Kermie's Girl (ushy-gushy fanfic)

[BeakerSqueedom]

Ruh, this was brilliant.
Need I say more, madam?

 

[The Count]

OK... Now that I've read it... Woooohoooo!
Like Toga said, this deserves a good long review. If noone has done so in a day's time, count on this unsung chapter's spirits being lifted. There were a couple of quick jokes I liked... As well as Scooter's plan or half-plan at least.
Will definitely come back for more, if more gets posted by your tender typing hands Aunt Ru.

 

[TogetherAgain]

Sometimes on cartoons, to depict morning, the screen will show pastoral scenes of the sun rising lazily, with roosters crowing nobly in the background and someone commenting on the lovely smell of…well, let’s say coffee, okay? This wasn’t one of those mornings.

Like I said, I LOVE this paragraph, for much the same reason as I cut out the side of a package of Milano cookies and pinned it up on the wall in my dorm room. You start off with this very serene sort of language, with the pastoral scenes, the lazily rising sun, the noble roosters... And then you completely change attitudes with, "Well, let's say coffee, okay? This wasn't one of those mornings." I love it! I just love it.

Kermit had been a good sort about all the negative publicity up until now, but he tore through the back stage in a seriously black funk. People had been known to hurl themselves bodily out of Piggy’s way when she was on a tear like this, but with Kermit it was so unexpected that people just stared until the last minute, then scrambled to avoid being plowed through. Curiosity and surprise made them follow him in an untidy wake, murmuring softly as he stomped through the hotel toward the executive offices.

One- I love the contrast between seeing KERMIT like this and seeing PIGGY like this. Two- I just plain love the diction. I could say that about just about every single paragraph you have ever posted on MC, but this one and the one before it especially... Okay, so mostly the first one, but I do like this one, too. Especially because I'm sure that's how I would react if I saw Kermit like that.

“Never seen him like this,” said Dr. Teeth. “The little green guy has up and lost his mellow.”

No, I am NOT going to quote EVERY SINGLE paragraph. I'm stopping with that right now. I just HAD to take this opportunity to tell you that I SO envy your Dr. Teeth dialogue writing abilities.

Scooter hesitated, looking back but still half-running after Kermit. If he didn’t slow down, he just might make the door with Kermit. He opened his mouth to reply, but Sarah came running up breathlessly and he shot her a pleading look.
“Tell them,” he said. “I’ve got to go be with Kermit.”

Yes, yes, TELL US! I do so love that Scooter knows that it's more important for him to be with Kermit right now than to tell the Muppets what's up.

There was an indignant huff from the gathered assembly. Although it was hard to argue against Piggy’s considerable talent, there wasn’t a soul there who couldn’t recognize that Piggy had only rocketed to superstardom once she began to work with Kermit. Officially (and certainly un-officially), there were different opinions as to why this was so. Some said that Kermit was the only one who could restrain Piggy’s flamboyance enough to turn her over-the-top into top-of-the-heap. Some believed that Piggy had not been able to find her acting center until she had been truly and irrevocably in love. There was more than one person who believed that the inevitably friction between Kermit’s laid-back but uncompromising direction and Piggy’s wildly creative diva-ness was the magic formula, but whatever the cause, Scribbler was striking at the root of it with vigor.

I. LOVE. This paragraph. I love the speculation about what it is about the Kermit/Piggy combination that so allows her to succeed SO MUCH...

“Yeah,” said Janice. “Like, he practically begged other directors to come and take her away.”
“Wow,” said Gonzo. “What did he say?”
Janice held up the newspaper. “Um, it’s um…oh! Here! ‘I’m begging all the directors out there to come and take Piggy away from all this!”

<Ahem> Excuse me. <Grooooooowls at Scribbler> <Ahem> There we go.

“He’s here,” said Janice. Camilla be-gawked something urgent.
“Who’s here?”
“Him!”
“Him who?”
“Him Scribbler,” said Janice.

That is just such a Muppety exchange that I HAD to point it out.

