Thanks Ru! I've always felt aspects of the Muppet monsters could be horrific if treated more seriously...perhaps it only takes a good Hitler rant to bring out the beast in them, hm? I give you...
Part Thirty-two
The sounds of whining power drills driving home screws, shouts and footsteps clanging from the grid, and heavy metal by Nine Inch Snails nearly overwhelming all else were familiar, even comforting sounds to Gina. She only looked up from her task of attaching loose-pin hinges to a series of flats when someone tapped her elbow. She pulled her finger off the trigger of her Makita, looking back – and then down, and finally saw the orange, lugubrious-looking Whatnot standing beside her. “Oh, uh, hi,” she yelled over the pounding music. “Can I help you?”
“Abernathy Bland,” the blue-haired Whatnot announced. He frowned up at the noise. “Could you turn that off?”
Gina waved her arms at the light booth until one of the other techies noticed. Gina yelled, pointed at the speakers, and made “cut” motions until the new electrician understood and turned down the sound. Gina looked back at the Whatnot. “Hi. Something I can help you with?” she asked. While people generally didn’t wander into tech builds in the middle of the day at the small theatre, it wasn’t unheard of, so she tried to be polite. A few other techies were stopping work and looking on, curious.
“I’m here to discuss the awards ceremony set-up with your production coordinator,” Bland said, removing a fat sheaf of papers from a briefcase.
“Awards...? Oh. The thing this weekend?” Gina asked, and the skinny orange Whatnot nodded. He glanced around at the other workers with what might have been distaste, or merely bafflement.
“Whom should I speak to about the lighting and sound and the stage set-up?”
Gina shot a look across the room at the theatre’s technical manager, Mike, who suddenly seemed to be very busy with part of a platform. “Hey, Mike?” Gina called. “There’s someone here to discuss the awards thing coming up. The theatre rental. Weren’t you coordinating –“
The portly, bearded man in painter’s overalls wiped his hands on his seat and waved dismissively. “Uh, nope, that one’s all yours! You know the upcoming build schedule better than I do; you’d be better at figuring out what needs to go where! Besides, uh, my kids have a dance recital that night. Can’t do it.” Flashing a grin at her, her boss sauntered towards the green room. “Hey, anyone else feel like a break?”
Gina glared after the rest of them as the space quickly emptied. She turned back to the lawyer. “I guess you’re talking with me, Mr Bland.” She studied him a moment as he nodded and looked around for someplace to set all his paperwork. “Um, you can spread your stuff out on that platform behind you. Are you...are you with that Muppet law firm?”
“Ah yes! You’ve heard of us,” Bland smiled, though it faded immediately as he realized a thin layer of sawdust coated the platform. He whisked off a spot with a pristine handkerchief, looking regretful at having to dirty it.
“You guys are handling Newsie’s discrimination case against KRAK.”
“Oh! You know the Muppet Newsman?” Gingerly, Bland seated himself on the edge of the elevated plywood. Gina dropped onto it a couple of feet away, ignoring the dustcloud she sent wafting toward the lights.
“He’s my...my partner,” Gina explained. She never knew how to refer to her beloved to other people; boyfriend seemed inadequate, and lover too clinical somehow, and love of my life too intimate for situations like this. “My...significant Muppet.”
“Ah. I see. Well, Miss...”
“Broucek.”
“Actually, if that’s the case, my partner – law partner – Mr Blander is handling the Newsman’s case, so you’d have to ask him any details concerning its status. Shall we take a look at the stage plans my administrative assistant drew up?”
“Sure,” Gina replied, a little put off by the lawyer’s careful neutrality. His stony expression when she’d explained what Newsie meant to her made her wonder whether the Whatnot personally disapproved of a Muppet being involved with a non-felted woman. I guess reverse discrimination isn’t covered by their tolerance campaign. “What were you guys wanting?”
