And If That Diamond Ring Turns Brass (Tinseltown)

[RedPiggy]

Jenny and Lena finally made it back to Jenny’s place after having a late lunch. It had been such a long time since Jenny had had “girl time”. She missed having someone to talk to and not mention business. It had been so, so long.

Jenny stopped just outside the front door when it was blocked by a dark-skinned woman in a light green tank top and blue jeans. Her black hair had sea-green highlights and was pulled back with a small barrette shaped like a tiny paper fan. She smiled. “Jennifer Evangelos? Do you mind if I speak with you for just a moment?”

Lena smirked at Jenny and nodded. “I’ll go on ahead, Jenny. I need to see if Sammy needs anyzing anyway.”

When Lena disappeared Jenny crossed her arms and sighed. “Ma’am, if it’s alright with you, I’m really not in the mood to talk.”

The woman smiled. “I promise this won’t take long. My name is Eshe. I’m an environmental manager. ‘The Queen of Trash’ is a rather amusing nickname I was given.”

Jenny smirked. “I haven’t been recycling plastic bottles like I should. Is there a fine or something?”

Eshe laughed and shook her head. “I was hoping to help you with your son, Foster, is it?”

Jenny frowned. “How do you know Foster?”

Eshe kept her cheerful disposition. “He was mentioned by a recent friend of mine,” she told Jenny.

“MM?”

Eshe nodded. “Yes, thanks to your son, ‘MM’ has found the one she was looking for. He’s such a nice young man.” She looked down and sighed. “Sadly, Foster was disappointed to realize that his love interest was … well … heh … not interested. I was wondering if you’d accept my assistance to show Foster how to cope with such things.”

Jenny stared at the front door. She could just open that door and ignore this intrusion. She shook her head. “He doesn’t consider himself my son.”

Eshe looked at Jenny more thoughtfully. “I’m sorry.”

“He was given up for adoption and he resents it.”

Eshe chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Jenny demanded.

“From what I’ve heard, Ms. Evangelos, what he resents is his government, his neighbors, his peers … all combining to restrict the definition of partnership.” She approached Jenny. “Ms. Evangelos – you did not ‘throw your child away.’ You provided for him. If the boy is telling you that he resents you, you have to understand what young men are like. They have a tendency to blame whoever’s convenient, not the actual problematic person.”

Jenny flicked away some strands of hair from her face. “I’m still confused about how this is all your business.”

Eshe grew more serious. “I am attracted to anyone who feels ‘thrown away’, Ms. Evangelos. I am not here to help you because you never were. Your father didn’t leave you. He helped you ‘til his dying day. Your husband promoted your rise to fame and passed away in the service of his country. You were given so much, Ms. Evangelos. It is the boy I’d like to talk to.”

Jenny flashed an expression of jealousy. “His feelings of being ‘thrown away’ are real while mine are imaginary?” She clenched her jaw. “You said he was given new opportunities. I know he was given a family who loves him and whom he prefers to be around. They helped him with his studies. He’s become someone who’s willing to help others, despite how bad he feels. In my opinion, he hasn’t really been thrown away either.”

Eshe smirked and nodded. “You must have wonderful friends, Ms. Evangelos,” she noted with satisfaction. “You should hang out with them more, no matter how strange they are.” She looked at a small watch on her wrist. “Well, I really must be going. I, too, have to check in with family every once in awhile.” She looked up. “I apologize if I seemed intrusive, Ms. Evangelos. I just wanted to assess if you needed anything.” She handed her a small business card. “If you should need anything, anything at all … please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

 

[RedPiggy]

Foster appeared at the front door and saw that several suitcases were standing next to it. He knocked.

Lena opened the door impatiently. "Oh, Foster," she said, "your stuff is right zere. We're going."

Foster stared at her in disbelief. He suddenly smiled. "We're going home? Really?"

Lena turned and went back into Jenny's apartment as Samson pushed a large suitcase on rollers out to the hallway. He exhaled, wiping his brow. "Foster, we're going home."

Foster's face fell. "What the heck does that mean?"

Jenny appeared in the doorway. "Foster, you're leaving this apartment. I've agreed to help pay half your ticket to California if you still want to go. Samson and Lena'll be paying the other half."

"I'll get Bobby to see if he can find you a place," added Samson. "It's time you started pulling your --."

"Wait a minute!" Foster protested. He glanced at Jenny and nodded. "I see. I don't suck up to Mom and I'm being kicked out, is that it?"

"Pretty much," Lena retorted as she dumped some bags in the hallway. She patted him on the shoulder with a smile. "Oh, and we're not carrying your bags."

"What in God's name brought all this on?"

Samson stared at him. "You've been rude and ungrateful to Jenny. Lena, Bobby, and I have all discussed it: you want to be an adult ... you're going to act like one."

