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Jackson Cole ran his hand through his mop of dirty brown hair the color of dirt in a jar. He rubbed the sleep out of his milk chocolate orbs, and glanced at the watch on his wrist. It glowed 3:33 AM. Jackson sighed and adjusted his headset. After taking some high guy’s order, he slipped the uncomfortable headset down his neck and let it rest there. He closed his warm coffee-colored eyes and was about to fall asleep against the cold glass of the fast-food window when the honk honk of a clown car pierced the night and awoke him. He had probably been waiting where he was supposed to order his food for at least a few minutes, but Jackson had carelessly taken the pinching headset off of his ears. As the car pulled up, his eyes met a handsome man with a sharp jawline and loose, messy, ruby-red curls pulled up, Jackson tugged up his headset quickly and brought the microphone hastily to his attractively rounded jaw.  

“Uh, hi- um- sir- i’m so sorry for the hold up.” 

“Busy night, huh?” He said, dripping with sarcasm.

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The man looked oddly familiar. He knew he had seen him before. His eyes widened as he realized who this man was.

“Uhm- sorry to ask- but are you the Ronald McDonald?” Jackson asked, awed. “I would never say something normally, but, um, you’re kind of a hero of mine. I mean, with all the mascot work, god, you’re an inspiration,” Jackson finished, blushing as he realized he’d said too much.

The cherry-haired man rubbed his temple and met Jackson’s eyes with an exasperated stare. “Look, i'm only here ,” he clarified, gesturing at the Burger King sign, “ because I lost a mcbet, okay?” 

Jackson was taken aback and opened his soft, perfectly shaped lips to respond but was cut off-

 “-I just want a mchot fudge sundae.” 

“Okay, owo,” Jackson said, throwing his hand to his mouth. The owo just slipped out. “Actually- um- we don’t have hot fudge sun-” Jackson trailed off, looking at the jewel haired man’s far off expression, as if searching for something.

“MCFUCK!” Ronald exclaimed, his face beginning to grow red and angry like the sun, "WHAT THE MCHELL IS HE DOING HERE?” 

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Jackson craned his neck out the window and gasped. There he was, in all his glory, the King standing in front of Ronald’s clown car glaring at Ronald, with a shining, golden crown nestled in his soft brown curls. Ronald glared back at him and slammed on the horn of his clown car three times.

HONK HONK HONK , the clown horn echoed into the dark night, “MOVE OUT OF THE MCWAY, YOU MCIDIOT” McDonald screamed.

The King approached slowly, “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mr. McClown.”
Ronald shot daggers at him with his eyes.

“Why did you come here? Were the ice cream machines broken?” The King chuckled mockingly, like a murder of crows to a rat squished in the subway. 

Ronald blushed, “NO! I was here to make sure your mc “meat” isn't horse meat still. Didn’t that only change after you copied the Mc Big Mac? Am I wrong?” he finished with a self-satisfied grin.

It was The King's turn to blush, keyboard smashing with his expression, “akjkjgashkjhflshkjsagh.” 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Ronald smirked, his offensively red lips pulling up to reveal perfectly spaced teeth and a tongue, which seductively slid over his right canine.

The King slinked around the car and knocked on the passenger side window until Ronald begrudgingly pulled it down, “What more do you mcwant from me?”
“Let me in,” he asked, a hard expression on his face.
“No. shut up,” Ronald spat back.
“Make me,” he said, leaning into the window. 

The King and Ronald held eye contact for a miraculous moment as the soft melody of “ Ba da ba ba ba” and “ have it your way” floated around them and melded for one sweet second. Ronald felt his breath catch in his lungs as the King leaned nearer and nearer to him.

Suddenly Ronald turned away, flustered and blushing, and fumbled around the button to unlock the doors.

 “Get the mcfrick in you two,” he said, looking back and forth between Jackson and the King. “I CAN’T believe im mcdoing this.”

