So We'll Go No More A-Roving, for Fear of Furry Monsters

The Count

Moderator
Staff member
Joined
Jul 12, 2002
Messages
31,234
Reaction score
2,919
Yeah, well that's why I have Doglion as a "yeti", it's almost a similar monster-type. *Grins at what I came up for Behemoth and Shaky, now that was cleverly inspired by Aunt Ru.

Labyrinth joke... You don't become a top-notch Muppet research/Walter without recognizing subtle unintentional hints like that. And you're well on your path young Kriswalker.

As far as Python, the only thing I can think is the slime-encrusted underground walls being a nod to the Cave of Caerbannog?
*Reads the writing on the locked door saying 'Here lies the sword, Aaaaaaaarrrrrggghhh!'
*Thinks, they had time to write out 'Aaaaaaaarrrrrggghhh'?
Look out! We're being violently switched into animated nightmare fuel mode!
At least it's not 'black and white' animated nightmare fuel mode like when the Rabbit's watch went mad.
Oh, you can't help that, we're all mad here.
 

newsmanfan

Well-Known Member
Joined
Apr 5, 2011
Messages
2,927
Reaction score
1,663
Part Twenty-Seven

Monday the twenty-fourth was a normal autumn day, with a crisp blue canopy beyond the skyscrapers, and just enough of a chill in the air to have the morning commuters bundled in trendy sweaters and jackets. The only thing not typical, Beaker reflected unhappily, was that today his usual manual labor involved lugging equipment piled unsteadily in a Red Flyer wagon which really should have been transported in a truck or a van instead. Beaker grunted and pulled, strained and puffed, and slowly dragged the wagonful of delicate surveillance electronics along the sharply curving street.

From the steps of the condemned hotel, Bunsen called: “What took you so long? Come on, Beakie! A little exercise won’t kill you!” He took a deep breath, removing his wrist and head sweatbands with a joyful air. “Just smell that clean fall air! Jogging over here was a wonderful idea!”

Beaker wheezed past an alley just as a garbage truck roared out; only a screaming burst of energy saved the wagon and its Muppet from being creamed underwheel. Bits of stinking trash sprayed over Beaker, and he coughed harshly.

“Come along, lots to do today!” Bunsen chirped happily, opening the front doors and brushing the fresh cobwebs out of the way. “I think perhaps first we should see about shoring up that landing some more, before we attempt to install the upper-level cameras and signal boosters…” He trotted inside, ignoring his assistant’s vain struggles to heave the wagon up the front steps. Sighing, weary, Beaker began unloading the equipment and carrying it in an armful at a time. Irritated, Honeydew chided: “Don’t leave all that in the street, Beaker! That equipment is very valuable!” Immediately numerous early-morning residents turned speculative eyes on the wagon, whereas before no one had paid any attention to the scientists. Hurriedly Beaker shoved the wagon up the stairs and inside the hotel lobby.

“Very good, Beakie! Now, what say I check the wiring plan for the surveillance system while you go make sure that staircase is safe?” Turning away, Bunsen hummed “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” (with tuneless whistles) as he unrolled the tube of technical drawings he’d made for the operation. Beaker, exhausted, brought out a MuppAid bottle, but Bunsen plucked it from his hand before he could take a drink. “Strawberry Muppafruit flavor! How thoughtful, Beakie! One should always rehydrate after a good jog.” Beaker stared at Bunsen as he gulped the entire bottle and then handed it back. “Don’t forget to recycle, please. Now go on and get that landing fixed!”

Grumbling to himself, Beaker took the Muppet Labs Electric Hammer (Mk XXVIII) up to the first grand landing on the formerly-elegant curving staircase. He lined up the laser-sight with the rough boards serving as patchwork for the broken balustrade, made sure he was out of the line of fire, and started the hammer. Whack! Whack! Whack! As the machine did its job correctly, fastening the railing back onto the edge of the stairs, Beaker relaxed a little. Remembering he’d brought another bottle of MuppAid, he trotted down the stairs to fetch it and took a satisfying swallow. Whack! Whack! Whack! At least with that gadget hammering away, all the spiders should be scared off…

“Beaker, what are you doing?” Honeydew demanded. “You’re supposed to be securing the staircase so we can use it, not blocking it off!”

“Mee meep mee me mee…” Beaker began a protest, then fell silent, mouth hanging open, as he saw the hammer whacking into place the last nail, fastening the railing straight across the start of the next flight of stairs. As it had been engineered to do, the hammer powered down, awaiting something else to nail. Shoulders slumped, Beaker trudged up the stairs and found the rails firmly embedded in the landing. He grunted and strained, trying to budge them. Muttering curses, he stepped in front of the hammer to try for better leverage to move the railing. The hammer whirred into life. “Meeeee!”

“Beaker! Stop messing around and get that railing out of the way!”

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whiirrrrrrump.

Terror past, pain kicked in. With nails protruding from his nose, fingers, and shoulders fastening him to the misplaced railing, Beaker groaned, then began the arduous process of freeing himself. He managed to tug one hand loose and was pulling the nail out of his nose when the hammer started again. “Meee!” Whack! Beaker yanked his head down past his collar, and the hammer missed, thunking a nail into the railing behind him. “Mee! Mee meep!” Whack!

“Beaker! We really don’t have time for this!” Bunsen yelled, growing impatient. “Don’t make me come up there!” Whack. Whack. Whack.

“Meeeeeeeeee!”

-----------------------
Camilla let the phone ring until she reached the recording again: “This voice mailbox is full. Please try back another time.” Worried, she hung up. Gonzo was usually prompt about checking his messages! Could he just be so busy planning his next act that he’d forgotten all about his life? Had he forgotten about her? She’d watched the results show last night, while all around her feathered castmates snored unconcernedly in their straw-padded beds. After Saturday’s astoundingly dangerous performance, of course the Great Gonzo had advanced another round. Montrose the Mouse seemed to have left the show, and the host announced last night that Wyatt Slurp had been voted off as well, narrowing the field of competitors. Camilla had barely noticed the snail sharpshooter desperately blasting away with both guns as a heap of small monsters pounced on him following the announcement; she only had eyes for her Gonzo, who’d whooped at the crowd, snorted a fistful of red-hots up his nose, and then pelted them at the front rows of the studio audience as an encore. The next episode wouldn’t be until Wednesday night…so why wouldn’t Gonzo answer his phone?

Camilla didn’t know if she hoped he’d heard all of her messages or not: perhaps it would be better if he hadn’t…at least then she could feel he wasn’t deliberately ignoring her! At the party, Blackie the rooster, drunk on one too many cups of sweet cider, had made several passes at her until she’d jumped on his head and scratched him silly. She knew Bertie and some of the other hens thought she was a fool: Blackie was so handsome, so debonair, and he really did look good in that tux. But no…her heart beat only for the Whatever. Why, oh why, wasn’t he even clearing out his voicemails?

She pecked at the TV remote, flipping through channels. She paused when she heard an ad blaring loudly for the very show she dreaded: “Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday on MMN! It’s down to the last three contestants! One of them will be exterminated! Who will advance to the championship round, and who will be eaten alive? This coming Wednesday, on Break a Leg!” Several clips from the past show flashed past: Camilla clucked softly when she saw Gonzo diving into the barrel of acid with a whoosh of reactive steam. This could only get worse! “Now back to daytime drowsiness with views you can lose, on MMN’s Amscray Show!”

She stared dully a moment, not interested in the two snickering Grouch ladies sampling vinegar wine with moldy hors d’ouvres in a studio with rats shrieking and pounding on the windows right behind them; one held up a handmade sign reading Please Help Us! Sighing, Camilla clicked through the channels, finally giving up and leaving the TV tuned to a local morning news report while she gathered up her washcloth and oatmeal-scented French soap. Usually her morning dip refreshed her mind as well as her feathers, but today she felt no peace.

Until she knew why Gonzo wouldn’t talk to her, nothing would be right.

----------------------
“Which key is it?” Rizzo asked, balancing skillfully atop a stack of unhappy rodents.

“Do I live here?” Rhonda snapped. She wriggled her shoulders unhappily inside the thick fur coat. “Gawd, Rizzo, why’d ya have to pick rabbit fur?”

“Hey, da rabbit wasn’t too happy about it either,” Rizzo shot back, trying one after another of the keys on Gina’s ring in the doorknob and the deadbolt. “You wouldn’t believe how many carrots I hadda promise to get it! How about a, ‘Gee, thanks Rizzo, for gettin’ me a new coat for my bizarrely furless bod,’ or ‘you’re so kind to escort me over here,’ or –“

“Or hurry up and open the door already ‘cause I feel ridiculous in this danged outfit!” Rhonda yelled.

“Boy, somebody woke up on da grumpy side’a da bed,” Rhonda’s brother Rory muttered, trying to keep his feet steady on another rat’s shoulders while his son Roombert puffed atop his in the rat-stack needed to reach the locks on the apartment door.

“Why ain’tcha comin’ home with us, Rhonda?” asked Philby Rat, her youngest brother.

Rhonda snorted. “As if I’d get anything done with you schmucks filling up my place! You’re all lucky Newsie’s girl offered me a stay here, ‘cause if I was at home right now, I’d be making myself a new coat outta all of you!” Rizzo managed to unlock the door, and the pile fell inside as he pushed it open, with many a grunt and complaint. Rhonda breezed through it, her coat clutched tight around her. “Careful with the electronics, guys. Just set it on the coffee table.” As six of her strongest nephews careened and careered into the main room bearing her Powerbook on their backs, Rhonda climbed onto the sofa and fought the urge to itch. “Aggh! I hate scratchy coats!”

“You’re welcome,” Rizzo grumbled. “So, uh, will there be anything else, your pinkie-ness?” Several of the rats tittered; one yelped when Rhonda beaned him with a thrown coaster from the coffee table.

“Yeah – you can bring me some actual clothes! Now go on, get outta here!” Fuming, Rhonda slouched on the sofa until Rizzo and all her relatives had exited the apartment, then sighed and stretched and opened the coat to examine her furless torso. “Wonderful. I look like a freakin’ mole rat. Geez.” At least she could hole up here for the day, away from snickering brothers and too-curious nieces and overly sympathetic sisters-in-law. With a sigh, she booted up the laptop and plugged the memory card from the videocamera into it. “Let’s see just how much of the horror we got on film…”

Although the running and dodging and screaming detracted from the footage somewhat, Rhonda could tell that anyone seeing this would definitely pay attention. “Holy ickfest,” she muttered, shivering at the sequence of herself writhing helplessly on the tongue of the Slug That Slimed Manhattan. She stared in shock, watching Newsie bound up the stairs to yank her out of the slug’s mouth right before the slobbery lips clamped shut. Reflexively she wrapped the coat tighter around her. If he hadn’t grabbed me… She shuddered, unwilling to complete the thought. Seeing the monsters chasing the camera all the way back through the tunnel wasn’t pleasant either; she’d been in too much pain at the time to be aware of much besides the mothball smell of the coverall she’d been stuffed into. When she could finally unclench her fingers enough to stop the playback, she consciously let out the breath she’d held, and tried to objectively consider how much of this could be shown. She was positive that once Gina saw it, Newsie would be grounded to the apartment for at least the rest of the year for his own safety…

She checked the time. In just a few minutes, her rescuer and star reporter would have even better footage to add to this. Cracking her knuckles, she got to work editing.