Jenny added in a frustrated tone, "You don't have a job, you don't pay rent, and you refuse any familial relationship to me. Why should I be giving you a free ride?"

Foster clenched his fist, his teeth grating against each other. "I was kicked out of my family ...."

Jenny smirked. "Well, I'm not your family." She started counting her fingers. "Let's see, you can't stay with your parents, you failed at staying with me, and your boyhood crush left you high and dry at the bank." She shrugged. "What happened to you anyway?"

Foster steamed. "She left me for that money-hungry broad, is what she did," he grumbled.

Jenny's eyes widened and she gasped. She started to laugh with relief. "That definitely explains so much!"

Foster glared at her. "I'm so happy you're entertained, Mother," he shot back sarcastically.

Jenny shrugged again. "Well, it seems no one wants to be around someone who always takes things for granted." She went back into the apartment.

Lena brought out the last bag and closed the door. "Get your stuff, kid ... unless of course you plan on staying here in New York?"

"I'm not a child!" Foster complained.

"Then why are you acting like one?" Samson replied casually as he started moving his own baggage.

Foster watched the two walk down the short hallway. "Bobby wouldn't do this to me!"

Samson stopped, barely looking over his shoulder. "It was his idea."

"And mine," Lena added. "Jenny has her own problems. She doesn't need some whiny brat with hormonal problems ruining her life."

"That's her response to everything!" Foster erupted. "Go run and hide when family doesn't snap to attention like she wants!"

Samson turned around and stomped up to Foster and pinned him to the wall, struggling to keep his hooves from hurting his adopted son's frail human chest, for the edges could be quite sharp sometimes. He glared at the teenager. "Sometimes resolving the issue works. Isn't that what you told me on the phone?" he asked tensely. "You dump your mother at the first moment to go girl-chasing at a hospital ... where patients are supposed to be free of outside stress ... and you think this is all her fault? All she wanted was to take you in and try to provide for you ... and you spit in her face! That's not the boy we raised!" His voice kept rising. "We expected more than a kid biting the hand that feeds him!" He reluctantly let go, feeling somewhat guilty when Foster tenderly rubbed his chest. He sighed and lowered his volume. "We'll help you get back to California if you'd be happier there. However, you're eighteen years old. If independence is what you want, that's what you're going to get."

Foster was scared silent. Samson had never raised hoof nor horn to him, not in his entire childhood. Samson was strong enough to pull bullriding equipment out of the floor of a bar ... something he had witnessed on at least two occasions when Samson got tired of a bunch of drunks teasing him about rodeos and how long it took to shake a man off him. It was Samson who had taught him the importance of keeping calm, since it was Bobby who taught him how to outwit others and passionately defend himself in a fight. To see Samson use force, even if he was restraining himself, made the front side of his jeans darken down the leg.

<><><><><><>

Moulin watched the argument in the reflection of a small pool of water in her coffee cup. Watching him humbled gave her both joy and sorrow.

Eshe sat down beside her in the bookstore with the coffee shop inside. She smiled. "Find something to entertain you in here?" She looked around. "You always were such a bookworm."

Moulin didn't reply.

Eshe shook her head, her hair almost completely sea-green now. "How's that girlfriend of yours?"

"The boy got kicked out of his mother's apartment," Moulin answered.

Eshe rubbed her tongue over her teeth. "Well, he hasn't been abandoned, so really I'm not obligated to do anything about it."

Moulin finally looked up. "Is that the only reason you help others?" She glared at Eshe. "Does someone have to be at the end of their rope to get some compassion out of you?"

Eshe frowned and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "You're not exactly Miss Warm 'N' Cozy, yourself, sister," she snapped. "Humans denied magic. They became dull to it. They have to need it severely for us to have any lasting impact." She sipped some coffee. "I didn't create the situation, no matter how frustrating it is." She sipped some more and shrugged. "We're some of the few left who still give a --."

"Why?" Moulin interrupted. "The King of the Universe ran away from humans, then had the audacity to bewail the lost love between them. Now it seems like no one wants to make this poor, wretched world better ... even though, if we all banded together, we could with a mere snap of our fingers."

"They have to settle this themselves," Eshe replied.

"A response of the lazy and apathetic," Moulin shot back darkly.

Eshe glared at her. "What makes you think magic can solve all of their problems? They had paradise at their fingertips. 'Golden Ages' never last long in the human world."

Moulin smirked and leaned back. "In the hospital, I watched TV shows, where houses needed remodeling or cleaning, or restaurants needed revamping. In every single case, the problem had become so overwhelming, the humans just gave up and called experts for help." Her expression changed to that of puzzled sadness and pleading. "Would you demand the legless walk?"

Eshe smirked. "It's been done."

Moulin shook her head. "And when it doesn't work? What then? Do you just abandon the helpless because they don't fit in your schedule? Is it more important for the man to walk to the water fountain or for him to get a drink?"

