Chapter Text
squeak! squeak!
The morning light filtered in through the sheer, blue curtains of the bedroom. Stripe rummaged around in his little pen, grasping onto the caramel wire to stare across the room and alert his owner of the sun.
squeak!!
“Urrrgh…” Craig groaned, grabbing the covers to his left and doing a full turn around in his bed, facing the wall. He brought the cover over his head, shutting his eyes tight and willing darkness to come back to him.
Underneath the blankets, it was quiet, until a faint cling echoed throughout the room. He waited with baited breath until he felt the tiniest tug on the covers, and then the feeling of a guinea pig climbing on top of his head.
He sighed, biting back a smile as he slowly drug off the blanket, allowing Stripe to transition safely off the fabric and onto Craigs forehead.
Stripe purred, dragging his little paws harmlessly across the skin and laying down.
“Stripe, you’re the only thing worth waking up for.” Craig kept his eyes half closed as he talked, because if he didn’t then he would get just an eye-full of blue fur.
squeak.
“You’re right. If I don’t get up soon Kyle’ll have my head.”
squeak squeak.
“Well yeah, but he doesn’t have balls. So it has to be Kyle.”
squeak.
Craig hummed in agreement, picking up Stripe and placing him on the mattress as he got out of bed himself. He lugged himself the whole 12 feet to his dresser, reaching inside and pulling out a fresh outfit; the one he wore everyday. He slipped on his top, a stark mapel-y color with long, dripping sleeves that faded into purple, and dark blue jeans. He wasn’t exactly a fan of the bright colors, but at least it wasn’t something like what Tolkien wore– some sort of fancy purple princes’ top and a long cape– so he never complained too much.
He tugged his hat on, the one thing about his outfit he actually chose himself. It granted him a sense of security, and also gave him a vibe that said “don’t talk to me”, which he liked. Red said it looked stupid but who gives a fuck what Red thinks??
He purposefully strode past the mirror, picking up his bookbag on the ground and a binder of papers he hasn’t looked through a single time since it’s been given to him.
“Don’t poop on my bed. Ok?” Craig said, looking pointedly at Stripe as he opened the door.
Stripe simply stared back, turning around a couple of times and settling into the cushion, nudging the green part of his head into the fabric.
Craig took that as agreement, exiting through his bedroom door and into the long hall of the Councils chambers.
The tall, stained sugar windows spanned across the entirety of the hall, basking Craig in the colors of candy and warmth as the sunlight fractled through.
The hall was empty, as the rest of the council had probably already woken up an hour beforehand. There was only the sound of Craigs shoes clacking against the pink tile to keep him company as he traversed the castle.
Occasionally, a maid or servant would pass him by, holding a plate or basket of laundry.
The servants usually kept their gazes low around someone of Craigs status; but they didn’t with him. Craig found the utilization of servants for simple things like getting a glass of water or needing to find someone utterly useless and, even by his definitions, lazy. He didn’t need to be babied. So when it was offered he always declined.
The servants must have gotten the wrong idea, though, thinking that he was just being polite or kind, because they always gave him warm smiles and short, curt conversation when they saw him. Craig didn’t like this but all of those interactions usually ended as soon as they began, so he never got the chance to try and get them to stop.
Eventually, he ended up at two, large white doors with the label “Syrup Council” above them. Slowly, (not out of respect, just because he was tired) he opened the leftmost door, slipping inside.
“HAHAHA! NO WAY, SERIOUSLY?!” Raspberry Syrup Red leaned over the table to laugh right in the face of Strawberry Syrup Kyle, who sat straight in his chair, arms crossed.
“It’s not that embarrassing! You’ve never acted stupid in front of someone you liked, before?” Kyles face was red, but it was clear he tried to keep some form of composure. He usually did, at the beginning of meetings.
And then lost it at the end.
“Not as stupid as you!!” Red rocked back in her chair, slapping Chocolate Syrup Tolkien in the back as she did so. Tolkien gave no more than a soft smile.
As Red reached the absolute tipping point of the chair she made eyecontact with Craig, who was approaching his own seat, to Kyles left.
“DUDE! Dude, guess what happened to Kyle yesterday.”
“Can we not talk about this anymore?” Kyle grumbled, trying to wipe the grimace from his face.
