Authors Note: Hey guys. This is a RP I did with Kyleisgod a while ago. Finally getting around to posting it. It's LONG, so... Please review. :)

Disclaimer: No own South Park.

Chapter 1- Detention.

"Oh great," a female voice called from across the room. It was Wendy. "It's bad enough I get detention for protesting, now I have to waste an hour with you? GOD!"

Cartman froze, halfway to his usual seat in detention. The shrill, almost annoying voice had cut off his quiet singing of "The cheesy poof jingle". A smirk crossed his face as he sat down, eyes glinting at the raven haired girl. "Hey, ho. It's so good to see you, too." His voice was laced with false sweetness.

Wendy glared at the fat boy. "Just be quiet and stay away from me." She quickly pulled a magazine out from her school bag, obviously needing to kill time.

"I see 'Ho Weekly' must have their newest edition out." He observed, leaning over to peak at it. "What kind of hooker dilemma's are they solving this week?"

"Fuck off Cartman!" she replied, already getting annoyed with him. "Maybe you'd know what I was reading if you ever opened more than a cook book."

"Aye!" He exclaimed, finally offended. "I've never opened a cookbook in my life! What do I look like, a god damn chef? I'm not black!"

Wendy rolled her eyes and attempted to continue reading. "...I should've known you'd be in here. Detention is probably like your second home."

"No, Shakey's is my second home." He replied, all anger whisked away once again. "Yours must be that hotel down in the ghetto. What's the usual room? Sixty-nine, is it?"

Wendy growled under her breath a bit. "Why do you insist on calling me a ho? You know damn well there are plenty of slutty girls at this school, and I'm certainly not one of them."

Cartman scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You have to be some kind of a ho to have Stan whipped so easily." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Then again, he always has been a fucking pussy."

"Stan's a very sweet guy. I don't 'whip' him, he just treats me nicely. Maybe that's why he has a girlfriend and you don't."

The words hit him like a smack in the face, but hell would freeze over before he allowed anyone, especially the hippie whore, know that she had hit a weak spot. He quickly regained his composure. "It just so happens... I do have a girlfriend." He looked down at his desk, eyes narrowed. "You skank."

Wendy smirked. "Oh yeah? What's her name?"

His eyes shifted hastily, trying to think of something, anything, believable. Something he liked. His thoughts quickly drifted to his lunch. "Cookie." He answered matter-of-factly. "Her name is Cookie."

Wendy scoffed, though she seemed to buy it. "You're dating a girl named Cookie? Gee, there's a surprise." she said sarcastically.

"Oh no, is that Jealousy I hear?" A telltale smirk back in place.

Wendy's jaw dropped a bit, shocked he would even suggest such a thing. "Oh, yeah right! Like I'd ever want to date you. Sick!"

His eyebrows knit in furry. "Oh, dating me is sick, but I guess it's all sugar and honey getting a mouthful of puke whenever you try to make-out with your 'perfect' boyfriend, isn't that right Wendy? You're a puke-eating, motel screwing, goddamn hippie!"

She paused a second. It was true what he'd said about Stan, but god forbid she ever let him think he was right. "Yeah well, I'm sure not vomiting is all you have to offer a girl."

"I don't have to offer anything," He promised with determination. "I'm so hot that... that girls throw themselves at me all the time! The other day I was walking down the street and... some chick with huge tits ripped off her shirt and... and threw it at me. She was so hot for me."

Wendy giggled a bit, obviously too smart to believe all of Cartman's bullshit. "Yeah, right..." She went back to reading her magazine a moment, but she had to ask. She was already half-way through the articles as it was. "...What's she like?"

"The chick with big tits?" He asked, a bit confused.

"Cookie," she explained. "What's she like?"

Mmm cookies, He thought, feeling his stomach grumble. "Cookie?" He repeated dumbly, blinking a few times. "Oh, Cookie, my... hot ass girlfriend." He glanced around. "What about her?"

"I'm just curious what kind of girl would actually's she look like?"

He refused to panic. He never did. There was always a way to screw with peoples heads, and he was just the person to do it. He found himself studying the girl beside him, carefully taking in everything about her. "She has really bright, blue eyes... And long, dark hair, and she's... she's got a dimple on her cheek when she smiles." He realized the gay-ass smile on his face as he spoke and quickly broke his gaze from her eyes. "And not a ho, like you."

"Hm...She sounds nice," Wendy confessed. "I guess some girls are just drawn to people like you."