------------------------
The SWAT team leader conferred with the head of the CDC team; Dr Cosgrove bore in hand a warrant to search the premises and any tunnels underground connected to the premises for toxic materials or creatures. The Newsman stood well behind them, fidgeting, pacing, while Tommy checked to be sure the microphone Newsie held was broadcasting wirelessly on a wavelength which wouldn’t interfere with the police radios. Finally, finally! Those cops look prepared for anything, he thought, though he worried they hadn’t all taken his warning about monsters seriously; he’d overheard some of them talking about capturing a venomous animal in the basement. A couple of guys from Animal Control (which, surprisingly, had nothing to do with the Muppet drummer) also stood behind the well-armed police team. Newsie jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. Dr Cosgrove gazed grimly at him.

“I wanted to remind you that although we can act on this matter as a public health threat, you may still be facing legal action from the owners,” Cosgrove said. Newsie nodded. He’d already tried to contact Blander about that this morning, only to be told the lawyer hadn’t come into the office yet. Although Rhonda was insisting they all claim the Nofrisko offices had been unlocked and any items already “missing” when they arrived to investigate yesterday, Newsie reminded the rat that they’d still technically trespassed. He didn’t feel right about lying to the authorities, but Rhonda had promised she would personally deal with her thieving little nephew…when she found him. Not that Newsie regretted any of it…except that he’d been too persistent in exploring, even after he smelled the stench getting worse, and Rhonda… Unhappy, he forced himself to focus on the present moment: the SWAT team was moving into position around the front door and windows of the Nofrisko office, which seemed strangely quiet. Banging on the door had brought no answer a few minutes ago, although it was after nine o’clock on a workday. Was it Columbus Day or something? Newsie couldn’t recall. It didn’t matter: the CDC was about to make sure this office was closed for business.

WHOMP! The battering ram popped the front door off its hinges. With yells and weapons in hand, the SWAT team flooded the front lobby. Newsie hurried after them, gesturing for the sloth to film. Hoarsely he narrated as he ran: “The SWAT team has just broken down the door of this corporate giant’s main office! Any second now, monsters will be swarming up from the underbelly of the city to challenge them!” He hoped the mic caught Cosgrove yelling out the warrant. Police in riot gear yanked open the door to the actual offices and raced down the hall; peering past them nervously, Newsie couldn’t see anyone at all in the glassed-in cubicles. “Through here!” he called, pointing out the closet door, where CDC agents covered head to toe in anti-contamination suits gathered. One of the SWAT team pulled open the door, another raised his rifle, Newsie cringed back, the sloth filmed – a concrete wall.

“What?” Newsie choked. “No!”

“You’re sure this is where you were?” Cosgrove asked him.

“Positive! This – this was a door to a stairway! Straight down!” Newsie stared, astonished, while the cop rapped the butt of his gun against the block of concrete completely filling what had been a doorway. It thunked solidly.

“This hasn’t completely set yet,” another cop noted, brushing the surface of the concrete with a gloved thumb, pasty white stuff coming off. “This is fresh work.”

“Break it down!” Newsie urged them.

Cosgrove shook his head. “We’ll need construction equipment for that. I’ll put in a call to the Mayor’s office, see if he can speed up the work order in the interest of public safety…”

“Building’s clear,” another SWAT member reported, returning to the lobby. “No one here.”

“They – they must’ve cleared out after we found the monsters!” Newsie exclaimed. “Wait – the elevator! Go to the basement! It’s some kind of restricted level; maybe there’s another way into the tunnel from there!” He hadn’t found anything when he’d poked around under Tonkin’s smug supervision, but these guys had resources he didn’t…like height, and muscle, and guns… Blushing a little, Newsie led them to the elevator. “There! See? It needs a key – can you guys get in?”

At a nod from the police sargeant, one of the men knelt and unscrewed the panel to the elevator buttons. While he worked on the wiring, Newsie turned to the other SWAT members milling around. “You should all be careful! That…slug-thing had corrosive spit! And who knows what a bite from the centipede-thing will do!”

The cops exchanged querying looks. “Hey, look, bud…we already heard there was some kinda wild animal down here, and that the owners might be armed. If you’re worried about bugs, maybe you shoulda notified an exterminator instead?” one joked. Another chuckled.

“This isn’t about bugs! They only look sort of like bugs! They’re monsters!” Newsie protested angrily.

“Please don’t tell me this weirdo is our informant,” another cop muttered.

Flushed, angry, Newsie noticed the sloth still filming. He almost yelled cut, then realized he might be able to turn this to his advantage. Addressing the camera directly, he said, “Clearly, the authorities find it difficult to believe this reporter! I won’t speculate as to whether this is due to the unusual nature of the story, or if some of these men have unkind opinions of Muppets!” Talking with the lawyer this past week had made him understand prejudice could be very subtle, and more widespread than he’d ever suspected.

“Muppets I believe in,” the cop snapped at him. “Giant monster bugs, no!”

“Weren’t any of you shown the film footage from my disastrous venture yesterday?” Newsie asked, perturbed.

“What film?”

“Man, whatever.”

At the general negative rumbling through the cops, Newsie turned alarmed to Cosgrove, who was tucking his cell phone into a pocket as he approached. “Well, luckily I was able to stress the importance of this operation to the Mayor’s office. They’re sending out a contractor and his team next Tuesday.”

“Tomorrow?” Newsie asked.

“Next Tuesday. The first of November.”

“What!” Newsie grasped the doctor’s sleeve. “But this is terrible! We need to root out these horrible things now before they spread all over the city! And…and why didn’t you show the film to the SWAT team? They need to know what they’re getting into!”

“The decision was made to treat this as a toxic-material raid,” Cosgrove said stiffly, removing his sleeve from the Muppet reporter’s fingers. “We analyzed the substance which burned you and the rat, and there isn’t any known animal capable of producing that specific organic compound. Most likely, someone with a dangerous knowledge of biochemistry has played a horrible prank on you.”

“But – but – no!” Newsie gasped.

The specialist fussing with the wiring called out, “Got it!”

“Go down and check it out,” the sargeant ordered.

Newsie struggled to get into the car with them, only to be shoved back. “Please, sir. Civilians stay back until the area is secured.”

“No, wait!” Newsie cried. “You’re in terrible danger! This isn’t a pet snake that got loose, or a chemical spill! This is a nest of horrible, spitting, vicious monsters!”

“Found this in the big office upstairs,” one of the CDC team said, walking over to show Cosgrove a Petri dish with dark slime contained within: even with the lid closed, Newsie recognized the smell. “It was all over the floor, along with some animal hair, possibly feline.” He held up an evidence bag with a few strands of light tan fur inside.

Newsie paled. “It ate Tonkin!”

The elevator doors closed; Newsie whirled to see the indicator light above it showing B. “No! No, no! There could be things down there!”

“Look, we’ll let you down in a minute, bub,” another cop growled at him, pushing him away from the elevator again.

Despairing, Newsie pressed a hand to his brow: this wasn’t going at all the way he’d thought it would! Looking at Tommy’s camera lens still pointing his way, Newsie took a deep breath and stammered: “It…it seems things have become even worse here at Nofrisko. Slime has just been recovered from the office of the CEO which looks and smells exactly like the monsters this reporter encountered below…along with possible cat fur. It should be noted that the CEO was, in fact, a cat.” He swallowed hard, anxious.

After a minute, the elevator dinged again. Newsie stepped back, half-expecting a monster to roar out when the door opened, but the only creature which did was one of the police. He gestured at Cosgrove. “Found something. Your guys might wanna take a look.” He glanced at Newsie. “Guess it’s safe enough you can get a shot for your news story, if you want.”

Confused, Newsie nevertheless beckoned for Tommy, and they piled into the elevator along with Cosgrove and another of the CDC doctors. He knew there’d been something hidden down here! Could it be a torture chamber? A nest of monster eggs? He shuddered, clutching his microphone tightly. He wondered if it would work as a club, if needed…

He stayed behind the armed policeman as they entered the basement. All the lockers and cabinets had been opened and the contents tossed out. Then he saw what the team had found: they’d shoved aside a whole row of tall metal lockers to reveal another room. Unlike the concrete, barren basement, this room was tiled in bright white ceramic; drainage grates punctured the floor at regular intervals. A metal table in the center of the room made Newsie think of a morgue. Shivering, he fell back another step. Cosgrove went to a long metal counter holding all kinds of shattered laboratory glassware. “Looks like a meth lab,” one of the cops said.

Cosgrove cautiously sniffed one of the empty flasks sitting on the counter. “No…drugs, but not that kind. This is much too sophisticated for your common street lab.”

Tommy panned the camera, taking in the pile of smashed glassware along one wall, the greenish fluid staining the floor in that area, the deeply gouged clawmarks in the tilework. Newsie gulped. “Uh…uh…it seems that whatever was going on here, someone wrecked the evidence before the police arrived!”

“Get a sample of that,” Cosgrove told one of his assistants, indicating the dried green stuff.

“What the heck did that?” a cop wondered, staring at the deep clawmarks; they were up to seven feet off the floor, and had gone through the ceramic tiles like Styrofoam, leaving ragged edges. Newsie carefully stepped closer to examine them, Tommy filming over his shoulder. When he touched the bottom edge of a furrow, the tile beneath it loosed and crashed to the floor. Two cops swung around with guns upraised, and Newsie nearly panicked.

“Whoa! Whoa! Press!” he shouted, throwing his hands up. Disgusted, the cops lowered their weapons, and a shaken Muppet glared at the camera. Oh, great. Rhonda’s going to love that. Glumly, he realized perhaps allowing his producer and editor to have a laugh at his expense was slim payment for what had happened to her. Shaking his head, he peered up at the clawmarks. He didn’t recall either the slug-thing or the bug-thing having multiple toes like this: this reminded him more of a grizzly bear attack, or a violent tiger… With another shudder, he stretched on tiptoe to see how deep the marks went, and heard a crunch under his shoe. Looking down, he froze: the pieces and shards of grayish-white, hardened clay reminded him of…of…

“Snookie,” he gasped. “Oh my frog! Snookie!”

Pieces of clay with names upon them; monsters underground with their own TV network; game shows – game shows! Ethel had told him Chester had gone into the show-hosting trade – the phone number had gone to the studio which filmed shows for MMN – MMN ran monsterish game shows – that visitor had been to a show taping – “Deadly!” Newsie shouted, startling the others. “Deadly knows where my cousin is!”

