#anyway happy hanukkah yall i love you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dickwheelie · 3 years

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this is a few days late but it’s still technically Hanukkah, so! here’s a fic about Jon and Martin celebrating Hanukkah in the safehouse (shhh timelines aren’t real) because I like to project and I really like the idea of Jon being Jewish. a lot of us are having weird holidays this year, away from friends and family, so the boys having a weird one too seemed appropriate. in particular, Jon not having a menorah because I don’t have one this year either :(

the stuff in this is based on my own experiences celebrating Hanukkah growing up in a pretty secular household, so if you see anything that’s “wrong” then that’s why, lol. the prayer is accurate as far as I know though, it’s the same one my family and I sing every year.

(also this is not a good representation of how to make rugelach! if you really want a good recipe, hmu and if you ask nicely I might share my mother’s 😁)

enjoy and Happy Hanukkah!! 💙🕎✡️💙

___________

“I just feel bad,” Martin said, watching from the sofa as Jon put the challah in the oven. “You’re doing all this cooking, and I’m just sitting on the couch like a lump. And this is supposed to be your holiday.”

“Martin, for the tenth time, it’s fine. Besides, the holiday doesn’t actually start until sundown,” Jon called, cheerfully enough, from the kitchen. Jon liked cooking, Martin knew, and he didn’t really see it as a chore in the same way Martin did. Still, this was a special day for Jon (well, eight days, really), and Martin wanted to be of some use. He’d offered to do everything from peeling potatoes to rolling matzoh balls, but Jon, ever the control freak in the kitchen, had stopped him at every turn. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about not helping out as Jon bustled about, trying to make Hanukkah dinner for the both of them.

More than helping out, really, Martin just kind of . . . wanted to share this with Jon. The way Jon talked about it, it sounded as though he’d had more Hanukkahs alone than with friends or what little family he had. Martin wanted to make Jon feel like he didn’t have to be alone this year, and even if Martin was new to this, he was game to learn. Jon had already told him about the holiday and all the different foods he was making, but there was still some distance there, a disconnect, that Martin knew Jon wasn’t putting between them on purpose. It seemed to Martin more like a force of habit than anything else.

After setting the timer for the challah, Jon nodded, satisfied, and came over to join Martin on the couch. He slouched against him comfortably, and Martin automatically put an arm around his shoulders. Jon had a bit of flour on his nose, and Martin gently swiped it off, which made Jon’s face wrinkle up like a disgruntled cat. Bloody adorable, Martin thought.

“I get a bit of a break before I have to start on the latkes in a few hours,” Jon said. “Got to make those right before dinner so they’re fresh.”

“Can I please help with those?” Martin said, half-joking.

“Fine,” Jon laughed, “yes, Martin, you can help with the latkes.”

“You won’t regret it.”

“I’m sure.”

“Is there dessert?” Martin asked, offhandedly. He hadn’t noticed Jon getting out any sugar or making anything sweet that day. “Do people eat anything sweet on Hanukkah?”

“Well, there’s gelt,” Jon says. “Chocolate coins. But the grocer’s didn’t have any. Unsurprisingly.”

Martin laughed. “Yeah. Probably not a huge priority in the Highlands.”

“People also make rugelach, sometimes.”

“Arugula?”

Jon laughed, not unkindly. “Rugelach. Different from the vegetable. Very different,” he said. “It’s a pastry. A kind of holiday cookie, I guess you could call it. Sweet dough with chocolate or cinnamon inside. It’s simple to make, but I didn’t buy the right stuff for it, and honestly I have enough cooking to do.”

“Yeah? How d’you make it?” Martin asked, innocently enough, though an idea was brewing.

As Jon explained, he waved his hands in the air, miming the process. “You just roll out some pastry dough, cover it with chocolate or cinnamon or walnuts or whatever you like, cut it into strips, and roll them up.” He thought for a moment. “They look a bit like seashells.”

“Huh,” Martin said. “Seems easy enough.” He’d never made dough before, but how hard could it be, really. The hardest part, he figured, would be actually making the things in their tiny cabin and even tinier kitchen without Jon finding out.

