Ship In A Bottle || South Park Pirate AU

Seven

"That's probably just nerves," said Kyle.

"I'm not nervous," said Craig, growling when Kyle raised an eyebrow. "I'm not! We're just going to talk. It's hardly more stressful than before."

"It's a different level of vulnerability."

"I'm not afraid of being vulnerable."

"Right," said Kyle, unconvinced.

"It's just bad soup."

"Right."

"God, will you just shut up!" snapped Craig, and scowled down at the ground. "We need an actual chef instead of this stupid rota system."

Kyle almost said "Right," for the third time, but the 'no broken bones' goal was applicable to himself as well, and with the menacing look she was giving him, he didn't trust that she wouldn't cross that line. So, he held his tongue. This lasted for all of thirty seconds before he thought of something else to say. "How is a barmaid even supposed to get her hands on trade route maps in the first place?"

"She has her ways," said Stan ambiguously.

"Could you possibly be any more specific?" He directed this question at Craig because he knew that Stan revelled in being mysterious. "This is my last question, I promise."

"Blackmail," said Craig after slight hesitation. "Tweek has trust issues. The issue being that she doesn't trust anyone. So, she makes it her life's purpose to find dirt on every single person who crosses the threshold of her tavern, so no one ever dares to cross her."

Kyle thought back to last night, when Tweek had frightened off a man making advances on her with a single whispered sentence. He had assumed it was a threat of violence, but now he realised that blackmail seemed far more likely and far worse. Evidently, she was not the kind of girl you wanted to get on the wrong side of, and now here he was, aligning with her ex-lover.

Tweek's Tavern was indeed closed when they arrived, but a soft light still shone through the large window embedded into the front. Inside, all the tables and chairs had been stacked against the wall. Tweek had her back to the window, sweeping the now empty floor with a brown bandana tied around her head, pinning her hair back from her face.

"You know what they say," said Stan, patting Craig on the back. "Second time's a charm."

"Third," she said. "It's third time's a charm."

"Oh." Stan wrinkled his nose. "Let's try not to drag this ordeal out that long."

Craig tried the door, but it was locked, and so she knocked on the window, uncharacteristically timid. The sound made Tweek jump like someone had thrown a brick through the glass. She whirled around and jumped again when she saw it was Craig.

Craig took a deep breath and exhaled, fogging up the windowpane. Backwards, so that it was legible to Tweek, she wrote, Let me in?

Tweek made a shooing gesture with her hands. Her voice was muted by the wall between them but the "Go away!" that she mouthed was clear enough.

Please? wrote Craig.

Tweek sighed, and looked around, though she was very much alone. "Why?"

I just wa—Craig had to stop to refresh the condensation—nt to talk. She paused, then in a small puff of breath, drew a heart.

Tweek gave an exaggerated eye roll but looked like she was biting back a smile. She marched over to the door, and with a clunk of the lock and a creaking of hinges, it swung open. She stood in the doorway with one hand on her ample hip, the other still holding the besom broom. The flare of the bristles matched the flare of her neatly buttoned bottle green dress. "What do you want from me?"