“What’s with him?” one of the cops wondered.

Cosgrove gestured for another doctor to take Newsie out of the room. “He may still be suffering aftereffects of the poison in his system yesterday…or perhaps that green substance just triggered a relapse. Quarantine this area! Sargeant Hill, have your men return to the street. We need to seal off and test this entire building for toxins!”

“I’m fine!” Newsie argued, struggling as two of the cops hefted him with them into the elevator. Tommy followed unhindered, still filming the scientists exploring the room as he retreated. “Wait, wait, you don’t understand! It’s all connected! This has to be part of it; the monsters were here!” Before the door closed, he shouted to Cosgrove, “Nofrisko was making cakes that caused monsterphobia! What if the monsters didn’t know? What if they attacked them when they found out?” But the elevator shut, and the cops held him firmly by both arms and escorted him out of the building when they reached the first level.

Anguished, overcome, Newsie strode angrily up and down in front of the cheerful Fwinkie sign. “That must be it! What if Tonkin was being forced to allow the monsters access to the street through that tunnel, and had started work on a chemical to fight…” No, that didn’t make sense! “Why would he want people more afraid of monsters?” he muttered, halting his pacing a moment. “Those things are horrible enough to send anyone running once they get a look!” His fingers felt as though they were near an open flame; startled, he looked down and realized he’d brushed them through the substance splattered on the wall. It didn’t smell quite the same as the slug slime, however. Quickly he waved down a cab. “Tony, we have to get to the theatre, quick! Muppet Labs can tell us what this stuff is!” He glanced back at the office, where CDC agents were stapling plastic sheeting over the front of the building; he understood he couldn’t expect any help with his story from that quarter. If they’d covered up the monsters from the SWAT team, they certainly weren’t going to tell him what they found in that mysterious basement lab.

The sloth climbed into the cab, asking slowly while Newsie awkwardly got in without using his green-smeared hand: “Dude…should I keep filming?”

“Not now,” Newsie said, gave the driver the Muppet Theatre address, and looked back grimly at the quarantined office as they drove away. “Wait until we have more information.” Why would there be a secret lab below Nofrisko, if they make their cakes in New Jersey? Why would the monsters have wrecked it? Is Tonkin dead? Why would they have made monsterphobia-inducing snacks if they’re working with the monsters?

Frustrated, he stared at his stained fingers. Was he being poisoned even now? “Hurry!” he urged the driver.

“Dude…did you notice?” Tony spoke up.

“What?” Newsie muttered, paying scant attention, more concerned about whatever possibly dangerous substance he’d unwittingly exposed himself to.

“All the furniture was broken. Somebody was sure pi—“

“What?” Newsie stared at the sloth. He hadn’t even noticed the state of the offices, focused on getting downstairs to that tunnel.

Tommy nodded. “Yeah, dude. Whole place was trashed. Guess we really stirred up some sh—“

“Why would they trash the office?”

The sloth shrugged, which took him half a minute. “Who knows, man? Hey, uh, y’know, I kinda got the munchies…can we stop for some chips or something?”

“No!” Disgusted, the Newsman studied his green fingertips. Whatever’s going on down there…the monsters are cleaning house. And if Chester is down there somewhere…what might they do to him? Shivering, he rebuttoned his coat, hoping Bunsen and Beaker would be able to tell him what the secret lab had been cooking up, hoping he’d be able to figure out what specifically had angered the monsters enough to destroy the office (and what about the workers? where were they?), and hoping that if Chester Blyer was trapped down there somewhere, he could hold out until the Newsman could find him.

-------------------------------
When Eustace returned to the control hub, the Frackles lowered their eyes and shuffled out of the way. He paused; they weren’t usually respectful enough to avoid his wrath. What was going on? Maybe the underlord had explained to them they ought to be more contrite to his favorite, right-claw monster…

Then the voice came over the intercom. “Eustace. In here.”

The Frackles shrank back, and Eustace suddenly realized they weren’t afraid of him…they were afraid for him. Gulping down a sudden mouthful of bile, the doglizard slowly opened the inner sanctum door and crept through. He wasn’t entirely prepared for the door to slam behind him, crunching the tip of his long tail. Stifling his yelp quickly, he stood with eyes averted. The dark, bulky shape in the control seat didn’t move, but the voice was firm: “Here. Now, if you please.”

Eustace shuffled slowly toward the chair; suddenly he gurgled, yanked into the air by his throat, a strong hand choking him. “WHY is this happening!” the underlord roared.

“Gahh…agg…erg…what, my lord?” Eustace managed to reply.

The powerful hand shook him like a floppy toy; abruptly his face was shoved before a screen showing that short yellow reporter pacing on a sidewalk. Eustace, dazed, was able to recognize it as the front entrance to that snack-food office after a few seconds. “THIS!” His Huge-and-dangerousness bellowed. “You told me this Muppet was dead! WHY then do I see him VERY MUCH ALIVE and accompanying the humans on a raid at our food-tainting facility?”

“Aggh…gahhr…your d-darknessss…pleassse…” The hand released him, and Eustace dropped to the floor, wobbling, gasping. “I…I cannot exxxplain it, Your Sssliminesss! It wasss reported to me Ssaturday night that the ssstrike team had brought him back to the tunnelsss and fed him to Even Bigger Mama!”

A pointed fingernail jabbed the soft tip of the doglizard’s wet nose. “Clearly, your intel was wrong. There is no excuse for this!” A click of a keyboard, and the image of the reporter and a lanky creature with a videocamera froze. The boss tapped the screen. “This animal I saw with the rats and that gray thing, pretending to paint the office. Yet clearly he works for the Muppet. Which suggests the little nuisance in plaid was behind the break-in yesterday! Do you understand how much this…disturbs me, Eustace? Especially as you had assured me he would no longer be a problem?”

Eustace nodded frantically. “Yesss, yesss, of courssse, my liege! Clearly, the report was missstaken! Errrg!” He gagged, lifted off the floor again.

“I do not permit…mistakes,” the low voice hissed softly. “Fix it. Now. Or you will be fed to the wonderfully obese Mama clan…as a protein smoothie!”

“Yess my lord! At onsse my lord! Absssolutely my lord!” Eustace yelped, running out the door as fast as he could once the terrible hand released him.

Alone in his black silence once again, the underlord scowled at the image of the frightened reporter. Blocking up the Nofrisko entrance and stopping the chemical production had been regrettable but necessary, at least until the Dark Ascension Night arrived. After that, of course, he could restart the lab mixing the compound which the prey would unwittingly ingest. He nodded to himself: fear always made the meat taste so, so much sweeter… Meanwhile, however, this little Muppet was proving to be more of a nuisance than he’d first thought.

He frowned, deeply creasing a face which would have sent the Frackles outside into hysterical screaming fits. How could those idiots have possibly mistaken anyone else for this ridiculous reporter? “Surely there aren’t two Muppets with that nose and that big mouth!” he growled. Angrily he switched the feed to the hidden camera inside the secret lab, and stared moodily at the humans examining, cataloguing, and treading softly in HAZMAT suits all over his formerly-delightful fear-producing equipment. With a growl, he hit the intercom button on his headset. “What has been done with the cat?” he asked.

After a moment, a timid voice came back, “H-he’s still in a holding cell, Your Ickiness. We didn’t know how you wanted us to serve him, boiled or grilled.”

“Who is this?” the boss demanded.

A choked voice replied, “F-friggle Frackle, Your Scariness…”

“Well, Friggle Frackle, you may have an extra ration of rat today for being brave enough to speak to me.” He smiled, imagining the little monster nearly wetting itself at being thus addressed. “And…bring the cat to me. I shall deal with him myself.”

A pause, then the voice squeaked, “ThankyouyourAwfulness! Right away sir!”

The underlord chuckled. His pet gurbled at him, and he reached down to gently pull the giant centipede into his vast lap. “Soon, my little one,” he murmured to it, enjoying its rumbling wriggle as he petted its mangy fur. “Soon, I will shed the last trappings of the flesh…and be just…like…you.”

The monster growled its approval.
----------------------
 

The Count

Moderator
Staff member
Joined
Jul 12, 2002
Messages
31,234
Reaction score
2,919
Okay...

Bunsen humming Always Look on the Bright Side of Life... Wouldn't that tune be more better suited for Gonzo? He does after all have the hooknosed profile for that role.

Hmm, that sure was a quick recovery... Admitted on Sunday, discharged and back on the hunt the following Monday.
Rhonda, stay with Gina, you're going to need to be there to help Newsie as he gets in deeper and deeper.

The CDC and Swat team open the green closet door to find... A brick wall. Yep, saw that coming, classic cover your tracks practice. Good that one of the cops noted it was still fresh and could be busted down. Bad however they won't get anyone to do it until November 1.

Newsie's mind hit the lynchpin unlocking his blacked out memory. Connecting the dots are you? Careful you're not spooked by what the image reveals. Glad he's off to the theater where he'll hopefully get some answers instead of more run-around.

The Underlord has that weebabeast/woolly centipede as a pet? Aw, how nice. Wait, dark ascention? Soon he'll be just like his own pet? Okay, that adds a new name to my list of guesses as to his ickyness's identity. You've just scored yourself a bonus of ramchips for going that route. But remember the underlord needs to ingest the boxful of grubs if he wants the transformation to take place. At least we won't have to wait until Graduation Day for the battle this time.

More please?
 

The Count

Moderator
Staff member
Joined
Jul 12, 2002
Messages
31,234
Reaction score
2,919
Just a fiendly little bump. *Leaves some coconut cake squares.
 

newsmanfan

Well-Known Member
Joined
Apr 5, 2011
Messages
2,927
Reaction score
1,663
(thank you! I like coconuts! :news:)

Part Twenty-Eight

Mondays being the weekly “dark days” for the Muppet Theatre, nobody was around when the Newsman burst into the backstage entry and sprinted through the stage right wing to the basement stairs. “Hello?” he yelled as he ran, “Hello? Dr Honeydew? Beaker? Help!”

The commotion did attract attention: as Newsie fumbled for the lightswitch in the short tunnel below the stage, a scaly blue figure in a tattered evening jacket slunk around the green room balustrade, horns perked. “Good heavens, what’s all the racket?” the dragon grumbled. “Can’t a fellow enjoy some ominous silence once in a while?”

Newsie turned the doorknob to the Muppet Laboratory, calling as he went: “Beaker? Dr Honeydew? Are you home?” A mechanical arm swung out from the doorway, whisking a metal pail through the air just over the reporter’s frazzled hair. “Agh!” Newsie ducked, staring up worriedly as the bucket tipped over, spilling a dark fluid onto the hall floor, then wobbled back through the doorway. A booby trap? Since when have those guys been so guarded? Well, at least it didn’t get me… “Uh…hello?”

No answer came, save for the quiet bips and brups of the lab equipment. Newsie peered inside cautiously, but nothing else sprang at him. The soft whirr of a reel-to-reel magnetic tape recorder suddenly running and then stopping startled him. “Where could they be?” he wondered.

