"My Prince of The Night" PIKE!! South Park Fic!

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Pete shoved Firkle as he sat down at the table in the Village Inn, Michael and Henrietta both shouting at him for being late. “Donovan’s having a party at his house.” Pete spoke, unamused. Michael let out a loud scoff and rolled his eyes as Henrietta took a loud unenthusiastic sip of her coffee. “Really? Do they have weed? Booze? Can I go?” Firkle’s eyes practically sparkled as he looked up at his friends who all gave the younger person a nonchalant look. “Underaged.” Michael hit the back of Firkle’s head in a playful manner, receiving a light yelp from the younger. “Hypocrite.” Firkle shot back, rubbing the back of his head. “Hypocrite or Underaged. Either way, parties are such conformist activities.” Henrietta kicked her legs, now fixing an earring she broke. Michael and Pete both nodded in agreement leaving Firkle to sigh in defeat.

Over the years they’d all changed a lot, or as much as they’d let each other. Henrietta had dyed her hair a teal color and started wearing splashes of color here and there and Pete was fully convinced it was so she could impress her little gal pals that she swore she didn’t have a crush on. Michael had stayed relatively the same, if not the exact same. The only thing he really changed was that he started wearing his glasses and wasn’t allowed to have sharp object in his room or bathroom. Firkle was Firkle, Firkle didn’t really change, nor did he stay the same. Firkle got his ears pierced and began hanging out with child protégé Ike Broflovski along with the poor kid Karen McCormick. He was still dark as ever, constantly talking about gore and death but romantically whenever he was around Ike.

As for Pete, Pete tried not to change at all, though it was inevitable of course. He’d change his outfit every now and then when he thought he should. Typically going for a black sweater and black pants with some random band t-shirt. He kept the shoes though seeing as he never learned how to tie shoes.

“So tell us about that whore you were talking about earlier.” Henrietta hummed taking a long sip of her coffee. “Her name is Mercedes. She is not a whore.” Michael sternly spoke, glaring at Henrietta with eyes that screamed she would be murdered later. “She’s… Nice, kind… Caring.” Michael spoke, spinning his coffee cup around. “She’s the most beautiful conformist girl I’ve ever seen and I… I think I’m… In love… with her.” He set the cup down with a bright once in a lifetime smile. “She let you touch her boobs didn’t she.” Henrietta sighed, suppressing the giggle that was threatening to spill out of her mouth.

Michael simply glared at her and took a hate filled sip of his coffee, refusing to break eye contact with the girl. “God this is boriiing! It’s making me want to kill my cat!” Firkle complained, slamming his hands onto the table, getting the attention from both the goths and the waitresses around them. “We ‘ought to go to that party.” Firkle pleaded again, this time receiving a loud defeated groan from the other three goths. “Fine Firkle, but if anyone, and I fucking mean anyone, offers you weed or alcohol you refuse. You’re clean so you can still hang out with us.” Henrietta sternly spoke in her usual motherly tone; from a new kid standpoint it would have seemed as if Henrietta had Firkle at gun point but truly she was just genuinely afraid of Firkle being hurt.

“LET’S GO!!” Firkle immediately stood up, crawling over Pete and landing face first on the ground, getting up immediately afterword however.