“Well, Hi say let’s find that estupido periodista and thrrrrash him,” said Pepe, all four arms raised like a miniature pugilist. He might have charged forward, but Dr. Teeth reached out and lifted him gently by the scruff of his, um, neck. Pepe looked down in confusion.
“My feets are moving, but Hi am not—hey! Hey, put me down, Doc—Hi am going to make mincemeat of dat man!” Dr. Teeth patted him absently on the head.

I do so love when Pepe is so defensive of the Muppets, if only because it's so easy to look at him and see a heartless little shrimp... But there really is so much more to him than that, and I love it when we get to see it.

“I don’t think Pepe’s idea is that bad,” said Laura May, hands on her tidy hips.

I agree. Now if only Scribbler was a real person and I had any real physical strength...

“Yeah—it’s just like the one Uncle Kermit used to wear for his Frog on the Street interviews,” piped up Robin.
There was a general murmur of dismay. The small frog had inserted himself into the midst of them without anyone noticing, and he met their dismayed looks with determination.
“I’ve been here the whole time,” he said smugly. “So don’t even think of keeping me out of this.”

I love that frog. Enough said. I am now going to exert some extreme self-control and stop myself before I start to squeal.

Sara shifted nervously. “Um, well, does your Aunt Piggy know where you are?”
“Um, no,” Robin admitted sheepishly. “She thinks I’m still in bed.” He looked up defensively. “But I heard Uncle Kermit shouting on the phone. So when Mr. Thoreau came by to stay with Piggy, I slipped out and followed Uncle Kermit down here. And found you guys.”

The heck with self-control. HE IS SOOOOOOOOOO CUTE! AND HE CARES SOOOOOOO MUCH ABOUT UNCLE KERMIT AND AUNT PIGGY! AND HE IS NOT AT ALL AFRAID TO STAND UP FOR HIS RIGHT TO HELP AND PROTECT THEM ANY WAY HE CAN JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER MUPPET AND HE'S SOOOOOOOOOOO SWEET! <Ahem> Moving on.

As if on cue, everyone who had pockets shoved hands into them and started to whistle. Sara sighed. Begin inconspicuous might not be as easy as it sounded for this group. She eyed Gonzo ensemble—from his artfully cuffed plaid pants to his flamenco-dancer-inspired shirt, and sighed again.

You HAVE to laugh at this. You just do. And it's so Muppet.

“What’s he look like again?” asked the cute little waitress on the morning shift.
Mable paused thoughtfully, trying to bring into focus a face she had only glimpsed.
“Skinny guy, a little shaggy, a lot scruffy,” she said.
“Is this the guy with the big dog you talked about before?”
“What? No—not him. He’s a sweetheart. This guy—not so much.”
“What’d he do? Stiff you for breakfast?” the young lady teased.
Mabel forced a smile. “Something like that,” she said vaguely. “Actually, I’ve got something that I’d like to give him if I can find him again.”

LOVE that Mable is helping out, too. And the line about Fleet stiffing her for breakfast. Cute.

Kermit had forbidden the hateful tabloids in their home, but Thoreau had sneaked one in to Piggy with her double-chocolate half-caff extra-whipped cream latte and a couple of biscotti. He knew she knew about its existence, and the truth—however horrible—was always better than speculation. He had handed it over without comment and watched her face go from worried to…completely unreadable. Piggy could do that—could stuff everything behind a polite façade of nothing, but Thoreau was not fooled. The biscuits and the coffee had been greeted with effusive thanks, but sat untouched on the little, low table, and Thoreau was aware that her air of indignant nonchalance was more act than substance.

One- I love that Kermit banned the tabloids. Two- I love that Thoreau snuck one in, and his reasons for it. Three- I love the change in Piggy's face, and the mention of the biscuits and coffee.

“It’s a tacky little article with weak little stabs,” he’s sniffed dismissively, “although he was right about you in the first half of the show. You looked positively scrumptious!”

I LOVE Thoreau's tactics here- downplays the article while praising her. Very nice. He clearly knows her well.

Thoreau’s eyes flickered in triumph, and he reached for his portfolio which he had leaned surreptitiously against the back of the couch.
“By an amazing coincidence,” he said dryly, “I have them with me now….”

