Operation Marshmallow Marston (Patreon)

A Sequel To: www.patreon.com/posts/mb-short-story-56788958

* * * *

Glitch morosely trailed his fingertips along the price plaques that lined the store’s small aisle—Jet Puffed, Campfire, a no-name brand with plain black print that the sweltering heat had caused to bleed through the plastic and stain the marshmallows within a dingy grey. There was another bag, a brand he didn’t recognize, with a googly-eyed mascot that looked like the illicit lovechild of the Ghostbuster’s Stay-Puft Man and Danny Devito. He picked that bag up to read its list of ingredients, only to set it down with a drawn-out sigh.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, and wrong. Four different marshmallow brands, and all of them used gelatin. The indignity was further compounded by the fact that this gas station didn’t sell Dandies—a marshmallow brand which was Chicago-based and one of the few vegan foods (if marshmallows could be called a food, and not just bouncy sugar) that Glitch could reliably find most places.

Nick, who’d been intently reading the back of a bottle labeled “Seaweed Oil” with an expression somewhere between bewilderment and consternation, finally shrugged and dropped the bottle into his shopping basket.

“Could be fun to experiment with,” he said to Glitch. “You ready to head back?”

Glitch sighed. Alas, his dream of s’mores was no more. “Sure.”

Nick grabbed several of the marshmallow bags from the shelf and dropped them into his basket as well. He didn’t bother to glance at the brands or ingredients. Half-way towards the register (which, admittedly, was only three steps given the store’s tiny size), he paused and pivoted back around to scrutinize Glitch.

“You have that same look on your face that Button did when they finally learned that Santa isn’t real,” Nick said. “What’s wrong?”

Glitch gestured towards the row of marshmallows. He kept his wrist limp, because it amused him to come across as a melodramatic poet over something so trivial. Even though, if he were being one-hundred percent honest, the lack of edible marshmallows didn’t feel trivial. He was already obligated to spend the next three days in the woods, surrounded by dirt, mosquitos, and maybe even bears. Worst of all—and he’d tested the moment their RV pulled up to the campsite—he was going to be trapped in a place with barely any phone reception. And now he had to do it all while being deprived of sugar.

“They don’t have Dandies,” Glitch sighed.

“And that matters because . . .” Nick arched an eyebrow as he trailed off.

“The other brands aren’t vegan.”

“Ah.” Immediately, Nick began to put the objects from his basket back upon the shelf, making Glitch wonder if he’d perhaps overdid it on exaggerating his sorrow. Kent knew him well enough not to take his theatrics seriously, but Nick seemed to be under the impression that his sigh had been more heartfelt than manufactured.

“It’s fine,” he hastened to say. “After all, I’m the one who ate all three bags on the drive over. And we brought plenty more food—I won’t starve.”

“Nonsense.”

For reasons Glitch couldn’t deduce, his disappointment had lit a fire within Nicholas Wiseman’s heart. He laid a hand on Glitch’s shoulder, and spoke as if swearing a blood oath:

“We shall find your vegan marshmallows, Taliaferro Parker, or die trying.”

* * * *

One hour and two stores later, and Glitch rather thought that dying would’ve been the preferable option.

“Maybe we can find a Trader Joe’s,” Nick said without looking up from his phone. “It says here that their store brand marshmallows are vegan.”

Glitch glanced over at the abandoned parking lot they’d pulled the RV into. The town they’d ended up in could barely qualify as a town—there was a diner, a bowling alley, a bait and tackle shop, and a Dollar Store (which only had marshmallow cream in stock). Also a tattoo parlor, but that looked abandoned, which was probably a good thing because, after fifty minutes of driving, Glitch probably would’ve suggested getting commemorative tattoos of marshmallows if only for the change of scenery.

This is what happened when one blindly followed the GPS.

“I’m not sure we’re going to find a Trader Joe’s nearby,” he said dubiously. “Where even are we?”

Nick opened up a maps app on his phone. “Crabtree. Where the hell is Crabtree?”

“In Illinois, presumably.” The illumined bowling pin on the alley’s sign sputtered out with an electric spark. Glitch winced. “Or maybe in actual hell.”

