Wow, can I just say that I was deathly afraid to log in to fanfiction because I got banned from Yahoo and my e-mail got disabled? Haha, damn, so glad this still works. Also, I'd like to make it clear that I unfortunately can't do every request that is asked of me. I wish I could, but some pairings I just find hard to write and I sometimes just don't have the time. Don't take offense though. :(. And sometimes I won't upload by whoever reviews first. I just generally write whatever pairing I feel like writing at the moment.
Pairing: Cartman x Henrietta
Request from: Nixi Rose
Disclaimer: I think it's pretty obvious that Matt & Trey would never write fanfiction. But whatever, I guess I'll have to disclaim this shit for now.
Cartman stepped inside of Tom Johannsen's ice cream parlor confidently, a wadded up ten dollar bill in his pudgy right hand. Sure, it was mostly a hangout for adults, but it had ice cream nonetheless. The feet of the teenager stepped forward, exchanging steps as he glanced around nonchalantly. He stared at the people, laughing and licking the scoops of their ice cream joyously. He knew all of them, yet he found it slightly embarrassing that out of all of the people there, he was the only one that ate Mr. Johannsen's ice cream daily. Whatever, he thought. There was absolutely nothing that would get in the way of him and his Chocolaty Custard Yum Yum Supreme.
The boy took another step forward and sat down at the front bar, his eyes staring directly in front of him while trying to ignore the judgmental gazes. Isn't enough that my friends call me fat at school? He considered. Now their parents have to critic me too. It wasn't until he heard a cough that his eyes widened in fear - a youthful cough; a teenager's cough. Fears of the possible insults that could emerge from the students' lips grabbed a hold of Eric's heart with sturdy fingers, preventing it from beating. His eyes casually unlocked from the front of the room, glancing at the student's bowl. A Chocolaty Custard Yum Yum Supreme.
His eyes levitated from the bowl and landed on a girl. A girl with spiky, midnight hair, a tight black corset, and tight fishnets with a slight layer of fat poking out from each individual hole. Her eyes, tired and lonely, were also somehow black in color - or perhaps just a dark, dark brown. She looked familiar to him - they attended the same high school. Her lips, accompanied with a heavy black gloss, were wrinkled. Wrinkled, the boy thought. She's only my age. Ironically, the dejected girl brought a spoonful of the bright, delectable treat into her mouth.
He considered acknowledging her, perhaps even commenting on how they shared the same taste. He soon decided against it, still in a thought of fear. Mr. Johannsen walked over to the teenager, smiling widely.
"Why, hello, Eric," He beamed through his wrinkled and friendly eyes. "The same as usual?"
Eric looked at him back, nodding. How he longed to be able to smile like him; to actually be happy. However, it was hard to be happy if you were Eric.
Tom Johannsen walked over to the refrigerator, pulling out the supplies necessary to create the delectable dessert. He scooped the vanilla ice cream out perkily, remembering to give the boy three extra scoops because that's the way he liked it. He then drizzled some custard and chocolate substance atop of it and placed a spoon inside the bowl.
"Enjoy!" He said smiling once again before walking away in order to treat the next customer who walked in.
Eric picked up his spoon, ready to indulge in the ice cream. He retreated a spoonful and brought it to his lips, only to be interrupted.
"If you tell anyone I come here, I'll kill you." The girl dressed in black said, her body suddenly turned towards him.
This surprised Cartman. A freaking girl? Telling me what to do?
"Same goes for you, bitch." He spat, returning to his ice cream. The two sat in silence for awhile, nursing their bowls.
"I mean it," The girl continued. "If someone found out I came here, I'd die. I'm not just some conformist, Britney Spears wannabe." She put her spoon down, resting her elbow on the counter and resting her cheek upon her hand.
"Then who are you?" Eric challenged.
"Henrietta?" She said pretentiously.
"So you do have a name." He said, bringing another spoonful to his mouth.
"Everyone has a name, dickwad." She noted, exhaling a large breath, exaggerating her boredom.
"Isn't that conformist, then?"
Her eyes enlarged. "Touché." She said through her raspy voice, raising an eyebrow.
"And what about this?" He asked, pointing towards her bowl of ice cream. "Not exactly Goth."
Her eyes left his face and looked downwards. She removed her right hand from her face and rubbed her other shoulder self consciously before turning her body back towards the counter and crossing her legs. "It's a long story." She concluded softly.
"Oh," Eric said awkwardly, picking his spoon back up and finishing off the last remaining ice cream inside the bowl. Amazingly, the usual sadness that consumed his body after he finished his ice cream surprisingly did not return on this particular day. Today, ice cream was not his only companion.
"Aren't you going to ask what it is?" She wondered aloud.
"I just don't really care." He admitted bluntly. Henrietta's eyes sparkled.
"When I was really little, my dad was everything to me." She told him. "He would always buy me those éclair pastry things. They were just really, really good and we'd always have fun eating them together." Her voice cracked noticeably. "He died a few years ago. This ice cream just reminds me of éclairs.. And of him."
"I'm sorry," Eric said, pushing his bowl of ice cream away. "My dad died too."
Henrietta's dark, soulless eyes met the auburn ones with disbelief. "Really? How?"
Eric shifted awkwardly. "Uh, it's not important.." He concluded, his voice trailing off. "But I never knew him. I hate everyone, even my friends. And I feel like maybe, If I ever met him, he'd be the one cool person." Disbelief washed over his body; it was hard to believe he was pouring out his inner most feelings to a girl at his school he barely knew.
"That's how my dad was for me," She admitted. "And now it feels like a part of me is missing and it won't ever come back." Her dark eyes flooded with water, a tear spilling down her plump cheek.
"But maybe I was wrong," Eric said, his eyes growing with concern for his newfound friend.
"Wrong about what?"
"About how nobody else is cool," His pudgy finger wiped off a mascara-dyed tear. He then, for the first time, felt confident. He grabbed her cold, shaking hand and with his other hand placed his ten dollar bill on the counter before leading her out of the store.
"Where are we going?" She questioned him.
"To get some éclairs."
And for the first time in years, Henrietta smiled.