Kermie's Girl (ushy-gushy fanfic)

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 116: Foreboding

“Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Rizzo asked Gonzo before he thought better of it.
“Probably,” said Gonzo. “But I don’t think they’re gonna let us use the fire truck.”
Rizzo stared, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it with an effort. “Um, sure, buddy. Sure. So since, um, that’s not gonna work, how ‘bout we drop by the studio and see how Kerm is doing?”
“We probably should,” said Gonzo. “Things have been, you know, weird since Piggy left for New York.”
“Yeah. Everybody else is disappearing, too.”
“Not me,” Gonzo sighed. “I’m invisible in my own life.” He sighed again, practically begging for sympathy.
“In those spandex tights? Never, buddy. You’ll always be a star in my mind.”
“Shows what a twisted little mind you’ve got,” Gonzo muttered, and Rizzo just chuckled and snorted.
“You got that right,” Rizzo said. They tramped along the sidewalk eating the remains of their chili dogs and fries. Gonzo wiped his furry blue fingers on a handkerchief of questionable cleanliness before he opened the studio door, and Rizzo preened his whiskers carefully before stepping inside.
“You know,” said Rizzo thoughtfully. “They really shouldn’t leave the door unlocked like that,” he said.
Gonzo shrugged. “You worry too much. What would somebody be after here? Flat soda from the drink machine?”
“I don’t know,” Rizzo said, a little irritably. “It’s, just, you know, been weird lately. And Scooter said they still don’t know what happened to that edited film.”
“Yeah—that was weird. I mean, Scooter said the film never left the studio, except with him. Poor guy’s been beating himself up about it pretty hard, I hear.”
“Hear where?” said Rizzo.
“I know we’re here. I held the door for you.”
“No—not here where—I mean, not ‘We’re here.’ I meant, where’d you hear that.”
“Sara told me,” said Gonzo smugly, and Rizzo did a double take.
“Since when does Scooter’s missus-to-be confide in you?”
“Since I helped her throw a party on, like, an hour’s notice.”
“Oh.” Rizzo thought about it for a moment. “So Scooter blames himself. But he didn’t do it. That’s ridiculous!”
“It is ridiculous,” said Gonzo. “But you know how serious Scooter takes his responsibilities here. Sara says he’s just eaten up over it.”
“Poor guy. Kermit ought to cut him some slack,” said Rizzo, feeling sorry for their all-grown-up gopher.
“Kermit doesn’t even know it. He’s pretty distracted nowadays. Sara said Scooter’s just been moping around the house—thinks he should have caught the problem with the film. Afraid he’s mucking up the job of looking after Kermit now that Piggy’s gone.”
Rizzo put his hands on his hips. “It’s not Scooter’s job to look after Kermit,” the little rat said. “Kermit’s a big frog—he can look after himself.”
Gonzo greeted this show of loyalty with a carefully neutral look, and Rizzo caved first. “Yeah, okay. So the amphibian needs a keeper sometimes. And that’s usually Piggy’s job, but she’s not here. Got it. But Scooter doesn’t have to look after him alone, anyway. What are we—chicken feed?” snapped Rizzo.
Gonzo sighed hugely. “I was—once. Now she won’t even grab a corn nugget with me.”
Rizzo was beginning to think that—as Harve had observed a continental span away—dames were just plain trouble. “Aw, Camilla’s not going anywhere. You can wear her down. Can we just deal with one unbalanced emotional state at a time?”
Gonzo gave another huge sigh. “Sure—if you can’t keep up. So what can we do to help Kermit? Nothing that I can think of. He misses his pig, and—sorry buddy—you and I are a poor substitute for Miss Piggy when he goes home at night.”
If Gonzo had hoped to bait Rizzo with that barb, he was disappointed, for instead of making his own snarky comment back, Rizzo furrowed his furry brow and thought hard. Gonzo looked at him.
“Rizzo?”
“Don’t bother me for a second—I’m thinkin’,” Rizzo said distractedly.
“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” Gonzo muttered, but once again Rizzo seemed not to hear.
“You might be on to somethin’,” Rizzo said at last. “Let me ruminate on it for a bit. I might be on to somethin’ too.”
“With your digestion, I have no doubt,” said Gonzo, and they turned and walked back toward the editing room.

“Mabel, Honey, these biscuits are about to float right off the table,” said Clifford.
“Must be the gusts of hot air,” Mabel teased, and Tricia giggled. She licked the tip of her finger and reached over to pick up the biscuit crumbs off Clifford’s plate, then looked up to see him watching her with an incredulous expression.
“Woman,” he said, “are you eating off my plate?”
Tricia blushed scarlet. “Just crumbs!” she mumbled, mortified. Clifford just laughed, and when she realized he was just yanking her chain, she shot to her feet and went to bury her hot face in the cool refrigerator air. Mabel and Clifford exchanged amused glances.
“You’re playing with fire,” Mabel said. “She’s liable to get back at you, somehow.”
“I can hold my own,” said Clifford, enjoying the view from where he sat. He was thinking about dancing with Tricia last night, thinking about holding her lithe, muscular figure close to his, and his expression softened. “Hey, Tricia—come on back and sit down. I’ll let you drink out of my cup.”
Clifford expected her to tell him what for and possibly throw something, but he did not expect what she did do. Tricia turned and glared at him, then all but stomped off to her room. The silence in her wake was deafening.
Finally, Mabel spoke. “You’ve done it now,” she said mildly.
Clifford looked at her uncertainly. “Did I—was that because I teased her about eating off my plate?” he asked. “I was just playing.”
“Eh, that’s not it,” said Mable, smiling and moving to the sink.
“But I didn’t mean anything by it—really,” said Clifford. “I thought it was kind of cute.”
“I know,” said Mabel. “That’s not it either.”
Clifford sighed. “What is it gonna cost me to get enlightened, then?” he grouched. “Want me to clean out your gutters? Take out the trash?”
Mabel stopped washing the dish and turned around and leaned on the sink. She smiled at him, and Clifford felt himself blush under her scrutiny.
“I think she likes you,” said Mabel.
“Yeah, I kind of thought that last night. And I kind of thought that this morning, too, but I seem to have stepped in it now.”
“Naw. Nothing that won’t wipe off. It’s just…well..Tricia’s a little gun-shy. She’s not had real good luck counting on folks.” She very carefully did not say, “counting on men, too,” but Clifford wasn’t born yesterday. He acknowledged the information Mabel had given him without commenting on it directly.
“Except you,” Clifford said, and Mabel looked at him in surprise. “She said you were there for her when nobody else was.”
“Tricia said that?”
Clifford nodded solemnly. “We talked a little.”
Mabel sat down at the table and looked at Clifford. “Sounds like you talked a lot.”
The dreadlocked bass player shrugged. “We have some things in common.” There wasn’t any point in telling Mabel what it had been like growing up. He was grown now and it was all cool. Nothin’ to do about it now.
Mabel reached out and patted his hand. “I’m sorry, Sugar,” she said. “But I’m glad things turned out okay.” She got up and went back to put the dry dishes away. Nothing stayed damp long in the arid Nevada air.
Clifford turned and looked morosely off the way that Tricia had gone. “I hope things turn out okay,” he mumbled. “She was gonna take me to hear her band.”
“Well, aren’t you special,” said Mabel, grinning. “Better mind your manners.”
Clifford opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment Tricia appeared in the doorway, scowling fiercely.
“You coming to hear the band?” she demanded. Wordlessly, Clifford nodded, then found his voice when she shot him an aggrieved look.
“I’d love to,” he said, minding his manners. Behind him, he could have sworn he heard Mabel snort, but he ignored her, his eyes on Tricia’s face.
“Well, I’m pulling out of the driveway in two minutes, so you’d better get your butt out there.” She stalked past him, then whirled fast enough to make him startle. “And if you ever call me woman again, I’m going to whup you up side of your dreadlocks with your bass!”
“Yes ma’am,” Clifford said, careful to not look too amused.
“And then, I’m gonna beat the stuffing out of you with my bass, got it?”
“I got it,” Clifford said. He shot Mabel a look, and she gave him one of her own that said, plainly, “She might, at that.”
Clifford vowed to mind his p’s and q’s. He stood up and laid his napkin on the table, then followed Tricia out the front door.