Nick zoomed out on the map, and sighed with relief. “Ok. Gray’s not going to kill me. We’re about twenty minutes away from the campsite.”

“Should we head back?” Glitch suggested.

Nick put his phone screen-down on the dashboard. He turned towards Glitch, looking serious. “Right now, Gray is probably making hot dogs.”

“I know,” Glitch replied. “I gave him some of my vegan sausages.”

“No, you don’t understand. He insists on manning the grill by himself every time that we go camping.”

“It’s a little ooga-booga caveman, but he seems pretty into experiencing the great outdoors.” Glitch shrugged. “I’m still not seeing the issue.”

“The issue is that Gray is cooking,” Nick replied. “And if we head back before eight pm, he’ll have saved us some food.”

Glitch was beginning to understand why Nick had acted so moved by his plight of being unable to find vegan marshmallows: the other man was stalling for dear life. “The great and powerful Fortitude can’t cook?”

A haunted look darkened Nick’s face. “That’s an understatement. Let’s just say that . . . Gray’s grillwork is more well done than good.” He shuddered. “Or palatable.”

Glitch handed Nick back his phone. “Look up the nearest Trader Joe’s.”

“I’ll see if there are any with restaurants nearby,” Nick said. “Any thoughts on Thai?”

* * * *

They decided on a Trader Joe’s another hour away, but Nick’s expression turned so pained each time that Glitch inquired about Gray’s culinary skills, that Glitch figured it was probably worth the drive. The store didn’t have any marshmallows in stock, which was a shame, but it did just so happen to be next to a Burmese restaurant that received five stars from several food blogs (which Nick and Glitch had spent the better part of an hour reading before deciding which Trader Joe’s to drive towards).

It had been worth it: the coconut curry had almost reduced Glitch to tears of joy, and Nick had somehow managed the restaurant owner to impart the secret behind his biryani (extra cilantro). They departed the restaurant just as the sun began to set, having consumed four courses and Nick carrying an extra serving of biryani in a to-go box that he’d ordered  in case Grayson insisted on cooking during all three days of their camping trip.

This town was a significant improvement on their last stop, albeit still lacking in vegan marshmallows. Nick and Glitch mutually decided to walk off their meal before heading back to the campground, where Grayson would no doubt expect them to join him around a campfire for small talk as they pretended that they were enjoying themselves enough to not notice the mosquitos attacking their skin. Neither Nick nor Glitch, as they’d learned about each other over dinner, had much love for the great outdoors.

“It’s not the outdoors, really,” Nick said as the two strolled down main street. “I jog by the lakefront all the time. I love traveling and exploring cities. It’s the forest part that I object to. There’s no people to meet, no interesting sites to see. There’s nothing but . . . trees.”

“Kent mentioned that he might want to learn to fish while we’re there,” Glitch replied despondently. “As if sitting by the lake and waiting for a fish to bite a hook is fun.”

“Gray finds it peaceful.”

“It’s boring and unnecessary.”

Nick laughed. “That’s valid, especially since you’re—” He stopped short, his sentence ending abruptly as he stared through the glass window of a nearby game store.

Glitch followed the direction of his gaze, and gasped. “When did Red Dead Redemption 6 come out?” he asked in a low voice. It almost felt like speaking too loudly would shatter the illusion.

“It hasn’t,” Nick whispered back, apparently sensing the same thing. “It’s not due to release for four days.” He glanced around furtively. “Apparently this store owner didn’t get the memo. We could let them know, like the upstanding citizens that we are . . .”

“Or we could buy it,” Glitch said. “Give me solid internet connection and twenty minutes, and I’ll get it up and running, release date blocks be damned.” He straightened, having leaned in towards Nick like two hunched-over conspirators plotting a murder. “Not that I’d ever recommend doing anything illegal.”

“But if we bought the game . . .” Nick said.

“And if we didn’t post anything about our sneak peek online . . .” Glitch said.

They exchanged a look of mutual agreement, then entered the store.

* * * *

The store was being run an older man, who was looking after things while his daughter was on vacation. After buying the game, Nick’s conscience got the better of him, and he darted back into the store to let the owner know that he should take down the RDR6 display or risk having his shop blacklisted for early selling.