Eshe shook her head. "We both know there are those of us who are amused to help humans, even for sincerely compassionate reasons," she told the younger fae. "What you're suggesting flies in the face of our very existence, though. We stay separate from them for a reason."

"Again," Moulin grumbled, "the response of the lazy and apathetic."

"The guardian of this world will never let you do as you suggest," Eshe lectured sternly.

"Why not? She does," Moulin protested. "She supposedly outpowers us all, and we're left as spectators. Why can't we do something to fix things?"

"It's not our place," Eshe told her calmly and softly.

Moulin stood up and banged her fist on the table. "Why promote teamwork and harmony when no one is allowed to team up?" she hissed. "To dismiss potential allies just because they're different than you is poor management."

Eshe shifted her weight uncomfortably. She looked as though she wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

Moulin sighed and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. "Out of respect over jurisdictional procedures, I will, of course, request an audience and not just act on my own," she informed Eshe. She opened her eyes. "But the humans are obviously overwhelmed. Their fault in the matter is irrelevant. Common decency, heck, even good long-term strategy dictates fixing this world for the better." She pointed at her cup. "That boy needs help. We shouldn't have to wait for him to articulate it."

Eshe rolled her eyes. "You really think that issue is more important than any other dozens of things that are wrong with this world?"

Moulin smiled. "Fix the small problems first, and you have the resources to fix the really big ones."

 

[RedPiggy]

A lone small sofa sat in the middle of a large meadow which was decorated with multitudes of rainbow-colored flowers of every variety. Moulin cautiously looked around and sat down. A small black device rested on the nearest arm of the sofa, marked "Pager". She accessed it and watched it buzz.

"You know," a female voice began from behind, "it seems like anyone can just walk on in here."

Moulin turned to see a dark-skinned athletic woman with long ebony braids and a winning smile stand behind her. She wore loose-fitting brilliantly white clothes.

"So," the woman continued, "it's been awhile since I got any visitors from your neck of the woods." She pointed to the field, which dissolved into a beach environment, the roaring waves splashing just a few feet in front of them, though they did not get wet. "Is this better?"

Moulin didn't answer.

The woman casually sighed and sat down on the sofa and watched the waves as seagulls flew by. "I just love the beach," the woman told Moulin cheerfully.

Moulin smiled politely.

The woman sighed and slapped her own thigh. "So ... let's get down to business, since you're obviously not the small talk-type, are you? I hardly think sending a hurricane to Hollywood will do much."

Moulin frowned. "Milady," she said finally, "you are not against consequences. There are those who hide behind purity while wallowing in the mud. Why must they escape justice?"

The woman shook her head slightly. "Moulin, your integrity and love of justice has always been quite admirable. That said, even with your powers of foresight, you don't see very well." She took a small golden remote control out of her pocket, summoning a large flat-screen television which floated in the air just in front of them. She pushed a couple of buttons. Throngs of people appeared, as if they were on a reality hidden-camera show. "See all these people? Can you tell which ones deserve intervention?"

Moulin shook her head. "With all due respect, Milady, the comparison fails. You know which ones deserve it."

The woman nodded. "But you don't. That's my point. Just watching them, they're all equal."

Moulin cringed. "They're not. Some are outgoing, some are hermits, some are nice, some are vindictive."

The woman shrugged. "The pros and cons balance out most of the time." She looked at Moulin. "I do adjust the settings when the settings get out of whack." She sighed. "Look: this isn't some kid's show. Bad days happen." She stared at Moulin expectantly. "Come on, Moulin ... spit it out!" she barked sharply.

Moulin gulped. "Milady, I feel the writer of this show doesn't have the audience's best interests at heart and it shows in the poor ratings."

The woman laughed. "Poor ratings? Humans scramble all over themselves to bring in more people in the world. If it were really that bad, why the insistence on reproduction?"

Moulin scowled. "Hormones."

The woman shook her head. "Animals and plants can defer the biological clock when needed. Humans are no different ... or any other creature, for that matter," she added, glancing knowingly at Moulin. "It's not like they can't help themselves. I set the bar rather high for stopping behavior to keep it from seeming far too demanding. No one likes micromanagement."

"So beings should suffer?"

The woman's expression became dead serious. "Moulin, I know along the timeline, the idea got into people's heads that all I did all day was go around listening to chanting and sipping some Shiraz and making flowers bloom. One person's problem is another person's solution. One person's trash is another person's treasure. I don't do the whole 'one-size-fits-all' thing, girlfriend. I need my stuff custom-tailored. That does mean that some won't like something. I'm not going to spoon-feed anyone."

Moulin stood. "I'm not asking for perfection --."

"So if I just cooked something up half-baked, it'd be a solution no one'd gripe about?" wondered the woman.