Kermit was definitely minding his p’s and q’s. Scooter, on the other hand, was downright terrified.
“This is not my idea of a break!” he hissed near Kermit’s aural organ. “When you asked me if I wanted to get out for a bit, I thought we were going to Starbucks!”
“Well, you’re awake now, aren’t you?” Kermit murmured out of the corner of his mouth, and Scooter gave him a sour look.
“Oh, I’m awake,” his personal assistant muttered. “I’m just wondering where he keeps the sharp scissors.”
“Don’t be silly, Scooter,” Kermit admonished. “He’s harmless—until you get the bill.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t like the way he looks at my jacket,” Scooter mumbled. Despite the fact that he had a modest wardrobe of reasonably tailored clothes, sometimes he still liked to kick back with his old jacket and faded jeans. Today had been one of those days.
Suddenly, Thoreau turned on them and Scooter fought the urge to yelp. But the designer was smiling—imperious and smiling. “Close your eyes!” he demanded, and Scooter and Kermit both closed their eyes.
Maybe this is like the Batcave, Scooter thought. Maybe no one is allowed to see the secret entrance. But his determined merriment was cut short as he felt himself pulled urgently through a doorway. He banged his elbow on the edge of the door and heard Kermit say “ouch” beside him.
“Okay—now you can look!” Thoreau cried. Scooter wondered how he did that—gave the impression that he’d just been trumpeted in by a brass band.
Kermit opened his eyes, blinking a little in the natural light flooding from the skylight in Thoreau’s studio. The designer gestured towards something hanging sedately from a polished wooden clothes-hanger, and Kermit and Scooter both looked obediently.
“Oh. Um, it’s very nice,” said Kermit, eying the tuxedo with interest.
“Very nice? Very nice?” Thoreau hissed. “Crème brulee after supper is very nice. A raise in your credit limit is very nice. This—This—“ He gestured with a flourish and Scooter heard the brass band again in his head. “—is a work of art.”
Kermit tried to muster a little more enthusiasm. “It’s—it’s beautiful, Thoreau. It’s really very ni--, um, beautiful. I really like the color,” he said.
Thoreau smirked smugly. “Piggy thought you would.”
“You know, we all had plum-colored tuxedos one time. The show was just starting out and funds were a little tight, but Hilda got this great deal on—“
“This is not plum,” Thoreau snapped. “This is indigo purple.”
Kermit flinched in the face of the designer’s ire, trading looks with Scooter. Scooter was—frankly—petrified of the fashion police, and was no help at all. Kermit did what he did when Piggy was in high dudgeon—he asked for marching orders.
“Um, what would you like me to do?” he asked meekly. “Do you want me to try it on?”
Recognizing submission, Thoreau un-bared his teeth. “Yes. Do that. I want to check the lay of the collar.”
Kermit took the hanger and reached for the shirt. It felt like silk—probably was silk--and although it had looked icy white while beneath the tux, now it looked faintly, er, indigo purple. Thoreau was giving him a look.
“Wear an undershirt, won’t you?” he sighed. “We don’t want you to sweat in it.”
“Um, amphibians don’t sweat,” said Kermit. “At least, not literally. Figuratively, I guess we do sweat the small stuff, but not literally.:
Thoreau’s eye’s brightened. “Really?” he asked. “That’s good to know.”
Kermit dressed, Thoreau fussed and Scooter tried to be unobtrusive. At last, Kermit was allowed to examine himself in the big mirror.
“Very nice,” Kermit murmured. “Much better than crème brulee,” he added hastily. Thoreau seemed mollified by the admiration in his eyes. Kermit shot his cuffs which were still loose, and Thoreau startled and put a palm to his cheek. “Oh!” he said. “Oh! I almost forgot!”
He left the room for an instant and came back with a small box on one long-fingered hand. He handed it to Kermit, who took the little box and opened it. Scooter crowded in to see, his curiosity overcoming his fear.
“Wow, Boss,” he said. “Those look like the earrings you got Miss Piggy for Christmas.”
“They’re a little smaller,” said Thoreau, “but it’s the same designer. Piggy had the cufflinks made for you.”
Kermit took one out of the box and Scooter helped him fasten it through the silky cuffs. It glimmered on his cuff, looking for all the world like it could take bejeweled flight any moment. Like Robin had observed, it looked delicious.
“Wow,” said Kermit, completely surprised by Piggy’s gift. She must have planned for them to wear their jewels together to the awards show, unsuspecting of how her life would change between then and now. Guiltily, Kermit remembered how he and Marty had deceived her—how they had planned and plotted to bend her to their will—and his cheeks flushed a little. It was for her own good! he thought, feeling defensive and underhanded nonetheless. And it had paid off. Piggy was in New York, and he was here, and even now—across the miles that separated them—she was looking out for him, wanting him to look his dapper best.
“You look swell, Boss,” said Scooter admiringly, then realized he was not supposed to speak unless spoken to, but success had made Thoreau munificent.
“Not bad,” the designer said dryly. “Prince Charming will have to watch his back.”