Jackson was taken aback and pointed his hand at himself, “me? Owo-”

“Yes mcyou, get in.” Ronald remarked.

“Why?” he questioned.
“Because…” a riveting deep voice said, “we have to make sure you don't know too much.”

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The queer muskeeters looked up and turned around to be graced by the majestic white beard upon the chisled face of Colonel Sanders.

The King rolled his eyes and slammed back into his seat. “You're such a dramatic cluck. The kid knows nothing, calm down you hospice care patient.”

Colonel Sanders had opened the door of the clown car in a flash and had a knife to his throat, “Don't say that again.”

The King nodded and bowed his head in shame.
“McCalm the flurry down in here!” Ronald said loudly, reaching for a backstreet boys CD and popping it in the player, “Get in here before i mcleave you here.” he said, looking at Jackson’s face.
“Okay uwu,” Jackson said finally, allowing his true fuwa personality to shine. 

Jackson awkwardly climbed out of the takeout window and hopped into the clown car like the obedient little boy he was.

The clown car was weirdly spacious inside, despite its diminutive appearance. Jackson was stunned and it showed- Ronald caught his eye in the rearview mirror and said “It’s mcspacious, isn't it?” with a sly grin.

Jackson nodded, biting his lip and slipping his hair behind his ear. 

Ronald looked away before Jackson could notice the pale white of his clown makeup turning a lovely shade of pink from his profuse blushing. He bit his mclip. 

“Hmmm… i think i still need more space,” the King said, a faint smile playing on his lips.

He retracted his passenger seat as far as it could go, his face right beside Jackson’s. The King’s eyes were locked with Jackson’s, his dirty brown hair tickling the King’s nose and the sweet smell of coffee and pine trees radiating off of him and into The King’s nose holes. The King bit his lip as well as Jackson.

“Hi,” he smiled, “I'm The King, you can have me your way.” He winked. 

Ronald nearly slammed into the SUV in front of them. 

“WHAT THE MCFUCK.” He yelled, flustered. A soft clucking of chickens came from the trunk to tell the Colonel was not pleased at this either. 

The King looked at Jackson, then at Ronald, then back at Jackson. He seemed to be debating a course of action, and after a moment his worried eyebrows relaxed and he simply looked determined.

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 The King then put his hand on Jackson’s jaw, looking into his sugared-coffee eyes and captured his lips in a passionate kiss that went on for several uninterrupted minutes. 

Ronald looked away uncomfortably, tears welling up in his eyes. The King saw this and pulled away from Jackson and reverted his seat back, “Awwww, does Ronnie want one too?”

“No-”

But it was too late. The King pulled his mchin and gave him a passionate kiss that Ronald returned with relish, no longer bound by the confines of embarrassment, they stayed this way for several minutes.

This time Ronald DID run into the car in front of them but it just bounced off with a squeak like a big dog toy.

The squacking of chickens was heard echoing from the trunk and the queer musketeers bit their lips simultaneously. They knew the colonel was not pleased. 

The King kicked back and placed his royal shoes on the dash. 

“Ooo, take a right here!” The King said, suddenly waving at exit 666.

“Okay…” Ronald said taking a sharp clown turn, “where are we Mcgoing?”

“Wendy’s!”

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They continued on the dark road for several moments until they reached the fast food establishment of Wendy’s. Sanders popped out of the trunk and the chickens ran to the door. A short ginger girl with braided hair and orbs as blue as the sea stepped out of the front door and was immediately engulfed in a hug from Sanders. He picked her up and spun her around until her Ruby red slippers grazed the ground again. She rubbed her temples and smiled popping gum in her mouth to cover what Jackson knew from his mom to be the smell of stale bourbon.

“Hi!!!” She said a little too brightly, “where are you guys going :D”

The King slid his seat forward and waved at Wendy, “We’re going to pick up Papa J, and Caesar”

The car collectively groaned at this. It was a well-known fact Caesar was a drunk. 

