Wearin' O the Green (For St. Patrick's Day)

Ruahnna

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Chapter 10: The End of the Line and the Beginning of an Argument

Kermit still had the pillow under one arm and he had two slices of Derby pie on a Styrofoam plate and wrapped with green plastic wrap. Two plastic green forks lay between the slices of rich, fudgy walnut pie. Just looking at the slices of pie made Kermit want to drool, but he shook his head at his own lack of willpower. Nope—he would wait and share his pie with Piggy—provided he could find her. While he was at it, he thought he’d better check on Robin as well.
He headed for the Frog Scout tent, being stopped about every eight feet or so by someone congratulating him for such a nice fair, or expressing their gratitude for the conservation cause, or oohing and ahhing about the cute little Frog Scouts. Kermit took it all in happily. This was like Hollywood schmoozing, except nobody kissed you or patted you on the bum or tried to stab you in the back—much for friendly-like.
When the parade had ended, the crowd and the fair booth workers had all been dumped at the far end of the site and had disbursed like dandelion fluff. Kermit wondered if they had a head count of people here, which immediately made him think of Count von Count. He made a note to himself to look up The Count—or his friend Ed—and see if they had some numbers for him. This thought was almost put out of his head by the press of bodies as he neared a veritable logjam of people all craning their necks toward something he could not see. Still, he was almost to the Frog Scout booth, and he wedged himself determinedly through a couple of young men and almost staggered to the counter.
A very excited, very buttery group of Frog Scouts greeted his arrival with an onslaught of words. Kermit nodded and smiled a lot and finally gleaned from the cacophony around him that Scooter had just been by. He had told them that, of those booths that had already reported in, the Frog Scout popcorn booth had outstripped all of the other money-makers at the fair. This was good news, thought Kermit, and wondered again how much money they were talking about.
He finally divested himself of small frogs and sidled over to talk with Scoutmaster Rana.
“Sounds like you guys had a profitable day,” he said, rebalancing the pie and the pillow so he could shake the older frog’s hand.
“We did indeed,” said Scoutmaster Rana. He leaned forward and when he whispered it was just barely loud enough for Kermit’s aural organs. “Although I don’t reckon we’re gonna beat your little lady. Still, the boys made a good run for it. Nothing wrong with second place.”
Kermit was trying to make sense out of his words. “You mean Piggy?” Kermit asked at last. “You think Piggy’s going to outsell the Frog Scouts?”
Rana’s eyes were twinkling. “I do,” he said. “She’s given her…um, her most to the cause.” He grinned at Kermit and jerked his head toward the press of people just beyond the booth. “And I had to say you’re being an awfully good sport about it.”
Again, Kermit had that feeling that there was a “kick-me” sign on his back or something smelly on his flipper—some vague feeling that everyone knew something, something about him that he ought to know but didn’t.
“Um, where is Piggy now?” he said as casually as he could. “I haven’t, you know, seen her all day because she’s been, um, working.”
Again, Scoutmaster Rana nodded toward where the crowd had yet to thin.
“I imagine she’s still at her booth, trying to make the most of the time left before they count the money.” He looked at the pie and the pillow. “That’s nice,” he said approvingly. “You brought presents.”
Kermit blushed a little and nodded, feeling all school-boyish and shy. “Yeah,” he said. “I haven’t been very available today. Thought I’d make up for it.”
A fleeting expression of…something—surprise? Amusement?—flitted over the older frog’s face and he tilted his head toward the crowd.
“Sounds like a plan,” the Scoutleader said. “But you better get in line before she closes.”
Before Kermit could ask him anything else, Rana was swarmed by small frogs, all hopping excitedly and talking at once. No hope of recapturing the older frog’s attention now. Kermit set his face toward the crowd—still wondering what on earth the line was for—and pushed on, looking for one lush pink figure in the midst of the crowd.
It didn’t take him long to find her.

