Come Friday night, everything was ready. It'd taken Cartman all but a week to organise it all, a week of haggling, booking, a week of expenditures, a week of irritating phone calls and unconvincingly faked pleasantries. But it'd all be worth it, come the day. It'd all be worth it, to make Wendy Testaburger cry, to destroy Stan and Kyle, to prove to Kenny once and for all that he was absolutely, undeniably, wholeheartedly not loosing his touch.
Cartman smirked, absently balancing a pen across his index finger, carefully lining it up just right. The Jew had got suspicious, the phone calls, the sudden exeunts, the unexplained absences, he'd got all narrow eyed and dangerously, covetously curious. But that was easily deflected, a few wide-eyed denials, a few stupid, noncommittal lies, it wasn't had to throw him off the scent. He just had to pretend it was all about Wendy, just Wendy, absolutely, completely nothing but Wendy. If there was one thing Kyle couldn't stand, it was Wendy. That silly little catamite couldn't even bear prolonged discussions about Stan's "real" girlfriend, let alone her irritating bitchy presence.
Cartman had had to play peace keeper on Wednesday. Stan still hadn't apologised, and Wendy was still PMSing about it. It'd taken all of his subversive, conniving skills to fix that one. A few whispered jibes during business class, a few knicks at Wendy's armour, teamed with a few sly comments during lunch, a few cruel digs, the sewing of the seeds of doubt in Stan's mind. He'd got the apology, the forgiveness, and he got to piss off Jew in the process.
Wavering slightly, Cartman's pen nearly fell; automatically he jerked to correct it, his heart jolting as he steadied on his finger. He'd had to correct it; he'd had to fix Stan and Wendy's pathetic little charade. Her fall would only prove detrimental if she fell from a great height. He had to build her up to knock her down, she had to think everything was perfect before he destroyed it. That was just the way it was. It wouldn't work right otherwise.
Cartman smiled, the pen still neatly poised on his finger. They'd had a 'date' tonight, a stupid, clichéd, Friday night date. A charade. Chances were he'd taken her somewhere "romantic", somewhere with bright lighting, somewhere very public. Chances were he'd taken her to the roller rink, or ice skating, or to the mall; somewhere he could stay away from her, somewhere had an excuse to resolutely not touch her, not kiss her. Just like he promised the stupid little Jew, just like he whispered down the phone before he left to pick her up.
Pursing his lips, Cartman steadied his hand, steadying the pen. Wendy'd got all dressed up, all dressed up with a slap of desperation; too much make-up, a too short skirt, too revealing, too betraying to who she really was. She got all ready for him to pick her up, she made her intentions clear. He'd dropped her back off a few hours later, the overpowering make-up, the too short skirt, all of it painfully untouched. He'd reluctantly kissed her on the cheek, reluctantly hugged her, he'd bid her a goodnight, and he'd retreated, leaving her standing on the doorstep, cold and alone, drenched in desperation.
She was writing in her journal now, sitting cross-legged on her duvet as she happily hummed to herself. Cartman blinked, narrowing his eyes at the screen. He'd watched her undress again, watched her get ready for bed again, watched her text someone, watched her sing to herself, he'd watched her do it all. He'd spent the last week watching her do it all. Watching her do everything. Absolutely everything.
On the adjacent screen, Stan was pinning Kyle against the mattress, one hand tangled in his hair, the other creeping up his shirt. Cartman winced in disgust, carefully keeping his pen steady, carefully keeping it balanced on his finger. Stan was sucking on Kyle's neck, tracing kisses up his jaw. They'd wedged the door shut with the chair again, just like they always did when they were alone. Cartman frowned, steadying his pen. Having already caught the matinée performance of their sordid little act, he wasn't in a rush to catch the evening show. Once the shirts came off, he'd switch the screen off. He had what he needed; he didn't need to see that again.
Shifting slightly, the pen still carefully balancing across his finger, Cartman checked the time. It was getting late, even for a Friday night, it was getting late. It was nearly time. At two in the morning his team of illegal (and cheap) Home Depot Mexicans would arrive; it wouldn't take them more then a few hours to decorate the streets, to put up the banners and bunting, to paste up the photos. At six the elephants were due, already dressed in their stupid elephant circus outfits, all ready to go. All the performers were to be ready before seven, the parade would be ready to go at eight. Cartman smiled, still toying with his pen. Everything was going to be perfect. Absolutely perfect. Absolutely, gutteringly perfect.
Laughing slightly, Cartman jerked his hand back, watching his pen clatter against the desk, watching it clatter to the floor. In less then twelve hours everything would kick off. There would be fanfares, clowns, elephants and acrobats: there would be a full on party, a street parade, a carnival. In less then twelve hours he'd get his revenge on Wendy Testaburger, he'd wreck her reputation, he'd embarrass her, he'd destroy her. He'd strip her of the love of her life, he'd break her stupid little heart. Sure, there would be casualties. But who cares? So what if people got hurt? The Jew and the pussy would fall, yeah, sure, but he didn't care. It'd be quite funny really, watching those faggots live up to their reputation. He didn't care if he broke them, he'd shatter the world to get his revenge. Nothing could stop him, nothing and no-one. He was unstoppable. He was a fucking juggernaut.
Cartman blinked. His phone was vibrating again, angrily humming against the table top. Inhaling inwardly, he narrowed his eyes, scowling at the cheap plastic cover. Cursing violently, he snatched the handset up, accepting the call, rubbing his fat fingers across his face as he greeted the prattling voice, dimly praying that the goddamn elephants were actually fucking worth all this.
A/N - Cue major plot jump to speed up story progression, because fuck was it going slow. There was too much talking, so hey, bridge to the good part. The actual carnival finally happens over the next chapters. This puts it a little past halfway mark now. Maybe even two thirds through. Maybe a little less. I'm not sure. I'm just making it up as I go along. So thank you for sticking with it, it actually really really means a whole whole lot. And super duper buper thank you's for reviewing it, it really means the whole fluffy candyfloss world. Christ yup yup!
And Gingersexual, the Kenny thing should rear its head in a little while, after the whole 'OMG outing thing' he should come into play. I'm still not sure how prominent/prevalent it will be, but I am sure there will be at least one chapter on it near the end, considering I've already got one of the final chapters partway written, but one chapter really isn't alot, so sorry, but there should be a little more too, maybe. As for how many chapters left, ech, I'm not too sure on that either. Aside from a few snippets that make up my "plan", all of this is just made up as I go along, so it's really anyone's guess. Mon Dieu, I really am awfully messy writer. And blooming heck your love life is complicated, congratz on the dramaz! Dramaz keep life interesting!
And Savannah, two hundred and thirty pounds at least. I always thought he'd be, like, three hundred pounds. You know, like a small elephant maybe, something horrific and obscene and wholeheartedly Cartman =P