“Like, dude, I’m gonna see what’s to eat around here,” Tommy spoke up from the end of the hall, shuffling back toward the canteen.

Frustrated, the Newsman stepped gingerly into the lab. Was there any way to preserve the gunk now dried on his fingertips? Spotting a rack of empty glass vials, he grabbed one and did his best to scrape some of the crystallized greenish stuff into it, plugged it with a rubber stopper, and laid it upon a worktable. The sounds of the lab equipment running on autopilot may have been normal – relatively – but they quickly unnerved him. Digging his notepad and pencil stub from a coat pocket, Newsie scribbled a note for the lab boys: Need this analyzed! May be dangerous!

Backing out of the lab with nervous glances all around, Newsie suddenly whirled: he could’ve sworn he saw movement in the dim corridor. “H-hello?” he called. Utter silence filled the space under the stage, from prop room to green room. “Tony? Is that you?”

A low chuckle sounded right behind him. The Newsman spun, only to be whacked in the forehead by the dangling bucket booby-trap. “Waaagh!” he cried, nearly stumbled over his own shoes, and hastily broke for the green room. Just before he reached it, the door slammed shut; his glasses crunched painfully against his nose when he couldn’t stop in time. “Ow! Aaagh!” The lights in the corridor suddenly cut out. “Hey! No!” Newsie’s shaking fingers reached for the switch, only to touch something cold as the grave. With a frightened yelp, he jerked back. A pair of glowing green eyes advanced toward him from the darkness. “Yaaahhgh!” Screaming, Newsie ran blindly for the opposite end of the hall, where another door led to a short flight of steps up to stage left. He bounced off either side of the hallway, fumbling for the way out. Low, menacing laughter filled the corridor behind him. Monsters! Monsters! No! Gasping, Newsie bruised his shin on the lowest step and thumped his shoulder against the knob of the open exit door. With a whimper, he scrambled up the steps, emerging at last stage left by the dark flyrail.

A shifting of the air behind him, the softest flutter of sound, made him turn, cringing; a ghostly figure swooped up onto the loading rail. Uncle Deadly alighted there, leaning over the safety railing with arms spread wide, chortling deeply. Newsie stared up at him, eyes wide, and the dragon grinned. “Boo! Mwah ha ha haaaa!”

“You!” Newsie choked. “You – you’re one of them!” Though he felt almost too terrified to think, he yelled up at the spectre, “What have you done with my cousin?”

“What the devil are you blabbering on about?” Deadly asked, frowning.

“Snookie Blyer! You’re keeping him with the other monsters!” Newsie dared a step toward the rail. “T-tell me where he is!”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,” Deadly sniffed haughtily. “This now makes twice you’ve accused me of some sort of kidnapping! You, sir, need a lesson in manners!”

“Monsters! You’re a monster! You took that blind man to see Snookie! He had my cousin’s autograph on his little clay bits!” Newsie shouted, but the dragon only frowned.

“Must I be pestered by insane big-mouths on my day off?” Deadly growled. “I suppose next you’ll accuse me of pandering anti-oil propaganda! Begone, foolish Muppet!”

With a chilling cry of gibberish, the phantom swooped down upon the Newsman, his rotting silk cape billowing behind him like a dead moth’s wings. Newsie shrieked, flattening himself to the stage floor. Deadly landed a few feet away, and turned slowly, a wicked smile quirking his long jaws. “So, you fear monsters, do you? I’ll give you something to be afraid of! Mwooh ha ha ha hah!”

In the deserted canteen, the sloth tilted his head slowly at the ceiling. Faint screams and echoing laughter drifted through the boards. Tommy nodded. “He did find someone home…cool.” Unconcerned, he resumed rummaging through the muttering greenish things in the ‘fridge.

-------------------------
“Did you get it?” Gonzo asked, standing up from his bunk.

“Yabba,” Rosie McGurk nodded, reaching under his fur to produce a wallet-sized photograph. Before he could hand it through the bars, Gonzo slipped sideways between them to grasp the picture and gaze fervently at it.

“Ohhh…Camilla,” he sighed. The photo was from their last trip to Coney Island. Camilla had enjoyed cotton candy on the boardwalk, and Gonzo had been smushed by a strongman at one of the test-your-strength games: a wonderful time all around. Gonzo swallowed down a lump in his skinny throat at the sight of his squashed body cuddling the chicken in the photo booth, on that sunny day a summer ago. “Thanks,” he murmured at McGurk.

The monster blinked all three eyes in sympathy. “Garabba grelbem.”

Gonzo leaned against the locked door of his cell, eyes misting as he gazed at the soft feathers, the cute little beak, the sexy red wattles… “Do you…do you think she’s forgotten me, Rosie?”

“Agg! Nahhhg,” McGurk assured him, shaking his head so vehemently tufts of feathers came loose. He hadn’t grown back the acid-singed fur yet, so a borrowed caftan of bright scarlet fur made him look like a cardinal of monsters.

Gonzo gloomily slumped within his own colorful egg-print bathrobe. “I mean…no calls, no fan mail…we do get fan mail, don’t we?” McGurk nodded in reply, pointing out a slushpile of unopened letters and postcards. A bored, buzzard-nosed blue Frackle was shoveling them into a metal trashcan in which a weak flame flickered, barely heating the underground jail. Gonzo stared at that dully, then sighed again. “I don’t even know if she voted for me! Maybe…maybe all this has been for nothing.”

“Nahbba!” McGurk insisted, and gestured broadly, reminding Gonzo of the crowd’s acclaim, of the boss’ favoritism, of all the perks the daredevil had earned due to his popularity. “Fah ibba, monstah rabba rabba, puzza!”

“Pizza isn’t everything, Rosie,” Gonzo said. “I mean, sure, finally finding my audience has been fantastic…but…I keep looking out into that surging crowd…all those drooling sharp teeth, all those bug-eyes, y’know, and wishing just once I’d see a cute little chickie-babe gazing up at me.” He sighed a third time, even more deeply.

“Buh,” McGurk murmured. Awkwardly he patted Gonzo’s shoulder. “Grah Izznay, stupabba fah garabba magga nah blah!”

“Yeah…Wednesday. I know.” Gonzo shook his head. “My mind’s a blank. It really kind of…just hit me today. I haven’t even seen her in weeks! And my phone’s dead, and they confiscated yours, and none of my emails seem to be going through…” Rosie’s eyes widened as Gonzo held up a clicking, ticking iCrab. Gonzo tapped the flat screen on its broad back and tweaked a claw, then turned the screen so McGurk could view it. “See?” The Frooglemail window blinked: address not found error. “Come on, what’s up with that?” Rosie wondered how the heck Gonzo had even snuck such an instrument into his cell; all his personal effects had been confiscated after the incident with the big screen on the ‘Break a Leg!’ set. “Could she really not…not want to talk to me anymore?”

“Muhba shagga buzzah?” Rosie offered.

“What could she be busy with? Or maybe it’s who she’s getting busy with!” Unhappily, Gonzo contemplated the possibility Camilla had finally accepted Blackie’s many not-so-subtle hints about nesting. After all, gorgeous though she was, the chicken wasn’t getting any younger, and maybe the rooster’s innuendo about eggs had… “Eggs,” Gonzo muttered, suddenly noticing the all-over print on his robe. Brown, white, speckled… “Eggs! Oh for crying out -- Rosie, I am such a dunce!” He grabbed the bewildered monster’s arms. “She kept clucking about eggs! A nest! She was trying to tell me – and I didn’t even – and those chick-rearing magazines she suddenly subscribed to – Rosie! I get it! I get it! Camilla wants to have an egg!” He gulped, the full implication of that whomping him so hard he sat down on a slow-moving giant lobster-faced turtle-thing which had ambled over to roast a marshmallow at the mail-fire. Ignoring the creature’s grumble, Gonzo turned astounded eyes to his friend. “She…she wanted to have an egg…with me!”

“Egga?” Rosie repeated, confused. “Wuh…fragga egga, froh habba-boila…”

“Hard-boiled? What are you, a cannibal?!” Gonzo exclaimed, shocked. Quickly McGurk took a step back literally and figuratively, waving his hands in shameful apology. “No, you weirdo! She wants to have kids! She was trying to…trying to…” Gonzo had to take a deep breath, the strength abruptly drained from his body. “She was trying to tell me she wanted something more…and I didn’t even listen. I was too caught up in myself, in my own dreams, to even think about hers…” He shook his head. “Oh, Camilla. Rosie, what have I done?”

Perplexed, the monster bit his upper lip, then gestured hesitantly at the pile of props the other monsters had thoughtfully donated to keep the betting pool afloat: chainsaws, flamethrowers, a ground-to-air missile launcher, a vase of pussywillow shoots, and one sparkly blue Super Rubber Bouncy Ball. “Uh…plagguh boomba?”

Gonzo dismissed him with a shake of his head. “No, I don’t want to plan the next act! Don’t you see, Rosie? Camilla…Camilla loves me…” He choked up. “Or…at least, she did…what am I gonna do?”

The long tongue of the monster drooped in sympathy. At a loss, McGurk shook his head as well. The turtle-thing under Gonzo shifted and muttered, “Can you get off so I can toast this before the fire goes out?”

Ignoring it, Gonzo suddenly leaned forward and clutched Rosie’s sleeve. “I have to get out of here, Rosie! I have to go find her!”

Alarmed, McGurk shook his head violently. “Nabba! Nabba! Nooga fragga acka muhgagga ubbil ebba cohnfrah!”

“Well to be honest, I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Gonzo said, sinking back onto the crawling creature before it moved an inch toward the trash-barrel fire. It groaned and flailed its stubby legs in vain. “You mean I can’t leave until the contest is over? What happens if I just split out?”

“Agrahgga fubba waahhhh!” McGurk yelled, throwing his arms in the air. A piece of pink feather drifted slowly down from the scraggly tuft on his head as he stood there; both of them watched it hit the floor.

Gonzo turned a frown to his friend. “Well, that doesn’t sound good.”

“Nugga,” McGurk agreed, worried.

“So…soon as I win this thing, I can get out of here, and maybe convince Camilla I’m ready to…to…” he swallowed hard. “To, uh, at least talk about this whole egg thing?”

“Uhhh…shabba,” Rosie lied, wincing.

“Well…it sounds kinda unfair. Are you sure the contract said that? I don’t remember any imprisonment clause.”

“Unfair is being stuck under a naked weirdo in a bathrobe,” the lobster-faced thing muttered, thumping its short tail in annoyance.

“Gagga rubba gawgrack,” McGurk assured Gonzo seriously.

“Fine, okay, whatever,” Gonzo grumbled. He looked, unenthused, at the pile of balls, props, and implements of destruction next to the cell. “What was the requirement this time? Shovels and rakes?”

