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Nockfell is hardly the kind of town to have a beautiful strip mall with enough stores to account for every letter of the alphabet. Dreams of taking a selection of friends to window-shop the strip could not quite be fulfilled in a place such as this. What Nockfell does have, though, is a small shopping center with the essentials: a Wal-Mart, a McDonald's, a consignment shop, one of those tiny stores that dealt exclusively in overpriced Christian paraphernalia, a GameStop, and a Dollar Tree.
"Really, it's the height of luxury," Larry deadpans upon arrival to the dreary-looking parking lot, which was busier than 'abandoned' but still plenty within 'prime kidnapping conditions' territory.
"Shut up, Larry," and the taller boy chuckles when Ashley elbows him. "It's Christmastime. I know it's hardly Mall of America, but we're out of the house, and there's lights up and stuff, and maybe you can find some cheap gifts or whatever. You still need something for your mom, right?"
"I was thinking I'd just get her a Big Mac." That earns him another elbow.
"I love McDonald's," adds Sal, helpfully.
Travis shuffles his shoes against the sidewalk, kicking an errant pebble. He feels a bit like he's out of his depth-- truly, he feels like he's drowning. His hands shoved in his pockets, he stares at the backs of the three teenagers in front of him, only half-listening to their debate over which store they should hit first. The invitation to join them this chilly December afternoon had almost been rejected, but upon debating whether he'd rather flounder through social interaction or deal with his father's ... usual plans for an evening, he'd decided that he would prefer this.
There's a looming fear of what might happen if his father finds out he isn't actually studying with his math professor, and is in fact just wasting time at Wal-Mart. But that's a later problem, and one that causes him far too much anxiety to be considered this deeply in front of people. His chest twinges, aches, when he imagines that face, and he does his best to just shove it away, knowing there's no helping it--
"Travis?" He shakes his head, once, looking up to meet eyes with Sal. The blue-haired boy is holding something in his hands, which Travis imagines he's pulled from his backpack.
It's difficult to tell what Sal is thinking behind that prosthetic. Travis is just grumbling out a "What do you want?" when Sal closes the (admittedly, small) distance between the two of them to suddenly wrestle something onto his dusty blonde head. The way his nose crinkles up urges a laugh from Sal, who steps back to admire the Santa hat he's adorned Travis with.
"He almost looks festive. Almost," says Larry, holding up a finger.
"I think it's cute. C'mon, be supportive." Ashley nods once at Travis.
Sal nods, too, hands on his hips. He's got his own hat on, though his is much larger and with a tail that settles near the middle of his back. "The Holy Ghost, Santa Claus," he declares, in a tone Travis imagines is meant to evoke the feeling of an Evangelical preacher or, something. Travis huffs.
"My head was cold anyway." He brushes, uncertainly and self-consciously, at the tuft of bangs that is peeking out of the front. "I guess it's fine."
The trio of friends seems pleased enough. Sal's mitten-clad hand tugs Travis along with them as they head into the Dollar Tree, chosen by Ashley simply because it's the closest to them. Their boots crunch the layer of salt that coats the pavement and the sidewalks, the snow from yesterday long since shoveled from their paths. There's a trill of a bell when they push the door open, and the outpouring of classic Christmas tunes from the overhead speakers. The teens begin to ravage the place, Larry and Ashley both grabbing carts.
Larry is all about the absolute garbage Christmas candy, off-brand and dubious in quality. Sal is right there urging him to make the purchase, and earns a kiss to the top of his supportive head (meaning Larry mostly just kisses the hat). Ashley is pretty sure this is how you get food poisoning. Travis looks at the stuff quizzically, as if he's never really seen anything like it before (because he hasn't), but he doesn't say anything.
Sal grabs one of those necklaces that's meant to look like oversized Christmas lights and proudly puts it on. Travis snorts, dismissively. Sal attempts to put a Rudolph nose on him, and has to dodge it when Travis tosses it right back at his head. Sal seems pleased, though.
"We're snuuuggled up together like two birds of a featha' would beeee," croons Larry alongside the radio, with the musical talent of a pile of slush, into Ashley's ear as she attempts to browse the little gift sets by the front. (Because if Larry won't shop for his mother, then clearly she must.) She tugs at his hair, pushing him away by the cheek, and he whines but relents. "C'mon, I was kiddin' about my mom. You know I'm gonna take care of her, probably'll find something at Wal-Mart..."
Travis has found a pair of felt reindeer antlers on a bright red headband. There's little bells on them, and they jingle in a way that isn't completely pathetic. Sal encourages him to put them on with the hat, and helps him manage this. "Completes the look," insists Sal, as he settles them atop the red material. (Travis tries not to breathe while Sal is this close, lest he have said breath stolen away.)
Once they've collected all of their little trinkets and snacks, they head up to the register. Price tags are torn off of things being worn and passed up, wallets are pulled out and bills pooled together to pay for their united tab. Travis has little to offer, but no one even asks him, seeming to understand without having to be told. He feels guilty, but no one looks mad. Sal's one live eye seems to level him with sympathy. He can't decide if this makes him angry or not.
The next stop would've probably been the terribly-cliche Christian boutique, with its cheesy inspirational signs and its cashier that always looked like they had indigestion, but the trio seems to reach another one of those unspoken agreements that this probably isn't the best idea. Ashley leads the group over to Wal-Mart, as the consignment shop looks - as always - like it is built upon bricks of asbestos.
