Chapter Text
The moment I got back home, I sat Eric down, and I calmly explained to him what had happened. He had previously been in a brilliant mood, giving everyone high-fives, he didn't call Kyle a Jew one singular time.
However, there was something I needed to confide in him.
"Eric. Eric, you're my favorite cousin. Well, my only cousin." I put my hands on his shoulders, as he sits there, peacefully eating some Oreos. God, I hate to do this to him, Oreos are his good mood treat.
"What did you do." His face falls immediately.
"Nothing- Nothing intentional. Okay? Okay, look... when we were down in the basement, we had to give something to the God, to make it let Kyle go and give us the dog back. You following? Kyle was being swung around like a chew toy," I try to continue, but he butts in with a laugh after that part.
"Hilarious fucking image. Need to draw that. Continue." He nods, giving me the floor once again.
"And the God said it was highly interested in the mating rituals of humans," I'm about to give him some context, however he interrupts me again.
"Pause,"
"No, because wait. It meant, like, dating, and confessions, and just general romance. So, to get it to let Kyle go, Kenny-" I explain, and accidentally use Panty's real name.
"Pause, what happened to Underpants. Y/N, I am not liking this." Eric puts down the box, actual panic setting in.
"...Underpants had to ask me out. And it was all well and good, like, all's fair in love and war. We knew it was pretend, yadayada, and then after, I felt bad for him, yanno? He's never asked a girl out, like, properly, and I could tell he was freaking out, so I said he did great and then I kind of zoned out..." I trail off, nervously, a little on edge to hear his reaction. It's actually not looking good so far, the Oreos are too far away from him for me to use them to calm him down.
"No. No, Y/N, this is why you listen when people talk, don't tell me, no," he gripes, holding his face in his hands, but he looks up at me with one last glimmer of hope in his eyes.
"He may have asked me out, and I may have not heard him and said yes?" I gesture around with flat palms, shrugging my shoulders, my tone going a little high and just a bit raspy.
His jaw drops. Oh, dear.
"What the actual everloving fuck."
"I thought it would be anything else! But then when he said goodbye, he only said it to me, and he was like see ya later, and now I'm so confused because I didn't ask any followup questions!" I flounder, trying to justify my stupidity, but nothing seems to work.
"Oh. Oh, for fuck's sake. I'm actually not doing this." He tries to get up, so I grab his hand and pull him back down to the couch.
"I need your help, man," I plead, squeezing his chubby hand.
"Dude! How the fuck am I supposed to help!" He rips it out of my grasp, his eyes wide like he's just seen an alien with three heads - and he is not happy about it.
"Tell him something gross about me. Something truly disgusting," I clasp my hands over my chest, and I truly don't think I've ever begged like this in my life.
"No, he won't give a shit, you've locked yourself in now!" Eric shouts, just as distraught as I am. But he knows this is my fault, because I don't listen when people talk, and that stupid trait just had to bite me in the ass.
I sit back, sinking into the couch cushions, and give up, throwing my head back with a groan.
"I'm so fucked."
"Damn right, you're fucked. You know where he's gonna take you? Raisins. You know what he'll be doing? Flirting with the waitresses the whole time. And you know what he'll expect?" He tells me, gradually making the situation feel more hopeless, and when he leaves it at a real, non-rhetorical question, I almost cry.
"...No..."
"Sex." He reveals, and I cover my mouth to stop a scream of despair. He grabs my shoulders and shakes me, "You have to be on the ball the whole time, you stupid asshole, because if he asks and you're not listening, you're gonna get buttraped!!"
"What! He wouldn't-" I try to babble out some dumb excuse, because I'm not the kind of person who would get coerced like that, right?
"He wouldn't, I know, he prefers the main hole," When he says this, I cut him off, because I know he's just trying to freak me out now. This is his revenge for my slipup.
"Eric! Dude, stop. That's just- ugh, stop. I'll just... I'll have to, um... let him down gently?" I brush his hands off my shoulders, and take my chin in my fingers to think. Ew, what the fuck happened to me? I used to be cool, now I'm acting like an anime villain.
"Sure, that works." Eric shrugs, suddenly calming down. I should not trust this, I know better... but he actually looks pretty calm now. Could be the Oreos.