He had pushed against the line that, curiously, seemed to be comprised only of men until the line had pushed back.
“Hey—no shoving,” one guy complained. “I been waitin’ most of an hour and I’m not giving up my place in line!”
“Yeah—and the line is closing in two minutes. If you aren’t in line then—“
“—not half as long as the lines this morning,” another young man was saying. “I’d have come back sooner but it knocked me for a loop and I just got my feet back under me so—“
“—said it was the best five bucks he ever spent outside of—“
“—wished I could have thought of something to say, but she was real nice about—“
“—counting the money now. The only booth made more’n her is the Frog Scout kids selling popcorn. That red-headed guy is still adding—“
“—see that old guy? He had to take a heart pill after—“
The line gave a sudden abrupt heave and the corner of Piggy’s booth—and Piggy herself—came suddenly into Kermit’s line of sight. Scooter sat at the corner of her booth, out of the way, counting out bills methodically. Kermit paid him no mind—he only had eyes for Piggy.
Kermit did not notice how carefully matched her ensemble was, nor how very dedicated she had obviously been to the cause. Kermit did not approve of her carefully worded signs or the fact that she had been hard, hard at work all day long while he flitted from one project to the other. In fact, Kermit looked decidedly unhappy with the fact that she was running neck and neck with the Frog Scout booth for first place in money-raising ventures for the day. The pots of money so prominently displayed conjured up images of Piggy giving more to the cause than he could sanction.
Heedless of the other men, Kermit stepped angrily out of line and marched up the counter. He glared at the short, middle-aged man Piggy was bussing with aplomb but if Piggy was even aware of him, she gave no sign. When at last she released her patron he tried a couple of times to speak and failed.
“Are you married?” he asked faintly, his voice hoarse.
Piggy laughed and motioned him away. “No,” she said, and then her blue eyes saw Kermit—and hardened. “Not yet,” she said firmly, and crossed her arms across her chest.
“A kissing booth!” Kermit said. “A kissing booth! Piggy—this is the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard of!”
Piggy smirked at him. “Good thing the citizens of Hensonville don’t share your views.”
“My views?” Kermit huffed. “It’s not my views that are in question. This is supposed to be a family event.”
Piggy looked at him levelly. “Single men often become family men,” she said silkily, then put her hands on her ample hips and looked him up and down. “At least, some of them manage. Why just today, I had fourteen proposals—“
“I’ll just bet you did!” Kermit muttered, but not quite loud enough for Piggy to call him on it.
“And I raised tons of money for the town conservation project!” Piggy shot back, infuriated.
“And plenty of eyebrows!”
Piggy gave him a look of pure venom. “What other people do with their eyebrows is none of my business!” she snapped.
Kermit couldn’t think of anything snappy to say to that, so he changed tactics. “And look at all this money!” he accused.
“We’re supposed to be making money,” Piggy said. Her voice was level but her blood pressure was not. “This was a fundraiser, and Scooter says I might win first--”
“Yeah, but—“ Kermit blustered brilliantly.
“Perhaps vous have forgotten that art can be commercially successful,” she said primly.
“Art? I don’t think this qualifies as—“
“Well, if the crowds are applauding….” She trailed off and looked at him sweetly. “You do remember that feeling, don’t you? The one when people actually clap after the performance?”
Oooh! Direct hit on the frog’s ego. Kermit drew himself up to his full height, ready to say the first scathing thing that popped into his head. He opened his mouth--
Piggy kissed him. In the time it had taken him to puff himself up with irritation, she had reached out, snagged the green beads draped around his neck and pulled him within target range. Some small part of him argued that she was bound to be good at this seeing how she had just practiced so very much but it was impossible for him to remember anything of the sort once her lips met his. There was apology in her kiss, and tenderness and insecurity and a million other things that could not fail to move him if he was not immovable. He found he was not, and he also found his arms around her waist, feeling the solid wealth of her curves and glad to find them so obligingly pressed against him.