Soon after that, the oven timer started beeping, announcing that the bread was done. Martin took advantage of Jon busying himself in the kitchen to slip out the door, giving him some offhand excuse about wanting to get some air, to which Jon waved him off.

In the baking aisle at the grocer’s, Martin quickly realized he was out of his depth. He stared at the display of flour and sugar and baking powder and all sorts of other stuff, utterly at a loss as to what one needed to make pastry dough. He tried, once again, to Google a recipe on his phone, but once again, there was no service and no wifi.

Well, there was always pre-made, frozen dough. Not ideal, but it’d probably work in a pinch. Much faster to make, too, Martin thought as he dropped a couple cans of it into his basket. The filling, at least, he knew he’d be able to handle; he grabbed a few bags of baking chocolate and a shaker of cinnamon, and brought everything up to the checkout counter.

Martin didn’t even know which lucky stars to thank when he arrived back at the cabin to find the kitchen empty, and Jon passed out on the bed in a post-challah, pre-latke cooking nap. Martin gently closed the bedroom door and immediately set to baking.

Going by Jon’s vague descriptions, he rolled out some of the dough into a flat oval shape, but the pre-made kind wasn’t meant to be used all at once, and the end result was a sort of lumpy mass. Digging around in the cupboards, he was able to find some flour, which helped make the dough less sticky, at least. Eventually, he was able to get it flat enough to cover it with the filling, like Jon had told him. Half of the dough he covered in cinnamon, liberally shaking it out all over the dough. The other half he covered with the baking chocolate, which came in little chunks, but he figured it would melt in the oven just fine.

Next, just as Jon had described, he cut the dough into even strips, thin and rectangular, and rolled each of them up, so the filling made a little spiral shape inside. The chocolate ones were a bit chunky and awkward-looking, but, well, it was the taste that counted, wasn’t it.

Martin turned to face the oven, realizing he had no idea how long they ought to bake for, or at what temperature. He checked the instructions on the tins of pre-made dough, deciding to go by whatever they suggested. It wouldn’t do for the dough to be raw, he figured.

Soon enough, the pastries were in the oven, and Jon was still dead to the world, none the wiser. Martin felt quite satisfied as he cleaned up, mentally patting himself on the back for a job well- and stealthily-done. He’d hide them in the oven, he decided, until after dinner, and then he’d surprise Jon. Smiling, he went to join Jon in bed, curling up next to him as he slept, until he fell asleep himself.

Martin woke groggily several hours later to Jon gently shaking him awake, telling him it was time to make the latkes. He’d already got the batter done, a thick, floury mixture of potato and onion, and a pan of oil was bubbling on the stove. Jon showed Martin how to drop spoonfuls of batter into the pan, patting them down to shape them into little fist-sized “pancakes.” He let both sides brown in the oil until they were nice and crispy, before transferring them onto a paper towel-covered plate to cool. It was simple enough, and Martin was able to finish up the batch as Jon set the table, bringing out the challah and matzoh ball soup he’d made, as well as sour cream and apple sauce to dip the latkes in.

Once the latkes were done (and Martin was quite proud to say they’d come out very nicely), Jon retrieved some red wine he’d gotten in the village and poured them both a glass. Then, as Martin was getting ready to sit down, Jon glanced around sheepishly, gesturing at an empty space on the kitchen counter.

“I, ah, normally I’d have a menorah to light. But obviously I didn’t bring one when we came up. And out here, well, it’s the same as with the gelt. No real place to buy one.”

“Oh,” Martin said, heart sinking. He reached out to squeeze Jon’s hand. “That’s a shame. I’m really sorry.”

“Really, I just wish I could show you,” Jon said, shaking his head as he took his seat at the table. “It’s really lovely. You light a new candle every night, and when they’re all lit . . . I’m sure it’d look nice here, especially.” He gestured at the space in front of the darkened kitchen window.

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, wistfully. He’d seen photos of menorahs before, and he could just picture it, he and Jon gathered around, lighting candle after candle as the eight nights passed.

“Well,” Jon said, turning back to face Martin at the table, “we may not have a menorah, but I can still do the blessing.”

“Blessing?”

“Yes. You’re supposed to do it while lighting the menorah, but, well. I’m sure this will do, given the circumstances.” Jon reached his hand across the table, and Martin took it.