"Seriously?" I look up at him, astounded.
"NO, YOU STUPID BITCH! He's gonna get upset, and knowing your uterus's tendencies, you're gonna feel bad, and then before you know it you're pregnant in a trailer park with three little Kinnys eating paste and kicking cats!" His outburst rocks my brain, and the gruesome image is actually so startling that it makes my stomach hurt.
"No! Nooooo... no... that's..." Nine months pregnant. Belly-button piercing. Tattoos of anchors and tigers. Constant arguments, beer stains in the carpet. A neighbor called Tammy-Rae with a tiny dog that craps on my yard. My voice shakes, "Oh my God..."
"Horrifying? Sickening? I'd never visit you again and denounce you as my cousin to anyone who asks? Yeah." Eric sits back, crossing his arms, and then lets out a labored sigh. "...Okay, I guess I have to help you."
"Really? You'd do that?" My eyes are probably shining, I bet I look like a pleading, sick idiot right now.
"I have to. I can't let my own relative become a McCormick, our bloodline is too pure for you to ruin it." He shows some semblance of care, which is nice, because normally his form of caring is a noogie and several demeaning nicknames.
"In any other context, I'd tell you you sound like a nazi. But I agree, I can't do that, my future is... well, I have one." I pinch the bridge of my nose after saying this, because good, gigantic Lord. What have I gotten myself into?
Eric calls Twitter 'X', he willingly follows Elon Musk on it, and he thinks Andrew Tate is misunderstood. Yet here I am, a normal person, asking him for advice.
"Exactly my sentiment, dear cousin." He sits down, and lifts a gigantic A3 notebook from under the couch, slamming it down on the coffee table. Noticing my surprise, he explains, "This is my scheming book. All of my greatest plots throughout history are in here."
"Even Scott Tenorman?" My voice lowers with curiosity, because the way he tortured that kid was insane, even for him.
"Especially Scott Tenorman." He cracks it open, and the front cover of the book slams against the table. After flipping through several graphic storyboards and mind maps, he finds a fresh page - the book is almost full. "...Go get my pencilcase. Mom should be too high to wake up, and grandma's conked out on vicodin."
I follow his instructions almost immediately. On my return, he's in a group call with Kyle and Stan. For some reason, they're just as passionate about this as he is.
"Hey Y/N. Heard you-" Stan begins, cutting himself off with a hiccup and, promptly, a burp. "Heard you fucked up and landed yourself with a date."
He sounds like a fucking Red Dead Redemption character, how has my life come to this?
"Indeed she has... this will take scheming, boys. Scheming to the likes of which none have reached before." Eric taps his fingertips against themselves, hands in a pyramid like an evil corporate mastermind.
"Shenanigans level?" Stan's drunken voice distorts through the phone, making him sound somewhat drunker. I wonder if he was more likeable when he was a kid - probably more sober.
"Oh, Officer Barbrady couldn't comprehend the level of shenanigans we're about to pull." Eric chuckles, pretty damn haughtily if you ask me, and I'm stuck wondering if he's deadass about this character. Also, wondering why his friends aren't making fun of him.
"Ah, I see... the council disapproves of this here date, I assume?" Oh, my God. That's why - they do it too. I start to wonder if they even know I'm here.
"Indeed it does, Kyahl. Indeed it does." My cousin is too much of a dork for me to keep holding back my laughter.
"Oh my God... this is- you guys actually talk like this?" I laugh, trying not to flip out and back out of this plan, because as much as it pains me to admit, I need this. I need this help. Eric glares at me, so I sigh, and shake my head, and put on the same tone of voice they do, "...Do go on."
For the rest of the night, we're scheming, plotting like little PI's, little Magnums, the lot of us. It's insanely cringe, but also when I lean into the cringe, it's really entertaining.
I think I might've been wrong about this whole roleplay thing. Without it, life in South Park probably would've driven them all insane years ago.
Think about it - Stan's a drunk, Eric's a bit of an alt-right freak, Kyle's a huge nerd - this is them making the best out of a redneckish, mind-numbingly bleak Coloradan situation. And if there's anything I like, it's a good old distraction.
So who can blame them?