Wendy sat, glaring at nothing in particular while nursing a split lip. A rogue - but not necessarily unprovoked - fight had broken out between the blackette and a certain fat arsehole. While he was sent to the nurse's office, the disparaging glares she was receiving from her peers made her wish she was trailing (preferably unconscious) right on after him.

Many girls had stopped to whisper and gossip about Wendy Testaburger, self-righteousness incarnate, flat on her ass. The majority of the boys couldn't give two shits.

Wendy was seething.

These bitches had the nerve to look down on her after she had just defended their gender from probably the most egotistical dick ever constructed (she couldn't imagine him being born as something remotely human).

And here she was, knocking that prick down only to have twenty-five more rise. And though the figurative image this metaphor incurred was rather funny, she was, quite frankly, too pissed to think of anything as remotely humorous.

A sickening smile began to curl across her features and several of the girls visibly blanched. I wonder how many of their grades I can sabotage before-

"Get up." Wendy flinched and lifted her head to glare straight into the eyes of whomever so dared to- "You don't look as hot down on the floor like that. Unless you either lay down or get on your knees."

"You per-" she began, only to get cut off by a quiet, but threatening, tone.

"I'm saving your ass from getting expelled, judging by the waves of malice that are radiating off of you.

"Then again, I am considerably stronger than Cartman and can more than hold my own against you in a fight. And I'm not afraid to pound you into the ground because you're a girl. Now let's go get you cleaned up."

Wendy nodded, flushed, then rose to her feet. Dusting off her pants, she followed - more than slightly bewildered - after a certain Kenny McKormick.

But this was the Kenny McKormick.

She could only hope she'd keep most of her clothes.


AN: What?