Let's Start A Riot

Sophie's Gone Home

"Hey, Y/n!"
"Oh, hi Sophie!"
Sophie smiled, waving. She stood at the bus stop, her ginger braid draped over her shoulder, as per usual. She was wearing a black, short-sleeved t-shirt, her usual blue jacket, black jeans, and her red high tops.  "Who's funeral are you going to today?" Y/n joked, nudging Sophie's arm with their elbow. Sophie laughed. "No, I'm just working backstage today. The production is in a few days, so we need to get this finished quickly."
"Oh, I see."

-

"Sophie! Sophie, dear, can I talk to you?"
"Oh, sure, Gregory."
Sophie smiled at Gregory, who was leaning on the table. Sophie got up and followed Gregory out of the cafeteria. Y/n stared at the door a few moments after it swung shut, then glanced back down at their food, pushing it around with a cheap plastic spork. God, lunch was boring when Sophie wasn't there. 
Soon, maybe ten minutes or so later, Sophie rushed back in. She was visibly pale, and grabbed her bag and tray. She was moving to another table. "Hey, wait, where are you going?"
Sophie chewed on her lip. "Uh, I've just gotta go."
Sophie made her way over to the table Bebe and Wendy sat at, sitting with them. Y/n frowned, their feelings hurt. Unbeknownst to them, a very certain, loud blonde smirked to himself as he strode back to his lunch table.

-

Gregory Alastor Eros Owens-Bellarose of Yardale. 

He was perfect. He was smart, he was handsome, he was charismatic.
But he also had a reputation for being sleazy and aggressive to get what he wanted though. He stood at 6'5", which was almost unreasonably tall for a fifteen year old. Gregory was known to use this to his advantage to intimidate people into bending to his will. And he was infamous for being a terrible and selfish lover. Nobody could forget what he did to Scott Malkinson. But, somehow, many pushed it aside to try and have a functional relationship with him. It always ended with them hurt in some way, shape, or form. That fall off the Bijou Theater sure did do some funny things to Gregory's brain chemistry.

-

Y/n waited outside of the auditorium for Sophie. Maybe what happened at lunch was just a one time thing, and they could start again as soon as she walked out of that door. 
But she didn't. 
Y/n stood for twenty minutes past the end of the drama meeting, and Sophie didn't emerge. However, Gregory did. "Oh, hello, Y/n," he said.
"Uh, hi, I guess. Anyway, where's Sophie?"
Gregory chuckled. "Sophie's gone home. It's no concern, really. I'm sure she's fine."
"Okay..."
Gregory was acting strange, and smelled strangely metallic. Y/n didn't feel safe, and turned on their heel. They left, feeling Gregory's admiral blue eyes piercing through their back and flesh. It was uncomfortable. 

Outside of the yellow school building, Y/n fished their phone from their pocket. They tried to call Sophie. It rang out. They tried again. It rang out. Now Y/n was frustrated. What was Sophie's problem! They stuffed their phone into their pocket. They needed a soda. 

-

Gregory ran his fingers through his hair. He had grown it out, so that was just more hair to wash and brush out. There were so many thoughts in his head. The main one was how easy it was to lie to Y/n. If they'd believe that, what else would they believe? Sophie hadn't gone home, there was no way she could have. People with debilitating injuries from being stabbed tend to be unable to run away. There wasn't even a theater meeting today. 'If everyone in this God forsaken town is this foolish,' Gregory thought, ringing lukewarm water from his hair. He had shut the water off. 'I could rebuild Jonestown.'

He didn't want to rebuild Jonestown though. That would just be a waste of his time. South Park was full of bumbling idiots, with the exception of three people. Himself, Christophe, and Y/n. Christophe was much more street smart than book smart though, so that didn't really count. Y/n though. Y/n was perfect, almost as perfect as Gregory himself. They were the child of a lawyer (and a known criminal guilty of patricide, but Gregory was willing to overlook that) and incredibly intelligent, though they never flaunted it about. They were incredibly beautiful, at least in Gregory's eyes they were. Their hair was soft, and their skin was lovely, even if they had some mild acne problems. Their eyes were so pretty, he almost wanted to pluck them out and drop them in a jar of formaldehyde to keep on his desk. 

'But I wouldn't do that,' Gregory told himself, buttoning up his shirt, leaving the top two undone. He was meeting Christophe, and had about five more minutes before Christophe threw a rock through his window again. Gregory tied his hair into a low ponytail with a piece of black ribbon, then clasped on his plain silver cross necklace. The necklace always made Christophe angry, but what could he do? He wouldn't kill his boss, and he certainly wouldn't kill the person who was once his best friend. Christophe acted heartless, but he really wasn't. Gregory emerged from his bedroom, his shoes tapping on the tile in the hallway. Christophe was waiting downstairs, leaning on one of the walls, getting dirt everywhere he walked. Gregory cringed looking at the trail of filth his friend left in the front hall. Disgusting. 

"Are you ready to go, or do you have to prance around for another twenty six minutes like a girl?" Christophe said, exhaling smoke almost directly in Gregory's face. Gregory scrunched up his face and waved away the smoke with a gloved hand. "Yes, I am. And what women are you hanging around?"
"You can't talk there, because you haven't gone on a date with a woman for two years." 
Christophe smirked up at Gregory, dark green eyes knowing. Gregory sputtered for a moment, then hissed, "Oh, shut your mouth!"
"Careful, you're starting to sound like that bitch Estella."
Gregory sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Whatever you say, Mole."

-

"Where did you hide that ginger bitch?"
Christophe's words echoed in the dark, empty, and cold auditorium. Gregory rolled his eyes, blowing a honey blonde curl from his face. "She wouldn't fit anywhere but the trash can; she's tall."
"This one?"
Christophe pointed at a gray plastic trash can with a bright yellow lid. The lid was slightly ajar, and Gregory could see Sophie's shoes. "Yes, this one."
He took the lid off, handing it to Christophe. He heaved the corpse, the dead weight causing him to stumble slightly. Blood smeared onto Gregory's shirt, and he suppressed an annoyed groan. He was going to have to throw away his shirt. At least he was wearing gloves.
Christophe inhaled one last puff from his cigarette before putting it out on Sophie's back, then tossing it into the trash can. Sophie's jacket burned slightly, but not enough to be a major hazard. Sophie's robin's egg blue eyes were glassy, and gazed at nothing. Her hair was frizzy, and her braid almost reached the beige tile of the auditorium. "Alright, mon ami, let's bury her and get this over with. I want to go home."
"Okay, Christophe."

The walk to the forest was comfortably quiet. Soon enough, Gregory and Christophe found themselves standing in a clearing, for lack of a better term. There were fewer trees, and the dirt was softer from the countless holes Christophe had dug there for the past seven years. The dirt was still frozen from the snow though. Christophe jabbed his shovel into a pile of soft snow, tossing it aside. It was a newer hole, dug only a week or so before. It wasn't difficult for Christophe to dig back out to a depth of about four feet. "Alright. Drop her in."
Gregory strode over, dropping Sophie into the hole. She flopped around like a ragdoll for a moment, then completely stilled. Her skin was pale, and her shirt stuck to her body. There was dried blood on her chin, and her limbs were bent awkwardly. She would have been unnerving to look at to any normal person, to any person not completely fucked in the head. But Christophe and Gregory were fucked in the head, so they barely batted an eye. 

"Let's go home, Mole."
"Oui, I'm tired."