He looked down at his hands, picking at his cuticles. The hippie never said anything nice to him. It made him feel awkward. "You know what they say about- festively plump guys. More cushion for the pushin'."

Wendy reluctantly giggled a bit. She couldn't help it. Sometimes Cartman's remarks were pretty funny, albeit in a loveable simpleton sort of way. "Please. I don't even wanna think of you doing...that." She shuddered.

The evil glint returned, lighting up his entire face. "Chef says that a prostitute is someone who'll make sweet love to you no matter who you are. That means you do think about me doing that to you." His smile increased. "Maybe we should ask Stan..."

"Like I'd ever confuse you for Stan." Wendy put her magazine away, apparently having finished all she cared to read.

"I know, whoever is stupid enough to confuse me with that asshole needs to be castrated."

"...You know," Wendy began reluctantly "in a way, I guess I'm sort of almost glad you're here. Yelling at you certainly helps the time go faster."

Cartman shrugged. "I don't give a fuck whether you're here or not. Normally I'll just play with my frog." He pulled his stuffed animal out of his desk and held it up for her inspection.

Wendy blinked, not totally sure how to take this information. "Huh...And that doesn't get boring?"

"Clyde frog isn't boring!" He wailed, pulling it onto his lap. "He's my best friend in the whole world, and he always helps me come up with ideas that are totally tits."

"Excuse me?" Wendy furrowed her eyebrows in anger. "Totally what? God, that's so sexist."

"Oh, Jesus Christ, here we go again," He huffed, leaning his cheek against his palm. "Don't you ever get tired of being a feminist bitch? Cause I know I'm fucking sick of hearing you moan like Kyle's mom."

"It's not a crime to have beliefs, Cartman." she countered. "Women in this country have been held down and treated like shit for years. You don't know what that's like."

"What's next, a history lesson about the pain and torment of your period?" He hummed in boredom. "Pop a Midol and get the sand out of your vagina."

Wendy gathered her things in an angry huff. "You know what? Fuck this, I'm leaving. There's no way I can spend another forty-five minutes with you and your stupid frog!"

"Aye! Clyde frog is not stupid, goddamnit!"

"Are you planning to be here tomorrow?" she asked, still sounding angry.

He paused a moment, eyeing her suspiciously. "No one plans to get detention, or come to school."

"Well, knowing you!" she said, not needing to elaborate further. She dropped the subject and stormed out in a bit of a huff.


Following the nasty detention experience, Wendy headed for home. She calmed down on the way back. Being away from Cartman had that effect. When she arrived, she was pleasantly surprised to find her boyfriend, Stan, waiting at her doorstep.

"Hey!" Stan said, happy she'd finally home to let him inside the house if nothing else.

"Stan!" She exclaimed, letting her shock melt away to a smile. "Hi! What are you doing here?"

"Oh. Well, I wanted to talk to you...Did you have a good day?"

Her smile dropped, twisting into an angry frown when she remembered Cartman. "I had detention. Cartman was there." She offered no further explanation, figuring that was all that was needed.

"Really? That sucks...You want me to beat him up?" he offered, figuring his fat friend must've pissed her off to no end, as usual.

Her smile returned immediately. "That's sweet, Stan. But you know violence isn't the answer." She scolded lightly, completely brushing off the fact that once upon a time she had sent a substitute teacher to the center of the sun. "Besides, I feel much better now that you're here." She leaned forward, catching his lips in a kiss.

As was Stan's custom, he turned his head and vomited, his hand clutching his stomach. "Ugh...Sorry..."

"Gross!" She exclaimed, jerking back slightly.

Stan sighed. "That's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about...B-but if your day sucked maybe I should come back later."

"No, don't go," She grabbed the sleeve of his arm quickly and held firm. "Want to come inside? We can talk there."


She cast him an uneasy smile, slightly nervous about what this "talk" would consist of. The door twisted open easily, unlocked despite her parents absence. Sliding her hand from the material of his shirt to cup his, she led him inside and to the couch. "What was it you wanted to say?"

Stan took a deep breath, preparing himself for this moment. "...Wendy, I...Well, every time we try to kiss and stuff, I always...w-well you know..." He blushed slightly with embarrassment.

"You barf." She finished for him. "And?" She encouraged him to go on.

"And, it fucking sucks dude." Stan hung his head a bit. "I can't take it anymore. I really wanna stop doing it, you know? ...The thing is, I-I'm not sure how...But I've been thinking about it."

She let the silence enclose them for a moment, taking in his solemn expression. She had never seen him this way before. "And what about it have you thought?"