“Shavah, rakkah,” Rosie agreed. He picked a promising-looking double-bladed coal rake from the stack and showed it to the daredevil. “Tah daaaagga!”

“Eh…boring.” Lost in contemplation, Gonzo ignored McGurk hopefully producing construction and yardwork tool after tool from the pile, as well as the still-struggling thing beneath him. “Hey…what if…Rosie!” He shot to his feet, grabbing a startled McGurk. “I’ve got it!”

“Finally…” the turtle-thing groaned, starting a slow crawl toward the dying fire.

“Let’s do an act…with eggs!” Rosie stared at him, speechless. Excited, Gonzo looked around, grabbing a hook-pronged Frackle rake and a sharply pointed garbage shovel. “Yes! That’s it! Rosie – we’ll balance five and a half dozen eggs on these tools! We’ll juggle them, and balance them, and do it all while walking on extremely painful sizzling coals!”

“Wuhgga?” McGurk gulped.

“Yes, we! I’ll need your help for this! Okay, first, get me some eggs! As many as you can! I don’t care – any kind! We need to practice!” As McGurk stood there, stunned, an ebullient Whatever spun the rake in one hand and the shovel in the other, whacking the forelegs off the turtle-thing by accident.

The creature glared at its limbs wriggling around trying to find their way back home, then at the unreachable fire. “Oh come on!”

“Rosie, we are going to put on the best darned rake-and-shovel-egg-protecting act ever committed to film -- outside of that incident at the Easter basket plant in Patterson last year, anyway. If Camilla’s still watching me, she’ll see I finally understand! She’ll see how gentle and protective and – and – fatherly I can be! This is wonderful!” He grinned at the frozen McGurk. “Well don’t just stand there! Let’s get cracking! Er…wait. Bad expression. Get me those eggs!” He shoved McGurk toward the cell-block exit, whirling around to start tossing items out of the prop pile in search of just the right equipment, so he didn’t see his assistant trip over one of the clawing, clutching forepaws on the floor.

“Waauugh!” Rosie cried, desperately trying to shake the grabbing claw free of his nose.

“Gimme that! Paw-thief! Paw-thief!” the turtle-thing shouted, bumping clumsily against McGurk’s feet. With a strangled cry, Rosie stumbled down the rocky corridor. The turtle-thing reattached its other forepaw and began limping after McGurk, still yelling. Gonzo’s attention was focused on the pile of stuff: shovels, rakes, and implements of construction flew through the cramped corridor.

With an annoyed sigh, the buzzard-nosed Frackle tamped down the last of the fan mail. He noticed the dropped marshmallow-on-a-stick on the floor nearby, and picked it up. Weird as this assignment could be, it did sometimes have its perks. Shortly, the crackle and hiss of a toasting bit of fluff added its small sound to the cacophony ringing through the cell block.

--------------------------------
Beaker trudged behind Bunsen as the two made their way through the theatre. Bunsen chatted cheerfully: “I thought the test of the spider-enraging spray went very well, don’t you? And tomorrow we’ll put down the motion-activated ghoul-droppers!”

“Meep,” Beaker muttered glumly. His hair was covered in dirty cobwebs, and the back of his lab coat was shredded, with one broken fang still embedded in it. He thought he saw some slight movement out of the corner of one eye, and whirled. Something reddish and yellowish was sticking out from behind the edge of a rope-holding crate in the stage right wing. Beaker grabbed Bunsen’s sleeve, tugging hard to get his colleague’s attention. “Mee meep!”

“Yes, yes, I already said we could order a pizza,” Bunsen said, turning, then realized Beaker was frantically pointing at something in the shadows of the unlit wing. “What is it? Oh! Did you find that mutant hamsterburger we re-animated that got loose last week?”

“Muh-uh,” Beaker corrected, pointing again at the mostly-hidden thing crouched behind the crate. “Meep!”

“My goodness, what have we here?” Bunsen wondered, trotting right over to the crate despite Beaker’s tremulous warnings. He leaned over for a closer look. Beaker cringed. Something yellow and red and waving crazed arms shot up from behind the crate. “Oh my!”

“Get back! Shoo! Shoo! Leave me alone! You’ll never take me alive! Aaaaaaaa!”

The lab duo stared in surprise as a disheveled, wide-eyed Newsman bolted across the stage, crashing into the flyrail; knocked loose, one of the levers dropped, and suddenly a row of black curtains billowed down, piling in thick ribbons until the batten holding them reached the end of its lines and bounced about two feet above the stage floor, twanging loudly. Honeydew walked calmly around the piles of curtains to the stunned Newsman laying on the floor. “Newsman? Whatever is the matter?”

Newsie blinked up at him, glasses knocked off, then suddenly screamed again and scrambled to his feet. “No! No! You won’t eat me! I won’t let you eat me! Waaaggh!”

“Beaker, stop him!” Bunsen called. When the terrified reporter ran by the low-dangling batten, Beaker shoved it hard; it smacked Newsie’s side, and over he toppled with a stifled groan. Bunsen hurried up, producing a syringe from a coat pocket. Beaker didn’t have time to wonder why Bunsen even carried something like that before the scientist jabbed it into the back of Newsie’s neck and depressed the plunger; a rubber mallet popped out of the middle of the syringe and whacked Newsie atop his skull. The frightened Muppet slumped unconscious. Bunsen, relieved, put away the gadget, smiling at a flabbergasted Beaker. “A little project I’ve been working on, for people who need their vaccinations but simply can’t stand needles!”

“Mee mo,” Beaker mumbled, shaking his head.

“Help me get him to the lab, and we’ll find out what’s gotten into the poor Muppet,” Bunsen said. Together they carried Newsie to the freight elevator and went downstairs.

When Newsie came to, his head ached, his side felt sore, and a woozy feeling enveloped him all over. “Wha…what hit me?” He didn’t recall the News Flash, but a lifetime of such experiences made that the most likely culprit.

Dr Honeydew beamed at him. “Oh, good! Feeling any better?”

“Define ‘better,’” Newsie grumbled, tentatively touching the crown of his skull. A raised welt under his hair made him wince.

“Mee meep me,” Beaker said, offering Newsie his glasses. He put them on very slowly, assessing what exactly hurt where.

“I…I was…hey!” He stared at Bunsen. “The dragon! He was trying to kill me!”

“Meee!” Beaker gasped, but Honeydew shook his head.

“No one else is here today, Newsman. Except for that sloth fellow sleeping on the lighting rail on the balcony… We’ve analyzed the crystalline substance you brought us, and since you seemed to have been badly exposed to it, I took the liberty of creating an antidote and, er, administering it to you.”

Well, that explained the sore spot on his rear, anyway. Grimacing, Newsie tried to recall everything. “Right, the stuff from the Nofrisko basement…exposed? So…so it was dangerous!”

“Well, ‘dangerous’ might be a bit of an exaggeration,” Honeydew said thoughtfully. He backed off a step so Newsie could groggily stand up from the padded bench he’d been laying on. Pointing to a computer screen which showed some kind of complicated chemical diagram, Bunsen continued, “You see, the ingredients, though unusual, actually form a fairly simple compound which, when ingested – or absorbed through the felt, as happened to you, Newsman – causes an extreme reaction in the hippocampus, provoking an intense flight reaction! Since you were unfortunately infused with the stuff, you experienced an overwhelming negative provocation which shorted out your higher reasoning faculties!”

“Come again?” Newsie asked, peering around the lab in confusion. Compact florescent tubes lit everything brightly, revealing the jumble and clutter of equipment which was at least normal for Muppet Labs…and yet he seemed to remember being terrified of this room for some reason…

“Mee mee meep me, mee mee mee, meeeee!” Beaker explained, waving his arms at the end. Newsie stared at him a second, then turned back to Honeydew.

Patiently, the scientist rephrased. “The stuff made you so terrified you couldn’t think straight.”

“Oh.” Newsie frowned. “But – but there is good reason to be afraid, Dr Honeydew! I know I didn’t imagine that phantom attacking me! That only proves my suspicion that he’s part of the evil crew behind all the disappearances – and he must know where the Ars Moribunda Studios are!”

“Meep?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bunsen said crossly. “We didn’t see any phantoms, did we, Beakie?”

“Muuuhhh…” Beaker mumbled, thinking of the Phantom of the Muppet Theatre. Surely Bunsen hadn’t forgotten how angry the spectre still was with them for inventing a ghostbusting raygun? He tapped his lab partner’s shoulder. “Me mee meep mee meep me!”

“Oh, that phantom!” Bunsen frowned. “How is he connected to the substance we tested? By the way, Newsman, that formula was in the same one you brought me earlier; you said it was for a snack cake? Except what you had on your fingers was in a vastly higher concentration than its usage in that first recipe. Hmm…I surmise you found the main cache of the monsterphobia-inducing additive!”

“Monsterphobia…” Newsie, startled, perked up. “So…so I wasn’t being attacked?”

“Well, certainly not by us!” Honeydew chuckled. “Perhaps that nice Mr Deadly just wanted to talk to you, and in your deranged state, you perceived him as a threat!”

“Muh-uhh,” Beaker disagreed. He knew better than to get on that dragon’s bad side again!

Newsie considered this, trying to think past the ache in his brain. “Since you already suffer from that psychological ailment, the effect was doubled, perhaps tripled on your delicate psyche!” Honeydew offered. “We’re going to run some more tests on the sample you gave us.”

“But why would a company in league with monsters want to make anyone afraid of them?” Newsie wondered again.

Honeydew shrugged. “Well, I have heard that some monsters prefer the taste of the adrenaline rush which accompanies extreme fear in sentient creatures. Mr Doglion and I had a most fascinating conversation about that oh, wasn’t it last year, Beakie, when he asked if we could formulate a diet food which still tasted scared? He wanted to slim down his hips for bathing-suit season,” he explained to Newsie.

“They – they want us scared of them?” Newsie gulped. This was even more dastardly than he’d imagined!

Honeydew turned back to his computer, twiddling with the equation on the screen. “Well, you’d have to ask them! I myself prefer my food immobile and a little on the spicy side, tsst tsst!” He smiled. “Speaking of…Beaker, why don’t you order us that jalapeño and Koozebanian bacon pizza?” As Beaker agreed and picked up the phone, Bunsen invited Newsie, “Are you hungry, Newsman? You’re welcome to join us…although we’d appreciate the donation of a few dollars in that case.”

“No…no thank you,” Newsie muttered, trying to reorient himself. Although he knew the theatre like the back of his glasses, he still felt uneasy and out-of-sorts, and more questions swirled through his brain, it seemed, with each new piece of information. “I…I need to find that dragon. Need to find out what he really knows.”

“Are you sure talking to a ghost so soon is a wise choice?” Bunsen asked. “You may still have a flashback or two from that overdose of omniamonstruophobiitis.”

“I need answers,” Newsie snapped. “I have to find my cousin, before something awful happens to him! I just hope…” Leaving the terrible thought unfinished, Newsie walked unsteadily from the lab up toward the stage level.