“So the little twerp is impersonating me?” Marty growled.
“No, it’s not Scribbler,” Piggy said. “Moishe was very clear and the descriptions don’t match.”
“Who the heck is Moishe?”
“Mr. Finkel,” Piggy replied patiently—or at least as patiently as she was able.
“Oh—oh, the cabbie. Right. Good guy, you said.”
“Yes, a good guy, but he didn’t know Moi very well then. Some guy apparently tracked him down, claimed to be you, and tried to pump him for information.”
There was a steady silence on the phone for several seconds. “And why am I just hearing about this now?” Marty asked. There was an edge to his voice that Piggy seldom heard.
Piggy sighed. “Because Moi is just hearing about it now. Moishe—Mr. Finkel—told me last night on the way home from the theater.”
“I don’t like it.” Piggy could hear the raspy sound of Marty scratching his jaw with a business card. She had also told him about the person in the coat and disguising hat who had seemed to be following her earlier in the week. “Somebody’s following you around up there but it’s not Scribbler,” Marty mused. “You’re sure.”
“Moi is positive,” she said primly, and Marty desisted. Piggy had excellent instincts if she bothered to employ them.
“So if it’s not him, what’s Scribbler up to?” Marty asked. “His articles sound like he’s up there.”
“He’s up here,” Piggy said, but did not elaborate.
“You’ve seen him?” Marty demanded, reading something in her silence that he hadn’t in her words.
“He’s seen Moi,” Piggy growled, which was as much of an answer as Marty was going to get.
“The frog’s not going to like it,” said Marty wearily.
“The frog’s not going to hear about it,” Piggy snapped. “Don’t you dare tell him, you double-crossing talent hound you! You’re supposed to be Moi’s agent, and you have no right to—“
“Fine. Hush. Hush already, Honey. I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to.”
Piggy snorted.
Marty took a deep breath and tried again. “I won’t tell—talent scouts’ honor,” he said, but Piggy was only mildly appeased.
“Talent scouts have no honor,” she snarked, but was immediately contrite. “Except vous, Marty,” Piggy said softly. “I’m sorry. Moi is worried and on edge.”
“If you’re going to worry, don’t worry about Kermit. Worry about that creep—or creeps—who are following you. Are you sure you won’t let me put some security on you until—“
“No.” Piggy did not raise her voice, but there was finality in her tone. If Marty hired a bodyguard, Kermit was sure to hear about it, and he could put two and two together with the best of them. If Piggy needed a bodyguard, there was no way Kermit was going to sit by without trying to come charging up here to champion her, and that was impossible now. Plenty of time for Sir Kermit to come to the rescue when the film was in the can.
“Alright. But I’m trusting you to keep those baby blues open and those karate hands ready—capiche?”
“Yes, Marty,” Piggy said meekly, and Marty had to bite his lip. Oy vey, you could get whiplash around this little lady plenty quick.
“I want you to call me if anything else happens, you got it?”
“Yes, Marty,” said Piggy, but this time there was a defiant undertone in her voice.
“And Piggy?”
“Yes?”
“Stay away from Scribbler.”
“Moi wouldn’t—“
“Don’t bother,” Marty said, and heaved another sigh. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I know I’m not going to like it.”
Piggy said nothing, which Marty took as the only answer he was going to get.
“Just be careful, Sweetie. Keep your snout to the wind, okay? There’s some funny stuff going on.”
“Moi will be careful, Marty,” Piggy said earnestly, and they said their goodbyes.
Piggy put the phone away and worried BK, twirling it around and around on her finger. Before Kermit, there had been lean times and uncertainty. Before Kermit, there had been loneliness—after Kermit, too, for a time, but then it was a Kermit-specific type of loneliness. Before Kermit, she had wondered if her dreams of stardom and love would ever come true. Before Kermit, there had been…Fleet. Fleet would know who was following her. He would know which of the yellow-bellied yellow fleet was trying to catch her doing something that would make tongues wag and eyes roll and hurt her beloved Kermit.
Piggy bit her lip. She thought—just for a moment—about calling Kermit to tell him what she was about to do, so she wouldn’t really be doing it behind his back, but the first lie begat the second. She couldn’t tell him about planning to talk to Fleet without telling him why, and telling him why meant telling him that someone here was stalking her, and she would not—could not—live with herself if she distracted Kermit while so much was at stake. Wasn’t it enough that she was here being famous on Broadway while he was slogging away at home? Noone to greet him at the door after a long day, or snuggle with him to banish the day’s worries. How could she add to his burden when she had already been so selfish? A teardrop overflowed her brimming eyes and made its way down her flushed cheek. Hastily, she wiped at it, then pulled herself together. If she was going to catch Fleet today, she needed to powder her nose.

 

[Misskermie]

Oh snap, something is going on here!
Great, leave me on edge Ru!
LOL JK
Great chapter!
More please!

 

[The Count]

Fixed up the typos, don't ask what I'm doing up at this late hour.

Love the interaction between Clifford and Tricia, every time I read a bit with her it just makes me think she's a molegirl Muppet humanoid version of Jinny, which is a definite compliment to your writing.
C'mon Cliff, you gotta expect girls/women to eat off your plate. It's an occupational hazard.
*Is very much touched that Piggy thought to surprise Kermit with a pair of cufflinks that match the dragonfly earrings he got her for the past Christmas when in Vegas.
*Hates that Piggy is giving both the men who are deadset on protecting her from afar a bit of the runaround. (Could launch into that song she did on the motorcycle, but it's late now).

Thank you for posting an update, we know how swamped you've been lately.

