really a question either…more of a laid-back observation. "I'm Reggie Rox"
"Jude Monroe dude" I'm about to shake his hand but then I realize that I'm holding my bong. With both hands. Huh. And I'm waaaaay too baked to let go of my pot-smoking-device with one hand and risk dropping this baby. "Sweet board"
"I know right!" Reggie grins wildly, throwing back his ebony locks. "Your hair is pretty kickass"
I shrug and roll my eyes and then suddenly impulse overtakes me and I tear the cig from Craig's hand and take a few puffs. "What the fuck Jude" Craig growls, he takes his smoke back and flips me off. I just give him a winning, doggish smile and he can't help but crack a laugh at my probably ridiculously stoned expression.
I just realized that Stan's still gripping my right—or is that my left—shoulder. I face him, blushing again and he's smiling, and as cheesy—as totally cheesy as it sounds—that smile is sweeter than all the candy and marijuana in the universe. "I told you your hair doesn't look bad"
I lean forward, so I'm right in his face, probably totally invading his personal space. But he's not complaining. "Prove it!" My breath smells like a mixture of weed and mint gum…I wonder what he thinks of it.
"How?" Stan says with a chuckle. "How can I prove that you don't look bad?" Before I can think of a response I'm distracted. Because there's a scene folding out on the bench behind us that's too delicious to miss. Kyle Broflovski is sitting on Kenny's lap. His pretty head of red ringlets is damp with snow and he has his pale arms wrapped about the blonde's neck. Kenny's cheeks are blush pink and his silvery blue eyes are shiny, a few strands of his straight wheat gold hair fly back in a gust of wind, his fingers are dug into the back of Kyle's orange coat. Are they not telling us something? Cos that looks pretty fucking homo to me.
Go-Go music really makes us dance
Do the Pony puts us in a trance
Do the Watusi just give us a chance?
That's when we fall in line
We got the beat
We got the beat
We got the beat
Yeah
We got the beat
Everybody get on your feet
We know you can dance to the beat
Jumpin' - get down
Round and round and round
The Excellent OC's:
Reggie Rox
Alice Lufkin
Vean Redding
Lucky-Lynn Day
Lucy Montgomery
Vivi Sykes
Miki Kotobuki
Chelsea Richey
Lilith Anderson
Christy Morejon
Belle SnowRaven
Luke Sakrato
Rhiannon Edwards
Constance Valentine
Lynda Rivera
Bain Cynis
Ivy Valmont
Angie Roy
Amber Lark
Sophia Cartman
Freddy Marshall
Alexis Aragon
Oh and The Cheesy Poofs now has a bassist: Lynda Rivera! Yaaaay! R&R my loverrrrs