“So he was talking to Stan, right? Right, okay. So they’re talking, and Stan makes a really stupid joke. Like, a bad one, but Kyle wants to seem cool so he laughs, ok? He- ha- he laughs and then- haha- okay wait rewind. So that morning he had cereal for breakfast. So, okay, back to the present, ahaha, he FAKE LAUGHS so HARD that MILK COMES OUT OF HIS N-” suddenly, Kyle materalized behind Red, shooting forward to wrap his arms around the lower half of her face and stop her story. She flailed around in her chair, trying to pry the arms off all while releasing muffled laughter and protest.
Craig watched with an expression one could only describe as “maybe amused” as Kyle #1, still next to him, huffed and leaned back and Kyle #2 fought desperately to shut Red up.
“Alright everybody!” Maple Syrup Scott stood at the head of the long table, slamming his binder into the wood. The chaos ceased, albeit slowly, as attention directed towards him.
“Our meeting here was called upon today by… Kyle.”
The entire table collectively groaned, Red slamming her head into the table dramatically. Kyle #2, from behind her, stepped back.
“Let me guess,” Tolkien started. “Cartman?”
“YES!” Kyle replied, shooting up in his seat. He opened his binder, which Craig noticed was color coded, by the way, perfectly flipping to the right page.
“He’s a serious threat to our castle system– to the kingdom!! Im– seriously confused why I’m the only one who cares!!”
“It’s not like he’s destroying our way of life or anything. Everything he’s messed up we’ve fixed,” Red commented.
“We shouldn’t have to fix anything IN THE FIRST PLACE! He shouldn’t have any power– AT ALL! Yet here we are, always FIXING HIS SHIT!”
“Kyle,” Scott began, a warning look on his face, “we can’t just–”
“LISTEN! He comes in here, deciding which of our decisions fucking– passes or not–”
“--Those still all need to be approved by the Queen,” Scott interrupted,
“Right, but he has so much fucking INFLUENCE on her! We’ll pitch something completely reasonable, and then Cartman will just fucking– he’ll-! Say something and suddenly only HIS opinion matters! IM SO FUCKING TIRED–”
“Kyle! Calm down.” Tolkien interjected. Craig noticed the very slight twitch of his finger as he said so. Suddenly, Kyle let out a breath, and he sat down, the red leaving his cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Kyle said. “It’s just– you have to understand.”
“We know you guys have some sort of. History,” Red said, mimicking Kyles calmer energy, “But at the end of the day everythings fine. He’s just an asshole that inconveniences us sometimes. We’ll survive.”
Kyle let out a breath through his nose. His eyebrow twitched, like he wanted to argue back but couldn’t find the words.
“I know. Sorry I brought it up.”
“We know it’s a concern of yours, and it’s okay to bring it to our attention. Any thoughts, Craig?” Scott turned his head to Craig, hands clasped in his lap.
Craigs head rested on the table. He turned to Scott.
“I think we’ve had this exact conversation, every day, for the past 2 years.”
Kyle pushed away from the table.
“God, you’re such a dick! I bet you wouldn’t care if we went to war, you’d still act like it was an inconvenience to you!”
Craig turned to Kyle. “It would be an inconvenience to me.”
The red came right back to Kyles cheeks. Tolkien sighed.
“One day, I’m going to be fucking right, okay, Craig? One day, Cartman is gonna blow up the castle, or turn on all of us, or kill someone, or kidnap us all, and YOU’RE going to be left wishing you took me a bit more seriously.”
“I take everything seriously. You’re just irrational.”
“GOD!” Kyle yelled, standing up and slamming his chair back into the table. He promptly gathered his binder and bag, turning and walking away and out the door. Despite being furious, he still looked professional as he did so. Kyle #2, who also looked pissed, followed after, and the door slammed behind them both.
“...I wish you’d act a bit nicer to him,” Tolkien said, disappointment washing over his features.
Craig sat up. “I wish he’d learn to take criticism like an adult. Are we done here, or is there something actually important to discuss?”
“...” Scott sighed, his shoulders dropping. “No. Not right now. In the afternoon.”
“Cool,” Craig replied. With his things in tow, he also left the table, pushing his chair in much more calmly and exiting the Council Room.
Unlike Kyle, Craig despised his place on the Council. Kyle saw it as some important, high up and esteemed favor to society. Something that had to be done, and he was the right person for the job.