 

[WebMistressGina]

Hurray, an update! Nice to read at five...mumble, mumble. I just have to say - if I haven't already - that you're doing Piggy a great big justice. I love de pig, so I'm always happy when she's up kicking butt, figurative and literally!

 

[newsmanfan]

------------
Aaaaaaand we start off, leggies and jecklefins, with Rizzo and Gonzo as Pinky and the Brain! Always love the buddy jibing between those two. ALL the dialogue, as usual, is perfectly captured here; you really have a handle on the interwoven relationships between our favorite troupe.

Heh...Tricia eating a crumb off Clifford's plate was tres sexy! No wonder she was embarrassed. Hope the purple dude can fly straight and land this baby without crashing her...

I too love the detail of Piggy's buying dragonfly cufflinks for the very chic tux. **** at the line "Recognizing submission, Thoreau un-bared his teeth." One should never be snarky with a snippy designer!

And Piggy's still not telling anyone what she's up to? I think enlisting Fleet's help is a good move -- as long as the hack understands she's Still Not Into Him and Never Will Be Ever Again, and he agrees out of whatever passes for actual friendship in his poor deluded soul. This is gonna get strange, folks...

Staying tuned!
--------------

 

[Muppetfan44]

Hooray!! I loved this update! Great back and forth with Gonzo and Rizzo (love it when Rizzo shows his smarter side every now and then)

Liked the interplay between Kermit, Scooter and Thoreau! priceless!

Poor Piggy! Definitely don't like what she's planning to do, but she may have no other choice- Kermit needs to go and visit her already!!!!! Totally breaks my heart that they still haven't seen one another in so long and I for one would love to see Kermit coming to Piggy's rescue

excited to read what happens next and for frog's sake get them together already!!! lol

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 117: Elucidation.
"Zat you?" asked Dr. Teeth, more in jest than in earnest. The only parts of his band-mate which were truly recognizable were Floyd's ten little freckled toes protruding from the folds of a beach towel. Floyd was wrapped in one of the cruise ship's fluffy white robes, which covered everything to his knees, and the towel he had draped over his skinny skins and the tops of his bony feet. The freckled wrists that stuck out of the full sleeves were slathered in sun screen, and his face beneath a floppy straw hat was ornamented with his prominent proboscis covered in zinc oxide. "Posolutely," came Floyd Pepper's raspy voice, and he gestured to the empty lawnchair beside him. "Pull up a wicket basket and have a sit." Dr. Teeth sat, still eyeing Floyd with amusement. Floyd caught the look but did not seem offended. "Hey now," he said mildly. "Us redheads are sensitive to the sun." "Some more than others, apparently," the keyboard magician said, still teasing just a little. The good Doctor was clad only in an old-fashioned pair of baggies, and he had purchased a colorful set of flip-flops from the ship’s gift shop. The only other thing he was wearing was a huge rhinestone-studded dollar sign on a chain around his neck, which glittered against the tufts of red hair on his barrel chest. He leaned back in the chair and proceeded to soak up the sun. "Good set last night," he said after a moment. "You said it Doc," said Floyd. "Good gig all around. And the food is top-notch." "Nice of them to set up a private buffet for Animal," Dr. Teeth offered lazily. "Heh heh. Necessary for them to set up a private buffet for Animal. And that isn't even the best part of the trip so far." "Speaking of," said Dr. Teeth. "Where is the little furball today? I went by to take him for a walk but—" The answer to his question arrived, walking sedately on a leash with their bombshell of a guitar player. Where Floyd had gone for optimum coverage, Janice had gone in the opposite direction. "Hi Honey," she said, leaning down and kissing Floyd beneath his bushy moustache. "I, like, couldn't decide, so I bought both of the new bikinis! Want me to show them to you?" "Sure Babe—open the bag and flash them at me," said Floyd. Janice gave a delightful pout. "Bummer. I was going to model them," she said. Floyd sat up straighter in his lounge chair and his little black eyes glittered with interest. "That would be okay," he managed, smiling at Janice. Dr. Teeth cleared his throat. "By all means," he said gallantly. "What the lady wants, the lady gets."

