Disclaimer: If it were mine, it would still be on Broadway, they'd record a new SA album with the Broadway version of "The Song of Purple Summer," and all of my reviewers would get free backstage tickets.

Notes: While working on my other mildly Thanksgiving themed oneshot, this began writing itself, and then it got to long to piece throughout "Fall, Where Something Ends," so it became… this. In FWSE, it was originally going to be all dialogue, but I had to revise that, so some of it's choppy. And unrealistic. Sorry.

I know, they wouldn't be doing a modified reenactment of the Pilgrims in Germany, but seeing as they don't even celebrate Thanksgiving in Germany (please correct me if I'm wrong), it would have been too hard to do a Thanksgiving fic without them having any idea what Thanksgiving even was. So… pretend.

"Melchior, this is stupid."

Melchior stared into the mirror behind Moritz, repressing a grin for his friend's sake. "Moritz…"

"I look like an idiot, don't I?" Moritz threw his hands up emphatically, his rolled up sleeves falling over his hands.

"It's not that bad, Moritz…" Melchior tried.

"That's because you're Squanto, not Hanschen's wife."

Only his friend's panic kept Melchior from breaking out into rambunctious laughter. "Well…" he managed neutrally.

"I'm wearing your mother's dress, Melchi! I can feel it against my legs, and I think about how her legs must have touched it, and then I think about her legs…"

"Calm down, Moritz!" Melchior laughed at Moritz's glare. "My mother won't even notice."

"What do you mean, won't notice? She knows you borrowed this, right?" Hardly waiting for affirmation, he cried out, "RIGHT?"

"Uh, right, Moritz, of course my mother knows…"

"She doesn't know! She'll be furious with me- she'll never give me tea again. Or worse, it'll be poisoned tea!"

"I though you didn't like tea, Moritz."

"Well, I don't." He lowered his voice. "I'm afraid if I tell her, though, she'll start poisoning it."

"But, Moritz, that's…"

"I can't do this! I'm not going on stage, Melchior, not in this dress. I'll look more of a turkey than Ernst does."

Melchior's eyes lit up as he furrowed his brow.

"Oh, dear, you've got that look again…"

Melchior glanced at Moritz with a wicked grin. "A turkey, you say?"

***

"Slow down, Melchior! You're splashing mud all over my dress!"

Melchior laughed as Moritz trudged behind him, hiking up his skirt. "Quit being such a girl."

"But I am a girl," Moritz protested.

"You don't need to get in role yet. In fact, you won't need to get in role at all."

"B-but…" Moritz stammered.

"I predict your entrance will be the highlight of the play- just think, Moritz, all of the folks will be gossiping about this Thankgivings to come!"

"I don't want to be gossiped about- does this dress make me look fat?"

"Come, Moritz. You're wearing a dress in public, and you're worrying about if it makes you look fat?"

"No, seriously, I think it makes me look fat- it's the red, it just clashes with me…" Melchior ignored his friend's rambles, trudging forward at a strident pace. He took no notice of any of the mud puddles, walking fast enough so that the mud didn't blemish his costume at all and ended up splattering loudly against Moritz's skirt.

"Not that it'll be red at all after this mess- where are we going, Melchi?"

"You'll see," Melchior answered mysteriously.

"I'm closing my eyes," Moritz shuddered. "I can't believe we've gone outside."

"Relax, Moritz, everyone's waiting inside for the big show."

"I certainly hope…AH!"

Melchior hardly had time to register Moritz's yelp before Moritz yanked on his shoulder, ducking behind him.

"It's Herr Rillow," he hissed. "He can't see me- he hates me for having to kiss Hanschen! Imagine that- he thinks we're actually going out!"

Melchior simply laughed. Moritz glanced at him worriedly. "The wedding ceremony is fake, right, Melchi? I mean, Hanschen and I won't really be married."

"Of course not. Oh, this is going to be priceless…"

"What, Melchi?... Melchi, this is the chicken coop."

"Not just the chicken coop," Melchior replied, proudly unlatching the door and gesturing to…

"Oh, no, Melchi," Moritz groaned.

"Looks like it's our job to dress the turkey this year," Melchior declared proudly, scooping up a startled turkey.

***

"Melchior! This is even stupider!"

Melchior struggled as Moritz's arms flailed all over the place. "Stay still, Moritz, I'm undoing the buttons."

"But I'm not wearing anything underneath!"

"Come on, Moritz," Melchior prodded. "I've seen you without a shirt on before."

"No- naked. They wouldn't even let me put on trousers! I'm completely naked under here, Melchi! Naked!"

"The diagrams are uni…" Melchior began, which only prompted Moritz into a new panicked frenzy.

"I'll have new nightmares! They'll call me on stage, and I'll be naked. I just know it."