The greeter seems nervous when they walk in. Larry takes this as a compliment, grabbing a cart and steering it with confidence right past the man. They're not three yards away from him before Larry is quite literally manhandling his small, blue-haired boyfriend right into the cart (the body of it, mind you-- he's not that small).
"But where will we put the stuff?" Sal asks, though he makes no effort to escape, the twinkling lights around his neck reflecting mildly off of the surface of his prosthetic.
"You're the stuff," Larry tells him.
"That must mean you're returning me, since I came in with you and all."
"Yup," and Larry pushes their cart straight towards the apparel section. "Gonna get all 7 bucks back tonight."
"Will you buy me McDonald's with that seven dollars?"
The racks are full of absolutely godawful Christmas-themed wear. The ugly sweaters are nothing short of amazing. Ashley picks up one that depicts a Gingerbread man torn in half, mimicking death, with the words "OH SNAP" in big letters. Sal points at it and states, simply, "Me," and Larry turns red from laughter. Travis finds himself holding a pink one with a sheep at the center, said sheep three-dimensional in that its fluff was real cotton tufts rising from the fabric. The text reads "FLEECE NAVIDAD", and he feels an eyebrow twitch. Larry snatches it from his hands and puts it in the cart (meaning he puts it in Sal's lap). "Hope that was the right size," is the only comfort he offers as he pushes Sal and the sweater away.
They wander the holiday area after that, looking through ornaments and cookie-making supplies, gift sets and other fun goodies. Larry finds a self-care bundle that he feels might suit his mother, knowing how difficult it is for her to find time for herself. Sal grabs cookie cutters like a madman, complaining that they always loose their cutters between Christmases and insisting he must buy more to correct this. Ashley is all about the ornaments, picking out several for both her own tree and the boys'.
Travis mumbles something about not needing ornaments or presents. Sal pushes a cookie cutter shaped like a wrapped gift into his hand. "Merry Christmas," he says, cheerfully. Travis can't quite scowl as deeply as he normally would. He holds onto the cutter for a bit.
Larry comes back around the corner (having abandoned Sal with Ash) with his arms full of stuffed animal. Ashley has to be the one to tell him that the adorable stuffed dog he's holding is thirty-five dollars. He does not take it well, going through the five stages of grief right there in aisle two. Sal offers him some shit Dollar Tree candy from his pockets. "Like a balm o'er the wound," Larry says ominously, shoving the chocolates(?) into his mouth.
Sal laments the fact that they can't buy booze, as all of the holiday ciders and wines look tasty (or at least like they'd be an experience). Ashley reminds him that they could still always send Robert back over if they really wanted something. This pleases Sal, and he proceeds to take (somewhat blurry) pictures of his favorites.
Their total at Wal-Mart is understandably higher than the dollar store, but they still work together to cover the costs. Sal insists on Travis wearing his new sweater, petting the sheep that now adorned his abdomen with a smile behind his prosthetic. "He's super festive now," Sal tells Larry. "Mission accomplished."
Travis doesn't quite understand what the mission was or how this counts as a success, but he certainly feels warmer and sillier. (He doesn't hate it as much as he should, though.)
They walk over to the McDonald's, bags in hand, to have their Christmas feast. Sal seems truly satisfied as he sinks down into the peeling seats of their booth, large fry in hand, chowing down. Larry's got an arm lazily draped around him, enjoying his own burger at a much slower pace.
"Sally, your enthusiasm for McDonald's will continue to amaze me," says Ashley, who chuckles softly before taking a sip from her soda.
"McDonald's has never let me down. Other things come and go..." Sal shoves a fistful of fries into his mouth under the prosthetic and, around them, continues, "Buh nah th's plashe."
"I am temporary." Larry touches his chest with his thumb, careful not to smear his burger straight into his shirt. "McDonald's is forever."
Ashley rolls her eyes fondly. Travis eats a chicken nugget.
With the wind whistling outside and the night chill settling in, and with more Christmas music pumping in above their table as they all ate and laughed, Travis finds that he isn't entirely miserable. In fact, he's way less miserable than he thought he would be. Sure, he looks like an idiot, and his father probably won't allow him to keep this stuff. Sure, it isn't even really his style to begin with. Yeah, these guys are way more chatty and comfortable with one another than he feels like he'll ever be in their presence. Especially given what he knows ... this feels like a little bit of a fantasy, like a denial of the truth. But Travis can't find it in himself to be unhappy. He's ... content. He's having a good time.
He feels ... festive. Reluctantly, but truly, festive. It feels like Christmas, just a little bit. Just right here, in this McDonald's, with shoes brushing his and Larry laughing loud enough to fill the whole restaurant. With Ashley herding them all around and making sure they have a nice time. With Sal being just his usual brand of enigmatic, startling Travis with his genuine nature and calming ability.
Travis takes a pull from the straw of his soda. Ashley's currently choking on hers, having been startled by something Sal said. The boys across from he and Ashley are losing it, turning colors from how hard they're laughing. Sal sneaks another fry between the gap.
The preacher's son sighs quietly. When Sal next looks at him, he swears he catches him smiling.