The afternoon had proceeded without mishap after a rather adventurous morning. After the somewhat harrowing visit to Piggy's dressmaker, Gonzo and Rizzo had come by and the interruption had been welcomed by the weary editors. They had gotten sodas—not only flat but also warm from the predictably unpredictable vending machine in the break room and had a nice, head-clearing chat about not much. Despite the welcomeness of the respite, Scooter and Kermit had both been relieved to see their friends to the door so they could get back to work. "It was good of them to come by," said Kermit, shooting Scooter a look. His assistant seemed a little more animated than he had before, and Kermit wondered about it, thinking back along the trail of the conversation. Gonzo had expressed sympathy over the film loss. The furry blue weirdo had already done that at the impromptu Valentine's party, but there it had been in passing and here it had been both in person and in earnest. Even though they had moved on, re-editing the film as necessary, Kermit had appreciated someone recognizing the sacrifice they'd made doing all the work over. Hmmm…speaking of sacrifice…. "I sure do appreciate you keeping everything on track," said Kermit. "I know I've been prone to wool-gathering since Piggy left." "Want me to wait until you have enough for a sweater before I stop you next time?" Scooter teased, but the humor seemed forced and he looked at Kermit hesitantly as though uncertain that his teasing was acceptable. "Maybe just enough for a muffler," Kermit said dryly, then reached out and patted Scooter on the back. "Thanks for being so patient with me." Kermit had expected a grunt of acknowledgement—the kind that said, "Yeah, you're a pain but I put up with you anyway", but what he got instead surprised him. Scooter stared fixedly at the floor, chewing his lower lip for a moment before bursting into a torrent of words. "But—but I…I'm just doing my job," Scooter said, sounding unhappy. "At least, I mean, I'm trying to. I know I should have caught the mistake with the film," he said, and though he wasn't actually wringing his hands, Kermit caught the emotion in his voice. "If I had—and I should've--you'd have gotten to go to New York and seen Miss Piggy, and you wouldn't be so lonely and miserable." He had avoided Kermit's gaze during his outburst, but now he looked up at Kermit's bulbous eyes and whispered. "I'm really sorry about…everything." Kermit felt like kicking himself, suddenly realizing that his own distress had blinded him to Scooter's. Although they had made up the film—and the time—Scooter had continued to be upset about what he perceived to be a failure in his duty. And Kermit had been too busy to notice. He felt like a complete jerk, and was on the verge of stammering out an apology when it occurred to him that that might possibly make Scooter feel even worse. Kermit had survived about a million arguments with Miss Piggy—which ought to have made him proof against this sort of insensitivity—and he knew from long experience that it was harder to extricate yourself from one of these situations than it was to get yourself into one. If Scooter felt bad because Kermit felt bad, then Kermit stumbling through an apology would probably just make things awkward. The last thing he needed was another layer of misunderstanding. For a moment, Kermit's brain clicked along blankly—surely all of those years of arguing would have taught him something useful—when the answer popped into his head like a piece of toast. He bit back a smile and resolved to thank Piggy later for the inspiration. "What is the matter with you?" Kermit demanded, hands crossed over his chest. Startled, Scooter looked up to see a very grumpy amphibian. "Um, well, I—" "Everything I do here depends on being able to count on you Scooter!" Kermit snapped. Scooter gaped, mortified. "I know," he mumbled. "But I'm trying—" "And I do not have time for this sort of moping—do you hear me?" Without waiting for a reply, Kermit rushed on. "We might as well face the fact that what happened to the film was a complete fluke and out of our hands. These things happen. They happen to everyone, and this time it happened to us. But I refuse to let one rotten thing that happened spoil all of the wonderful work we've done so far." "Uh—" "And it has been wonderful work this week, hasn't it?" Kermit demanded. "Um, yeah, Boss," Scooter said, blinking. "Pretty good." "Pretty good? Pretty good?!" Kermit cried. "Well I think everything we've done this week has been awesome!" "It has been pretty awesome," Scooter admitted, warming to the topic. "Good! Then I don't want to hear anything else about anything bad! Things are going swell. Things are going swimmingly, and I should know, you know?" "Yeah," said Scooter, trying not to smile. "Sheesh! That one had been worthy of Fozzie," he thought. "You would know, Chief." "That's right!" Kermit said. "I would! And you know what else I know?" Mutely, Scooter shook his head, his mind reeling from the unexpectedness of the assault. "I know I couldn't do any of this without you." "I…pardon?" Relief and longing showed on his personal assistant's face, and Kermit smiled. "Scooter," he said gently. "You've been a brick. I couldn't have gotten any of this done without you." "I'm just doing my job," Scooter mumbled, looking down again, but he looked up when he heard a loud, derisive snort. "And about three other people's," said Kermit. He reached out and grasped Scooter's arm, a slim green hand on a shiny green jacket. "You've saved me from budget penalties, bad editorial decisions and a rabid dressmaker. I think that's quite enough for one week without crying over spilt milk. You hear me?" "I hear you," Scooter said, and there was a new energy in his voice. He pulled out his handheld and consulted it. "You ready to tackle that desert footage? We need to get that done today." "I'm in," said Kermit. "Let's get this show on the road."

Piggy was getting her own show on the road. Vetoing his protests, Piggy had Finkel drop her off at the corner so she could walk blatantly to the little sundries shop she liked. She wanted to be nice and visible, and she was, and it was only the threat of calling some other cab company that made her faithful driver drive away once she gained the glass doorway of the store. The girl behind the counter was no less awestruck than she had been the first time, but perhaps a little less surprised. She managed a dazed smiled when Piggy dazzled her with one of her own. "Good morning, Mon Ami," Piggy sang airily. "Moi is here to do some shopping. Do you have any more of those peanut-butter cookies?" The salesclerk nodded her shock of black hair, her triple-pierced eyebrows glinting as she bobbed her head. Piggy stopped in her perusal of the magazine aisle to stare at her until she finally said, "Yes, ma'am". Inwardly, Piggy smiled. She doubted the word "ma'am" had graced those lips since the black lipstick had. "Good," she said. "I'll take a half-dozen. And one of the chocolate chocolate chunk." She had found out through the grapevine that Mr. Lowry had a sweet tooth for chocolate, and she planned on exploiting it. After a moment more with the magazines, she picked three with her face on the cover and another that had quoted her on the gossip page and started for the counter. The salesclerk began to ring things up, too nervous to make chit-chat. Once, when she dared to look directly at Piggy, she found the famous porcine diva staring at her intently, and dropped one of the magazines. "Goth is not a look Moi particularly cares for," said Piggy judiciously, eyeing the young lady with a practiced eye. "Although I must say I like the eyeliner—very French. Still, I can't help but think vous would look lovely with your own real hair color." "Really? It's sort of mousy," squeaked the salesclerk. "What they call dishwater blond." "Think of it as honey blond," said Piggy. "I think the color would look lovely with your skin tone. Not as lovely as Moi, who is, of course, a natural blonde," she added. "And maybe try some eyeshadow that isn't so pink—you need to stick with earth tones like brown and taupe and grey." "I was going for dramatic," said the young lady, chastened. "Vous will be plenty dramatic with a little color on your face. How about a nice scarf?" "My ma has some silk one’s that my grandpa brought my memaw back from the war," she said, forgetting her mask of unconcern to show a little real enthusiasm. "Silk is always fashionable," said Piggy. "Bring one in. Next time Moi is here, we'll try some different ways to wear it, okay?" The young woman nodded eagerly, and Piggy paid for her purchases and left, glancing at the clock behind the counter as she passed. She had probably killed quite enough time for what she planned, and she stepped out into the street armed for battle.

"Well, honey, you're just going to have to do what you think is best," said Gloria Jean. Camilla clucked morosely, and the chorine nodded. "Well, the buzz from the movie is great, I hear," she added. "You can't let moss grow on you just because filming's done. What kind of project are you thinking of?" Camilla was quiet for a moment, then clucked thoughtfully. "Well—I always like live performances better," said Gloria Jean. "I mean, celluloid is forever and all, but there's nothing like the sound of a live audience to cheer you on. Speaking of—I'll bet Piggy is enjoying those big New York audiences," she said wistfully. "I'll bet she's having a good time, 'cept of course for not having her main squeeze around." Camilla made a sympathetic noise, but Gloria Jean's comments had sparked a new train of thought. "I'll bet Piggy is enjoying those big audiences," Camilla thought. "Maybe I ought to go visit her sometime and see how she's liking her live theater experience." To Gloria Jean, she clucked once more in sympathy and returned the sash she had borrowed. Maybe her friend was right. Instead of looking for a new television or film opportunity, maybe Camilla ought to consider another stage venue. The Christmas show had been fun, and she had liked the audience feedback as they performed. It was something to think about.