"Boss!" Moulin exclaimed in frustration. "Don't you understand? This won't stop until you make an example of someone!"

The Boss smiled briefly. "A long time ago, people would wonder why a hurricane would come to some place like Galveston or New Orleans and trash whole neighborhoods while sparing the saloons and nightclubs. You know what conclusion the people who were supposed to be getting 'the example' conceived? They said the Ultimate Evil spared the sinners to spite Me." She scoffed. "This is why I stopped the natural disaster punishment deal, Moulin. The ones who I wanted to pay attention just believed whatever they wanted anyway. They pray for all that destruction to shame their enemies, but when they get that treatment, suddenly I'm either cruel or incompetent." She stared at Moulin with a pained expression on her face. "I'll keep an eye on things, Moulin ... but I'm not going to bow before mortals or immortals just because they want to whine."

<><><><><><>

Kermit slowly dialed the phone. He breathed deeply. It had been months since they had really, really talked. He felt so guilty. It rang. "Hi, this is Kermit. I ... uh ... I just wanted to say I've missed talking to you. I know I've been busy, but that's no excuse. I still think about you a --." There was a beep. It was another caller. He sighed and pushed the button. "Hello? This is Kermit the Frog."

"Hey, Kermit," said a female voice glumly. "Would it be possible to talk to you?"

"Jenny?" Kermit gasped in shock. "Uh, yeah. I was trying to call Piggy ... but you know her ... she never keeps her cell on." Now he really felt like a heel. She sounded awful.

"How about Charlie's in an hour?"

"Um ... sure," Kermit responded unsurely.

 

[RedPiggy]

Kermit glanced up when Jenny appeared in the front lobby of Charlie's, whose service and menu fluctuated about every financial quarter. He could imagine Gordon Ramsay filming there some day, promising to re-invent the place. He smiled and hugged Jenny, who quietly hugged him back. Her hair was down, her clothes very casual -- nothing like her usual business-ready self at all.

"Thanks for seeing me, Kermit," Jenny replied softly.

"No problem," he replied. They waited on bench to be seated. "So -- uh, what's new with you?"

Jenny smiled politely. "Did you know I had a son, Kermit?"

Kermit nodded slowly. "Yeah, actually, I did. Foster showed up at the theater earlier. We had a nice conversation."

Jenny looked at him in shock. "What did he say?"

Kermit didn't want to volunteer anything until Jenny gave details first. He didn't mind helping others, but he didn't like looking as though he went behind others' backs, either. He shrugged and chuckled with a sheepish grin, "He's your typical eighteen-year-old boy ... guess." Jenny looked confused. He sighed. "Relationships."

Jenny nodded. She didn't say any more for several moments, then reported, "I kicked him out of my apartment."

Kermit stared at her for a moment. He gulped and tried to remain somewhat cheerful. "Oh, is that so?"

Jenny nodded again. "It just wasn't working out, Kermit," she replied softly as she stared at the floor. "I just couldn't make him love me."

Kermit nodded and also stared at the floor, his voice quieter. "No one can, Jenny."

"We have a table for two," announced a perky waitress.

After they sat down at the table, Jenny picked at the silverware. "Part of me feels guilty, but another part of me says, 'He's eighteen years old! He needs to get out on his own.'" She glanced at her long-time friend. "What do you think?"

Kermit gulped. "You're one of the most rational people I know," he began slowly. "Only you know what you need to be happy."

Jenny smirked. "That's a nice way of saying you don't want to get involved."

Kermit gawked at her. She had never acted offended by him before, even when he would rebuke her sharply when frustrated. Finally, he said, "Is there anything I can do?"

The waitress reappeared and laughed as she gave them menus. "You know," she told Kermit, "I really hope you say 'yes' this time."

Kermit glanced at the waitress in confusion. "Beg pardon?"

Jenny frowned. "Can we have a moment alone, please?"

The waitress shrugged. "Sure thing, lady ... but after all that trouble Miss Piggy went to ... I don't think she'd like hearing her frog's on a date with another woman," she replied with a wink and a smirk and left.

Kermit and Jenny glanced at each other and shrugged. They ate in silence for a bit, since they didn't want to continue the conversation while Little Miss Perky Eavesdropper "helped" move the dialogue along. At last, they left and walked down Sesame Street. Jenny had rarely gone there ... and even Kermit barely hung out there anymore ... but he smiled when he saw how far things had come. It was greener, cleaner ... yet still the friendly place he had come to know and love when he was younger. He still kept his house nearby, though now he rented it out most of the time.

Jenny suddenly stopped in front of an electronics display just outside of Nickles Department Store, making Kermit bump unceremoniously into her. She turned his head so he could see a row of televisions of all shapes and sizes.