“Well, no doubt you’ve heard we are renting your little hall here for the entire evening of the twenty-ninth, from four p.m. until midnight. There will be a formal dinner, which we’ve arranged for Johnny Fiama’s Pasta Kitchen-Without-No-More-Plays to cater, so we’ll of course need space for them to set up their warming ovens. You do use two-hundred-twenty volt outlets? Good. The tables ought to be set up here, here, here, and there; and perhaps these platforms might serve for the awards stage, assuming you can paint them bright gold, as befits –“
“Wait, hold on,” Gina interrupted, pulling the precisely-sketched diagram away from the Muppet to study it, looking from it to the actual stage space of the black-box theatre they sat in. “Uh, okay, we could pull up some of the masking curtains in the wing for the caterers to set up, I guess; and yeah, there should be room for you to set up tables along the front here; we can just move back the audience platforms, but –“
“Oh no, no; perhaps your employer hasn’t made our needs clear beforehand,” Bland said, his heavy-lidded eyes blinking slowly. “Your staff must have the tables set and ready for us at four o’clock Saturday.”
“Mr Bland, we’re not a party rental service. You bring your own tables.”
“Oh...I see,” Bland muttered, frowning. “Well, that’s a little less than we were expecting for what you’re charging.”
“We don’t have buffet tables, Mr Bland. We do have an assortment of prop furniture in storage, but I’m guessing you weren’t really wanting a cast-iron ice-cream-parlor table next to a midcentury modern coffee table.” Gina frowned right back, inwardly cursing Mike. She had enough to deal with, trying to get the build for two separate shows done in the next few days so that rehearsals for both could begin while paint and lighting commenced immediately after Halloween! Just because she was serving as tech director and designer for next month’s shows didn’t mean she had time or patience to take on this kind of silly customer service! She pushed the floorplan back at Bland. “Tell you what. If you get the tables here by four, I’ll have a couple of our guys help your guys set ‘em up. Now, the platforms: yes you can use them, but there won’t be time to paint them gold or anything else. I suggest you bring a couple of dropcloths to drape over them. We have some you can use, but they’re all grey. Now if that’s acceptable, we can have those in place by Saturday.”
“Grey? But this is an awards ceremony for our biggest MADL donors!”
Oh, wonderful, Gina thought. Newsie had told her of his run-ins at the Occupy camp with some of the MADL reps. Lucky him; he’ll be at his theatre that night for the usual show. “Well, Mr Bland,” she sighed, “This is really short notice. Your choices are: let us put down some plain cloths for you, or bring your own, or leave the stage platforms bare wood.” She thumped the one they sat on for emphasis. Bland looked glumly at it, then shrugged.
“Very well...grey. We needn’t spend too much on overhead, you understand, Ms Broucek, since this is supposed to be a fundraiser as much as a ceremony to recognize those Muppets who’ve contributed the most to the cause this year. Ahem.” He checked his rider – no, list of demands, Gina corrected herself, suppressing a smile. “Now, as to music...”
The negotiations continued another hour; work resumed around them, although people tried to drill or hammer quietly. Gina ignored the noise; this was work which needed to proceed to make their production schedule, and the stuffy lawyer could just suck it up and deal. Bland, though discomfited, went through every item on his long list of requirements. Finally he repacked his briefcase, and handed Gina a duplicate copy of the list and the groundplan. Gina sat adding up the number of employees they’d absolutely need, thinking that as much as he obviously wished non-involvement, Mike was still going to have to approve all of this and pick the crew to work that night. “Okay...so this is a four-person crew, minimum. You do realize most of our crew are IATSE, right?”
“They’re what?”
“Theatre techies’ union. Which means certain pay rates are going to be in effect.”
“Oh,” Bland said, twitching his thick mustache with well-groomed felt fingers. “Well. Perhaps some of our members could volunteer instead...”
“They can usher if they want. That’s about it.” Gina stood, retying her hair back with a skull-bejeweled scrunchie, enjoying the uneasy look on the Whatnot’s face. “Sorry. Rules and laws and so on. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course,” Bland murmured. “Well...perhaps we don’t really need a spotlight...”
“I’m sure the awards will be just as impressive without it.”