Clifford felt very tall in the present company. Tricia's bandmates were all petite little things, in Clifford's opinion, and he felt like he towered over them. Until the drummer stood up. The dreadlocked bassman looked up and up and up into the cheerful, freckled face of a brown haired amazon who had a good eight inches on him in height. She grinned and winked at him, making him gulp and edge closer to Tricia. "Hey, chicas. This is my friend, Clifford. He's staying with Mom for a few days and I told him how great we were. He wanted to come see for himself, so…." Clifford gave Tricia a comically indignant look, then turned back to the ladies. "This is Coraline on lead and Tia does all the brass," said Tricia, pointing to a willowy green-haired Muppet girl wearing all black except for an enormous silver peace sign around her neck on a multicolored yarn cord and a compact, curly-headed brunette human that made Clifford think a little of Gloria Jean. Coraline held up two fingers in a peace sign and Tia waved a French horn at him in what he hoped was a friendly manner. "This is Tootsie on the keyboard and Susie on the drums. Everybody sings," she said by way of explanation. Tootsie waved cheekily and smiled in a friendly manner. She had a little gap between her front teeth that was somehow endearing and her riotous mane of auburn curls made him smile. This time, Susie contented herself with waving, and Clifford nodded back to her. "Anybody mind if Clifford sits in? He plays bass," Tricia added, which Clifford thought was probably unnecessary, as he had his instrument slung over his shoulder. Everybody made agreeable noises, and Clifford took a place behind Tricia's right shoulder. He unslung his bass, tuned a little to the plink of Tootsie's keyboard, and then tried to keep up. The “Indie Vittles” were as easy on the ears as they were on the eyes, a sentiment that Clifford doubted he'd be sharing with Tricia. They knew their stuff musically, and had obviously played together long enough to intuit each other's moods. More than once, Clifford's fret board squeaked as he hastened to catch up to the chord changes. And while they played, they sang. Even Tia sang on some of the choruses, and their voices were sweet and well-harmonized, but it was obvious after only a moment of listening that the real star of the show was Tricia's smooth whiskey tenor that got under your skin and made you want to sigh with longing. They played a half-dozen songs for him, then another half-dozen as though they'd forgotten he was there, which they might have done. Clifford listened, and harmonized and tried to think of what he might actually be doing if he wasn't doing this, which didn't come to much. He was sorry to head for home, his head full of good sound and his heart full of music. "So?" Tricia had demanded the instant they were in the car. Clifford looked into her pixieish face and knew that this was it, was the one time that he absolutely, positively could not lie to her. "They were great," he said firmly, "but you were fantastic. How'd you learn to sing the blues like that?" Tricia laughed her raspy laugh and stared out the front of the little car. "Clifford, honey, trust me—you do not want to know."

The deliberate casualness of the walk should have tipped him off, but he wasn't suspecting anything. He was just minding his own business—the business of keeping tabs on Piggy—when she finally popped out of the store and started for the theater. He had taken all of six furtive steps behind her when she stopped, one velvety ear twitching. Without warning, she whirled on him. "I need to talk to you!" she snapped, but this request did not come with an upraised fist. Surprise made him stop in his tracks, and he looked at her warily. "I thought you weren't talking to me." "I'm not. Moi is not talking to vous. I just need some information." "I'm listening," said Scribbler, and suited action to word by pulling out his battered notebook and waiting, his pen poised above the pages. To his even greater surprise, Piggy took a step toward him, looking anxiously up and down the street. Her voice dropped to a sultry growl. "Someone is following Moi," she said. "I want to know who it is." Scribbler looked at her for a moment, trying to decide if this were her idea of a joke. He gestured wryly at his lapels. "Reporter here," he said. "Just trying to do my job." He was puzzled. Normally, Piggy would have simply led off with "You're out of line. Stop bothering me", but to his surprise she rolled her eyes and tried again. "I don't mean you, you ninny," she said. "Someone…else. Someone who's been impersonating my agent." Scribbler looked into her blue eyes, usually full of rancor, and saw only earnestness and perhaps a little fear. He felt vaguely uneasy. "Someone's been impersonating Marty?" he said, and Piggy bobbed her shining curls. "Yes. Someone has been impersonating Marty, and someone has been following me on foot." "Lot’s of hopefuls," Fleet said curtly, and Piggy fixed him with a look. "Not in the market," she growled. "Look—can you help me or not?" He had not been this close to her in years, and he was very aware that they were standing right out in the open, visible to anyone. Anyone who looked, that is. "I can watch," he said finally. "You scared?" Piggy looked at him for a moment. "No…" she said slowly, as though the luxury of being scared had not occurred to her. "I'm not scared. I'm just…curious." That was all she said, but her cheeks pinked with color and Fleet read her like a book. She was worried, but not about the stalker. She was worried about the publicity, and what would happen if…if something happened. And she'd come running straight to him. Well, sort of. She'd laid in wait for him, at least. Scribbler couldn't decide whether to be offended or flattered. He couldn't decide much of anything while she was looking at him like that, with more than a hint of entreaty in her big blue eyes. "So you want me to find out who is following you, but you don't want me to report it? Is that about it?" he asked, and was surprised by the way sarcasm harshened his voice. Piggy was surprised too, and he saw her gloved hands grip tightly to keep from wringing them. She stilled them immediately, and that little act of courage in the face of everything won him over. She was something else, Missy was. "Not afraid of the devil after dark," Scribbler thought. And not afraid of him. The thought cheered him just a little. "Anything else?" he asked, his tone softer. For a moment—an instant really—Piggy dropped her fearless façade, then the moment was gone and she stood before him impenetrable and unassailable. But in that moment, Scribbler had seen what she wanted, had seen enough. He nodded once, not trusting himself to speak, and Piggy nodded back. They stared at each other, not sure what to do next, then Scribbler jerked his head slightly toward the theater. Piggy nodded again, turned her back on him, and walked away. And that, he knew she could do without any help from him.

