Gelotophobia, fear of being laughed at. I was skipping and singing the Jet song, then burst out with, "My sister wears a mustache, my brother wears a dress! Goodness gracious, that's why I'm a mess!" and this was born. Go listen to Officer Krupke. I don't own South Park or the beauty that is West Side Story. Sorry that the characters are a little Out-of-Character. Songs are Gee, Officer Krupke and Something's Coming.
The streets were empty and barren, quiet and almost welcoming. South Park at midday is always deserted, though, so that's no surprise.
Temptation nearly overwhelmed the blond, clear on his pretty face, and he glanced around furtively, finding the streets of downtown South Park empty. With a smile overtaking his face, he began to snap in a steady rhythm, singing softly as though testing the waters, "When you're a Jet you're a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last dyin' day..."
And then, a little stronger, with a slightly more dancing hint to his stride, "When you're a Jet, if the shit hits the fan, you got brothers around, you're a family man! You're never alone, you're never disconnected! You're home with your own; when company's expected, you're well protected! Then you are set with a capital J, which you'll never forget 'till they cart you away. When you're a Jet, you stay a Jet!"
He glanced around again nervously, still afraid of getting caught. He shuddered a little at the prospect, rubbing at his arms to try and quell the hypothetical horror. Finally, though, he must have decided that he was skipping school, and therefore nobody he knew was around.
He started in on his favorite song, almost dancing but not quite. He probably couldn't quite bring himself to do it in public. "Dear kindly Sergeant Krupke, you gotta understand, it's just our bringin' up-ke that gets us out of hand. Our mothers all are junkies, our fathers all are drunks; Golly Moses, natcherly we're punks!"
He paused, listening, terrified, for mocking laughter. He heard none and he saw no-one. His voice and movements were just a little more dramatic, now. "Hey, Officer Krupke, we're very upset; we never had the love that ev'ry child oughta get. We ain't no delinquents, we're misunderstood! Deep down inside us there is good!" he threw his arms up in the air. "There is good!"
"There is good, there is good, there is un-tapped good, like insiiiide the worst of us is good!" He stopped and glanced around again, still frightened of being caught. He quickly went back to his music, though, frowning and nodding as though he were considering something. "That's a touchin' good story."
Starry-eyed, he turned his gaze to the sky, spreading his arms wide dramatically. "Let me tell it to the world!"
He fell back into a slump, stuffing his hands into his pockets and snarling, "Just tell it to the judge."
He shrugged in a whatever-you-say manner. "Deeeear kindly Judge, your Honor, my parents treat me rough. With all their marijuana, they won't give me a puff! They didn't wanna have me, but somehow I was had! Leapin' lizards; That's why I'm so bad!"
He took on a strange accent and slapped his thigh abruptly as he began again. "Right! Officer Krupke, you're really a square! This boy don't need a judge, he needs an analyst's care! It's just his neurosis that oughta be coibed. He's psychologic'ly distoibed!"
He grinned like a madman, obviously getting into it. "I'm distoibed!"
"We're distoibed, we're distoibed, we're the most distoibed, like we're psychologically distoibed!" he pulled off a trick with his feet that looked impressive but was difficult to describe as he hopped off the sidewalk, hands splayed out to the side in a showy, 'gay' manner.
The next three lines he switched back and forth with the voices. "Hear ye, hear ye! In the opinion of this court, this child is depraved on account he ain't had a normal home. ...Hey, I'm depraved on account of I'm deprived! ...So take him to a headshrinker."
"Oops. Myyyy Daddy beats my mommy, my mommy clobbers me; My grandpa is a commie, my grandma pushes tea; My sister wears a mustache, my brother wears a dress! Goodness gracious, that's why I'm a mess!" He laughed heartily to himself, fears apparently more or less forgotten.
Another weird accent. "Yes! Officer Krupke, he shouldn't be here. This boy don't need a couch, he needs a useful career! Society's played him a terrible twick! Und sociologically he's sick!"
"I am sick! We are sick, we are sick, we are sick, sick, sick, like we're sooooociologically sick!" and then, speaking, "In my opinion, this child don't need to have his head shrunk at all. Juvenile delinquency is purely a social disease!"
"Hey, I got a social disease!" The enlightened, truly pleased expression on his face was priceless. "So take him to a social worker! Vich vay? That vay!"
"Deeear kindly social worker, they tell me get a job, like be a soda jerker, which means like be a slob. It's not I'm anti-social, I'm only anti-work! Gloryosky, that's why I'm a jerk!" In a tone obviously meant to mock a woman's, he continued, "Eek! Officer Krupke, you've done it again! This boy don't need a job, he needs a year in the pen! It ain't just a question of misunderstood; deep down inside him, he's no good!"
"I'm no good! We're no good, we're no good, we're no earthly good, like the best of us is no damn good!"