“Alright.” Jon cleared his throat, almost self-consciously, and then began to sing in Hebrew, a melodic, practical tune that sounded comfortable and familiar on his tongue, like a well-worn shawl. “Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzivanu, l’hadlik ner, shel Hanukkah.”

Martin couldn’t really sing along to the words, but he nodded along to the melody, and when Jon was done he looked up at him and smiled, and Martin beamed back. They both raised their glasses and drank.

They ate heartily, or at least Martin did, because Jon kept shoving second and third bowls of soup at him, and insisting he finish off the latkes. Not that Martin was complaining, of course; it was all delicious, and Jon did praise him for how nice the latkes had come out.

They left the dirty dishes for later (or, knowing the two of them, tomorrow morning), and after dinner they went straight for presents. Though his options were limited without online shopping or anything outside of the tiny village, Martin had managed to find an adorable little painted china Highland cow in a local antiques shop.

“I know you think they’re cute,” Martin said as Jon lifted it out of the box.

“How did you know,” Jon deadpanned, but he grinned as he brought it up to his nose and stared at its little painted snout. “I love it, Martin, thank you.”

Jon had gone the homemade route, and knitted Martin a scarf. And a pair of mittens. And an entire bloody sweater.

“Oh my god, Jon,” Martin said, staring in disbelief at the mounds of knitwear before him. “How did you find time to do all this? How did you find time to do all this without me knowing?”

Jon looked away sheepishly. “I, uh, I’m a fast knitter.”

Martin shook his head fondly. Unbelievable. But he immediately took off the sweater he’d been wearing and pulled on the one Jon had made. It fit rather well and was as cozy as it looked. “Thank you, Jon,” he said, feeling the sleeves, knowing that every loop and stitch of the fabric had been purposeful. He could practically feel the care and love Jon had put into each one of them. “I love it,” he said, leaning over to kiss Jon at the corner of his eye.

“Well,” Jon said, cheeks darkening, “Happy Holidays, then.”

“Oh,” Martin said, rising from the sofa, “I’ve actually got one more thing. Sort of a last-minute gift.”

“Hm?”

Martin went over to the oven and took out the trays of rugelach. He’d checked them earlier to see if they were cooked through, but hadn’t gotten the chance to taste one yet. “Tried my hand at a bit of dessert,” he said, selecting a couple nice-looking ones and putting them on a plate for Jon to try.

Jon had followed Martin into the kitchen, and was staring at the pastries lined up on the trays. “Oh, well, thank you,” he said, surprised, taking the plate Martin handed to him. “What are they?”

Martin cocked his head at him. “Rugelach,” he said. Wasn’t it obvious?

Jon’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Ah,” he said, voice strained with positivity. “Of course. Right.”

Martin was starting to get a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Gingerly, Jon took one of the rolled-up pastries, and bit into it.

Martin tried one as well. It was one of the chocolate ones, and it was . . . crunchy. Very crunchy. The chocolate, it seemed, had only partially melted in the oven, and the pastry dough itself was a bit hard to bite through. Besides that, it wasn’t very sweet, the chocolate being too dark and the dough being too salty.

He tried a cinnamon one. Again, the dough was crunchy, and the cinnamon was overpowering without any sweetness to it. Martin considered the possibility that perhaps he ought to have added sugar.

Jon, for his part, was doing his best impression of a person who was very much enjoying the pastry they were eating, honest. “Mmm,” he said, demonstratively, as he swallowed one of the cinnamon ones. “Thank you, Martin, these are . . . delicious.”

Jon was actually reaching for seconds, which Martin knew he was only doing to make him feel better, so he reached out a hand and placed it on Jon’s, stopping him short.

Jon looked up at him. Martin shook his head wordlessly. Jon cracked a smile.

“They’re not good,” Martin said, putting them back on the trays one by one.

“Martin--”

“It’s okay,” Martin said, smiling back at him, “I know. They’re rubbish. I didn’t even use a recipe, of course they were gonna turn out--”

“Well,” Jon said, stubbornly, “you tried. It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, Martin, really,” Jon said, bringing up Martin’s hand to kiss the back of it. “It was very sweet of you to put all this effort into it.”

