In the end, they decided to try and get as much of the project out of the way before they actually started playing anything. The result was the two of them sprawled out on Kyle's bedroom floor amongst coloured pencils and a set of glue sticks. Stan's hat and jacket was in a pile beside him, and Kyle had pushed his sleeves up around his elbows. A half empty bag of Cheesy Poofs was between them, and they had only successfully completed two more things.
Kyle let his head fall back against the wall, an exasperated groan sliding from his lips. He was annoyed with every single detail of this project and had no inspiration of how to make it better. Naked Grecian men or not, Wendy was going to blow their presentation out of the water no matter how they looked at it.
"Hey, uh," Stan began clumsily, staring down at the carpet, "did Wendy talk about me at the library?"
Kyle sighed. "I don't want to make you upset again, man..."
"She did!" Stan said excitedly.
Kyle looked at him with a blunt and tired glare. "She said she was sorry," Kyle murmured uneasily.
"She's sorry?" Stan echoed. "Do you know what this means? I could totally get her back, dude, and you can help me and we can plan some really big thing-"
"No, dude," Kyle cut him off. "She's with Token now, and if that's what makes her happy, you don't want to get in the way of that."
Stan frowned and nodded. He probably should have stopped going after Wendy at the end of fifth grade, but there was something so spectacular about her. Her hair was always really soft, and she was so opinionated about things, and he actually liked that her temper flared. Her voice was so smooth when she was going off on someone, belittling and ridiculing them all at once. He liked so much about her, he couldn't list it all at once without throwing up.
"Fuck this," Kyle said. "Let's go play some video games."
"That is the best thing I've heard all day."
(line break)
Kyle's mom was standing at the door when they climbed down the stairs, and she looked disgruntled. Stan fell back into the couch after putting in a game, a controller already in his hand and another beside him for Kyle.
"Mom? Is everything okay?" Kyle asked.
"Oh yes, some of your little friends," she said stiffly, "are here. I'll let you talk to them, it seems important." She walked back toward her bedroom, revealing Cartman and Kenny in the door. Kenny's shoulders were dusted with snow and he was shivering.
"Some fucking dumbass in a CNN truck almost killed Kinny," Cartman whined.
"Those bastards!"
"Whoa, Ken, are you okay?" Stan asked, getting up from his place on the couch.
"He's fine, butt holes. This happens all the damn time," Cartman snapped. "Now come on, we have to sue the CNN."
"I don't know, Cartman, we have a project to finish," Stan said.
"Yeah, a project you ditched us on," Kyle added.
Cartman stared at them blankly. Kyle turned around and went back up the stairs, only to return a few moments with his and Stan's coats in his arms. Then, somehow, they were following the flustered pair out the door in search of the infamous CNN truck.
(line break)
They found it parked outside the Peppermint Hippo, cheering a bit that they had finally been able to locate it. Not that it was truly that hard, because South Park was a small town and there weren't too many places to look, but it was still their victory. They crossed the street and entered the strip club without hesitation; after all, they had been going to it ever since they were in fourth grade, and most people didn't even question their presence there anymore.
The club inside was extremely dirty and the floors buzzed with the music around them. It rattled Kenny's brain, and the uncleanliness of the place caused Kyle to slink behind Stan. There was the washing scent of alcohol and sweat that met them as they went through the doors. An overtone of rushed, static filled speech from the DJ carried over the music. Bright coloured lights flickered across the room and tall, busty dancers walked around in revealing clothing.
Cartman looked at his hand, picking some dirt out of his fingernails. Kyle tried to stifle his snickering—he was sure that no matter how many times Cartman called Kyle a fag, there was nothing more queer about examining your fingernails in a strip club. Stan remained focus on their task, his eyes passing over the males in the crowd, searching for something or someone.
"Hey, Kyle, do you have a dollar?" Kenny asked.
"Sick, dude," Kyle groaned, but pulled out some money from his pocket and put it into Kenny's open hand. The blonde thanked him and ran off toward one of the bustier brunettes with a muffled "woohoo!"
"There," Stan said abruptly, pointing toward a man with an untied tie (which for some reason made Kyle question its purpose around the man's neck) and a somewhat fancy business jacket. "That's the CNN guy."
Cartman powered forward, ignoring several men receiving lap dances as they passed by. He stood behind the man in the suit with a grumpy expression clear on his face, his arms crossed over his chest. He cleared his throat, trying to pull the man's attention away from the girl on the stage in front of him.
"Excuse me," Cartman said loudly.
The man turned, surprised. A few empty beer cans were lined up on the stage in front of him. He already had some sparkles printed on his skin, like a mark somehow showing where he had been. They gleamed in the pink and orange and green lights that cut through the smoky air. Cartman glared at the man, only moving his eyes down to check the name tag that was pinned to the overcoat of the pinstripe suit. Before Cartman had the chance to make a scene in the middle of a strip club, Stan stepped in front of him and greeted the man calmly.
"Hey, you're a reporter, right? So...what are you doing in South Park?" he asked.
"PETA freaked out on us when they found out we had a story over dogs from around the world, so we had to change the programming and they wouldn't throw a fit," the man explained. "I'm looking for a time filler that won't horridly offend people who marry llamas."
"A story?" Kyle snorted. "Why would you-"
"Fuck you guys, I came here for a reason," Cartman groaned, cutting in impatiently. "You almost killed my friend, fucker! Isn't that right, Kinny?"
There was a stretch of silence before Cartman looked around amongst the many dancers and through the smog filled air. Kenny's bright orange parka was hard to miss, but it was nowhere to be seen through the small crowds of people.
"Aw, come on! The fuck, Kinny?"
Kyle let out an annoyed sigh. "Why would you come here for a story?" he finished.