On nearly every screen, Miss Piggy, decked out in a sparkling dark green dress, surrounded by hundreds of red roses, smiled warmly at the camera.

"As you may know," Piggy began with her typically melodious voice, "celebrity worship is just your average day on the job here in Hollywood. If you search online for questions about my cute little Kermie et moi, you get nearly a hundred-thousand search results. Celebrity marriages in general? Over eighteen million. Why, even for fictional cartoon thieves Jessie and James, over two-thousand. Go on youtube: the wedding between Kermie et moi? Over 200,000 views per video. Celebrity weddings in general? In the hundreds or thousands." Screencaptures from various sources appeared as she rattled off statistics. Finally, she reappeared among piles of fashion magazines. "That is just the things online, mes amis! Look at all the celebrity magazines! They're just filled with relationships that are, quite frankly," she quickly growled, "none of your beeswax! Are your lives so boring that you don't have anything else better to do than live your relationship fantasies through US?" She quieted down, her melodious voice returning. "This state has seen so much melodrama over who gets to marry whom. I don't care what side you are in the debate ... IF MARRIAGE IS SO D--- SACRED TO YOU ... STOP BLUBBERING OVER ALL OF OURS! End the financial exploitation of the wedded ... or the divorced. Make marriage special again, mes amis -- don't drag it through the mud." She paused as the camera inched closer. "Coming from a pig -- that's quite an insult."

Jenny and Kermit gawked in silence at the televisions, their jaws threatening to smack the sidewalk beneath them.

Jenny gasped after several minutes. "What was that all about?"

Kermit stood silent, watching her soft face radiate a certain light. Certainly, she used sophisticated lighting techiques ... but she was nearly angelic. He finally noticed Jenny's awestruck expression reflected in the glass window.

Could this be about ...?

<><><><><><>

Bobby spewed whiskey across the bar as he watched the television. He nearly fell over as Piggy complained about nosy idol-worshippers.

"Well, how DO, Little Miss?" Bobby asked as Miss Piggy hopped out of the small bus, coming home from day care. "Did you have fun today?"

Piggy nodded, her thumb in her mouth. She took it out to smooth the ruffles on her frilly pink dress. Her hair looked freshly washed. "I played a queen today," she chirped. She kept her eyes off of her older brother. "I wanted to be Snow White," she continued sadly. "The Queen gets punished at the end of the play. It is Snow White who gets her handsome prince."

Bobby laughed. "Oh, Piggy -- you're too much!" He patted her on the back. "Who cares about the rich maid? It's the Queen who is important to the story."

Piggy groaned. "But she is evil," she protested.

"But she'll live in our imaginations forever," Bobby reminded her as he kneeled down in front of her, running his fingers tenderly through her short hair. "Just because a character is in the title doesn't make that character the most important one, you know." He kissed her on the forehead. "You gotta learn which parts are worth having, Little Miss," he told her fondly. "Getting kissed does not make a better character."

The bartender groaned as she started to mop up the liquor everywhere. She glanced at the television. "I think certain places just froze over," she noted to keep from strangling her best customer. "I never thought that stuck-up little spoiled princess of pork (no offense, Bobby) would basically tell off all of her fans."

<><><><><><>

Gonzo watched the youtube version of Piggy's rant on Scooter's computer in the Muppet Theater.

Scooter, surrounded by half a dozen theater employees, sat in utter disbelief. He adjusted his glasses. "What brought that on?"

Fozzie the Bear adjusted his red polka-dotted necktie and fanned himself with his brown hat. "She musta lost her marbles," he muttered.

Beaureguard, the hard-working but somewhat naive janitor, started to walk out of Scooter's office.

"Where are you going?" Gonzo asked.

The janitor stopped as he opened the door. "I gotta go look for marbles," he replied. "Havin' them on the floor could lead to an accident!"

"Beaureguard!" the others moaned, shaking their heads.

Scooter typed on the computer. "Wow. This vid's spreading pretty quick," he noted. "It's only been up for an hour or so, and there's already a million hits!"

"So much for wanting privacy," Fozzie grumbled.

Gonzo quietly slipped past them and went to the desk where Kermit kept all of his stuff. He started packing things.

Scooter noticed the whatever was gone. "Hey, what happened to Gonzo?"

Fozzie looked around and shrugged. "You know how he gets sometimes about Piggy."

"SQUAWK SQUAWK!" Camilla protested angrily.

Fozzie put his hat to his brown furry chest. "Sorry, Camilla ... I didn't mean anything by it."

The phone rang just above Gonzo. He answered it.

"Gonzo?" Kermit asked. "Will you --?"

"Already got it covered," Gonzo replied, hanging up.

 

[The Count]

Gaaaaah! Charlie's... Sesame... Flashback... Piggy as the Queen from Snow White... Gonzo and Kermit secretly... *Combusts and revives intact. Need more please!

