A/N: Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed, added and/or subscribed. Please continue to review, add and/or subscribe. Sorry about the huge delay…RL nonsense, you know how it is…won't happen again, promise!

Warning: Contains foul language. And I've always wanted to use "cajoled" in a sentence.

CHAPTER FOUR: Mingle

'O-k o-k!' the mini-Hefner grinned, clapping his hands together gleefully. 'It's great to see such a good turn-out, you guys; real nice to see so many of you devoted to the sweet, sweet cause.'

'This is humiliating,' Kyle informed him, somehow biting back his anger.

Cartman sighed at the mood-killer. 'I've warned you once, Jewface. So help me God…'

Kyle grumbled bitterly to himself, but fell silent. When Token complained, he was bound and gagged with what Cartman lovingly referred to as "the Blanket". It was baby blue, dotted with the grinning faces of Wellington Bear. Nothing else said "sadistic evil genius" in quite the same way.

'Ok,' Cartman continued, barely containing his glee, 'I've gathered you guys here today for a very important reason – for a murder is about to take place!' He was met by a sea of unimpressed faces. 'Oh yes. And you have 'til sunrise tomorrow to figure out the killah, or you've got to stay here forever! Oh yes! How d'you like that, Kahl?!'

'Dude, you can't keep us here against our will,' Stan insisted, but without much conviction. He'd already managed to lure them into the basement and force them into a prescribed seat.

'Oh, can't I?'

'No! I mean, our – our parents'll come get us,' he mumbled, with even less conviction.

Cartman's glee increased, his piggy eyes twinkling like vicious sequins from a sadistic arts and crafts basket. 'Really, Stan? Your dad's hit the bottle so many times it's developed a flagellation fetish.'

'Dude!'

'Oh yes, Stanley!' He leaned over to Wendy and added, 'I got that one off the Internet.'

Wendy looked at him as if he'd just called her a cunt and pissed on her grandma.

'Hm. Suit yourself.' He once again addressed the assembled victims, and continued, 'You have 'til sunrise, gentlemen. And then Artemis Clyde's gonna get nasty.'

Kyle briefly surveyed the frog with a concerned look, and was disgusted by it.

'Right!' said Cartman, again clapping his hands together. 'Any questions? Yes, Pip?'

'Am I actually going to get my trousers back at any point this evening?'

'That depends – are you still a limey little wuss? That's what I thought. Any more questions?'

There was a loud groan of, 'Hospital, dammit!' from Bebe, which was universally ignored. After an expectant pause, Wendy reluctantly raised her hand.

'Yes, hippy?'

'We already know who killed Kenny, fatass. We saw you do it.'

'Uh – Kenny was just a taster,' he said, improvising desperately. 'The real treat comes later. It could be any one of us!'

'Well, except you,' Wendy pointed out, increasingly unimpressed. 'Since you've got to be the killer.'

'Nuh-uh,' he insisted, 'Kahl's got to be the killer.'

'Cartman!' Kyle objected.

'That's the heathen lore, Kahl! I can't help that!'

'You are such a godamn fatass, Cartman.'

'AY! Defend me, hippy!'

'Me?' said Wendy.

'Uh, do I see any other skinny white-trash hippies in here?! Mace the heathen!'

'Fuck you Eric!'

'Go stick your dick in a panda's blowhole!'

'PANDAS DON'T HAVE BLOWHOLES!' she screamed. As an afterthought, she added, 'AND I DO NOT HAVE A DICK!'

'Panda, dolphin – whatevah! I do what I want! Now…' he pointed around the room wildly, hands shaking and face contorted to fight back his unholy rage. 'Mingle, dammit! All of you!' A few concerned looks were exchanged. 'MINGLE! Have cognac and foreplay! It's my godamn party and I will have mingling!'

Stan and Kyle exchanged looks. Cartman was as red as his dressing gown, and looked as if he would either combust or cry.

Stan said, 'Dude, are you going to have a heart attack?'

For a moment, all was silent. Then a very quiet, very high-pitched whine started up, growing increasingly louder and whinier as it progressed. It was emitting from Cartman, and it sounded like "Mhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiingeeeehl..." With a resigned sigh, Stan turned from his host and did as he was asked.

Lowering his voice, he addressed the boys nearest him – Kyle and Tweek – to ask, 'He wouldn't really kill somebody, would he?'