By the time they pulled apart, it was safe to say that Kermit had thoroughly sampled the wares so cunningly displayed at Piggy’s booth, and had little to say in disapproval—very little to say indeed.
Piggy looked at him, her eyes contrite, but there was a hint of mischief in them.
“Five dollars, please,” she said sweetly.
Kermit drew himself up, pulling his dignity around him with difficulty as if suddenly becoming aware of the many eyes watching their little interchange. He slapped a ten dollar bill on the counter, but when her hand reached for it, he grabbed her wrist, pulled her firmly into his arms and dipped her almost to the ground.
“I didn’t ask for change,” he muttered, and kissed her again.
Nobody reminded Kermit this was a family event. Nobody so much as said “awwwed” or made “kissy-kissy” noises. After an appallingly indecent interval, Piggy was set back onto her very high heels in front of a crowd determinedly looking at something else entirely. She put one hand to her hair and the other rose to her flushed lips while she looked at Kermit without saying anything. After a moment, one satin-gloved hand closed over the bill, and Kermit was surprised to find the other gripping his wrist. She walked swiftly, drawing him after her, and there was a loud wail of disappointment as she abandoned her post. Too powerless to pull free and too proud to protest, Kermit had no choice but to follow. Piggy walked his ten dollar bill over to the Frog Scouts table. She put it on the table and looked at Robin brightly.
“Ten dollars for some of your Frog Scout popcorn,” she said quietly, trying to ignore the little stir her arrival had created among the pre-adolescent frog scouts. Only Robin seemed impervious to the fact that a real, live, in the pink movie star had just visited their booth, and he took her money and sold her a box of chocolate-covered popcorn.
There was a rustle of movement, then Scooter burst through the crowd.
“Was that a ten?” he asked.
Several heads nodded, and Scooter looked down at his clipboard.
“It’s official then,” he said. “The Frog Scouts win for most money earned at the fair.”
“We win!’ Robin shouted exultantly! “We win! We win! We made the most money today!”
The crowd erupted into cheers and yells. Frog scouts bounced with abandon and there was a great deal of back-thumping and head-rubbing congratulations.
Kermit found himself surrounded by people, but Piggy’s hold on his hand had not loosened and the crowd swept around them. He returned the pressure of her hand and looked at Piggy, his eyes softening in response. “I guess we all win,” he said softly.
Piggy nodded earnestly. “I…I wanted to do something for the cause. This seemed like a natural.” She had the good grace to blush under his scrutiny—she who had not blushed once on the job!—but Kermit’s sigh was benevolent.
“It certainly seems to have been a smash hit,” he admitted. He gave her a lop-sided smile. “Five dollars a kiss!” he teased. “I had no idea I was so deeply in debt.”
Piggy sniffed and disengaged herself. She put her lovely snout into the air and sailed past him. “Don’t worry,” she said airily. “I’m willing to let you work it off.”
There was a moment’s stunned silence, then Kermit smiled broadly. He would have started after her, but at just that moment a small webbed hand slipped into his.
“Hi Uncle Kermit,” said Robin, beaming at him. “We did good, huh?”
Kermit smiled, taking in Robin’s slightly less-than immaculate uniform and twinkling eyes. “You did great.”
“Um, is there anything to eat?” asked Robin. “I’m hungry.”
Kermit thought of the old joke about the parents who simply weighed their little boy as they exited the grocery store and paid for the weight difference at the going rate for grapes. He imagined that Robin had consumed his weight twice over in popcorn, and there was nothing—nothing at all—leftover from the sack lunch he’d packed the night before.
“Sure,” Kermit said, his arm around Robin’s shoulder. “Lets go back toward the entry and see what they’ve got to eat.” He glanced once over his shoulder and saw Piggy in earnest conversation with Scoutmaster Rana, then smiled and let it go. He’d catch up with Piggy in a bit—she wasn’t going anywhere.
 