“Mee,” Beaker sighed, watching the grimly determined reporter leave.

“Well put,” Bunsen agreed. He stared at the empty doorway a long moment, then suddenly perked. “Beaker! We could help him!”

“Mee?” Confronting a notoriously touchy ghost didn’t sound like a good idea to Beaker.

“No, no. Look! We have here the antidote formula, you see? What if we condensed that into a daily supplemental tablet which monsterphobia sufferers such as the Newsman could ingest as a counterweight to their natural disorder? Think of it! Muppet Labs Anti-Monsterphobia Pills!”

“Meep meep,” Beaker said, considering it. He nodded. Wasn’t ‘better living through science’ what they were all about, anyway?

Bunsen clapped his fellow scientist on the shoulder. “Wouldn’t it be nice to do something for him, especially considering the terrible toll his work surely takes on him? Ah, the poor Muppet. I really feel for him sometimes, Beakie. After all, can you imagine experiencing pain, humiliation, and regular squashing every day just for doing your job?”

Beaker did a double-take, staring at Bunsen. Cheerful again, Bunsen rolled up the sleeves of his lab coat. “Come on, Beakie! Let’s get to work! The pizza can wait – we’re on a mission for Science!”

---------------------
Newsie squinted up into the high rafters of the theatre grid, seeing nothing but endless lines of strong metal cables holding aloft the various curtains, rows of lights, and other scenery regularly used in the show. “Deadly?” he called, realized he sounded like a strangled frog, and cleared his throat nervously. “Ahem…uh…Uncle Deadly?”

The stage remained silent as the grave. “Uh…look…I need to talk to you! Horrible plots are afoot, and you seem to know where the base of monster operations is! I have to find it!” Silence. Newsie walked slowly around the stage, his eyes searching the wings, the flyrail, the lighting bays out front all in vain hope of seeing a flash of dark blue scales or the glitter of unearthly eyes. “Monsters are planning something awful, something big, and it involves a television network called MMN! They film somewhere under the city, I think… Look, I know you’ve been there! That visitor had my cousin’s autograph, and he said it was underground, the studio where you took him to see a show, and my cousin was there, and…” Realizing he sounded confused and possibly ridiculous, Newsie stopped.

Why would the spectre help him, anyway? Even undead, he was still definitely a monster…and Newsie was sure, despite his flurried memory of the past few hours, that Deadly had come after him, and not to exchange opinions on the weather! Trying one last time, he yelled, “I know you can hear me! Truce, okay? I need to talk to you! Please!”

He waited. Nothing at all happened. Sighing, he turned toward the exit. Movement off to his side made him jump and flinch.

“Whoa, dude,” Tommy mumbled, slowly raising empty paws. “Like, did you want the footage from today? I gotta get home. My favorite show is on in three hours.”

Newsie glared at him. “Stop sneaking up on me! Yes, give me the footage. I’ll take it back to Rhonda.” He hadn’t even thought about the rat since he arrived at the theatre. Feeling guilty, he held out his hand and the sloth deposited the memory card from the camera into his palm. “Go home, get some rest. We may need you again tomorrow.”

“You’re paying for lunch then,” the sloth informed him, and loped off slowly.

Newsie curled his fingers around the precious card, sighing. He glanced once more into the darkened flyloft. Nothing stirred. “With or without your help, I will figure this out and find my cousin,” he growled, and headed out the front lobby to hail a cab.

Dangling nearly invisible from one of the masking curtain pipes, Deadly mused in solitude again. A plot? Monsters? Television? The poor chap’s lost his tiny little mind. One too many things flattening his skull, no doubt. Still…Deadly had noticed a vast number of monsters belowground at that show taping; more, in fact, than he could recall ever seeing in one place before. He’d thought it a delightful display of solidarity at the time… What are they doing down there, indeed? Since when are the furred fearsome more interested in producing silly game shows than in chasing Whatnots through the park at night? Frowning, Deadly shifted his grip on the batten, his sharp memory bringing up images of monsters filling an audience, of monsters hurrying through back corridors as though they all worked there…and since when did monsters actually band together for a job which didn’t seem to directly involve eating someone within seconds?

“Very well,” he muttered, dropping lightly from the batten to land soundlessly on the stage floor. “Now I am a bit curious.” He tapped a claw against his snout. “Perhaps I ought to pay another visit to my old school chum Pew.” Of course the silly reporter was simply voicing his own paranoia…but what if there was some sort of monstrous convention going on, and they’d neglected to invite the scariest spook of them all? Deadly snorted. “Oh, they’d better not have! And I shan’t hear any more excuses about invitations being lost in the mail, like last time for that goblin-pull and quilting bee!” With a grim nod, he skulked off to the nearest rain gutter, wishing those uncultured heathens would install a lightrail system to the underrealm. Didn’t he pay his spook tax every year – and for what, a sewer system with no motorized transport? “Honestly,” he growled as his feet splashed into the muck on the tunnel floor. “I shouldn’t have to ruin a perfectly rotten pair of slippers every time I wish to go say hello!”

His mood dropping, Deadly tromped downward.
--------------------

 

The Count

Moderator
Staff member
Joined
Jul 12, 2002
Messages
31,234
Reaction score
2,919
Yay! <333 entire chapter.

Some lines I liked...
Rosie now liked a cardinal of a monster.
Gonzo: What? Are you a cannibal? No you weirdo.
UD: "I shouldn't have to ruin a perfectly rotten pair of slippers every time I wish to go and say hello."
Anti-monsterphobia pills.

Newsie, if you want to get the scariest spook's help, the first thing you should say is you're sorry. Then he'll listen, I hope.
Good show having Gonzo finally get what Camilla was trying to tell him. Little too late much?
I'm delighting in all the little tweaks and barbs included about the under-realm.

And about your signature... Is it midnight already? *Hopes it's not New Year's Eve's midnight though, then the master turns into an even more terrifying creature, Jack Parnell!
Oh, and I did post another oneshot today if you're interested in that lot.

Post more when possible. :scary:
 

newsmanfan

Well-Known Member
Joined
Apr 5, 2011
Messages
2,927
Reaction score
1,663
Part Twenty-Nine

Gina and Rhonda both stared at the Newsman when he trudged through the door to the apartment. Gina reacted faster, vaulting across the room to grab him by the shoulders in two seconds flat. “Sweetie! What happened? I was just about to start calling around!”

“Ow,” he replied.

Gina dropped to a crouch, examining him; he couldn’t meet her gaze, embarrassed at the damage he’d done to himself in his panic at the theatre. “Oh no. The snack company --?”

“Er…no. Long story,” Newsie sighed. “Could we…just, uh, settle in? It’s been a really long day.”

Concerned, Gina stroked his cheek, then kissed him. “For the moment, all right. But you owe me an explanation, cutie. When Rhonda told me she’d expected you back hours ago…”

“Didja get anything good?” the rat piped up from her cocoon of a soft throw blanket on the sofa. She started to lean forward, then winced.

“You can sit still, and keep pressing that poultice on your burn,” Gina informed her. Rhonda grumbled under her breath about bossy women. Turning back to Newsie, Gina enfolded him in a gentle hug; sighing, he returned it, careful not to stretch his injured ribcage too far. “Why don’t you wash up and get into your PJs, and I’ll order out, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Newsie mumbled, then noticed Gina had streaks of grease on her clothing and sawdust in her hair. She must have arrived home only a short while ago. “Um…join me?”

“Yeesh,” Rhonda muttered. “Showering together. Didn’t need that image.”

Newsie walked to the sofa and deposited the videocamera memory card next to the rat. “I don’t know how much is worth showing. There’s more going on, Rhonda. A lot more! I’m sure of it now. And I have to find a way into that underground studio…”

“I did not just hear you say that,” Gina growled.

Newsie stood, head down, a long moment, then looked up at her in solemn resignation. “I’ll take Sweetums along.”

She touched his forehead. “Huh. You feel normal.”

He frowned at her. “Normal. According to the lab guys, I have a ‘delicate psyche.’”

Gina stared at him, unsure how to react to that. Rhonda snickered. “Coulda told ya that months ago.”

“You’ve seen the evidence; you’ve seen the footage of that – that thing underground!” Newsie said to Gina, ignoring his producer. “Please tell me you don’t think my – my justified suspicion of monsters is leading me to jump to wrong conclusions now! I’m not crazy, and I’m not making a mountain out of a molehill!”

“Newsie, I believe you, and…” she paused, frowning. “Actually, no, I haven’t seen the thing you two ran into yesterday yet.” When she’d brought Newsie back from the hospital last night, all she’d been able to get out of him was that they’d encountered some sort of toxic creature in a secret tunnel, and that the authorities would be investigating today. “Maybe I should. Rhonda?”

“Uh…it’s kind of raw; the camera was really wobbly while we were running, and, um –“

“As if you haven’t been sitting here all day editing,” Gina argued. “Come on, let me see it.”

With a shrug, Rhonda keyed up the film she’d finished; though not as visceral as the original footage, it still showed plenty of unpleasantness. She’d put a blackout mask over her face during the slug part, although she was positive the news of her misadventure had already spread throughout the rodent community. As Gina turned the laptop around so she could view it, Rhonda muttered at Newsie, “Nice working with ya, Goldie.”

Gina watched the film in grim silence: Newsie venturing into the old Prohibition tunnel, finding the slime on the walls, and then the sound of the clattering bug-things accompanying a panicked run for the exit. When she saw Rhonda screaming on the tongue of the giant slug, Gina sucked in a breath and held it, frozen, through her desperate rescue. The time-edited film concluded with an ominous-seeming photo of the Nofrisko building they’d shot before venturing inside. “I, uh, was hoping he could get us something to add to that after the raid today,” Rhonda said.

Gina swallowed hard, and gently touched Rhonda’s paw. “I knew it was bad. I didn’t know just how horrible. I am so, so glad you’re all right.”

“Eh…I wouldn’t say all right, but it’ll grow back,” Rhonda said, shifting uncomfortably under the plush blanket she’d gathered around herself like a spa robe; it was a great deal less humiliating than the rabbit-fur coat.

Gina pulled Newsie into her arms again; he welcomed the affection, and impulsively nuzzled his nose against her stomach. “And you…you are a very brave Muppet, my love.” Sighing, Newsie closed his eyes, holding her close as she stroked his hair. He winced when her fingers found the bruise. “Sorry! But…” She took a deep breath. “No way are you going back down there! Didn’t the cops go after these…things?”

“The entrance was sealed up when they arrived,” he explained. “They say they’ll get to it next week. There’s more, though…” Feeling deeply weary, he met her gaze. “Um, can we just get cleaned up and relax a while first? I just…I really need…”

Gina melted at the sight of his eyes looking even more tired and strained than usual. “I love you,” she murmured, leaning over to kiss his nose. “All right. But this gets discussed before bed. I do not want to have to go to work tomorrow worrying about what awful things you might run into in this quest for truth!”