Stan took hold of her hand, not quite able to look at her as he spoke. "Wendy, I love you. You know I do...But I can't keep doing this. One day I'm gonna get married, or have sex or something. Hopefully with you. And when that happens, I can't still be puking all the time...So, until I can figure out what to do, I think maybe we other people." He tensed up, bracing himself.

She ripped her hand away, cradling it with the other as if she had been burned. "Is this your idea of a joke? Stan, that's not funny!"

Stan frowned. "I...I'm serious Wendy. I wish I wasn't. Believe me I do..."

It was her turn to grab his hand. She swallowed back nausea. "I don't care if you puke on me. How are you ever going to get over it if we don't work on it together?"

"I'm really sorry," he said, sounding very sincere. "I think I just need to get away from you for a while. It's nothing personal, it's just that that way I can figure out why this is happening. I can figure out if it happens with...other girls...a-and fix it from there...I'm doing this for you...For us...You're really sweet for overlooking the problem, but I can't anymore."

This time, she threw his hand back at him, eyes narrowing to slits so cold it would make the devil himself shiver. "This isn't about us. This is about "other girls" isn't it?" She accused, rising from the couch to hiss down at him. "You already found someone else, and this is just some lame excuse to get rid of me!"

Stan shook, clearly afraid of her and with good reason. "No! Wendy, I-I haven't even thought about other girls. It's just that...well, you have to admit this problem only happens around you. If I dated another girl, any girl, for a while and it still happened...well, then I'd know a little more about this and how to fix it."

"Out." She whispered in the purest form of anger. "Just get out."

Stan stood up from the couch. He was frowning, but still heading for the door as commanded. "...I'm really sorry."

"Out!" She repeated, her shout echoing off the walls.

"Gah!" Stan bolted for his home, not wanting to experience the wrath of an angry woman, let alone a feminist.

Wendy sat with her back against her front door, knees to her chest and teary eyes buried in them. The sun had almost completely disappeared behind the mountains, but she didn't care. In fact, she welcomed the darkness.


Before she could cry too much, she heard a knock at the door. It was probably either her parents back home, or Stan coming back to apologize and beg for forgiveness. Wendy stood and opened the door, looking a wee bit hopeful. Once the door opened however, she found neither Stanley nor her parents, but an angry looking Eric Cartman. It was the last thing she expected, or needed, right now.

"All right ho, where is it!" Cartman asked.

"Where's what?" She shot back. "Your brain or your respect for other people?"

"Neither!" he said, obviously not getting the nature of the remark. "Clyde Frog. I had him with me when I left detention, and now he's gone!"

She rolled her eyes heavenward. "And what would I want with that disgusting, drool rag?"

"I don't know, but you have him!" he said accusingly. "Goddammit, Clyde Frog is my toy, and I want him back. Now!"

She wasn't in the mood. If he wanted to be an asshole and accuse her, she wasn't going to deny it, truth or otherwise. "He's on his way to Aspen to be disceted!" She informed. "I'd be happy to send you right along with him, I hear they're dissecting pigs next!"

Cartman's face grew angrier. "That is not funny, okay? If you hurt him Wendy I swear to god...Clyde Frog!" Cartman began calling out, as if the stuffed animal would actually answer him. "Clyde Frog! Did she hurt you?"

"Damnit." She hissed. "I don't have your stupid toy, Cartman! If you don't believe me, why don't you just barge in a take and look around!"

"Well if he's not here, then you shouldn't mind me looking around a bit."

She stepped to the side with much more force than needed. "Get in, get out, and don't let the door hit you in the ass!"

Cartman headed inside, determined to find his friend/pet/toy. "Trust me, I don't wanna stay here any longer than necessary."

She followed close on his heels. "You won't find one piece of dick frog anywhere in this house! And stay out of my room, I don't want you contaminating it!"

"AHA!" Cartman said. "Obviously that means he's right in your room!" Cartman ran around the house, trying to find where exactly her room was.

"Don't you dare, fatass!" She threatened, chasing him down. "I have personal things in there!"

"I don't care about your bong or your panties. I want my fucking frog." Cartman entered her room against her wishes, and carefully began looking around.

She closed her eyes to regain composure, hoping to God her mother hadn't laid out clean undergarments today. "Cartman," She growled, standing in the doorway and folding her arms. "Please, go away." She felt her strength dissipating. Her break-up with Stan was still too fresh in her heart.