“Next time, I’ll look up a recipe,” Martin said, bringing one of the trays over to the kitchen bin. Jon was quick to assist him.

“There’s seven nights of Hanukkah left,” Jon said, after a moment’s thought. “We can always try again. Tomorrow, we’ll get more ingredients, and I’ll show you how to do it properly. It really is easy, you just need . . . well. Sugar, for one.”

Martin laughed as he tossed the last of the batch away. “Okay. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“I mean it, though,” Jon said, looking at him fondly. “Thank you. For this, and for the cow, and for sharing the holiday with me. It’s . . . this has been really . . .”

Jon was gesturing in the empty air, struggling for the proper word, but Martin understood well enough. “Yeah,” he said. “And thank you, for sharing it with me.” He pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek.

“Happy Hanukkah, Jon.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #gwyneth writes #oh shit this is long #it's 2.4k #btw not pictured in their spread is gefilte fish which is a staple in my holiday dinners #but again idk if you could find it in the scottish highlands lmao #not a ton of jews out there i imagine #anyway happy hanukkah yall i love you

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kingfallstranscripts-blog · 7 years

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Episode 15: Stormy Weather, More at Eleven

(King Falls AM Theme plays)

Ben: Can we please play it again, Sammy?

Sammy: Oh, will you stop it?

Ben: Think of it as my early Christmas present! Just one more time!

Sammy: You are way too happy about this, Ben.

Ben: It’s like watching Van Gogh paint Starry Night, Sammy. But backwards and then exploding like fireworks right before our very eyes.

Sammy: Or ears, in this case.

Ben: Well, yeah, of course ears. You get it, people.

Sammy: So, is this on your schedule, Ben?

Ben: You know that it isn’t. Just give me that one tiny sliver of happiness. I need this! It completes me.

Sammy: You are evil. And that is why we get along so well.

Ben: *laughs*

Sammy: Roll the damn tape!

Ben: Yes!

(Channel 13 Tape Starts)

Storm Sanders: Are we f**kin live, yall? I got sh*t to – (in professional voice) Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is your friendly neighborhood weatherman, Storm Sanders. And boy do we have some interesting weather here in the next *hiccups* few days.

Maggie: Storm are you feeling alright?

Storm: Maggie, you bet your motha (censored) ass I’m alright. Let’s just get to the forecast on yours truly today. Storms feelin’… partly cloudy with 100% chance of makin it rain down at the Red Rock bar. Holla at cha *hiccup* boy, Chet! Stacks on deck.

Maggie: Umm, we’re live Storm. If you could just get to the actual weather report –

Storm: F**k yo weather. You got a brain. Open the window and see if it’s hot. If it’s hot? I can’t change that s**t! If it’s cold? Put some more clothes on! If Steve will let you cover up those big ol’ t**ties!

Maggie: Storm!

Storm: Maaaaan, f**k it. Who the f**k even needs a weather report these days? It’s on ya phone! It’s on ya twitter! If I say it’s gonna rain it ain’t gonna change a f**kin thing! Mannnn, my skin feels weird.

(Tape cuts out)

Ben: *laughing hysterically*

Sammy: You are taking way too much pleasure in this.

Ben: Channel 13! Giving you all the news and weather you can handle.

Sammy: He isn’t wrong.

Ben: Ladies and gentlemen, if you missed that on your local news this evening, his words were only bleeped on King Falls AM. I’m sure if you YouTube it… *laughs* oh man. How long before somebody auto-tunes that?

Sammy: Moving forward, what’ve we got in store this evening?

Ben: If you or somebody you know knows how to do those talking music things, give us a call or tweet us @KingFallsAM.

Sammy: Ben…

Ben: I’m sorry. It’s just that we don’t get to win much around here, Sammy. We should enjoy these moments.

Sammy: If this were any other news station would you be this happy?

Ben: No, but Channel 13 is the hub of all evil. If you told me -

Sammy: AGAIN, moving forward… what do we have on tab for the rest of the evening?

Ben: Ahem… can we do a weather report?

Sammy: You’re a child!