"That's why you're not going on stage," Melchior smirked, fiddling with another button.

"We'll be expelled, for sure," Moritz declared gloomily, giving up all resistance. "I'll be expelled a whole few months earlier than expected- my father will kill me."

"Well, if you'd rather wear my mother's dress…"

"Here, let me help with those on the sleeve," Moritz offered hastily.

***

"Uh oh…"

"They've seen me, haven't they?" Moritz panicked, cowering in the corner, covering as much of himself as he could manage. "They've seen me, and I'm not dreaming- this has got to be a nightmare. Pinch me, Melchior, pinch me."

Melchior ignored him, staring instead at the bathroom door, which stood ajar. "This isn't good."

"Pinch me, pinch me, pinch me, pinch…. OW!"

"You asked for it!"

"Again, again!" Moritz waved his arms. "I don't feel a thing- You're hardly touching me."

"Dude, that's Hanschen who… never mind my suspicions, we've got worse problems."

"WHY AREN'T I WAKING UP?" Moritz cried.

"The turkey's loose."

"You were undressing me with the door open?!"

"I told you, that's Hanschen who… we have to find that turkey, Moritz."

"I'm naked, Melchi."

"Yes, Moritz, you've got nice abs."

"MELCHI!"

"Well, what am I supposed to say? Here, I'll tell you what- you stay here, and I'll go find the turkey and dress it." Melchior snatched the dress off the floor, halfway out the door already. "You won't regret this Moritz."

"Wait!" Moritz cried as the door slammed shut. He mustered the courage to crawl up against it and placing his ear against the crack. Melchior's footsteps faded away quickly. With a sigh, Moritz glanced up towards the knob, looking for some means of locking himself in. He checked for a key, a bolt, a barricade, even. And then there were none.

"I'm naked," he whimpered.

***

Footsteps. Moritz bolted up from his mindless task of shoving toilet paper between the cracks of the door. "Melchior?"

"Moritz, my dearly beloved."

"HANSCHEN!"

"That's darling to you, honey," he mocked with a condescending laugh.

"Don't come in!"

"Oh, come on, if we're to be married…" Moritz gasped in a terrified manner, certainly noted by Hanschen, who laughed once more before nagging, "Well, then, hurry up in there, we'll be onstage in a few minutes."

"Yes, Hanschen!"

Moritz waited for him to go away, barely breathing. Unfortunately, Hanschen didn't show any signs of leaving. Perhaps he was already gone and Moritz had missed it- he couldn't hear much above his beating heart anyway.

"Hanschen?" he tried quietly. "Have you gone yet?"

"No, obviously, that's why I'm waiting for you!"

This was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

***

"Where is he?!" Herr Sunscorch demanded, banging his fist against the wall. "Doesn't Hanschen know he's supposed to be onstage for the opening scene?"

"Hanschen went to the bathroom, Herr Sonnenstitch," Georg reported smugly.

"Now? At a time like this?!" The Herr threw his arms up in the air. "Georg, you fill in for Hanschen."

"Yes!" Georg pumped his fist. "I mean, yes, sir, of course."

"Ernst, take Georg's place."

The moping turkey glanced up, his eyes looking rather forlorn.

"Ooooh, Ernst's got to wear a dress!" Otto taunted as Georg undressed quicker than he ever had in his entire life, not minding who saw.

"At least my father won't yell at me this time," Ernst sighed under his breath.

***

"Moritz!"

"Yes?"

"I really need to, uh, use the bathroom before the show!"

"Use the other bathroom."

"There isn't another one. You need to get out of there."

"Okay," Moritz lied meekly.

Hanschen waited. "Moritz?"

"One minute," he called.

"Oh, come on, I know that excuse! You aren't even going to the bathroom in there."

"I am too!"

"Are not!"

"Am too!"

"Are not!"

"Am not… I mean, I am too!"

"I knew it!"

"Fine, I'm not going to the bathroom, I'm puking my guts out at the prospect of having to kiss you onstage. Happy?"

"Dude, can't you do that outside?"

"No."

"Why not?" Hanschen complained.

"Because I'd deck the halls with puke. Can't you pee outside?"

"No," Hanschen answered a little too quickly.

"Why not?"

"Because… because… just because! I'm your husband, okay?" Hanschen paused. "You know, you don't sound like you're puking."

Hastily, Moritz let out a long groan that he thought was rather convincing.

"Liar. I can see your shadow next to the door."

"I missed the toilet."

"Yeah, right. Come on, Moritz, can't we masturbate in the same room?"

Moritz jolted up, staring at the door, horrified. "EW!"

***

"Just think of it- a whole new world!" Georg proclaimed dramatically, waving his hand wildly towards the audience.