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Ruahnna

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(Not quite finished--still got a few loose threads to tie up....
 

TogetherAgain

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<GLOMP>

WHEEEE! AWESOME STORY! WHEEEEEE! <Wiggles>

<GLOMP>

I think that pretty much sums up my feelings at this exact moment.

Edit: Ooh, MORE? WHEEEEEEEEEEEE! <bouncy>
 

The Count

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... And when she thought it was safe to post again... *Glomp. Weee *Excited about the chappy... Thrills to find Robin and the troopers won. Gahs at the mention. Whooshes at the ending... Waits for the next update. Urges Ru that she's almost at 9H. *Glomp.
*Skulks away.
 

The Count

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Hey Clauds... Did you get any pie or popcorn? Did you buy anything at the Bizarre Bazaar? *Making small chit-chat with sis till the next part gets posted.
 

The Count

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Hello there... Just a friendly reminder that if you could, please do post whatever's left of this charming chaptered clover-to-cover.

Thank you... We welcome the update and so do all of your faithful readers.
*Gives Aunt Ru a friendly hug with crazy Grover arms. :heroic:
 

froggiegirl18

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I really enjoyed reading this story. I really enjoy reading actually all your stories. You're an excellent writer. After watching an okay movie I wish you could have helped them on the script. It was a cute movie but it could have been better with a better script. Enough of my rant. I loved this short story. I love how you have grown the characters. I especially love the relationship between Kermit and Piggy, it's just so sweet and tender. Keep writing. You're an excellent story teller. :smile:
 

Ruahnna

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Chapter 11: Don’t Miss Your Queue