Ben: *laughing* Okay, folks, we’ve actually got some good stuff coming up in the next hour. Mr. Ron Begley from Begley’s Bait & Tackle will be visiting the show and talking to us about the 5th annual Bare Back Bear Festival.

Sammy: *laughs incredulously* Wow, uh, ya know, I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised.

Ben: I don’t get it. W-why are you laughing? You think riding a bear without a saddle is easy?

Sammy: Ben…your naivety brightens my day.

Ben: Whatever…Sammy. Anyway, coming up at the 5 o’clock hour, we’ve got Linda Miles over at King Falls Gazette calling in to give us the weekly Tim Jenson update.

Sammy: And hopefully filling us in with some good news. It sounds like we have a hell of a show happening, so stay tuned kids. We’re gonna pay some bills and hear a few words from our sponsors. We’ll be right back, King Falls.

(Jazz Music Plays)

“Ah, yeah. You’ve got the one and only Chet Sebastian here wishing all y’all out there the happiest of holiday seasons. This time of year you’re always on the lookout for a gift that’s gonna get ya a little something extra, and old Chet is here to deliver “Chet Sebastian’s Honey Pot of Horns”. A classy lady can’t so no to a man that knows his smooth jazz. With my newest album “Chest Sebastian’s Honey Pot of Horns”, you’ll look like the damn Albert Einstein of the brass section. Whether you’re a-givin or receivin. “Honey Pot of Horns” is a surefire way for a happier Hanukkah, a crazier Kwanza, a kinkier Christmas. No downloads here, cause a real man only spins vinyl for his lucky lady. Be Merry, you sexy thangs”

(Welcome to 660 theme plays)

Sammy: So, have you picked up Chet’s new album for that someone special in your life, Ben?

Ben: *chuckles* Dude, no. I love Chet, like you love a creepy masochistic uncle, but I can’t give that record to Emily.

Sammy: I hear classy ladies -

Ben: Don’t

Sammy: *laughs* Alright, folks. We’re gonna take some calls here while we wait on Ron to make his way into the studio. Give us a call 424-279-3858.

Ben: Or tweet us over at twitter @KingFallsAM. We gonna go with any particular topic or –

Sammy: We aren’t talking about Storm if that’s what you’re getting at.

Ben: Dammittttt. Line 5! You’re on with Sammy and Ben.

Cynthia: Ben Arnold! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Making fun of poor Storm Sanders tonight.

Ben: Oh, come on! Channel 13 would jump at the chance to destroy us. One of their stupid “For the King Falls Community” investigations. Serves them right!

Cynthia: You’re just so much better than all of us, aren’t you, Ben? Why don’t you just move out of King Falls and go do your radio show in some metropolis or something!

Sammy: Cynthia, while I understand your frustration with Ben’s…giddiness, I –

Cynthia: Don’t give me any of your mumbo jumbo, Sammy. You’re high salutin, too! You’re probably doing this for “Make a Wish” kids or some sort of tax evasion scheme.

Sammy: What?!

Ben: Cynthia, I don’t understand this anger, even from you, tonight.

Cynthia: I just think you need to think before you poke fun. You of all people should know this isn’t as cut and dry as it looks.

Sammy: What are you getting at Cynthia?

Ben: *from the side of his mouth* She’s probably on the sauce that Storm is on…

Cynthia: He said his skin felt weird, idiots! Or did you miss that with all your jackass laughing, Ben?

Ben: Wait, are you sure about that?

Cynthia: 100%, because I wasn’t acting a fool when a man was having a crisis live on the television!

Ben: This isn’t good…

Sammy: What am I missing here?

Cynthia: Guess they don’t teach that kind of stuff at the Connecticut School of Broadcasting, do they, Sammy?

Sammy: Okay, first off, Cynthia, I did not go to that school. Second off –

Ben: His skin felt weird, Sammy.

Cynthia: Maybe if you paid attention in Simple Possessions and Hauntings 101 –

Ben: I’ll take it from here. Cynthia, have a great night.

Cynthia: Oh, of course you’re hanging up on me! High and mighty King Falls AM. You’ll see…

Ben: I didn’t hang up, Cynthia. But we gotta put the wheels in motion here.