“Very well. Please finalize the crew list today so we can make identification badges for them. We wouldn’t want any of the wrong element sneaking in to disrupt the festivities, you see,” Bland said, unaffected by Gina’s look of surprise.
“Today? Mr Bland, that may be impossible; my supervisor will have to be the one to organize that, and as you can see he’s very bus...” Gina looked around to see absolutely no sign of Mike. She let out a harsh sigh. “Nowhere to be found, probably went home. Look, we’ll send you a personnel list as soon as we can, all right?”
“Very well,” Bland sniffed. “I’m prepared to be lenient. After all, I understand the non-felted are often not quite as efficient or speedy as we are. That’s perfectly understandable, given your slower metabolisms.”
Gina gave him an incredulous look, then shook her head, biting her tongue. Good lord. Wait’ll Newsie hears all this. He might want to go to a different law firm! “We’ll be in touch, Mr Bland. Um, when you see your partner, would you please tell him my live-in, very much felted and efficient partner would like to speak with him as soon as he has some information about Newsie’s case?”
Bland, already five steps away, paused and looked back. “Er...I assumed he was already working closely with the Newsman?”
“Uh, we haven’t heard from him since the party this past Saturday.”
“But...” Bland suddenly appeared something other than haughty or bored: he looked worried. “I...I haven’t heard from him in days either! I assumed he must be busy with that case...he hasn’t even checked into the office.”
“I don’t know where he is,” Gina said, annoyed. “He didn’t ride back home with us. I had the distinct impression he had something against rats. Or maybe you both have something against non-Muppets, period.”
“I am sure you’re not accusing the prestigious firm of Bland and Blander of anything like species discrimination,” the Whatnot muttered low. He shook his head. “I’ll...I’ll see if perhaps his assistant can track him down. I know he was very excited about the Newsman’s case; it stands to be a groundbreaker. And for the record, Ms Broucek: we at Bland and Blander support every Muppet’s right to pursue the lifestyle they wish...even those who seem to favor, ahem, more untraditional ones. Good day.”
What is this, Nineteen-sixty? I bet they only recently removed the water fountain in their office labeled ‘nonfelted only’, Gina thought, shaking her head in amazed contempt. She glared around at the techies giving her frankly curious stares. “Allll right, nothing to see here, move it along,” she yelled at them in her best faux brogue. A few of them chuckled, and most bent back to their tasks of building platforms, stretching flats, or rigging backdrop canvases. However, as Gina resumed the project she’d been tackling before the lawyer dropped by, she wondered, Who DID Blander ride back to the city with, anyway? She thought hard about Fozzie’s party; she vaguely remembered the blue Whatnot in his silly bird costume hanging around the dinner buffet boring a group of chickens with a discourse on better benefits for feathered creatures under a new Muppet-animal agreement before the state legislature...but was he at the bonfire? Where had he bunked in the farmhouse? Was he even there at that point? Did anyone else leave early? I thought maybe he rode with Sam, they seemed to hit it off...but why hasn’t he called Newsie since then? Why hasn’t he talked to his own office?
The scent of fresh sawdust, never a favorite of hers, but something she regarded as a necessary evil for work around here, didn’t perturb her as much as the growing recognition of something much fouler smelling about the whole situation.
---------------------
Uncle Deadly moved silent and unseen through the rough-hewn corridors far below the Chinatown streets, all he observed proving more strange than enlightening thus far. He’d watched an angry-seeming, birdlike monster with pink wings growling unintelligibly as it hosted something about monsters driving big rigs from coast to coast. He’d listened in on a meeting between a long-snouted doglike reptile and a group of frightened-seeming Frackles, concerning whom might be taking over host duties for some of the other employees after what they kept referring to as “Dark Ascension Night”; the Frackles’ enthusiasm for the proposed assignments seemed to Deadly to be rather forced, but the doglizard thing appeared satisfied. And now, as he moved slowly through the shadows, a canned growl throughout the corridors from some sort of public address system announced, “Monster Rally in the Great Hall in five minutes! Everyone assemble for the Rally! Secure all hosts and contestants in holding cells for the duration of the Rally!”