'It wouldn't be terribly out of character if he did, would it?' Kyle replied. He paused, wrinkled his nose in disgust, and flicked his tongue experimentally over his lower lip. 'Goddammit,' he muttered, '"terribly out of character"? I'm using limey adjectives, Stan! I'm buying into this stupid game! We need to get outta here.'

'Ngh!' Tweek squeaked. 'It's gonna be me, I just know it! Ngh…I don't wanna die, you guys! I'm too young!'

'Shut up, Tweek,' Stan commanded, 'you're not gonna die. We just need to stick around until he's got it…out of his system, or something.'

'I am not sticking around!' Kyle hissed, lowering his voice as Cartman strolled by. 'You heard him Stan, he's totally got it in for me!'

'Come on dude,' he cajoled, 'he may be irreversibly mentally damaged, but he's not completely insane. Besides, he seems to be really into this. Maybe we should just humour him.'

'Why?'

''Cause he's our friend.'

'No he isn't.'

'He sort of is.'

'No he isn't.'

'He's a friendly acquaintance.'

'No he isn't.'

'He's got a gun.'

'Point.' Kyle sighed, and watched Cartman as he walked through his audience like a retarded farmer tending to his chickens, ushering them around the room until they were positioned as he liked them. 'Jesus Christ, Stan. If he kills me, please hide my nudie mags before my mom finds them.'

'Your mom's nudie mags are better, anyway.'

'Aw, dude—'

''Scuse meh,' said Cartman, nudging past them and clearing his throat in a genteel way, 'I hate to inform you, gentlemen, but what we've got here is a conversation.'

Kyle glared at him. 'So?'

He scoffed. 'Heh, "so"? The Rules of Soiree say that anything under two minutes constitutes mingling, and anything over falls into uncomfortable chit-chat territory. Beyond that, and you're in the realms of conversation. You don't want to ruin my kickass soiree with ugly conversation, do you?'

Stan sighed. 'Fine. I'll mingle.' He shot Kyle a final encouraging look.

Cartman nodded happily. 'Damn right you will, Stanley. You mingle with Token and the burn victim, I think you'll get on like a house on fire.' He giggled softly to himself, and added, 'No pun intended. And Tweek, why don't you have a chit-chat with Buttlord and the hippy? There you go. And Kahl—'

'Fatboy.'

He paused, and shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he continued as if nothing had happened: 'Little Kahl can go mingle in the corner with Artemis Clyde frog.'

Kyle gave him a dead look. 'You want me to stand on my own?'

'No, I want you to mingle with Artemis Clyde.' As Kyle reluctantly obeyed, Cartman – not quite under his breath – added, 'And when the time comes, I shall truly enjoy killing you.'

Kyle wheeled around. 'What?!'

'Nothing,' he insisted, in a suspiciously innocent sing-song voice.

'You just said – you just said—'

He held up his chubby hands in a false display of innocence. 'I said nothing, Jewface!'

'You said that when the time comes, you'll truly enjoy killing me!'

He gave a short laugh. 'No I didn't, you guys. Uh – I said – I said that when the time comes, I shall truly enjoy…filling you.'

Kyle didn't react.

'Filling you,' Cartman repeated.

'Filling me.'

'Yes.'

'Filling me, Cartman.'

Eric realised he may have just told one of his weaker lies. 'Uh – filling you with joy Kahl, Jesus! Joy and candy and other gay crap! For the love of the slaughtered Christ child, Kahl. Goddammit…'

While Kyle received suspiciously off-colour propositions from the party host, Wendy, breaking the conversational edict that governed her, turned to Stan, Bebe and Token. She whispered, 'Guys, I can't stay here. I have whales to save.'

'…hospital…'

'Silence, Bebe.'

'Well I'm not happy about it, either,' said Stan, 'but what choice do we have? The door's locked and we're snowed in.'

Token began, 'We could always hit him with something…', but Wendy silenced him with a scowl.

'Violence,' she informed him primly, 'is never the answer.'

Bebe muttered something under her breath that may or may not have been "except when bear mace is involved".

'Shut up, Bebe.'

'Ok ok,' Stan interrupted, waving them into silence, 'let's just stick around and get this over with. If he's playing the real rules of a murder-mystery party, he's gonna have to tell someone they're the murderer. Whoever that person is should just tell the others; we all pretend to guess and then we go home.'

'So you don't think he'll kill somebody?' asked Wendy.

'Course not.'

'Oh good. Stan?'

'Yeah?'

'Any idea why he has a machete tucked in his dressing gown?'