"Well, well, well," thought Seymour Strathers angrily. "Wasn't that just ducky?" He'd seen her talking to that disreputable reporter, had seen them standing close on the sidewalk and conversing about who-knows-what when she should be on her way to the theater. She was usually at the theater by now, but today she had stopped—first to linger at the little shop and then to talk to that scruffy journalist. Plus, he'd not been happy at all with the way she'd become all chummy with her co-star. For all she knew, he had designs on her pink and perfect form that had nothing to do with the show, and Piggy really needed to exercise better judgment about who she spoke to and where. The problem was, she was too trusting. And while he found her naiveté endearing, this degree of familiarity simply could not be tolerated. He would have to talk to her about that—and soon. Once he'd explained everything to her, he was certain that she'd understand and be gushing with apologies, eager to make things up to him. But he would have to take a stern hand. It simply was not appropriate for her to talk to other men without his permission, and he had no intention of granting that permission, no matter how innocent she claimed everything was. She might not understand what they were about, but he did. He understood everything. All he had to do was explain it to her, and then she would understand everything too. But first, he had to get her alone….

 

[The Count]

First of all, I need to apologize. During a subsequent tweak of uncaught typos, I unintentionally wiped out the way this latest chapter got posted with your font and italicization marks. *Drops head looking at the ground much like .

That said, I do have some thoughts on all that's been posted.

Ch 116.
1 Gonzo certainly has the role of Mr. Cellophane perfected. He needs to do something truly impetuous and get back with that chicky of his PDQ!
2 Posted by Kermie's Authoress: "Gonzo sighed hugely. “I was—once. Now she won’t even grab a corn nugget with me.""
You mean down at the Colonel's? Those things are delicious.
3 Posted by an Aunt to all: “Don’t be silly, Scooter,” Kermit admonished. “He’s harmless—until you get the bill.”
Famous last words frog.
4 Indigo purple, heh, that's my fictious Ranger's color, indigo I mean.
5 What awards are you planning the Muppets appear at? Cause if it's the Academy Awards, and Valentine's took place here in KG on a weekend, well, options include:
a. Valentine's on Friday 14, Academy Awards on either Feb 23 or March 1 or 2.
b. Valentine's on Saturday 14, Academy Awards on Feb 22 or 29 (if a Leap Year) or March 1.
c. Valentine's on Sunday 14, Academy Awards on February 28.
Although that'd give Piggy a two-week run on Broadway which makes me think it might be some other awards show.


Ch. 117.
1 Posted by Who?: "Zat you?" asked Dr. Teeth.
Santa Claus? Na, it too soon for Christmas.
2 They set up a special buffet for Animal? Why not just let him up on deck for the midnight buffet. Mom always talks about how that's such a big highlight when my family (grandfather with either or both of my brothers most occasionally) go on cruises... And yet, she—and we by extension—end up sleeping through it.
3 Wonder who that salesgirl was. Goth is a look some can pull off. But pink eyeshadow? Er, yes, that is somewhat dramatic. But listen to the pig's advice, it'll go better.
4 That reminds me... If one talks about the color specifically, it's okay to write "blond" no matter what the case right? But if speaking about a male with that color hair you say he's "blond"; but if it's a female, you say she's "blonde"?
5 Someone say something about PB cookies? And chocolate chocolate chunk? Personally me love oatmeal raisin.
6 Seems Camilla's feeling down herself as well.
7 Good to see that Kermit's thoughts on performing live shows versus films is echoed by Gloria Jean. Also, I like that she may have talked a bit of sense into concerning her future endeavors. *Catches the subtle hint in that Piggy misses her main squeeze, perhaps suggesting the little white hen get back with her whatever?
8 Thanks for revealing the members of Tricia's band. Found it curious she's the only anthro animal out of them. *Still loves how the mole girl is being portrayed, reminds me of the more grownup teenage Ginny W.
9 Posted by Scribbler's redeemer: "Scribbler looked at her for a moment, trying to decide if this were her idea of a joke. He gestured wryly at his lapels. "Reporter here," he said. "Just trying to do my job.""
Oh, is that what you're doing? I know a certain who would differ with your perported title there. But since he's been put on suspension himself and his official press pass is no longer valid, he can't really argue that much. Least, not out in public.
10 "Not afraid of the devil after dark."
Just love this phrase. Not much more other than Scribbler's been enlisted in Piggy's campaign to search for her other stalker.
11 Okay, I understand you're turning Seymour into a full-fledged creep with the last paragraph. But really, Mr. Strathers, you claim to be a fan of hers? And you think you can claim her for your own if you could only get the chance to get her alone? And you're going to "explain" it so she "understands" with a "stern hand"? Apparently, you're not a fan as you professed some months ago in Vegas, certainly not as hardcore a fan as you claimed. Yes, you may have the segment where she sang her everything during the first movie at her previous accomplishments at the Bogen County fair's pageant. But that's your own schoolboy crush that's grown out of control. Otherwise, you'd have read up on her past life learning that such a man is the kind of parent she ran away from into the limelight of stardom. Poor unfortunate soul, deluded in his own film-forged fantasies.

Hope you have a good weekend Ru and keep it coming!

 

[newsmanfan]

-----------
This is MARVELOUS!! Love all of it!

Not to repeat compliments already thrown...but I also love the intro to Tricia's band. "Indie Vittles" -- Individuals? Nice. And hey, who DOESN'T find a growly blues singer sexy, no matter what your orientation!
Hope Clifford can see Tricia more...they seem to be well-suited, and I suspect Clifford would understand more about Tricia's hard early life than she thinks.

The bit with Floyd, Teeth, and Janice was funny. I can abso-tively picture Teeth in bermuda baggies (which probably advertise Mr Zog's Sex Wax) and flipflops and bling...though I might not especially welcome the image...never been a fan of abundant chest hair, er, fur, uh...whatever it is that Muppet guys have...

Kermit figuring out the perfect way to defuse Scooter's guilt and self-blame was...well...perfect! I would never have thought of it. Well done, you AND the frog!

And Fleet and Piggy...man. A nice little vignette of unspoken emotions and needed connections. Lovely and well done. I think there may be redemption for Fleet after all...possibly...if he's adult enough to welcome a friendship based on trust rather than affection. Interesting to see how this plays out.

Seymour's internal dialogue is dead-on (as a repeat-offender fan of danged near every crime show out there) and creepy as f--. Yeah. I did have to go there. It IS THAT creepy.