Newsie nodded, wrapping one arm around her, and Gina gently led him down the hall. “Hey, Rhonda?” she called over her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you turn on some music?”

“Why don’t I turn something on loud,” Rhonda growled, but picked up the remote to the TV and clicked through channels until she found an action film with explosive car chases. “Geez,” she said as she kept her ears tuned to that noise instead of any softer ones coming from the other rooms, “some things aren’t meant to be known! Bigfoot’s location, who really killed Kennedy, and what certain Muppets do in their private time!”

------------------
Some time later (too much time later, in one disgruntled and hungry rat’s opinion), the couple emerged in the living room again, appearing damp and clean and, in Newsie’s case, a little too happily weary, but at least clothed in warm pajamas and slippers. Rhonda quietly closed her laptop, casting a searching eye at Newsie; if he’d been exposed to something in the hidden lab, as she’d just seen on the sloth’s footage from today, he seemed to be holding up well. Gina took their preferences for sandwiches; while she was on the phone to the deli placing a delivery order, Rhonda beckoned Newsie over. “So, uh…are you feeling okay?” she asked.

“Wonderful,” he replied, blushing as he stole a happy glance back at his beloved.

“That’s not what I meant! Sheesh…I mean I saw ya dip your fingers in some kinda gook at that lab. Any side effects?”

“Oh, um. Er. Well…not anymore…”

“Can the great journalist give me some actual words on the subject?”

“They said it’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” Gina announced, dragging a large floor pillow over to the coffee table and settling crosslegged on it. She looked from an annoyed rat to a guilty Muppet. “Okay…what’s going on?”

“Yes, Newsie, what is going on?” Rhonda seconded, folding her arms over her chest, then wincing and holding her breath a moment in pain. “Gotta remember not to do that…”

“Er…uh…” Seeing expectant expressions on both the girls’ faces, Newsie sank down in the corner of the sofa opposite Rhonda. “Well, um…apparently…Nofrisko has been making a chemical that makes anyone who is, er, exposed to it, terrified of monsters…and apparently the monsters like that.”

“So were you exposed?” Rhonda asked. Gina, startled, shot Newsie a worried look.

“Sweetie!”

“I was, but I’m fine now,” he hurriedly assured her. “Dr Honeydew came up with the antidote.”

“So where were you all day?” Gina asked, visions of her Muppet scared out of his mind running amok through lower Manhattan taunting her.

“At the theatre. I went straight there after the Nofrisko raid, looking for the Muppet Labs guys, but they weren’t home…so I, uh, just waited for them.” The blush on his cheeks told Gina there was more to it, but she only frowned and let it slide for now. “Er. I’m fine. But…but I really need to find another way into those tunnels! I remembered what it was I forgot,” he told Gina.

“Good…” She wasn’t sure it was good, judging by his worried face. “What was it?”

“Uncle Deadly knows where my cousin is. It’s somewhere underground – I think at the studios where MMN tapes all of its shows! Same place that phone call came from!” He turned to Rhonda. “I told you it was all connected!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Gina sighed before Rhonda could speak up. “Newsie…you’re saying your cousin is in a TV studio run by monsters, which is somewhere underground, where we now know there are horrible slobbering bugmonsters –“

“Yes! Exactly!”

“—And how does someone impersonating you, or anyone wanting to hurt your Aunt Ethel, fit in to all this?”

“I don’t know yet. But that’s all the more reason why I need to find another way in!”

“You,” Rhonda growled at him, “are an idiot. Want me to say it again? Will it sink in at some point?”

Forestalling a retort by Newsie, Gina held up her hands. “My love, you aren’t an idiot. However…this has gone way out of control. Please do not go down there again! Let the cops do their job, even if it takes them longer than you’d like.”

“But – but – you said I should pursue the story! You said I was the only one who’d do it and so I should!” Newsie protested.

“I know. I know I did.” She shook her head. “That was before your friend got burned, and now that I’ve seen what did that…sweetie, it’s just too dangerous.”

They sat in silence a long while. Trying to comfort him, Gina reached across the table to run her fingers through Newsie’s hair, but he only gave her a deeply unhappy stare. “Look…maybe there’s some other way to find out where this TV studio is, and you can tell the cops you believe your cousin is being held there against his will, and they’ll –“

“How? How am I going to figure that out?” He shook his head angrily.

“You could use a frequency-strength locator to hone in on the broadcast signal,” Rhonda said. Seeing their quizzical expressions, she explained, “They have to have a tower to send out the signal, and typically that’ll be right on top of the actual broadcast station.” She cocked her head in disbelief at Newsie. “Honestly. Haven’t you ever been up on the roof at our station? That transmitter is a huge pain in the tuchis! Remember last summer when a big storm knocked out the transponders and –“

“I’m a reporter, not a technician!” Newsie snapped, but he gave the matter some thought. “How can we find their signal?”

“Newsie, no,” Gina sighed.

“Gadget’s easy to get, but you have to be able to tune it properly to pinpoint the signal. Most stations do a satellite bounce, and that can confuse the readings on the older instruments. Find the signal, find the tower, follow the cables down,” Rhonda said, shrugging. “Maybe way down, in this case.”

“Find the studio…find Chester…figure out what the monsters are up to,” Newsie muttered, nodding to himself.

Gina took his hands in hers and half-dragged him over the table. “Ulp,” he gulped aloud, staring startled into the very cool grey eyes of his love.

“Aloysius Ambrosius Crimp, don’t you dare,” Gina said in a low and dangerous voice. He didn’t know how to respond. Or if he should respond.

Rhonda cut into the tension. “So! Anyone wanna share some of my curry fries?”

The doorbell sounded. With another glare at Newsie, Gina rose to buzz the deliveryperson in downstairs, and opened the apartment door to await their food. Rhonda hissed at Newsie, “Lemme guess. She only uses your whole name when she’s really, really mad?”

“I don’t understand,” he whispered back, brow furrowed. “Just a few days ago she told me I should chase this story!”

“She loves you, you foambrain,” Rhonda snapped. “She doesn’t want ya killed!”

“I…I won’t be,” Newsie replied, trying to summon up more courage than he actually felt at the moment.

Gina shut the door as the harried-looking purple Whatnot in the deli’s uniform left, and plunked bags of food onto the coffee table. Wordlessly she doled out Newsie’s pastrami and grilled onions on pumpernickle with mustard potato salad and Rhonda’s sandwich au jus and fries before unwrapping her own applewood-smoked turkey with cranberries on honey wheat. Condiments and pumpkin beer were passed around in silence. Rhonda, shrugging, started in on her sandwich, knowing better than to get into an argument between lovers. Newsie couldn’t take the silent treatment long; he reached over to clasp Gina’s hand in his own, and when she looked at him, he said solemnly, “I won’t put myself in any danger, I promise. I’ll…I’ll find out where MMN broadcasts from, and if it can be accessed from the surface. I’ll check out those stories about the subway tunnels. Maybe there’s a safer way into the monster lair through there…and I’ll take Sweetums and – and Rizzo with me.”

Rhonda coughed, nearly choking on a fry.

Gina sighed, and looked askance at Newsie. “What makes you think those two will agree to work together?”

“I’ll…I’ll appeal to their sense of fair play and civic duty.”

Rhonda chortled. “Rizzo can’t even spell ‘duty’, and he thinks ‘civic’ is a car!”

“I’ll need someone familiar with underground spaces,” Newsie argued. “And someone small enough to scout ahead unseen!”

“Forget Rizzo,” Rhonda sighed, knocking back a long gulp of her beer through a straw. “When were you planning on this subway expedition?”

“T-tomorrow?” Newsie ventured, glancing nervously at Gina.

She shook her head. “Only if Sweetums agrees.”

“Find me better clothes, and I’ll go with ya,” Rhonda said.

Newsie stared at her; she scowled, recognizing the tremble in his upper lip. “You hug me, I’ll bite you.”

“Rhonda, I don’t think you’re healed enough to go tromping around in the subways,” Gina argued. “I appreciate your loyalty to Newsie, I really do, but –“

“Sister, who said anything about loyalty?” Rhonda sniffed. “Those creeps took my fur off! They tried to eat me! This is personal now!”

“What kind of clothes?” Newsie asked, casting about for his notepad.

Gina shook her head. “This is ridiculous. And about as smart as one of Gonzo’s stunts!”

“Hey, where is that weirdo, anyway?” Rhonda wondered. “He’s been outta the picture for weeks now…”

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Newsie asked her, finding his pad and pencil finally.

“Goldie, she’s right about the ridiculous, dangerous, and stupid part,” Rhonda admitted, “but no one does that to me, got it? No one! Not even nasty big ugly…horrible…bug-things…” she trailed off, shivering.

“Are you sure your cousin is at this TV studio?” Gina asked, trying a different tack to persuade her Muppet he was being dangerously foolish.

Struck by a thought, Newsie grabbed the TV remote, turned the set back on, and flipped through the listings until he found MMN. Clicking on it, he stared at the game show underway onscreen…and then blinked…and then yelled, “Chester!”

All three of them paused, food or drink or pencil frozen in hand, and stared at the pigs squabbling over something behind a long counter, the other group of pigs and what looked weirdly like a Muppet girl costumed badly as a pig on the other side of the set, and the yellow-felted Muppet in a loud plaid jacket waiting for the first group’s response. Behind and above them, a game board had words scrawled on cardboard pieces: COLLARD GREENS. MOLASSES. BEANS.

“Well, Carne-Asadas, what’s your answer? Remember, if you’re wrong, the board goes to the other team and if they guess right, they’ll get all your points too!” the host urged.

“That’s Chester!” Newsie gasped. “Snookie! That’s my cousin!”

Gina recognized the face from the photos Newsie had shown her in his aunt’s photo album. Rhonda managed to choke around her mouthful of roast beef: “Oh my gawd they dress the same!”

“See? See? I knew it! He’s down there! This show is produced by Ars Moribunda, and they’re below the city somewhere! Somewhere…” He fell silent, stunned, watching his cousin walk through the paces of his host duties. The sleek-haired Muppet appeared pale of felt, sad of eye, and the way his shoulders drooped plainly showed his lack of enthusiasm for his job. “He must be miserable,” Newsie said softly.

“He ain’t no Guy Smiley,” Rhonda agreed. “That is the most sarcastic host I’ve seen since Jon Stewart interviewed Dick Cheney.”

Snookie Blyer seemed indeed dismissive of the pigs’ fate, as first one, then another porker was sent to a large barbeque grill visible just off the main set in cutaway shots. Gina shuddered. “Ew. He doesn’t care if that…rabbity thing…eats them all?”

Uneasily, Newsie offered, “Maybe he’s used to seeing it.”

“Probably thinks better them than him,” Rhonda said. She pointed at the screen. “There, didja see how the monster with the cheesy rabbit ears just looked at that Snookie guy? Believe you me, I know a drooling, greedy, disturbingly hungry look when I see one!”