Glitch hadn’t followed him inside. Should Nick demand that they return the game, he was half-prepared to take off with the RV and make for the nearest hotel that offered a PlayStation setup. Not that Glitch thought he had much of a chance of outrunning UCRT’s Justice, but he had the keys, and could’ve managed to escape with some tricky timing. Thankfully, Nick hadn’t pressed the issue and thus Glitch wasn’t forced to see whether his resolve actually matched his fantasizing.

Also, he was starting to realizing that he genuinely liked Nick Wiseman. Not just as Ellery’s brother, or as Justice his coworker, but as an actual potential friend. Glitch found this revelation to be somewhat surprising, as he didn’t have all that high opinion of most AMOs, let alone the members of UCRT. In fact, the only AMO he liked (other than Kent, who wasn’t a Ment) was Sally—Ellery’s best friend shared his sense of humor. Plus, she was amusingly self-conscious about her lack of height.

“Just make sure that no one can trace our copy back to Arnold,” Nick said, using the shopkeeper’s first name (Glitch had to admit, it was impressive how easily the guy made friends).

“Of course not.” Glitch put the key into the ignition, but hesitated before turning it on. “Besides, we probably won’t get a chance to play until the actual release date.”

Nick looked confused for a moment, then the light in his eyes died. “Oh. Right. Because of the camping trip.”

“With the trees,” Glitch added for good measure. In the back of his mind, there was the beginning of a plan. He just had to make sure that Nick was on board. “Although, you know, we did leave them with the food cooler.”

“So, they won’t starve,” Nick quickly picked up on Glitch’s implication. “And if something bad happened, like a bear attack, they could always call us.”

“Honestly, Fortitude and Nox could fend off one measly bear.”

“They could totally fight off a bear.”

“You know who else could fight off a bear?”

They both looked down at the copy of Red Dead Redemption 6 in Nick’s hands.

“There’s a Peninsula Resort thirty minutes away,” Nick said slowly, and Glitch smiled at the revelation that their minds had been so in sync that Nick had already researched hotels. “They have a long-term suite that comes with a, and I quote, ‘state-of-the-art media center’ in its living room. It includes every game system you can dream of, including what we’d need for . . .” He raised the game, shaking it slightly, then offered Glitch his phone with his other hand.

There, on the screen, was a list of the hotel’s offerings: which included not only a widescreen tv and vibrating gaming seats, but also had a list of spa services that seemed vastly preferable to spending all day hanging with insect vampires and eating overcooked hot dogs.

Nick leaned over Glitch’s shoulder and pointed to the spa list. “Have you ever had a hot stone massage?” he asked. “If not, you’re missing out.”

Glitch looked at him through the corner of his eye. “If we do this, we’ll need an excuse to tell Kent and Gray. I may not know Gray, but Kent would give me the silent treatment if he ever learned that I’d bailed on him to wear a fluffy bathrobe and play videogames.”

“Spa bathrobes are ridiculously fluffy,” Nick conceded. “And technically, we still haven’t found vegan marshmallows. It’s like we just lost track of the time . . .”

“. . . And blindly followed the GPS . . .”

Nick took back his phone and went to the map app. “. . . And accidentally ended up in New Buffalo,” he finished.

“Then maybe the RV got a flat tire?” Glitch asked.

“The RV definitely got a flat tire.”

“So, we’re agreed: Operation Marshmallow Marston is a go.”

They sent off respective texts to their friends (well, Nick used his telepathy), and began the drive to the hotel. Glitch found that he was looking forward to his first ever hot stone massage almost as much as he was looking forward to hacking RDR6.

“How long until they catch on, do you think?” Nick stared out the window as he absent-mindedly stroked the game’s cover.

“Kent’s probably already guessed,” Glitch admitted. “It’s not like I’ve made a secret over not loving being mosquito bait.”

“The fact we’re easy to see through makes me feel better about lying.” Nick smiled. “Gray can call me out if he wanted, but I got the impression that he was enjoying just hanging with Kent and the dogs without me there constantly suggesting that we go to Six Flags instead.”

Glitch smirked. “I bet they’re fishing.”