▪️Predictions ▪️Style

🔻cookie slapped🔻

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park
Title: cookie slapped
Words: 3568

Slow and steady was the way to go. At least that's what her mother always told her about sewing. The technique seemed to be going over smoothly enough as she weaved the colorful thread in and out, securing the button eye that had come loose from her childhood dolly. She jerked at the chime of the doorbell, sending the needle into her index finger.

"Ouch!" She yelped, and immediately placed the dot of blood into her mouth, glaring in the direction of the distraction. She pulled her finger out and looked it over when the bell sounded a second time. Setting "Dolly" aside, she got up and moved to the front of the house.

Quiet curses about "damn Jews" and "faggy assholes" could be heard in grumbles outside the front door. She recognized the voice immediately, and was piqued with curiosity as she reached for the knob to answer the persistent knocking.

"Cartman?" Wendy's voice was heavy with concern. "What happened to your eye?"

He rubbed lightly at the soreness. "A cookie... accident." He replied hesitantly.

"A cookie accident?" She parroted shrilly.

He looked around, trying to think of a logical story. "I was going to dunk it in milk, and it... got pissed off and it... jumped up and slapped me."

"Humph," She remarked, inspecting the damage. The entire area around his eye was puffy and red, with clear knuckle impressions at the top. "Looks like a fist mark."

"It was a big ass cookie!" He exclaimed. There was no way in hell he was about to tell the hottest girl in the world that he'd just been punched by a Jewish pussy. A cookie attack may not be anything to be proud of, but it was certainly better than the truth.

"Do you want to come inside?" She asked. " I can get you something to make the swelling go down."

He held back a laugh, thinking of the way Kenny would have found a double meaning to that. "You think I really want to stand out here in the snow? You're damn right I wanna come in!"

She huffed and led him inside. There was something about her that was like an antidote to his anger. Ironically, It pissed him off in a way, how easy it had become for him to be nice to her because of that. He didn't like being nice. He liked to piss people off and screw them over. He had to maintain some of that underlying bastard he knew himself to be.

"So, what's a hoe like you doing home by yourself? Shouldn't you be prowling the streets by now?"

"The good lays aren't out until after ten." She replied sarcastically. "Sit." She indicated the couch and disappeared into the kitchen.

He grunted, steamed at her commanding him as if he were a dog. He took up the offer however, and she returned a moment later with an icepack and settled herself beside him. The corners of his mouth curved upward at the feeling of her knee pressing against his thigh.

"This will help," She assured, and gently pressed it to his eye.

His hand rose up to hers slowly, and cupped it beneath his. Her skin was soft, like marshmallows... or something. She didn't bother to pull away, and he could almost swear he saw her hide a smile.

"Why are you here?"

"You invited me in." He smart mouthed with a grin.

She tried to keep a straight face, but lost the battle as a perfect smile brightened her face. In a way, she couldn't help but wish he could be more happy and calm more often.

"You're really pretty when you smile." He heard his voice tell her without any permission from his brain, and silently cursed himself for lack of control. "I mean, you know, for a hippie."