Cynthia: Oh, please. You don’t have to sweet talk me. *hangs up*

Sammy: What’s the deal, Ben?

Ben: I should’ve seen this before. DAMMIT. I let my hatred from that terrible excuse for a news organization cloud my judgement.

Sammy: Are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or should I just make up my own thing here?

Ben: Sorry, Sammy. Legend has it, when certain types of spirits take a hold of a person…

Sammy: Uh-huh… “legend has it”…I see.

Ben: Don’t look at me like – forget it! It’s like a possession.

Sammy: Oh, like The Exorcist.

Ben: Kinda like it, but actually scary.

Sammy: Have you seen The Exorcist?!

Ben: I’m being serious! We need to get ahold of Storm. Folks, if you know Storm Sanders personally or can get us in touch with him, please dial in to the show- 424-279-3858.

Sammy: This is for real?

Ben: I’m a little worried. Cynthia, if you haven’t turned off the show in a blind rage, THANK YOU. Thank you for point this out to us.

Sammy: Okay, we’ve got some phone action. Line 12 you’re on King Falls AM.

Troy: Hey, Sammy. Ben.

Ben: We can’t do this right now, Troy.

Troy: I’m callin’ to make peace, Ben. The SS Friendship is ready to dock. All aboard.

Ben: *disconnects call* Not now, Troy! We’ve got a situation!

Sammy: Did you just hang up on Troy?!

Ben: Sammy, this is life or death! Line 5, this is Sammy and Ben.

Herschel: Alright listen you two dumbasses. This Storm fella looks like he’s about a medium build, maybe a buck 180. You get yourselves a gunny sack, some come-along straps, and a roll of duct tape. You meet me 19 clicks from Old Rose’s café at 0400 hours-

Ben: *disconnects call* Sorry, Herschel. You can cuss extra at us later.

Sammy: Oh, he’s gonna.

Ben: Line 10, hello?

Caller: *Native American inflection* Ben is right to be worried.

Sammy: And who are we speaking with?

Ben: Have you seen him tonight, sir?

Caller: I watched his outburst on the television. I have been driving around downtown and around the station for the last few hours. No luck.

Ben: So, you’re out actively looking for him?

Sammy: Have you tried the Red Rock bar, perhaps?

Ben: Not now, Sammy. I’m sorry – who is this?

Caller: This is Walt. That is all you will get.

Ben: Fair enough. So you know the legend?

Walt: I know the truth. Saying “legend” makes it seem like people haven’t seen it with their own eyes. Or lived it. I have done both.

Sammy: Can one of you two please explain what we are so worried for myself and for the listeners?

Ben: Legend has it – ah sorry- uh, the story goes that…well, I said it was like possession, but really, it’s like a hostile takeover of your mind, body, and soul. Is that right, Walt?

Walt: My people tell stories of men with evil hearts living outside Hatchineha lands. Their only purpose on this earth is to claim others as they once were claimed.

Ben: They call them skinwalkers, Sammy.

Sammy: Not…the best sounding thing to hear on a late night, but… please continue, Walt.

Walt: These men, if you can call them that, tampered with things they should not have tampered with. They became things one should not be. They have the ability to go in one form and out to another as they please. All while searching to make more of their kind.

Sammy: Okay, well as much as I don’t like this or hardly believe it, what does this have to do with Storm Sanders?

Ben: That’s the interesting part, Sammy. When confronted and converted, I guess you could say, victims start to act in certain ways.

Sammy: Certain, drunken way. If every guy I’ve seen hammered in a bar who sing-cries his way through an 80’s love ballad is a skinwalker, then we are all in deep trouble.

Ben: Not the drunken thing. An uneasiness in one’s body.

Walt: They begin to exhibit signs of outer sickness: fever, sweats, an itching.

Ben: An itching so bad that…they try to peel their skin off.

Sammy: So they’re the werewolves from Route 72?

Walt: No!

Ben: No way!

Sammy: Guys! I’m just trying to grasp this. I’m a pretty piss poor cryptozoologist and let’s be honest, skinwalker sound like it’d be a term for a naked zombie.

Ben: Whatever, Sammy. Keep cracking jokes.

Walt: I need to pay better attention to my tracking, gentlemen. I’m going to let you go. Be well, be safe.