Stuffed with pancakes, pie and punch (Kermit was having a bit of a Sesame-Street-inspired flashback), Robin had finally declared himself no longer starving. He had belched delicately, giggled and then asked permission to run and play with the Frog Scouts and other Hensonville children. Kermit watched him go, confident of his safety in this familiar crowd, and looked around surreptitiously for Piggy.
His miffed mood had evaporated somewhere in the middle of their second kiss, and he did not mind at all the looks of grudging admiration that had followed him in the wake of their little scene at Piggy’s booth. If he was honest (which he did not much want to be) he would have admitted that Piggy’s contribution to the cause had been pretty inspired—and pretty inspiring! The taste of her lips was still on his (or was that chocolate?) and he could still remember the look in her electric blue eyes when he had set her back up onto her nosebleed heels. She had landed a couple of jibes, true—the one about applause had really stung—but he had stormed up to her booth like a Neanderthal. He had a sudden image of himself in caveman togs, Piggy dressed in a leopard-print bikini, and the thought was so…well, ridiculous and fun that he felt like laughing. Besides, no matter how many people Piggy had kissed, in the end, she had only had eyes—and lips--for him.
Kermit worked through the crowd, trading triumphant hugs with Fozzie over the day’s successes and waving to Rowlf, who waved a mug of something frothy and green back at him. The mayor had been full of praise and congratulations, and Kermit’s arm had been pumped so many times he thought it might be sore tomorrow.
The Bizarre Bazaar had done quite well for itself, but the everything-you-can-stuff-in-a-recyclable-grocery-bag-for-$5 sale at the end of the day had picked the long tables clean. Kermit saw Ed strolling arm-in-arm with Nora, both of them laden down with bags. Nora’s looked like books, and Kermit was sure he saw a candelabra sticking out of Ed’s bag, along with something that looked like a string of Christmas lights, but with prisms hanging at intervals instead of light bulbs. Kermit expected to see the garland adorning the Bat, Bolt & Skull in the very near future.
Kermit saw Piggy coming across the fairway, the fluted hem of her dress swaying as she walked toward the center of the square. Her hat was in her gloved hands since she no longer needed protection from the sun—or from erstwhile suitors—and it was obvious from her manner that she was looking for…something. Kermit was pretty sure what that something was, and he locked his eyes on her face until the force of his gaze drew her unerringly to look in his direction. There was a long moment—a nice moment—when they simply looked at each other, then Kermit grinned and waved. Piggy, however, wasn’t waving—her happy smile changed to a look of surprise, then horror, and Kermit turned to see what had so arrested her gaze.
Robin and some of the other frog scouts had been happily playing on the barrels that Gonzo’s gelatin had arrived in, scrambling over the stacks of sticky containers with youthful exuberance to bound with great joyfulness into the soupy vat of green semi-liquid. It was not, Robin had thought, unlike climbing the maze of trees and vines he had so often climbed with his many cousins in the swamp, but the plop at the end was definitely more fun. It was a great pasttime—especially since it was then possible to clean off under a stiff spray of water from Dr. Honeydew’s station where Beaker had thrilled and horrified the crowds with his intellect-defying dives.
Many, many people had jostled their way onto the grounds today, laughing, eating and enjoying the shows, sights and smells of the festival. Over the course of many hundreds of bodies squashing themselves past the tower of gelatin barrels, the foundation had become a little less steady than it ought to have been. This was compounded by the fact that—as the gelatin in the vat had diminished, it had been replaced by the reserve gelatin from the barrels. The barrels had once been full, and heavy. Now they were empty, and provided much less sturdy a foundation for the substitute diving board the Frog Scouts were using. This had gone un-noticed until just this moment, and it was still un-noticed and unknown by the little green frog perched triumphantly on the makeshift diving board at the top.
In actuality, Kermit whirled around as soon as he saw the look on Miss Piggy’s face, but the act seemed to take a long, long time. Something small and green caught the corner of his eye and drew his eyes up, up, up above the teeming crowd. Kermit froze, horrified by the sight, as Robin had poised briefly on the top and readied to launch himself forward.
In the same way that Piggy’s gaze had been unerringly drawn to Kermit by his eyes fastened on her, Robin sensed the weight of Kermit’s stare and turned to look down, waving to his uncle frantically from the top of the heap.
“Look at me, Uncle Kermit! Watch me! Watch me jump!” the little amphibian cried, clinging to the edge of a barrel which was just beginning to tip.
“No!” Kermit shouted! “Robin! Don’t jump! Hold on! The barrels are falling!”
But the bold Frog Scout was concentrating on his dive, and did not heed his uncle’s desperate cries. Others joined in, yelling to the little frog scout, who finally recognized the din as something other than simple cheering. The timing couldn’t have been worse.
Robin looked down and—startled by the rows of people all frantically waving at him—did not attend to the barrel beneath him at all. At that precise moment, the stack of barrels behind the stack he stood on smacked squarely into his perch and he was pitched forward without warning. Robin let out a cry of surprise and scrabbled desperately for a hold—any hold—on the tower of wooden containers while the crowd below him gasped and pointed. The make-shift diving board swung in a slow, almost lazy semi-circle and ended up by hovering over the rickety barrels while Robin held on for dear life. If Robin lost his grip now, his landing would not be soft and squishy.