"I suppose so," Otto recited reluctantly. "Just the thought of being cooped up in such a small area for weeks and weeks gives me the shivers."

"Oh, being cooped up is paradise with the right company… why, Herr Schmidt, you haven't met the lady yet, have you?"

"Another lady?" Otto groaned. "What have you gotten yourself into this time? Ever since you broke up with Earla, she's been such a cranky little thing to be around." He gestured towards Ernst, who trudged onstage, looking ridiculous in his bonnet.

Georg laughed. "Let me introduce to you the most magnificent creature to walk this earth- my fiancée, Mora!"

Otto waited patiently, the entire cast staring towards Moritz's entrance point. The side curtain swayed slightly, but no one emerged.

"Mora?" Georg prompted, glancing anxiously towards the impatient audience. Clearing his throat, he improvised, "I'm sure she'll be here any minute now."

Moments passed. Nothing.

"I really hope nothing's happened to her."

"Yeah, maybe she drowned while still at port," Otto drawled, clearly not pleased. "Did anyone notice we don't have a hull in our ship?"

Roaring laughter, but still no Moritz.

"Moritz, get your butt onstage!" Georg hissed.

Rustling sounds came from offstage as something approached. Unsurprisingly, Melchior's voice could be heard over the scuffling.

"Finally," Otto muttered.

"Wait, did he just gobble?" Georg questioned.

The curtain flew open, and Georg opened to mouth to emphatically greet his wife, but what came out was a mix between a cough and a squeak.

A turkey burst on stage, half stuffed into Moritz's tattered gown, chased by Melchior, who was holding Moritz's bonnet in his hand, attempting to place it on the evasive turkey's head. It was, in all, ridiculous.

The crowd didn't know how to react. Most of the members simply stared at the scene in shock while others roared with laughter.

The reactions among the cast were similar. After the initial moment of shock, many had fallen to the floor in fits of laughter, including Otto. Others attempted to improvise with little success. Ernst squeaked as the turkey chased after him in circles. He leapt up on one of the chairs onstage, flailing his arms around wildly like a helicopter. One arm crashed into the set background, which crashed to the ground, setting off a chain reaction in which all of the set pieces fell like dominos.

"Gotcha!" Melchior proclaimed proudly, picking the distracted turkey off the floor and shoving the bonnet over the turkey's eyes. He glanced up to find everyone staring at him: mission accomplished.

"Hello, lads," Melchior greeted with a rebellious grin. Directing his words towards Georg, he noted, "Your fiancée's an awfully ugly creature."

Georg sputtered, and no one else moved. Behind the side curtain, Herr Sonnenstich glared at the scene with seething eyes, unable to intervene.

Melchior cleared his throat, growing serious. "Um… well, change of plans, I decided to immigrate to Holland because of its… um…" He glanced around at the ruined set. "Solid drywalls."

Glancing around awkwardly, he shrugged at his disturbance. "So… wanna just skip to the ending, and we can roast this turkey right now?"

***

"That's it, I'm coming in," Hanschen declared, reaching out for the doorknob, twisting it in his hand…

"No, Hanschen, wait!" Moritz cried, mortified.

***

"You are in so much trouble!" Georg piped up once offstage.

"Are you kidding? This show's production got the loudest applause in history- a standing ovation."

"Because it finished a whole hour and thirty minutes earlier than everyone expected," Georg argued.

"Last I checked, Herr Sonnenstitch was surrounded by glowing ladies from out of town who were demanding to know how he accomplished such a feat. Trust me, by Monday, he'll be thanking us."

"If you say so," Georg shrugged.

"Do you think they'll let us roast the turkey in the schoolhouse fireplace?" Otto questioned, holding the squirming creature like a newly-wed bride on her honeymoon.

"You're going to eat the star of the show?" Ernst questioned from somewhere behind them, still uncomfortable.

"What do you think they did with the turkey, Ernst?" Melchior questioned. "They hunted for days, they shot it, and then they lamented over it for a week and tore all their hair out because they felt bad?"

Ernst looked faint. "You mean the turkey gets eaten in the end?"

Melchior smiled mischievously as the boys laughed. "Don't worry, Ernst, we weren't going to eat you."

"Hanschen wouldn't let you," he declared proudly.

Melchior rose his eyebrows meaningfully while Georg spoke up obliviously, "Where are Hanschen and Moritz anyway?"

They turned the corner into the hall where the bathroom was located, where Melchior had left Moritz. Squinting, Melchior discerned two shadows from inside the bathroom. Georg, Otto, and Ernst all turned and stared at each other, confused. In sudden realization, Melchior grinned wickedly as two familiar voices rang out in near unison.

"Whoa, dude!"

"MELCHI!"


Yeah, kind of awkward since it's my first attempt at SA humor- but tell me if it worked. It was really just a random holiday idea.