Ah, he's well-armed for this battle. Good on him.

“No, no—this way, scout,” Rowlf said, expertly steering Robin away from the poker players. “Those guys don’t know what day it is—much less who’s hanging around. Let’s try in here.”

I don't personally know any Vegas poker players, but that seems like a fairly accurate assessment.

“Wow,” said Robin admiringly. “You have lots of lights in here!”

<clenches teeth to contain a squeal> ...I wouldn't usually, but my mother just went to bed...

“The better to see you with,” the salesclerk said pleasantly.

LOVE IT!

She was a diminutive, well-put-together lady easing gracefully into the latter half of middle age, and she regarded the trio with a friendly but assessing eye. One thing the shopkeeper had figured out early on in this business was that couples stopping in to buy engagement rings and other fancy baubles usually did not want to be greeted by a statuesque babe. They much preferred a vaguely parental presence, who could bless their choices—no matter how impractical—without any troublesome flirtatiousness.

I loooooooove this description. Love it love it.

This looked like a couple…sortof, but she was struggling to place the young frog. Hmmm, she thought, tugging on the corner of her memory. There had been something in the papers about a frog…. “Looking for something in particular?” she asked, deferring to Foo Foo, who was gazing about her in rapt contemplation. Her well-manicured hand hovered over the rings. “We have a lovely selection of diamond—“
She registered their hasty alarm and amended easily.
“—tennis bracelets.” She pulled a glittering tray from under the counter and held it where Foo Foo could see it.

I like her thought process. I love her little save there.

“Well, actually, there is something you could help us with,” said Rowlf, looking uneasily at Foo’s enchanted expression. His collar felt just a little tight and it seemed suddenly warm. “We’re looking for a friend of ours somebody said was here.”

<Giggles> Poor Rowlf. <Hugs him>

“Oh?” Her interest was polite, but nothing more. Lots of people were hunting lots of people in this city, and she tried to steer clear of those sorts of entanglements. Still, there was something sooo familiar about that little frog. She studied his face and, feeling her gaze on him, Robin turned his face up to hers and smiled.
“My Aunt Piggy would love this place,” he said, eyes wide with wonder.
Ahhhh. Everything fell into place of a sudden, and the lady smiled down at Robin.

ROBIN SAVES THE DAY! ...For the saleslady's memory, anyway.

Rowlf read the change in her face and opted for the truth. “We’re on the lookout for a sleazy reporter guy—name of Scribbler. Works for—“

Love that he can see the change in her face.

Robin turned at the door and waved shyly. “Thank you!” he chirped, and followed his friends out the door.

<Hugs the cutie>

“Hey, Ma,” said Johnny. “It’s your boy, Johnny. Look—can I have Cousin Guido’s telephone number—the one he don’t give out? I need some help….”

<CURIOUS! INTRIGUED!>

“Why would he put salt and pepper on his hair?” asked the girl with green eyes, looking at him in confusion.

<Sniiiiicker>

“He was cute,” said the one with green eyes.
“The little blue guy was sortof yummy,” said her neighbor to the left, “if you don’t mind the schnoz.”
“The other guy reminds me of a guy I dated last year,” said a pert redhead thoughtfully.
“Short guy?” asked a cool blonde, swinging her mane of platinum hair out of her face.
The redhead shook her head sadly. “No,” she said. “Just a rat.”

<Giggles!>

If bad news travels fast, gossip must be said to travel at the speed of light. Floyd had not been with the other cast members when the call for action had gone out, but the news had already reached him backstage in the musicians’ room. He’d been strumming, playing with a couple of chord progressions while a song worked its laborious way up from his soul to his fingers.

POOR FLOYD! <HUGS HIM> <doesn't care if it's cool enough for him, because he needs it>

“She was mine for a time but I just couldn’t see that the time that we had was so brief,” he sang softly. “I lied to myself and she—“
Someone tapped him on the shoulder and Floyd startled and spun—only to find himself looking into Janice’s sober eyes.