Sometimes when faced with something too terrible to contemplate, the mind seems to shut down completely and adrenaline surges to the forefront, readying the body for action. Kermit’s mind had shut down the instant he’d seen Robin atop the unstable barrels, but his body was tensed as though for battle. His bulbous eyes were scanning the fairway, calculating distance, force, gauging what sort of jump might intercept his nephew’s perilous position when he caught sight of Blackstone’s brilliant green mane.
If this had been a movie, Kermit would have put two fingers into his mouth, given a sharp whistle and then caught the saddlehorn of his trusty steed as he thundered past. This was not a movie, and Kermit had never learned to whistle like that, but he gave a loud, almost hysterical bellow, calling for Blackstone at the top of his lungs. The stallion’s head shot up out of his bag of oats and it took him two seconds to meet Kermit’s frantic gaze and identify the source of his anxiety.
A good horse knows his rider. A great horse knows his rider on short acquaintance. Despite his ridiculous coiffure, Blackstone had the heart of a great horse. He raced toward Kermit, shouting instructions as he came.
“Forget the saddlehorn,” the horse cried. “Grab my mane with both hands and hang on!”
Kermit only had time to gulp, then his outstretched hands closed over two fistfuls of brilliant green hair and he was whisked off his feet. Finding his seat wasn’t as hard as he’d imagined, but nothing mattered now except Robin, who clung paralyzed with fright at the top of a mountain of teetering barrels.
“I’m coming Robin!” Kermit cried. “Just hang on!”
Desperation took over where skill was lacking. Blackstone was thundering down the hard-packed paths, swerving with precision and skill to avoid the crowds milling mostly unawares between the two erstwhile heroes and their object. Kermit could not afford to look where they were going—he could not spare a glance for anything they were hurtling past. He had his eyes fixed grimly and without wavering on a small green figure who was perched on the very edge of disaster!
There was a rumble, and at first it seemed to come from the crowd, but then the entire heap of containers was falling. Too frightened to yell, Robin had only time to push off with his feet, but he did not have time to aim. It did not take a physics major to see that Robin was going to far overshoot the welcoming vat of green gelatin and land somewhere on the far—and far harder—side of his target.
But Kermit was coming. Blackstone’s hooves were gobbling up the earth and Kermit found himself—unawares and completely unconscious of the potential danger to himself—crouching on Blackstone’s back. One hand still held tight to Blackstone’s mane but the other was outstretched, straining toward the place where one small green frog seemed likely to land. Robin was falling faster and faster, but time seemed to slow, to still, everything moving in freeze-frame.
Kermit’s initial idea was to catch Robin, snatching him out of the air before he could hit the ground, but it was clearly impossible at the rate they were going.
“We’re not going to make it!” Kermit cried, and his voice sounded deep and funny to his ears, but Blackstone wasn’t about to admit defeat.
I’m not going to--” the horse panted back, “but YOU can! When the time comes, jump for it!”
It took only a fraction of a second for Kermit to understand, but the fraction of a second was precious indeed. “Right! Right! Do it!” he yelled.
Kermit felt the stallion dig in his heels, skidding through the tramped-down dirt in a wide arc, and then Kermit was propelled over Blackstone’s head and into the air, aided by a powerful push from his strong hind legs. Now Kermit was flying up toward his nephew as Robin hurtled down toward the ground. If they collided in midair, it would all have been for naught—and for both of them—but Kermit had not come this far to fail.
“Robin! Arms out!” Kermit screamed above the roar of the wind. “Catch me as I catch you!” He hoped to break the force of their impact by catching Robin askance instead of head-on, diffusing some of his momentum and pushing him back into the range of the pool. If it worked, Kermit expected them to emerge rather banged around, but it was far better than the alternative.
There are moments when your fate hangs in the balance and no one can say which way the scale will tip, but that is assuming a blind and impartial judge. It was fairly safe to say that there were very few impartial viewers to this little drama, and it was enough to tip the scale in Robin’s favor. Frightened beyond ken, Robin did what his uncle asked, holding both arms wide as Kermit did the same. The two projectiles intersected, spinning wildly but clinging to each other, the force of Kermit’s ascent pushing them back the direction Robin had come. Kermit wrapped his arms and legs around his nephew, shielding him with his body, determined to take the brunt of the fall.
Time was creeping by with incredible slowness. Kermit felt Robin clinging to him, felt Robin’s head pushed into his shoulder as though to hide his face from what might come next, but he was also aware of other things, other noises. He heard yelling, strains of music and laughter, and wondered briefly if his life was flashing before his eyes, but his musings were cut short as Kermit hit the pool of viscous liquid with a solid THWOP.
It hurt. It hurt quite a bit, but Kermit had never been gladder to do a stinging flop into the water in his life. Everything went green for a moment as they hurtled toward the bottom, but they surged back up to the surface in a surprisingly short time. They were both coughing and sputtering, wiping green goo out of their eyes, but there were worried faces smiling at them, eager hands reaching for them both, and it was going to be okay.
 
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