They did important things, when their meetings were actually scheduled– but every other time they crashed and burned– exhibit a. Craig wouldn’t call that a “favor to society”.
Craig was only there because he had to be. Life would be alot easier if he wasn’t a syrup at all.
He stopped by his room to drop off his stuff and feed Stripe, who was jumping around his pen. He nibbled on Craigs finger a bit when he was handed a mapely carrot stick.
Craig then made his way throughout the rest of the castle, towards the front doors. When Kyle called one of his meetings that always ended horribly, Craig usually took a nap afterwards. But the sun out today was too nice for even Craig to pass up on. A walk on castle grounds would be refreshing.
With two tanned hands to the tall, pearly doors, Craig pushed through.
“Hiya Craig!” Butters greeted, not bothering to look behind himself as Craig walked through.
“Hi, Butters.”
Butters was nice. One of two guards whos shift landed at the front doors regularly.
He wasn’t really Craigs type, but he sort of had this vibe that just made you want to talk to him. Craig hated that. But he found it more miserable to deny this likability than just to give in.
“Hows Kyle?” A more gruff, tired voice to the right asked.
The other guard, Stan, leaned against the wall. The pancake that usually sat on the top of his head was covering his eyes as he basked in the sunlight. Stan was the Head Guard, though he never acted like it. Craig would call Kyle out on pulling strings. If he cared enough.
“Pissy.”
Stan sighed, like he expected that answer but was disappointed nonetheless.
Before Craig could escape from any more conversation, the alien ringing of a bell made itself known. To Craig, it was deafeningly loud, and he immediately snapped his head to his left.
Appearing over the small bridge they stood upon, a man on a bike began to ride up. He had almost deathly pale skin with ashy blonde hair to match, and brown suspenders that flared at the ankles. The most notable thing about his appearance were the icicles hanging off of him, and the frozen waffle that rested in his hair like a hat; they both shimmered in the suns light, rendering Craig almost mesmerized as he studied the features.
Craig watched as he continued to ride up the bridge, and then stop towards the middle, right across from where Craig stood. He hopped off of his bike, walking over to the front of it and digging in the basket.
He pulled out a frozen bundle of paper. Turning, he tossed it into the air, and Craig stood practically stupefied as Stan swiftly caught it mid-arc next to him. He hadn’t even noticed Stan got up.
“Thanks,” Stan said.
The man nodded, then got back onto his bicycle. His feet began to move, and soon he was pedaling away.
Craig couldn’t quite tell what it was, maybe the light bouncing from the icicles was having a hypnotizing effect on him, because he found himself taking one step forward and holding out his hand.
“Wait,” he ordered, a foreign weight in the words he hadn’t felt on his tongue before.
The mans foot caught the ground, and he slowed to a stop against the stone. His head turned to meet the gaze of Craig, and for the first time Craig noticed the subtle shivering of the mans figure.
“Whats..” Craig hesitated, swallowing, “What’s your name?”
As soon as the question left his mouth, Craig felt stupid. What's your name? Really? But it was too late now, and all he could do was stand there as the mans wide eyes bore into his very soul.
The man looked him up and down. Dissected him, and Craigs never felt more uncomfortable in his own skin. Like he was being judged, which is something he doesn't think has ever happened to him before.
The anticipation hung heavy in the air. Then, without a word said, the man put his foot back onto the pedal, re-balanced himself, and rode away.
“Yikes.” Stan commented, after a moment.
“What…?” Craig wasn’t exactly sure what had just happened.
“You just got rejected, dude.” Stan said, moving to lean back up against the wall, paper bundle still in his hand.
“Why?” Craig turned to look at the two guards, suddenly now his most trusted confidants. “Did I do something? Who was that?”
“Well, thats Tweek, Craig! He hands out the newspaper every once in a while…” Butters said, giving Craig a sympathetic look that would read as condescending on anyone elses face.
“I didn’t know there was a newspaper.”
“Well we figure you higher-ups don’t really need it, so we just kinda put it in the servants quarters and stuff for em to look at… when they come..”
“Well- does he come often? What’s he like? Tweek?”
“He’s clearly not interested,” Stan spoke up from his place a few feet away, eyes closed and aimed at the sun. “He’s just a newspaper boy. Best not to tangle yourself up in something like that.”