I KNEW IT! I just KNEW that at some point he'd be all broody about thinking she was with Clifford and she'd come and be all coupley with HIM and YAAAAAAAY it makes me happy!

“Hey,” he said softly, and his bushy eyebrows rose to show his softened gaze as he gazed at her troubled face.

Awwww... He cares about her SO much...

Janice looked up at him and hesitated. “Floyd,” she said, “I know you’re busy and all but—“
“No, no,” the bass player heard himself say. “Say away, babe.” That last had sortof slipped out but, with a thrill of defiance, he did not retract it.

Good! GOOD! DON'T retract it!

“I need your help,” said Janice. To his astonishment, her hands reached out and clasped his, and she stepped closer. Her hair smelled like springtime and clover and new-mown hay and the wild salt smell of the sea. Floyd was having trouble taking in enough air.

...Not surprised he's having trouble, with so much to smell just from her hair. He is SO head-over-heels for her... Love that he's astonished at the little things that show she still cares for him...

“My help,” he repeated stupidly, and Janice just nodded.

The hippest of the hip is like, TOTALLY dumbfounded.

She looked up at him again, dark lashes curling against her pale face. “Will you come with me to look? I feel kindof creepy about it all.”
“Where’s Clifford?” Floyd asked, and then wondered who the heck had said that. Janice’s face registered confusion, then her cheeks flushed with color.
Guilt, Floyd guessed (and correctly, it turned out) and felt his spirits plummet.

<WHIIIIIIIIMPER!>

“Like, I don’t know,” Janice said, half-turning away. Oh! He knew! He had to know! Janice thought wretchedly. She should have stayed clear of Floyd—Floyd who knew her so very well—until everything had come out in the open, but she had so wanted his help, and his comfort.
“Never mind,” she said hurriedly. “I’ll just—“

<Whimper>

“No—wait. I—I’ll come with you,” Floyd mumbled. He unhooked his guitar strap and laid the instrument down tenderly and with more sluggishness than was required, cursing himself for an idiot. But when he looked up, he was rewarded against all expectations with the tentative welcome on Janice’s smile.
“Good,” she said softly. And smiled at him.

GOOOOOOD! Because I have a feeling those two NEEEEEEED some TOGETHER TIME, pronto...

Out on the African veldt, the lines between predator and prey are pretty well delineated. In the concrete jungle, the lines can blur.

And there you go with your fun comparisons again.

They laughed uproariously, and Scribbler thought, Geez—leave comedy to the bears, won’t you?

Love it. Love that Scribbler recognizes S&W. Love that he's trying to tap them for info... aaaaaaaaaand...

“Noo,” the fist man said at last. “He was there in the café with that rat and that little cockroach. They were asking around about some guy.”
Scribbler’s stomach, which seconds ago had joyfully anticipated his mound of food, plummeted suddenly into his shoes.
“Maybe they were looking for someone with talent!” the second man crowed, and they laughed their familiar laugh again. Scribbler didn’t feel like joining in.
“I think they were looking for that guy that used to hang around the studio.”
Not only was Scribbler loosing his appetite for breakfast, but his last meal was threatening to defect as well. He craned his ears and stood very, very still, every instinct poised for flight.

LOVE how it BACKFIRES on him! Take THAT, Scribbler!

And the rest, to be honest, I'm too frustrated with hiccups and generally tired to quote at the moment, but I do love that Kermit got a chance to complain, even though he knew that the guys he was complaining to couldn't do much, and I LOVE that he recognized that, and how much the executives WANT to help... And I look forward to seeing Scooter's plan!

So, to sum up this post in the most concise fashion possible...

MORE PLEASE!

 

[The Count]

Aw... Toga beat me to it. Only thing missing are the names of the person being quoted. Well, that's what I get for sleeping the night away. Just hope this doesn't drive the author and more gets posted soonish.