"South Park's got an amazing history," the reporter said, relishing in the stories he had heard as if he were reliving them. "A group of fourth grade boys stopped the oncoming army of giant guinea pigs, and destroyed the largest ring of hippies to ever be witnessed! They defeated the dark lord Cthulu and even diverted a mob of hobos away from their town. A huge smug storm brewed over South Park—it's one of the most interesting places up to date!"
"Yeah, we know, that was us," Stan said flatly.
"That was you?" the reporter said in disbelief. "Then what happened? It's been four years since anything else like that has even come close to occurring."
"I don't know, we've been kind of busy with school and stuff," Kyle mumbled.
The man hummed sympathetically. "Oh how the great have fallen, eh, boys?" He snickered, then said, "I guess not everyone's cut out for a life of never ending adventure. At least what you've done will have lasted."
As he shifted his attention back to the dancer, the boys exchanged uneasy glances before turning away and walking out.
(line break)
"He was totally mocking us!" Cartman huffed. "He was calling us boring, and he was right, Kahl. How could you let this happen to us?"
"Why are you blaming this on me?"
"We have to prove him wrong," Cartman said decidedly. "I'm seriously, guys. We'll give him the best cover story he could have asked for."
"No, Cartman, we have a project to work on," Kyle replied. "We don't have time to give him a great cover story, okay? It's not. Our. Problem."
"Like hell it's not our problem! He was calling us out," Cartman shot back.
"I don't care what he was doing, I care what you were not doing, and you were not helping us finish that project!" Kyle's voice was escalating in volume and somewhat in pitch, and Stan could tell he was trying his hardest not to punch Cartman square in the jaw. Stan's stomach twisted into knots and he was trying to decide whether or not he wanted to puke into the potted plant by the Peppermint Hippo's entrance. He settled for holding his midsection and leaning against the cold pole that held up the awning over the doors.
"Whatever, Kahl, I can do what I want," Cartman spat.
"Then you're getting a zero," Kyle hissed.
"Fine."
"Fine!"
Cartman twisted around and walked off the other way, not looking back. Kyle let out a frustrated growl, shoving his hands into his pockets. His breath trailed up to the sky in streams of white. He looked at his shoes and the sidewalk, his face flickering from angered to unsettled. He decided on a tired smile when he cast his glance over to Stan, who was watching him worriedly.
"Cartman is such a gaytard," Stan said after a second's silence.
Kyle laughed and nodded. "I swear if he comes back here complaining that he can't think of ideas for the greatest cover story, I'm going to break his arms."
(line break)
The door squealed open, the warm air from inside flooding out around the boy in the doorway. Clyde Donovan tucked his hands into the pockets of his Letterman jacket. He ran one hand through his ruffled brown hair, and finally settled on asking, "Cartman? What are you doing here?"
"It's been a while, Clyde," Cartman answered. "Or should I say...Mosquito?"
"You aren't starting that up again, are you?"
"Well, I-"
"Last time you punched me in the nose," Clyde said, and closed the door.
(line break)
The second house Cartman visited was extraordinarily larger than the last, with large windows and a long front lawn that was trimmed and frosted with ice. Token answered the door, confused to see the boy awaiting him on his porch.
"Tupperware!"
"Not this time, Cartman," Token sighed, and slammed the door shut.
(line break)
Cartman sighed as he lifted a closed fist. He banged on the third door, and a few moments later, a girl with dark black hair answered. She had squirmed her way into a long black dress and fishnets, and a cigarette was wormed between her painted black lips. She smelled like death and smoke, and gave Eric a very bored look.
"Are you here for my stupid little brother?" she said, her voice monotone.
Cartman winced. "Nevermind," he muttered, and turned away.
(line break)
Wendy tugged her jacket on, catching a glimpse of the sun setting behind the trees. It was a dark red, and the snow around her reflected the vivid light. It flashed around her in shades of orange and red, like an iced forest fire. Token had to get back to his house before they finished their research—not that they were even able to find much, anyway—and Wendy reassured him she would be fine on her own in the library. She held a couple of books in her hands, recently checked out so she could continue to work on the project at home.
She would not let Garrison's awkward prompt trip her up. She would make an A in that class, even if it meant someone's blood on her hands. Alright, she was being a bit extreme, but she really didn't want to make a C. She hadn't ever made one before, and she didn't plan on making one soon.
As Wendy crossed the road and started down the sidewalk adjacent to the library, she realized a somewhat taller and significantly larger figure was heading toward the way she left. As if his turquoise hat tugged down to his eyebrows didn't give him away. Wendy looked over her shoulder and caught sight of the row of houses set behind the library. One of them she knew was Butters' and honestly, who else could Eric possibly be going to see on this side of town?
"Don't you look disappointed," Wendy remarked, stopping in front of him.
"Get out of my way, bitch," Cartman grunted.
"You know, I really don't appreciate you traumatizing Butters with your antics all the time," Wendy continued, ignoring him. Cartman looked like he was going to bite out a comeback, but stopped. He contemplated something over in his mind for a few seconds, and then shook his head.
"Wendy, if I asked you to dress up as a superho—er, superhero—to get on the news, would you do it?" Cartman asked.
"What? You mean like Wonder Woman?"
"Yeah, whatever. Will you help me or not?"
They stared at each other, perfectly still. After a few silent seconds, Cartman crossed his arms. Wendy ran her tongue over her lips and drew in a breath.
"Yes, but you have to help me finish my project first," Wendy said. "Deal?"
She tucked her books under one arm and held out her hand. Cartman looked up at her, muttered "deal," and shook her hand firmly. Wendy grinned widely, and told him to go to her house tomorrow at three o'clock sharp. Then she shuffled past him, leaving him alone on the sidewalk.
Cartman wondered why he ever asked Wendy to become a superhero with him, and why the hell she ever agreed.