 

[RedPiggy]

Considering I used the Snow White ep of Muppet Babies when researching Skeeter for my fic-verse, I decided to reference it this time.

I know Muppet Babies isn't considered canon by basically anyone ... but, dang it, I still like it. Heheh. Anyway, the idea is that Nanny ran a day-care center. The eps we saw where it kinda looks like they're there 24/7 are just times when they had to spend the night or something. Otherwise, they went home at the end of the business day. That's the story and I'm stickin' to it.

I tried so hard to get a plot climax for Piggy, but I couldn't figure out how she'd address the issues involved. Pointing out the ridiculousness of marriage fascination in general just sort of popped into my head, even though it seemed kind of OOC for Piggy (however, it still fits in the context of this fic, since other characters have already mentioned something might further her plot should she let go of her pathological need for attention).

 

[RedPiggy]

Moulin watched the crowds walk or run past her at the airport.

She arrived just outside that Chinese Theater in Hollywood. She watched as protests marched up and down the street. Insults, then rocks and molotov cocktails were hurled.

Moulin couldn't watch them fight each other anymore. She summoned all of her power. Black clouds miles high swirled above their heads. Thunder cracked and rolled. Lightning pierced the darkened sky. Stiff gusts of wind nearly pushed the protesters over on the street.

The downpour didn't ease for hours. The water rising up to everyone's waists was the only indication how serious the damage was, since no one could see through the massive blasts of rain.

Moulin grinned as bodies started to float by. If she couldn't punish the most hateful side ... she'd destroy them all.

Well, that is what she felt like doing, anyway.

She saw a tall bipedal bull and a nearly anorexic Caucasian woman with short brown hair laugh as they strolled casually as airport staff helped with the luggage.

Following behind them, at a considerable distance, was ... Foster? He looked like he had been whacked with the newspaper far too often. The animals on Animal Cops looked more cheerful.

"Foster?" Moulin asked loudly as she walked up to him.

He glanced at her and scoffed as he continued to lug his suitcases.

Moulin followed him. "Let me help you with those."

He shook his head.

Moulin continued to walk briskly alongside him. "Foster ... I want to help you."

"Done a bang-up job, so far," he snapped.

Moulin waited a few moments before replying, "Foster, I never said I loved you like that." She stopped him. "Look, let me help you."

"I'll be late," he retorted.

Moulin kept her hold on him. "It's not like that'll be the only plane. Do you really want to sit next to your father?"

Foster jerked back, his face growing pale. "I ... I never said he was ..."

Moulin frowned. "You're denying it?"

Foster slammed down his stuff. "What the heck is going on? How do you even know my family? Are you some sick Norman Bates-wannabe or something? Are you spyin' on me?"

Moulin sighed and smiled. "No, Foster. I'm not a voyeur. You left the bank so suddenly, I realized what had happened. Rachel looked up the surveillance cameras which showed you leaving with some little blue furry thing. I only tracked you down. I didn't want you to leave with the wrong impression."

"That you're a lesbian?" he hissed.

Moulin's smile faded. "That I want you to be happy," she replied softly.

Foster chuckled. "Yeah, good luck with that. I've been kicked out of my mother's apartment."

"Is everything alright here?" Samson asked, suddenly beside Moulin. Lena stood beside him, surveying Moulin's curves with rapt attention.

Moulin glanced at the bull and then at Foster. She grinned. "Yes, sir. I came to thank your son before he left. I assume he's going back to California?"

Samson and Lena glanced at each other. "You're the woman he met?"

"Ze boy has an attitude ... but his taste is surely sound," Lena noted with overt satisfaction.

"Lena," Samson said, rolling his eyes. He nodded at Moulin. "We're all happy to learn you found your friend." Moulin shot a quick glance at Foster and so did Samson as Foster averted his eyes. "Still, I hope I don't sound rather rude, but we have a plane to catch. Come on, son," he added.

Moulin watched as Foster continued on with the bull and the woman, not looking back.

Though Lena did.

With a smirk, no less.

Moulin walked over to a row of payphones and dialed Rachel's number. Despite the fact she knew Rachel was in her office, the voicemail function was activated. "Hi, Rachel, this is Moulin. I guess you're right. Dreams are for losers. It's just that ... I was the one with the dream. I wanted the fairy tale, Rach. With everything we've been through ... I thought we truly deserved each other. We both wanted the top spot. I guess that's where my dreams ended. You don't want to share. This time I'll be more explicit, so you won't be left hanging ... I'm leaving for California. I hear Tinseltown is a fun place to be." She smirked, nearly laughing to herself. "Good-bye, Rach. It was positively magical to see you again. Good luck with your business."

Click.

 

[RedPiggy]

Warning: Samson's flashback gets rather violent.

Kermit took his seat on the plane.