Ben: Thank you so much for the call, Walt. Stay in touch, please.

Walt: Only if I have to. *hangs up*

Sammy: So, you heard it, kids. If you should happen upon your local weatherman… *sighs* You know, I had a joke here. What should I say if they do see him?

Ben: *flustered* DO NOT LOOK HIM IN THE EYES. Stay calm, get to a phone, and call us at the station.

Sammy: Or a dog catcher. We don’t need a ton of guys to go pick this guy up. He’s dangerous, if not to us, then to himself.

Ben: Call the sheriff’s office, guys. Be safe and be aware of your surroundings.

Sammy: Okay. Let’s take another caller, Ben.

Ben: Let’s do it. Line 9, welcome to King Falls AM with Sammy and Ben.

Troy: Ben, don’t you hang up on me. I’m growin real tired of hearing your little pity party every night. I’m tryin to make this right. Now listen, I’ve got an idea…and it is a good one.

Ben: Ho! That’s a first. Is this you trying to get in my good graces by finding the weatherman?

Troy: I don’t give two shakes of a lambs (censored) about a weatherman, Ben. I just want things to be right with us again.

Ben: There is no us, Troy.

Sammy: Let’s just calm down fellas.

Ben: I’ll make this quick, Sammy. You gonna avenge Serendipity the sugar glider, Troy?

Troy: Oh come on, man. You know I can’t.

Ben: Then this conversation is over. AGAIN. For the last time.

Troy: It’s Christmas time, Ben…or Hanukah, or Kwanza…can’t you find it in your heart to forgive?

Ben: YEAH, I don’t think so. Put me on the naughty list. Bye, Troy.

Troy: There ain’t nothin but friendship goin in your stocking at my house, Ben. I’m gonna fix this, future buddy. You’ll see. *hangs up*

Ben: Don’t look at me like that, Sammy. Let’s take another call.

Sammy: I just think you’re being a little harsh, that’s all. You’re amped up, you’re hanging up on friends of the show, you’re hanging up on listeners.

Ben: Okay, Troy is not a friend of the show…. He’s a friend of the you.

Sammy: Ben…

Ben: Don’t “Bennnn” me, Sammy. Can we just get back to the task at hand?

Sammy: Yes. Folks, if you’d like to get hung up on by us, please give us a call 424 –

Ben: Lucky Line 1! You’re live on the air.

Caller: *talking very fast* Yeah, uh, thanks for taking my call. I’d like to talk about city ordinance 44812-36. Uh, these politicians think they can pull the wool over our eyes again! But some of –

Ben: Sorry to cut you off, sir, but we’ve got to a station emergency happening. Give us a call back next week when councilmen Davidson is on.

Caller: Media Puppet! …. bye.

Sammy: Storm isn’t gonna call in himself, Ben. Maybe we need to take a break and re-group here.

Ben: I’m just worried, man. I don’t think you get how bad this is.

Sammy: I don’t ever get how bad any of this is. Does… skinwalking happen a lot?

Ben: Well, the Hatchineha Indians believed it did. It’s just a scary bedtime story to the King Falls kids I guess, but for the first time I feel like this might be a real thing.

Sammy: Are you sure it’s not just the clowns down at Channel 13? Like, you really believe this?

Ben: I believe that they believe it… and I believe they know more about it than we ever will. Think about it. Just crossing paths with one of these evil ass beings, animals, spirits, what-have-you…and you’re toast. If you look it in the eyes it locks eyes with you then there is no more you.

Sammy: It’s an unsettling thought.

Ben: Skinwalkers, man. Wicked spirits taking the form of different things i.e – news reporters! Looking to just suck the soul right out of you! It’s like pure frickin’ evil! I just want everyone listening to be safe.

Sammy: And I think that’s the main point tonight. Stay safe out there, King Falls. I just don’t like this…

Ben: Yeah, I don’t either!

Sammy: Okay, I’m just trying to grasp this – why do you want to find him? And more to the point, why do you want us to find him?

Ben: Same reason Walt was out there searching for Storm. They say if it’s caught in time, it can be reversed. Not by me, obviously, but if we can of service to the community, why wouldn’t we do what we can?