 

[The Count]

You know... Reading this from the beginning all over again, I've found little pieces that intrigue and delight. For instance, in Chapter 13: Back to Normal, it's interesting to see that Kermit and Piggy's worlds are paralleled, both thinking everything's possibly returned to some sense of normacy—both at the studio and on the homefront (though that scene with Piggy and Fozzie and Rizzo takes place at the studio too). Another thing, in Chapter 14: Philanthropy, when the Muppets' rooms at Vegas are assigned... Which room did Scooter and Sara take? Room 408? If so, that leaves Room 410 vacant for someone else. Wonder who'd be crazy to take that bungalow backstage.

Oh well, happy holidays to all.

 

[Muppetfan44]

Great additions

Whew!
I finally finished reading all of Ru's fanfics here and they are fantastic! Ru, you really have a great talent, and I loved the additional chapters to this story, especially the song between floyd and gonzo and watching squibbler in terror and almost feeling sorry for him. I cannot wait for more chapters and I hope you had a very nice holiday!

 

[Java]

What wonderful chapters Rhu!

 

[The Count]

Hmm... Few more thoughts.
1Wonder how/what Catherine imagines Thoreau to look like. For some reason, I keep thinking of this character as being portrayed by (from when I still had good enough sight to watch TV) Scott Thompson from the Canadian sketch comedy The Kids in the Hall.
2 In Chapter 18 where Kermit and Piggy are trying to decide what number to perform for the Christmas half of their Vegas special... Kermit's gift of the movie Neptune's Daughter, the secret Rowlf was let in on... Can't help but feel like that's a subtle nod to Ru's previous fic A Pig Out of Water.
3 If Dr. Teeth told Floyd to go get Janice cause the band was getting together in ten minutes to practice Jingle Bell Roc... How did Janice know about the message? And how did she know it was Dr. Teeth who issued the memo? Especially if she departed before said information came her way? Methinks a bit of conspiracy was a-foot there, or maybe not.

At any rate, I look forward to the return of the authoress.

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 58: A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight

Sometimes that grass doesn’t just look greener. Sometimes things are really better on the other side of the fence. After his hasty and somewhat panicked flight back to the relative safety of his hotel room, Scribbler had once again found his sanctuary almost as bad as what was outside. His duffle was now wedged into the corner behind the door and the entire room looked like an executive news room, with cables, power cords and technological gizmos strewn everywhere. Scribbler eyed one electrical outlet that bore a striking resemblance to Medusa and thought that this room might be pulling more power than all the neon lights on the Las Vegas strip. He edged into the room, wishing there was someplace else he could go. Still, after his scathing and strategically unfair article of the night before, he did at least expect a hero’s welcome from the one who was paying for the poison in his little pen.
That expectation was destined to be unrealized. The wicked wit in the article had probably been more appreciated by Scribbler’s boss than by any gossip-monger in the world, but showing approval when it was most deserved tended to make your employees feel that you owed them something besides gratitude. Better to dismiss the obvious effort and focus on something that had not been done well. After an obviously grudging and clearly insincere “Nice job,” the article had not been mentioned, but before Scribbler’s many short-comings could be enumerated, he was on the offensive.
“They know I’m here,” he said, and his posture was that of a man taking a stand. He was not a big fellow, but the change this posture wrought was eye-opening. Scribbler’s boss surveyed him with a wary expression.
“I know you aren’t much of a reporter, but surely that’s not news. Of course they know you’re here. After all, you’ve been reviewing their show.”
“This is different,” he insisted truculently. “They know I’m staying here in the hotel.”
“So…?” The indifference in that voice mocked him.
“So? This is a level of complication we hadn’t anticipated.”
“What’s complicated about it? So they find you—big deal! What can they do about it if they do?”
Scribbler’s stance became less assured. He…he didn’t know what they might do, but he didn’t like the thought of being trapped in an elevator with some of those guys—especially that drummer.
“They could, you know, ban me from the show,” he said, and cursed himself inwardly for sounding like a whiny eleven-year-old.
“Officially, you’re not even there now. You don’t think we bought the tickets in your name, did you?” came the cool voice.
“Yeah, but—“
“Oh, stop being such a baby about this.”
Something snapped, and Scribbler felt rage, cold and awful, creep up his spine. For a moment, he couldn’t find his voice. When he did, it came out oddly soft and deliberate.
“Pretty big words for someone who is hiding out here.”
That registered. Scribbler saw the barb land and felt a giddy sense of glee at the look of shocked indignation on the face behind the desk.
“They’re hunting for me because I’m out there doing your dirty work. If they find me and make trouble I’m not going to be able to do my job.”
“You’re barely able to do it now!” hissed boss his angrily through a face mottled purple with fury.
“Fine!” said Scribbler. “So hire someone else. Find yourself another sucker to take the fall.” He started for the door, willing his feet to move faster. He expected curses at his back, and the possible crash of a flying ashtray. What he hadn’t expected was…applause.
The sound of applause has been known to cause people to behave in all sorts of unexpected ways. It has caused otherwise sensible people to take a pie in the face, seltzer water down their pants, and to sing and dance with more fervor than talent. It has even been known to cause frogs to leave their swamps, and pigs to leave their better…well. Countless people have thrown out their good sense to chase the illusive allure of stardust. Scribbler had assumed that being on the “reviewers” end of things had inoculated him against this particular bug, and yet...and yet…the sound was oddly compelling. It…it had been a long time since anyone had praised anything he’d done. His feet slowed of their own volition, and he turned. Fate could have stepped in and changed him into…something, but Fate seemed to be sleeping—or stunned into insensibility.
Scribbler stood very still, and the applause came to a halt.
“Bravo,” said the voice, no longer mocking. “Well played.”
“I’m not playing,” Scribbler said, surprised by the sound of his voice.
“Right, right. Got it.” A hand waved airily, but the eyes and the tone of voice said his concerns had been heard. “So, I guess we need to find you better cover.”
Scribbler nodded cautiously, wondering what alternate universe he had slipped into.
There was a pause while fingers drummed thoughtfully on the desk. Scribbler tried his best not to fidget, not sure what to do with his hands. He stuffed them into his pockets and waited.
A sudden concussive bang made him jump as a hand slapped the desktop.
“Got it!” crowed his boss triumphantly. “Of course—this will be a piece of cake.”
“Never say piece of cake in the labyrinth,” Scribbler muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I’ve got it--the perfect cover for you.”
Scribbler shifted uneasily, like a dog that doesn’t know whether it’s been called for a bone or a beating. “I’m listening.”
“And guess what?”
He shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and braced himself. “What?”
“I might even be able to get you back stage!”