“Yeeugh,” Newsie choked, glancing at his sandwich.

“Oh, please. After the way that rent-a-cop roughed you up at the station, you should have no problem eating steak,” Rhonda grumbled at him. “Monsters eating Muppets is another thing entirely!”

“Just once, I’d like to be able to eat something without thinking about what it thinks,” Gina complained. “Even a veggie tray snapped at me once!”

“Don’t ever eat at the Muppet Theatre canteen,” Rhonda advised her.

“My cousin, you two! My cousin!” Newsie cried, pointing at the screen, where a barely-smiling Snookie was waving a curt goodbye at the camera as the end credits rolled; in the background, the large furry horned thing which was definitely not a bunny and another enormous furry monster were swallowing glazed BBQ pigs so fast the sauce was dribbling all down their protruding bellies. “This is proof! I have to find him, I have to get down there somehow!”

Agitated, he began to pace; Gina caught him and hugged him, and after a second he gave in, holding fast to her shoulders. “Newsie…okay. Okay. But please, please promise me you’ll stay clear of any monsters!” She glared at Rhonda. “Both of you!”

“No way am I getting near the nasty things again,” Rhonda agreed. “I was thinking more along the lines of throwing grenades.”

“If you find anything, you do not go in without me,” Gina insisted, staring into Newsie’s eyes. He swallowed back a protest, and nodded.

“I wonder if Rocco knows any arms dealers,” Rhonda mused.

“What…what happens then?” Newsie asked, his voice gruff but quiet.

Gina shrugged. “Then, I guess, we alert the cops. And if they won’t get involved…well…then we’ll figure something out ourselves.”

Newsie had no idea what they could do against an underground army of monsters, especially if they had more bugs. However, he nodded, and submitted to a long embrace, his cheek pressed against Gina’s, his nose filled with the softly spiced scent lingering on her skin after the shower. Breathing deeply, he tried to tell himself things would be all right, that he’d be able to find his cousin and rescue him somehow, he’d find out what the monsters had planned and expose them to the world, and it all would work out fine…somehow. Gina released him gently, giving him a faint smile as she stroked his nose, letting him know she still supported him. His tension dropped, and he kissed her; how lucky he was, to have such a woman on his side! She loved him, she worried about his safety, she volunteered to help if things became scary again --

“Do you have enough left in savings to buy a rocket launcher, ya think?” Rhonda asked. Gina and Newsie stared at her. She shrugged. “Just sayin’. Uh…how soon can you get me those clothes? Not that I’m ungrateful for the sleepover, really, but I wasn’t planning on walking around your place naked, and since my brothers seem to have forgotten their nearest relation’s simple request… A girl’s gotta have some self-respect!”

Newsie looked at Gina. She sighed. “Finish your dinner first. I think the TinyLand Doll Shop is open until eight…”

------------------
After saying their goodnights to Rhonda, leaving the little rat opening package after plastic-cardboard package and grumbling about Mattel labels not being the sort of designer signature she’d hoped for, Newsie and Gina closed the door to their bedroom. Gina sank onto the low bed, pulling off the jeans and Henley shirt she’d grudgingly donned to go shopping. Her pajamas lay atop the comforter, but she ignored them, crawling under the warm blankets.

Newsie debated removing all his clothing. “Uh…we do have, um, company…”

“The walls are thick, the door’s closed, and anyway she’s occupied with deciding what to wear on a subway fishing trip,” Gina pointed out. “Get in here.”

Unsure about the wisdom of disrobing with a guest in the apartment, Newsie only removed the sweats he’d thrown on over his all-over-pumpkin-print pajamas and climbed in next to her. He reached up to switch off the bedside lamp, turned to settle under the covers, and suddenly found himself pinned by a lithe, strong young woman. “Erk! Geez…”

She silenced him with a deep kiss; shortly he was too involved in that to remember that she’d just startled him. Her fingers slipping beneath his pajama shirt and the way she positioned herself over his shorter body made him quickly forget all about the issue of another person in the apartment. Gina broke away finally, leaving him panting softly, gazing up at her in amazement; his pleasure, however, changed to concern when the dim illumination of his nightlight caught the gleam of moisture in her eyes. “Gina?”

“I will not be put through that again,” she hissed at him. “Twice this year already I have had to deal with you in danger – almost killed! – and now I find out you d—d near were hurt again, and you’re planning on going places where there could easily be worse things, and – and – don’t you dare! Do you know what you mean to me? Don’t you dare get hurt!”

Stunned, Newsie held her, fumbled for words: “Gina…I…I’m sorry…I…”

“First it’s your cousin, then it’s your aunt, then it’s the story!” she snapped, holding him down with strong thighs, her hands tight on his shoulders. “I don’t care if you’re a Muppet, I don’t care how many times things have fallen on you at work, you are not indestructible!”

“I…I know that,” he stammered, overwhelmed in more than body. “Gina, I…I love you! I didn’t mean to…”

“You don’t think! You get all caught up in your next big scoop, the next big story, and off you go, rushing right into the jaws of – of – of some disgusting giant bug-thing I don’t even have a name for! And if you’d been killed down there I wouldn’t even know about it! I didn’t even know where you were except at that stupid snack company!”

“I’m sorry,” Newsie gulped; he flinched when a drop splashed onto his nose, and his own eyes filled with water in response. “Gina, I’m so sorry…I love you!” He reached up to touch her face, caressing her cheeks, meeting her fierce, wet gaze. “I love you!” he choked hoarsely.

“Oh God, Aloysius, I can’t lose you,” Gina said, her voice dropping, the anger giving way. “I can’t. Please don’t put yourself in any more danger. Please don’t…”

“I won’t,” he promised, his arms clasping her neck as she lowered her head to his, touching noses, her tears streaming down his cheeks. He closed his eyes, stroking her face, feeling her holding him tight. He swallowed hard, heart sinking. Have I really been that callous? Is finding Chester worth upsetting Gina? The thought of losing her made his chest feel hollow. “I’m sorry… I love you.”

“Look,” she sniffled, raising her head just far enough to stare into his eyes, “I know this is something you have to do. I understand that. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t go after the news, no matter how screwed-up that news is. I loved that about you even before we met.”

“You…you did?”

“Yeah. How you present your News Flashes…always so dedicated, even when you know it’s going to hurt,” Gina said, and gave him the tiniest, briefest smile. “That told me then what kind of Muppet you were. I love that about you; I just –“

He pulled her lips down to his, kissing her fervently, his tongue locking hers, determined not to let go. Eventually they both needed more oxygen, and broke the kiss, throats tight, eyes wet, nerves singing in chorus. “I’ll drop the story,” he whispered.

“No. Newsie, no.”

“It’s not fair to you,” he argued. “I’m sorry! I should have thought of that already. Rhonda’s right; I am an idiot, and I’ve been selfish, and stu—“

“Shut up,” Gina growled, one hand grabbing his mouth and holding it closed. “Can’t you allow me a little emotional release after nearly getting yourself killed?”

“Mf mnn?” he wondered, startled.

“No I’m not mad at you,” she said, though her tone said otherwise. “I love you, Newsman. Every bit of you, including the part too curious for his own good.”

She released his mouth; he worked his jaw a little, getting the kink out of his foam. “So…but…does that mean…”

“It means,” Gina murmured, sliding both hands under his shirt again, “that whatever you do, remember you have someone who would be devastated losing you. Can you do that?”

“Uh huh,” Newsie gasped, astonished at the swift turns of the conversation. Gina moved a little, and he groaned in unexpected response, and blinked up at her with blurry, baffled brown eyes. “What…what just happened?”

She kissed the tip of his pointed nose. “Consider it a lesson in stress release.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Mine. But we can make it both…”

Newsie stifled another groan at the next thing she did. “G-gina…”

She kissed his mouth again, one hand tickling through his hair while the other slid to the waistband of his pajama pants. “Just keep this in mind: if you ever. Run into. A big nasty monster again…” Keeping quiet took all the control he possessed, as she punctuated each few words with a flex of her hips. “You had better…run…home.”

“I will,” he gasped.

Gina drew him into another deep kiss. When she pulled back for a long breath, he smiled at her hesitantly. “You…you still love me? Even though I…I wasn’t thinking?”

“Absolutely,” she murmured, and bent her head to kiss the felt showing under his somehow-unbuttoned shirt. “Mmm…my delicious…Al-o-ish-us.”

“It is pronounced A-loy-zhuss,” he corrected with a puzzled frown. She knew perfectly well how it went!

“Oh,” she said, sitting up straight and giving him a wide, innocent look. “I guess I forgot, what with you away so much tromping down sewer pipes…”

“I think you need a reminder,” he said gruffly, but a smile touched his mouth.

“Oooh. Maybe I do,” Gina said, and with a giggle suddenly reversed their positions. Newsie clutched her sides, startled, then relaxed into a grin. Gina kept up the mock-bimbo act, pouting at him. “It’s just so hard to remember, when my Muffin’s never home…”

“Muffin!” he cried, then growled at her, “You definitely need a refresher course in Muppetology!”

“Refresh me, then,” she laughed.

A few minutes later, she seemed to remember how to pronounce it perfectly fine: “Aloysius…oh, Aloysius…”

In the living room, Rhonda groaned and drew the fluffy-soft blanket tight over her ears. The walls, as it turned out, were not thick enough.
---------------------
 

The Count

Moderator
Staff member
Joined
Jul 12, 2002
Messages
31,234
Reaction score
2,919
*Delivers a larger piece of the coconut cake we've got left.
*Ish melted thanks to the wonderful chapter where some of the cards are finally laid out for the intrepid news team to read.
*Snickers at Rhonda's reactions... The end line that the walls werenot, thick enough after all, is priceless.

Thank you for this steamy fanfic goodness, it's always well-received.
 

Ruahnna

Well-Known Member
Joined
Oct 24, 2003
Messages
1,913
Reaction score
1,149
Whoo-hoo! This must be the week for muppet cuddling!

Another stellar chapter, dear. Everything coming nicely to closure, all characters in play....very well done. (Although I would have suggested Rhonda try Build-a-bear for the clothes....)
 

newsmanfan

Well-Known Member
Joined
Apr 5, 2011
Messages
2,927
Reaction score
1,663
Whoo-hoo! This must be the week for muppet cuddling!

Another stellar chapter, dear. Everything coming nicely to closure, all characters in play....very well done. (Although I would have suggested Rhonda try Build-a-bear for the clothes....)
They make 'em in rat-sized double-C cup, three-inch-waist? :wink:

Thanks Ed and Ru and WhiteRabbit -- hey, if you wanna throw in your two cents as to WHAT you liked I'd be deeply appreciative! Criticism HELPS me improve, ya know... Thanks to all you patient readers silent in the back of the room. Trying to wind some of those loose threads together coherently...
-------------------
 
Top