Sammy: *admired silence* You’re a good dude, Ben Arnold. Folks, sit tight. We’re just gonna take a quick minute or two to get everything- *sudden knock at the door* WHAT THE (CENSORED)

Ben: NOT FUNNY, SAMMY.

Sammy: That wasn’t me! That’s the studio door.

Ben: Uhhhh- RECORDING LIGHT IS ON. GO AWAY.

Sammy: *whispering* Oh yeah, I think that did it. *more loud knocking* Dammit. You wanna get that?

Ben: No!

Sammy: Ben! Okay let’s cut to commercial and we’ll answer the door –

Ben: Do not go to commercial! I want whatever happens to be broadcast out to the masses, man.

Sammy: Oh, that’s a great idea. You gunning for the posthumous Pulitzer?

Ben: I’m just gonna dial up Troy… ya know, just in case.

Sammy: You know what, I’m the new guy. Let me answer the door.

Ben: Probably nothing…Oh, uh, maybe it’s Ron! He’s coming in, remember? Good ol’ scaring-the-bejesus-out-of-us Ron.

Sammy: Somehow, I don’t think this is Ron Begley at our door. Be right back…

Ben: That’s the spirit…take the portable mic with you. Hey, um, Sammy?

Sammy: Don’t. *sounds of Sammy walking and opening the door*

Storm: I ain’t the repo man, General (censored). Not answering the door? That’s some way to treat your brother in news reporting.

Ben: Sammy?!

Sammy: *clears throat* Uh, ladies and gentlemen, I’m standing in the parking lot now with Mr. Storm Sanders, Channel 13’s weatherman –

Storm: Ex-Channel 13. Get it right, Sammy.

Ben: *whispering* Don’t look in his eyes, Sammy.

Storm: What’s that?! Why ain’t you lookin at me, Sammy?

Ben: I’m coming, Sammy. Don’t look, man! *sounds of Ben running to Sammy* Don’t look him in the eyes, Sammy!

Storm: Well, hello to you too, Ben.

Ben: Avert your eyes, Sammy!

Storm: You are a rude piece of work, Ben. Look at me!

Ben: *laughs nervously* Yeah, uh, I’m not gonna do that.

Storm: What the (censored) are you two up to?!

Sammy: Ya know, okay *sighs* after seeing your outburst –

Storm: Is it cold out here to you?

Sammy: Ben – I, uh, we… King Falls, uh… we’re all a little worried that maybe, uh -

Storm: That what?! I ain’t got all night.

Ben: Well… it’s not like you’re gonna make the morning forecast *light laugh*

Storm: That’s uncalled for! But true. Spit it out, Sammy.

Sammy: Well, Ben, me, we…uh, we? We think that –

Storm: Phew, where’s ya thermostat boys?

Sammy: … We’re outside.

Storm: It’s hot as fire out here! Like ya junk once you landed one of Chet’s old ladies. Know what I mean? Are y’all feelin this (censored)?

Sammy: Storm! Focus! Ben thinks that, uh –

Ben: FACE IT, STORM! You’re a skinwalker! You’re a goner, man! Get outta here before you pass your soul eating virus on to us!

Sammy: What he said.

Storm: A skinwalker? A SKINWALKER?! You been lookin for my ass all night in this rinky dink little station just to call me on some voodoo (censored)?! I don’t like the cut of your jib, Ben. And - *faints*

Sammy: He- he just died, right? Is he dead?

Ben: He’s still breathing. What the HELL was that?

Sammy: I’m guessing Storm was going off the reservation and passing out, ladies and gents. *sounds of distant footsteps approaching* Not completely sure what we – WHAT THE- WHO ARE YOU?! What are you doing here?!

Walt: *sighs* Saving your lives. Thank me later. Now, grab his feet.

Ben: Walt?

Walt: That’s all you’ll get…

Ben: If Storm wakes up, don’t look in his eyes, Sammy!

Sammy: You know, I think I’ve got it now. Will you just stop standing there and give us a hand, please?

Ben: (censored) damn Channel 13, man!

#king falls #king falls am #kfam #podcast #podcast transcript #15 #stormy weather more at eleven #transcript

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