"Wendyyy!" he whined. "I'll go away when I find my frooog!" Cartman himself was getting pretty tired, already having to do a lot more walking around than he had planned today. "Look, this'll go a lot faster if you just tell me where he is. I know you took him, hippie, and I-" He was cut off by the sound of an obnoxious ring tone. "One second." Cartman pulled out a cell phone from his pocket.

"You've got to be kidding me," She huffed. "What are you, a pimp now?"

Cartman glared at her. "I can hit like one. Wanna see?" He answered his phone. "Hello? ...Oh, hi mom. Yeah, Clyde Frog's missing so I- ...Y..You what? ...Oh..." Cartman lowered his eyes, already appearing a tad embarrassed. "O-okay...Bye..." He hung up the phone.

"Let me guess," Wendy started, uncrossing her arms and moving to the center of the room. "She has your frog."

"Sh...She washed it while I was in the bathroom...Heh..." He blushed a bit.

She sighed and sunk to her bed, too weary to rub it in his face. Instead, all that emerged was an inaudible, "Asshole".

"Yeah well, my theory made sense otherwise, so fuck you."

She blinked back the tears pricking her eyes and sniffed. "Just get out of here and get your stupid frog."

Cartman blinked, noticing her starting to break down a bit. This clearly wasn't the usual "fun" banter he had gotten used to between them.

"...Hey, a-are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She lied. It came out a pathetic squeak. A curtain of glossy raven hair fell over her face when she hid her eyes with her hands.

Cartman didn't buy it. You can't bullshit a bullshitter. Of course he didn't know why she was upset, but he naturally assumed he was at fault, as usual.

"...Hey look, I-I didn't mean to make you cry, dude. Christ, I'll leave your room okay? Chill."

"You think I would care this much about you?" She exploded, lifting her head and exposing her puffy, red eyes. "It has nothing to do with you! It's your asshole friend! I should have known better than date anyone associated with you!"

"Whoa, WHOA! Calm down! ...Which asshole friend? I've got like ten assholes I hang out with."

"Stan, who else?" She screamed. "Stan, Stan, Stan! He proved me wrong tonight! You really aren't the biggest dick, he is!" She relaxed noticeably, realization seeming to dawn on her. "You know who it is, don't you?" She stood and lunged at him, nearly knocking him over when she grabbed the collar of his shirt. "Who the hell is she?"

"AH! I don't know anything! I swear!"

Her grip tightened. "You lying son of a bitch!" The tears exploded in another round, and she shoved him to the carpet painfully.

Cartman brushed himself off. He honestly felt he could take her in a fight, but he decided to let it go. "Dude, I'm seriously. I don't know, okay? Stan doesn't tell me about his love life cuz I don't give a shit. If anybody he'd tell Kyle..." Cartman's eyes lit up a bit. "Now, if you wanted to go interrogate Kyle about it, well, I bet you'd get information."

"Kyle," She parroted through liquid heartache. "He's always..." She gulped back more tears, "He's always taking Stan's attention away from me."

"Could you please tell me what the hell's going on?" Cartman asked. "If I'm gonna rip on Stan tomorrow, I need to know why."

"He said he wanted to see other people!" She blurted, unable to contain any of her emotions anymore. "Whenever someone says 'I want to see other people' there's already another person!" She inhaled deeply and exhaled it out slowly. "Cartman, you're a manipulative, backstabbing, lying son of a bitch, and because of that, I need your help."

"Thanks." Cartman said, truly proud of Wendy's remarks. "...But why should I help you?"

"Normally I would say you should help me out of the goodness of your heart," She mused, wiping droplets off her long eyelashes. "But, considering you have no heart, I'll give you fifty bucks to torment the information out of Kyle."

"...Torment Kyle you say?" He grinned. "Dude, you suck at negotiating. I'd torture Kyle for free!"

"Damnit," She cursed. "Do we have a deal?"

"Sure!" Cartman shook her hand in agreement. "I'll find out who Stan's banging. Even if I have to kill Kyle to do it."

"Don't kill him!" She exclaimed. "God, Cartman, don't you have any conscience at all?"

Cartman thought about this, and shrugged. "Somewhere...Deep down...Probably..."

She gave a short laugh and shook her head. "Just do it. The sooner the better."

"Damn right." He grinned, plotting his interrogation methods already. "...Once you find out, what're you gonna do to the skank?"

A smirk almost as evil as Cartman's trademark "plotting" grin crossed her face. "That... will take some serious consideration."

Cartman headed for the door, his eyes locked on Wendy's face a moment as he left. He had to admit, she was pretty cool when she was evil. Cute, too.

-Kyleisgod & Brat-Child3