“Oh come on !” The King interjected.

 “He has good- well, edible- well, cheap pizza”

“Don’t you make like, a shit ton of money?” Jackson asked, one eyebrow raised.

The whole car’s laughter could be heard ringing through the night.

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“Kid, if mascotting paid that much, do you seriously think we would still be doing that?” The King shot back.

Two bright patches of red appeared on Jackson’s cheeks. “I guess I never really thought about it,”

That was the first of many lies he would tell that night.

In truth, Jackson had thought about it. Extensively. As a kid, he had always dreamed of being a mascot. It seemed like they were larger than life: always endorsing products and eating food (Jackson was not allowed to do this). Since his father had died when he was 7, and his brother when he was 8, his mom had turned to alcoholism and he had to take care of her bearded dragon, [insert name] that always seemed to slip her mind. Hell, the whole reason he had to work at a shitty fast food place was because they couldn’t afford [insert name]’s nightly bubble baths. He had always dreamed of being away from his mom and his responsibilities, and fast food mascots were the perfect scapegoat.

Jackson snapped back into reality to see Wendy holding up several overly plump chickens.

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Ronald, or Ronnie- Jackson thought he should think now that they had become closer friends, reached out and placed a bright yellow mchand on his shoulder looking Jackson in the eyes. The sun colored glove cast a faint glow onto Jacksons cheek as a soft smile slid across his face.
“Im so sorry for your loss,” Ronnie McDonald said solemnly.
Jackson snapped out of the dandelion colored fantasy and stared, “What?” He sputtered.
“Im so sorry, you lost your lizard,” Ronnie restated hesitantly, “[insert name]?”
Jackson couldnt help but burst out laughing and Ronnie quickly removed his hand from Jackson’s shoulder as if it was a hot stove, pretending not to wipe the tears from his eyes.
The King interjected loudly, “HEY WHATS SO FUNNY MEATBAG?” Staring down Jackson.
Jackson waved him off still chuckling and brought forth a very robust bearded dragon from the depths of his luscious hair.
“This,” Jackson smiled brightly, “is [Insert Name]! Hes not dead, hes actually an avid tarot card reader.”
The King was shocked, “oh- uh- uhm what cards does he use?” He choked out.
“None,” Jackson stared into the Kings coffee brown orbs, “he uses his heart.”
Silence.
“That was SO HOT.” Ronnie yelled, grabbing Jackson by his grabbable waist and placing a yellow mchand on his face.
Jackson blushed and smiled shyly, “I know he whispered.”
Jackson grabbed Ronalds mcface and the two shared a passionate kiss.

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Corneal Sanders looked displeased.
“I think we have lost the plot here.” He claimed sharply, “Antics aside, we were doing all this for a reason.”
Jackson could only assume he meant carting around and picking up fast food mascots, and he was shocked. “We are?” He said, looking up from the Ruby man’s lips.
“Yes, we are." The Corneal replied coldly.
A chill collectively went down every member of the group's spine, and despite himself, Jackson asked what he dared not to, “Why?”
Ronald suddenly dropped to his knees and cried into the full moon, “THERES BEEN A MCMURDER!” He wailed in pure and utter agony. His pale face reflected the moonlight, and his luxurious locks danced in front of his face. The stars shone in his eyes as if he were asking, nay, begging the gods for an explanation to why he was experiencing this horrendous grief. This was cut short when the King kicked him. Hard.
“NO DUMBASS,” the King exclaimed, looking at The Corneal for help.
"We are here because Wendy needs our assistance.” Sanders finished solemnly.
Ronald groaned, recovering from his mild beating, and rolled over to face Wendy. "What's wrong?” He asked with such surprising sincerity that Wendy, taken aback, answered instinctively.
“I can't really prove anything..." she started rubbing her red slippers together, “but I think I was followed home tonight.” She admitted quietly, pulling a red and white thread out of her pocket. Every member of the group stared at her in horror.
Oh. My. God.