"Here you go, Kermit," Gonzo, in his wildly-patterned long-sleeve shirt, said, holding a suitcase.

"That didn't take long," Kermit replied with a smirk.

Gonzo returned the smile and shrugged. "Helps when you never wear anything."

Kermit gave a fake pout. "Yes, I do, Gonzo."

"I put the tux in there too," Gonzo added with a wink.

"Gonzo, I --."

Gonzo sighed and put a hand on his boss' ... his friend's ... shoulder. "None of us get any younger, Kermit. Make it work this time."

Kermit sighed and took his friend's hand off. "Gonzo," he replied in an exasperated tone, "you don't even know what --."

Gonzo smiled. "I know exactly, Kermit. I've been there, done that. I thought she worshipped showmanship more than anything else. The crazier I got, the further she walked away." He sighed, his voice nearly cracking. "Do you know how that feels? Heh, I guess you do ... except you went in the opposite direction. The more she pushed, the more you pulled. You thought humility was the key to her heart ... and all she seemed to do was resent you for it."

Kermit scrunched up his face. "You're not exactly helping, Gonzo."

Gonzo glanced up at Camilla's dressing room, a silly grin on his face. "I don't regret it, of course. Camilla's the best thing that ever happened to me. Lots of every kind of creature are my friends ... but ... well ... she was the first one to love me, REALLY love me, Kermit. If I hadn't chased after Piggy when I was younger, I never would have realized what requited love actually was." He stared back at his boss, his friend, his eyes shimmering. "Don't screw this up, Kermit. I think that commercial was for YOU. I think she's saying she gets it, what you've wanted out of her for so many years. Everyone deserves a chance to be happy with the one he or she ... or it ... loves, you know?"

Kermit flipped through a small photo album. His eyes rested on the wedding shot from Manhattan Melodies. How could that have gone so wrong? It had been so simple. Gonzo would have played the priest, and the epilogue would have shown everyone celebrating their new-found fame (or regained fame, if one considered it a sequel to that first movie they did).

Then the priest, an honest-to-goodness, real human priest walked onstage.

He had wanted to shoot a dirty glance at his friends behind him.

He had wanted to improv his way out of it.

"Do you take Piggy to be your lawfully wedded wife, until you die?" asked the priest in song.

It wasn't that she tricked him. He wasn't that against marrying her. Her creativity and passion attracted him. Playing pranks was a fine, upstanding Muppet tradition, after all.

They had both come from humble beginnings.

Here they were, standing before just about everyone they ever knew, plus the entire audience ... and later, theaters and even the internet.

Their wedding wasn't a wedding ... it was a theatrical extravaganza.

He just didn't like sharing his "I do's" with the rest of the world.

That was all.

<><><><><><>

Samson closed his eyes, listening to MP3s stored on his cell phone, as he sat near the window on the plane. He could feel Lena twisting and turning, no doubt scoping out everyone around them to see who was hot enough to enjoy during the flight or afterwards.

Just because they got a divorce didn't stop Samson from watching her dance at the club. She was smart, beautiful, and compassionate. She had been everything he had ever wanted in a partner. He just felt guilty that it wasn't her femininity he wanted.

"Hey," whispered a guy next to him, "wanna go out back?"

"Thanks, no," replied Samson quietly. "I'm here for Lena."

"Yeah, right," chuckled the guy. "Come on, I wanna be a bullrider."

Samson glared at him. "Then go to a rodeo," he retorted angrily.

The guy, rather buff, stopped smiling. He stood up. "You threatenin' me, Burger Boy?"

"Well, HEY," exclaimed a large pig with a small tuft of black hair as he sat down beside Samson, cheerfully wrapping one arm around Samson's broad shoulders, "I thought you were meeting me in the car?"

Samson gawked in shock at this strange, and rather FORWARD, pig.

He couldn't tell who disgusted him more. Couldn't he just be left alone?

"Back off, Pork Chop," snapped the club patron.

"The name's Bobby," the pig oozed with a deadly tone. He stood up. "And I think you owe us an apology."

The club patron responded by decking Bobby in the jaw, sending him back a few inches. His bulk kept the pig standing, however.

"That's enough," Samson told the aggressive young man. "This is hardly the time --." Soon, another punch thrown his way sent him to the floor, smashing the chair underneath him.

The music stopped. Lena jumped on the jerk and scratched at him. He struggled a bit before throwing her off.

"Hasn't your momma ever told ya not to hit women?" Bobby replied, kicking the table into the gut of the buff but angry patron, making him double over. He rubbed his chin. "I think you actually BRUISED me! Oh, it's over, you bald chimpanzee!"

Samson wobbled a bit as he stood up. He watched as the fight continued, with Bobby easily able to take a lot of hits, unlike the creepy human patron.

And then the human backhanded Lena and kicked Bobby where the sun didn't shine.