“But–”
“Here,” Butters interjected. He leaned over, grabbing the frozen newspaper from Stan and handing it over to Craig. “Why don’t you put this in the servants quarters for us..”
A wave of fondness washed over Craig, one that was typical in interactions with Butters at this point. He hesitantly took the paper, careful not to let it slip out of his grasp.
“..Ok.”
As he began to walk away, back through the large doors of the castle, Stan rolled his head to yell back at him.
“Just don’t think about him!”
—
Craig thought about him. Alot.
In the afternoon, when he went to their council meeting, he didn’t catch a word said. To be fair, he hardly ever did, but this time it was because his mind was flooded with thoughts of melting icicles and blonde hair; not current political issues. At some point he vaguely registered Kyle shaking him by the shoulders, but all that reminded him of was the shaking form of a newspaper boy.
After their meeting, they had gone to the throne room to meet the Queen, which they always did every Monday.
He remembered greeting Crepe Queen Wendy, who greeted him in return. Then the council had started to propose a new law, or gave a status update, or something, Craig couldn’t recall, he just knows at some point he forgot a line and pissed Kyle off all over again.
When the sun had begun to set and the sky was painted with hues of purple and orange, Craig remembered feeding Stripe some more and then laying down in his bed. He can’t remember if he just thought about bundles of paper and wide eyes all night or if he dreamt about them, but either way, he was already awake when Stripe clung to his cage and alerted him of the new day.
He blacked out for the entirety of their morning meeting, too keen on rushing out the doors as soon as the time came. His internal clock ticked by until it reached the moment where the meeting had ended yesterday, and he immediately got up and walked out the door, despite them still going over their closing remarks.
“Hey Butters,” Craig had said, a little out of breath as he pushed through the front doors.
This time, Butters jumped a bit as he craned his head to see Craig.
“Hiya Craig!”
Craig came to a stop, standing between Butters and Stan, clasping his hands politely in front of him.
A few birds chirped in the air, and a particularly strong wind rushed by them on the bridge, bringing along with it the smell of sugar.
After a moment, Stan coughed into his shoulder.
“Sorry, but what’s going on?”
Craig looked at him in his peripheral.
“What do you mean?”
“...Do you need something from us? Or…”
“I’m waiting for the newspaper.”
“Oh,” Stan replied, an awkward air to the word.
“Craig, he already came by earlier,” Butters chimed in. When Craig turned to him, he handed him a new bundle, this time unfrozen. Craig took it dejectedly.
“What? When?”
“Like, as soon as the sun rose,” Stan said.
“Damnit.” Craig tightened his grip on the bundle, looking out into the courtyard, and the road the bike had followed to meet him yesterday. “I need to see him again.”
“I told you it’s a waste of time. He’s just some guy, I don’t know whats got you so mesmerized.”
“He’s just–” Craig shrugged, throwing his arms out to either side of him, “Cool? I don’t know.”
“Ha!” Butters laughed, kneeling down to grasp his stomach with his free hand. “Like– cool! Like ice! Ha! Ha ha…”
“Where does he live? I’ll just go meet him there.”
“Woah, what?” Stan took a step back, holding his hands in front of him like Craig was gonna lunge. “Now you’re crazy.”
“Where does he work?”
“You should ask the bartender about that!” Butters chimed from behind Craig, a smile on his face.
“Who?” Craig turned again to face Butters. From over his shoulder, Stan shook his head vehemently, making wild gestures with no sound to them, but Butters averted his eyes to look at Craig.
“The bartender at the Leaky Tap! Stan tells me all about ‘em… I wanna meet ‘em some day…”
“Wheres that?” Craig asked Stan, who stopped his movements when Craig looked at him.
Stan sighed. “Crumb St. It’s a tavern, long and dark brown. Usually always a crowd inside.”
Craig nodded once. He passed the bundle of paper back over to Butters and then turned on his heel, making his way towards his next destination.
Butters smiled, holding the paper close to his chest as he watched Craigs form disappear into the distance, his eyes glistening.
“A man on a mission…”
“Goddamnit, Butters.”
—
Craig couldn’t remember the last time he’d left castle grounds and actually walked the streets of the city. Back in the castle, everything was either pearly white or candy colored, bright vibrant decorations and accents. Down here, everything was brown, brown, brown, grey, brown. Even the clothes people wore were mostly shades of beige unless their food had a pop of color in it.