“Why thank you, Marty,” said Brenda Starr, holding the little phone to her ear. “I’m glad you thought so.”
The sound of a gravelly voice sounded faintly through the phone, and Brenda moved further from the stage area so the sound wouldn’t disturb the rehearsal going on. She had reported from the front lines of several wars, but she did not want to get on Howard Tubman’s short list. Sweetums lumbered by, a couple of two-by-fours over his shoulder. He waved when he saw Brenda and gave her a big thumbs up. She waved back, still trying to concentrate on what Marty was saying.
“Great,” she said. “And the pictures came through all right?” After an answer in the affirmative, she sighed with relief. “Well, I should have everything in by tonight. I’m only sorry I didn’t get it in before—what? Oh, I know, I know—but it was so…yes.” She lowered her voice and checked for the tink-tink of high heels or flippered feet near-by. “Yes—remarkably so. I couldn’t believe how cooperative—“
“Dance of Love in fifteen minutes!” bellowed Scooter. There was a sudden flurry of activity nearby as muppets scurried toward the dressing rooms. Brenda smiled. Kermit had come back from his meeting this morning all worked up and had thrown himself into his work with every bit of restless energy he possessed. Scooter had come back with a sheaf of printouts and had holed up in his hotel room for a couple of hours. Mabel had finally tempted him out with a promise of a cream cheese, tomato and olive sandwich on lightly toasted rye. The word backstage was that Scooter had cracked some sort of code or pattern in the ticket sales, and that Kermit had promised there would be at least two new songs added for the New Year’s eve show. When life gives you lemons….

 

[The Count]

Mmm... A short chapter. Good, I like. It helps advance the story. And who knows what that obscured boss or frog are scheming behind closed doors. Thanks Aunt Ru... *Back to the trenches we go.