Samson saw red. No one else was in the club anymore, according to Samson. There was only this one guy. He sped toward him, lowering his horns, bellowing as loudly as he could.

When it was all over, the man slowly slumped over after having been pinned to the wall, his shirt staining red.

Bobby and Lena gawked in disbelief. They glanced at each other.

Was it safe to approach him?

Neither knew for certain.

<><><><><><>

Moulin found Foster over in coach, near the tail of the plane. She sat down beside him, smiling.

He didn't look at her. "Great," he said, "you're a stalker, too."

Moulin rolled her eyes. "Have you ever been in love, Foster?"

"I've had some girlfriends, if that's what you're asking."

"Anything lasting, or just some hormonal mood swings?" she asked sincerely.

He didn't respond.

She leaned back against the chair, reading the short signs above her head, warning about smoking and such. "I first fell in love many years ago."

"I really don't want to hear about you and Ms. Bitterman," Foster told her curtly.

Moulin lowered her head. "I wasn't talking about her." She sighed. "It was my first ball. I could sense the power emanating from someone in the room. It was intoxicating. She had flax-colored hair, flowing down beyond her shoulders. She wore an ornate white dress with long white gloves, which contrasted sharply with her darkened skin. Pearls and diamonds were scattered across her shoulders. She wore a dark red mask that covered half her face. She was gentle and kind and exceedingly graceful on the dance floor, as though she knew dance steps instinctively. That was ... thirteen years ago?" she asked wistfully.

Foster glanced at her in confusion. "I thought, you and Ms. Bitterman, well, hooked up in 1980. Thirteen years ago was 1999."

Moulin smiled. "I told you time was relative." She glanced at him. "Magic opens up so many possibilities."

"So, you're magic," Foster said in an unbelieving tone.

Moulin nodded. "Everyone is, Foster. Magic is an act of will. Everyone from ancient Middle Eastern carpenters to tiny wrinkled green-skinned swamp aliens agree: to believe is to do."

 

[RedPiggy]

Rachel Bitterman listened intently to her voicemail.

YOU rejected ME.

Despite watching Moulin summon a small wave to drown some ducks earlier, Rachel couldn't believe all this silly talk about magic. Magic didn't exist.

Still, she had reappeared just when Rachel was starting to miss her the most.

For the record, I consider that flying pig to be a coincidence and not a sign from God!

She smirked.

She had gone to great lengths to obtain the Muppet Theater so that she could open a nightclub. It was dark, minimalist, seductive ... everything she thought Moulin would have enjoyed.

But she never came back.

She had called and called, only getting curt responses from some male personal assistant of hers who sounded like he had emphysema or something. Moulin never called back.

And now she knew why.

She had been attacked viciously because she was in love with Rachel. She had defended her lover with every fiber of her being to keep her safe. She had nearly given her life ... for someone all too willing to dump her to keep from addressing her issues.

Women were beginning to lead countries that weren't kingdoms starting in the mid-seventies. Rachel loved sitting down in front of her family's new color television set, squealing with delight over each of Charlie's Angels. They got what they wanted, exploiting men's wiles to their own advantage.

It was a lesson she never forgot growing up.

The way they moved, the way they acted ... it was ballet, at least for her. They could punch a guy out without breaking a nail.

They were perfect ... truly real angels sent from Heaven.

In 1977, Rachel defied her parents and skipped out one late night to watch a movie. It was so bawdy and bizarre that she immediately fell in love, singing loudly along with each and every song. Her heart raced as the antagonist, dressed in a black corset, hunted down the heroes.

The idea of meeting and being seduced by other-worldly creatures fascinated her.

And then her father found out when he opened her bedroom door, that she was rehearsing each inappropriate song in her bedroom, complete with rough costumes she made herself. She had been kissing a female doll lovingly, wishing that she could experience that self-same magic that had appeared onscreen.

The police had been called to the house due to the disturbance, with the father screaming and throwing her things out into the yard, aiming for her, as she bawled in the front lawn, dressed in very little. He called her so many names she had never even heard of before.

She was sent to boarding school for the next couple of years, prevented from returning home until she changed her ways.

Rachel sat at her desk for what seemed like an eternity.

She finally opened up a browser window on her computer and looked up air fares.

Pffbt. Tickets to California amounted to highway robbery.

Still ...

...

... she didn't want to be left alone crying in the yard anymore.

 

[The Count]

Go get her Rach! ! ! Erm, so, yeah... Like, she has her happiness back only to have it taken away once more? Hunt down Moulin and um, uh... There's a rainbow for each of us, you just have to work some in getting the jackpot at the end. Why am I rooting for a villain Hmm, guess she's not rully a villain here, she's been humanized. And that's an aspect I've appreciated of your fic-style. *Sends Cloud 9 after the plane to shoot down any interference. More please.