With the help of Craigs ability (that he unfortunately could not shut off) he was painfully aware of everyones eyes on him. His interaction with Tweek earlier suddenly didn’t seem very unordinary– were cityfolk always so judgy?
Also with the help of his ability, though, his eyes practically snapped to the tavern as soon as his foot landed on the street. Big, dark oak with a sheen and a large sign with the name “Leaky Tap” written in cursive.
He strode down the street, not unfamiliar to the sight of anyone in his way immediately stepping to the side when they saw him approach. He sunk into his hat a little, though, doing his best to tune out any conversations that made it into his ears– he had a task at hand that required his full attention.
He tried to enter the tavern as discreetly as possible, but as soon as the bell above his head chimed the bartender at the far end of the tavern immediately looked up at him, making eyecontact.
He had nearly-shoulder length blonde hair with a piece of toast rested in it and tan skin with a smile stretched across his face. When his eyes met Craigs, he didn’t look away, like most people did. His smile got wider.
He said something to the customer he was talking to, then slid down the bar, standing up to his full height as Craig began to near him through the tables and people. The interior of the tavern was warm, presumably due to the body heat of everyone inside mingling and making Craig wish he didn’t wear long sleeves. The only light sources were the various lanterns strewn about the place, and a few floating globs of light Craigs never seen before.
“Haven’t seen one of you here in a while!” the man said, yelling over the loudness of the tavern. When Craig finally made it to the bar, the bartender closed his lips as he continued to stare into the eyes of Craig. It almost felt like a challenge; a power for dominance or something. Like when guinea pigs would fight when they first met eachother.
“Life in the castle stressing you out?”
Craig continued to hold his stare. “No, I was just referred to you.”
“Ah…” the man said, leaning down under the counter to fetch a glass and, holy shit, he did not break eye contact. Craig was beginning to feel unnerved.
“I’m a man of many talents,” he said, now with a cup in his hands he was cleaning. “Which one are we in the market for today? Therapy? Drugs?”
“Drugs??”
“Just kidding. I wouldn’t do that for a council member. Your palette is probably too fancy for anything I’ve got.”
“...I was told you know things about people.”
“Oh, sure,” the bartender leaned down, forearms resting on the counter. Now he was looking up at Craig.
“Anyone whos been to this tavern. Which is almost everyone. Whats the name?”
“...Tweek. He does the newspaper.”
Kennys lax expression twitched just the tiniest bit, and Craig watched as the man below him tried to will himself into looking serious. It didn’t work, though, and he laughed. With his eyes open.
“What..?” Craig muttered, now straight up uncomfortable.
The bartender wiped a tear from his eye, and finally fucking looked away to do so. He sniffed, standing back up to meet Craig, a shaky smile on his face.
“Sorry, sorry. I was expecting you to come to me to get dirt on– Kyle, or something, not… ha, the newspaper boy.”
“You know about Kyle?”
“I told you, I know about almost everyone, Craig. Okay, okay, take a seat.” He turned, then, and Craig watched his back as he slowly took a seat in the stool in front of him. He was handed a glass of water, and the man leaned over the counter again to meet him.
“Lets see… what are you wanting to know? What's the reason?”
Craig shrugged a bit, looking almost shamefully down at his water as he pulled it near him. “I don’t know. I guess… I just want to get to know him.”
“Crush, got it. Okay, so…” the man began, not giving Craig a moment to intervene, “He’s a nice kid. Stops by here sometimes for a cup of coffee, pretty anxious, when he lets me talk to him it’s always about some conspiracy against him or something… um… I know he lives by himself, he likes to sing, he barely sleeps but, you can tell that just by looking at him, and…”
He paused, then looked to Craig.
“...and you do not have a chance with him.”
Craig stopped mid-sip of his water. “What?”
“Yeah, no. You’re not his type.”
“What about me? Isn’t…”
The man shrugged. “Everything?” He leaned forward, grabbing onto Craigs long purple sleeve and lifting it up between them. “He fucking hates ‘higher-ups’. And you are the epitome of political power.” He dropped the fabric.
“Well… How do I… make him like me?”
“You can’t stop being a syrup.”
“...”
Craig stood up then, pushing away from the bar and straightening his posture.
“What’s your name?”
“Kenny. Kenny McCormick, sir.”
“Kenny– where does Tweek work?”