I was gonna chide you about the formatting -- where have all the paragraphs gone, long time passing... til I saw Ed's post. Ah HAH! Arrest him! *blows whistle for Grammar Cops*

And I almost forgot poor Camilla! Bawwwk! Hmm. Is an off-Broadway singing gig in the feathered demimonde's near future?

SO glad you have time to write again! Hope you can keep it up!
--------------

 

[Ruahnna]

First of all, I need to apologize. During a subsequent tweak of uncaught typos, I unintentionally wiped out the way this latest chapter got posted with your font and italicization marks. *Drops head looking at the ground much like .

OMGosh, Ed! You're...(gasp!) mortal! Eeeeee! hahahaha No penalty, no foul, Sweetie--you've saved me from far more than you've cost me!

That said, I do have some thoughts on all that's been posted.

Ch 116.
1 Gonzo certainly has the role of Mr. Cellophane perfected. He needs to do something truly impetuous and get back with that chicky of his PDQ!
2 Posted by Kermie's Authoress: "Gonzo sighed hugely. “I was—once. Now she won’t even grab a corn nugget with me.""
You mean down at the Colonel's? Those things are delicious. Yes, I DO mean down at The Loving Kernal. (Shamelessly admits to blatant self-referencing of her own fics.)
3 Posted by an Aunt to all: “Don’t be silly, Scooter,” Kermit admonished. “He’s harmless—until you get the bill.”
Famous last words frog. (Um, that's not actually until next chapter....)
4 Indigo purple, heh, that's my fictious Ranger's color, indigo I mean.
5 What awards are you planning the Muppets appear at? Cause if it's the Academy Awards, and Valentine's took place here in KG on a weekend, well, options include:
a. Valentine's on Friday 14, Academy Awards on either Feb 23 or March 1 or 2.
b. Valentine's on Saturday 14, Academy Awards on Feb 22 or 29 (if a Leap Year) or March 1.
c. Valentine's on Sunday 14, Academy Awards on February 28.
Although that'd give Piggy a two-week run on Broadway which makes me think it might be some other awards show.
Yes, I do have a timeline. No, you can't see it. I try hard to keep things reasonable, so I do have a master calendar for the story (sortof) and I do plot out timelines so I know how many days I have to work with, but I refuse to commit to a specific year (given that this story has spanned so many) and always try to leave myself some maneuvering room. Aww--look what you went and made me do--I showed everybody what "backstage" in the author's head looks like, and it's really not ready for company yet....
Piggy's opening weekend was Valentine's, and coming up lickity-split is my take on the Academy Awards. Piggy will have had about two weeks on Broadway before Kermit goes to the awards by himself. All sorts of things are going to happen then.

Ch. 117.
1 Posted by Who?: "Zat you?" asked Dr. Teeth.
Santa Claus? Na, it too soon for Christmas.
2 They set up a special buffet for Animal? Why not just let him up on deck for the midnight buffet. Mom always talks about how that's such a big highlight when my family (grandfather with either or both of my brothers most occasionally) go on cruises... And yet, she—and we by extension—end up sleeping through it.
3 Wonder who that salesgirl was. Goth is a look some can pull off. But pink eyeshadow? Er, yes, that is somewhat dramatic. But listen to the pig's advice, it'll go better.
4 That reminds me... If one talks about the color specifically, it's okay to write "blond" no matter what the case right? But if speaking about a male with that color hair you say he's "blond"; but if it's a female, you say she's "blonde"?
"Blond" is the color of the hair. "Blonde" is a female with blond hair. "Blond" is a fellow with blond hair. I just adore the convoluted convolutions of the English language.
5 Someone say something about PB cookies? And chocolate chocolate chunk? Personally me love oatmeal raisin. (Considering yourself "cookied." I make a mean oatmeal raisin cookie, and an even snappier oatmeal cranberry cookie! I also make a killer banana-pumpkin cake that I sometimes put raisins or sugared dates in.)
6 Seems Camilla's feeling down herself as well. Well, Camilla is missing something in her life right now, but don't worry--I'm going to fix it. Sort of.
7 Good to see that Kermit's thoughts on performing live shows versus films is echoed by Gloria Jean. Also, I like that she may have talked a bit of sense into concerning her future endeavors. *Catches the subtle hint in that Piggy misses her main squeeze, perhaps suggesting the little white hen get back with her whatever?
8 Thanks for revealing the members of Tricia's band. Found it curious she's the only anthro animal out of them. *Still loves how the mole girl is being portrayed, reminds me of the more grownup teenage Ginny W. Do you mean Jenny from TMTM? Yes, I suppose Tricia does look a bit like her--they both have a pixieish face and big doe-like eyes. Tricia is very tough, but she comes by her toughness honest.
9 Posted by Scribbler's redeemer: "Scribbler looked at her for a moment, trying to decide if this were her idea of a joke. He gestured wryly at his lapels. "Reporter here," he said. "Just trying to do my job.""
Oh, is that what you're doing? I know a certain who would differ with your perported title there. But since he's been put on suspension himself and his official press pass is no longer valid, he can't really argue that much. Least, not out in public.
10 "Not afraid of the devil after dark." Confession: this was said about me by every relative I had until I was grown. Now all my friends say it about me.
Just love this phrase. Not much more other than Scribbler's been enlisted in Piggy's campaign to search for her other stalker.
11 Okay, I understand you're turning Seymour into a full-fledged creep with the last paragraph. But really, Mr. Strathers, you claim to be a fan of hers? And you think you can claim her for your own if you could only get the chance to get her alone? And you're going to "explain" it so she "understands" with a "stern hand"? Apparently, you're not a fan as you professed some months ago in Vegas, certainly not as hardcore a fan as you claimed. Yes, you may have the segment where she sang her everything during the first movie at her previous accomplishments at the Bogen County fair's pageant. But that's your own schoolboy crush that's grown out of control. Otherwise, you'd have read up on her past life learning that such a man is the kind of parent she ran away from into the limelight of stardom. Poor unfortunate soul, deluded in his own film-forged fantasies.
Yes, Seymour is creepy and you picked up on all the salient points. He doesn't love Piggy. He wants to own her. Contrast that to the frog who loves her enough to let her chase her dreams even if it means living without her for a while.
Hope you have a good weekend Ru and keep it coming!