He seemed genuinely pissed off on the next-to-last stanza, waving about with dramatic, angry gestures. "The trouble is he's lazy! The trouble is he drinks! The trouble is he's crazy! The trouble is he stinks! The trouble is he's growing! The trouble is he's grown! Krupke, we've got troubles of our own!"
I blinked in mild surprise as he fell to his knees with no hesitation, clasping his hands together pleadingly and tossing his blond locks out of his eyes. "Officer Krupke, we're down on our knees! (Cause no-one wants a fella with a social disease!) Hey, Officer Krupke, what are we to do..?" he stood abruptly. "Gee, Officer Krupke." he smacked his palms together loudly. "Krup you!"
Grinning ear to ear, he mock bowed, once, twice, calling, "Thank you! Oh, you're too kind!"
I've known about his thing for theatre for a while... Ever since I caught him singing No One Mourns the Wicked and dancing accordingly through the empty mid-day streets. I let him keep his secret, though, because he was so obviously afraid of getting caught that I couldn't bring myself to tell him I'd seen. But... I adore West Side Story!
My voice was no where near as stunning as his. I was a little off-key, I know, and I simply can't pull off Tony. "Could be... Who knows?" he stiffened in horror and I chuckled. "There's something due any day; I will know right away, soon as it shows... It may come cannonballin' down through the sky, gleam in its eye, bright as a rose! Who knows? It's only just out of reach, down the block, on a beach, under a tree..! I got a feeling there's a miracle due, gonna come true, coming to me..!"
I stepped out from the alley I had been hiding from Craig and Cartman in, grinning ear to ear at his exposed, panicked expression, though it quickly fell into an expression of horror as his pretty blue eyes filled with shamed tears. "Oh, hey, hey!" I stammered, rushing over to where he was clutching at his sleeves, looking like he didn't know what to do and staring at his feet. He flinched away from my touch to his shoulder like I burned, and I pushed away my own stab of hurt.
"You aren't allowed to cry." I scolded him, smile returning. "Don't you know who you are?"
He slammed his palms into his eyes forcefully, shoulders shaking and his face flushing bright red. "Don't laugh at me!" he begged, bowing his head and letting his overgrown locks hang into his face.
I smiled again, wondering how many people had seen him cry. Maybe the same number of people who'd heard him sing... One. "Nobody's laughing." I assured him kindly, stuffing my hands in my pockets and waiting for him to lift his head. "Yes you are!" he insisted a little irrationally.
"No I'm not." I denied truthfully, a quirky smile tugging the corners of my lips. I feel like we've done a role reversal, really.
He peeked up at me. "You're laughing at me on the inside."
I shook my head vehemently. "No, Ken, I like your singing."
He glared at me, fists planted on his hips and stray tears marking his cheeks, and I almost laughed for real just at the absurdity of how he was acting. "You're being irrational." I continued, winking at him. He shook his head lightly. "You should sing the rest of the song."
He flipped his hood up, but, to my relief, didn't pull it tight, so his voice was clear. "I shouldn't, Butters. I'm gonna go home... And if you tell anybody and get me laughed at, I'm going to kill you." he threatened half-heartedly, looking decidedly downtrodden.
"C'mon!" I urged him, keeping in step with him as he began to stomp off, despite the fact that his legs were longer and his strides covered more ground. "Could it be..?" I prompted, grabbing a hold of his elbow as we went to cross the street. "Yes it could." he snapped, monotone.
"Kenny!" I whined. "Please?"
He gave me a harsh, calculating look. "Promise not to laugh?" he demanded childishly, causing me to have to turn my head to hide a smile. "Of course!" I reassured him.
"Could it be? Yes, it could. Something's coming, something good, if I can wait..! Somethings coming, I don't know, what it is, but it is gonna be great..!" he sang softly, voice shaking just the slightest bit. "Happy?"
I nodded. "Happy. What do you think is coming?"
He gave me a weird look. "Uh... Maria?" he answered/asked. I shook my head, laughing, and corrected, "No, what's coming in your life?"
He shrugged, responding appropriately if not unexcitingly, "Who knows?"
'Well.' I thought wistfully, 'Hopefully me and a spot on broadway.'
Aloud, though, I just echoed, "Who knows?"
Raise your hand if you thought it was Butters dancing. You know you did, don't lie. I think that song was just perfect for Kenny, I really do. Phobias is the works at the moment: Parthenophobia, fear of virgins, Microphobia, fear of small things, and Mnemophobia, fear of memories, sequel to Contreltophobia. I'm also working on the next chapter of Loving Cinnamon and of Troubled Sleep, Locked Windows, and I'm easing myself into restarting on Viva la Vida. I'm working on the prequel and the sequel to Flipside as well... Oh, and four oneshots; Quirk (K2 about Kenny's obsession with oddity), Let Me Paint You (Not a portrait, though... He wants to paint on Kyle!), Pull (a somewhat homoerotic Style based off of true events, to be posted Friday), and Sublime (about Kenny relating to Wrong Way).
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