What the blazes is that? Deadly wondered. He’d seen, and felt rather disturbed by, the holding cells on the level above this one and below the show-taping studios. Since when did respectable fiends lock up Muppets, Whatnots, cute furry animals, and even young women? Certainly, he’d carted off a squealing soprano or three in his day...it was the natural impulse of every virile young monster to do so, preferably while laughing maniacally, but one always allowed them to go free once they passed out. It was the getting, not the having, wherein lay the sport of it! Why these monsters would cage anyone was beyond Deadly’s ken... Perhaps this ‘Rally’ will address the issue? Perhaps they’ll have hot dogs and cheerleaders, too...hmm. Worth a look, I suppose. He watched a number of monsters of all ilk hurrying along an adjacent tunnel, and fell in behind them, certain that his dragonly good looks would protect him from discovery.
Everyone hastened into an enormous cave dripping with ragged stalactites and reeking of wet, unwashed fur and things left too long mouldering in dark corners. Deadly breathed deeply, pleased at the overall atmosphere. “This is delightful,” he murmured to himself, as he took up a perch behind a stumpy, broken stalagmite in a niche near the back. “I wonder if I could persuade the frog to build me something like, perhaps just off that basement hallway...”
“Issss everyone here?” that same lizardy canine thing shouted over the rumble and growl of hundreds of monsters jostling for the few actual seats in the cavern. “Attention, all of you wormsss! Your mossst disssgussting lord and massster ssspeaksss!”
“That crawling, flea-bitten blackguard is their leader?” Deadly asked, surprised.
A small orange Frackle with so many teeth it couldn’t close its mouth all the way muttered at him, “Mo, foopid! Daf fuft da boffef wight-hand monfah!” It nodded in awe at the enormous flatscreen which winked into life at the far end of the cavern, where two red beams of eyeballs shot out from the darkness which shifted and settled. “Daf da boff!” The Frackle quieted immediately; a hush fell over all the assemblage.
“My dear little minions,” a deep, flowing voice crooned, amplified so that it reverberated painfully off the cave formations; one of the smaller stalactites fell to the floor with a high tinkling sound. “We now have only six more nights before the event which you all await with baited breath...and some with actual bait,” the voice chuckled, “The Grand Dark Ascension! It is meet that at this time we take a moment to reflect upon what this will mean for us all...
“It means no more sunshine,” the voice continued; a happy murmur rose and subsided in the crowd. Every monster, Deadly noticed, from a giant furry bulk which made Sweetums look tiny to a darting yellow mosquito-thing with teeth, trembled and shied away from those lasers of red light sweeping the audience from the screen, even though all of them hung eagerly on every word. “It means no more blue skies, only black clouds, and howling wind, and driving rain, and grime spread through the city streets evermore! It means the end of all happiness for all the men and Muppets living above us, insensitive to our needs, our wishes, our appetites! It means all the screams and shrieks and sobbing in terror you could ever wish to season your prey before you gulp it down still kicking and flailing!”
Deadly looked around, startled, at the yells and growls of approval which went up at that pronouncement. What the Saint Olivier is all this? Concerned, he drew back behind the lump of calcium carbonate sheltering him as the whole room trembled. Several more pointed daggers of stone crashed to the floor; the yelps and squeaks of those caught under the missiles went largely unregarded in the general roar.
“Yes, my fellow denizens of the deep, my brotherly bugbears and sisterly spiderkin! Yes! Oh, you cannot with your tiny brains even imagine the glory which awaits us, the true inheritors of the earth, when we have finally subjugated the nice, the good, the cute and the happy morons who traipse streets above us which rightfully should be ours! When I am arrayed in my full might and power, I will return to the world above which so mocked and scorned me, and I shall open wide the sewers and the drains for all of you, and the city will fall into a darkness and bleakness so profound as to know no end, no relief – a darkness, my horrible ones, brought about by your teeth, your claws, your halitosis!” The monsters roared loudly, and another few dozen stalactites crashed. On the giant screen, darkness moved in darkness, and the outline of heavy hands upraised in fervent joy could barely be seen as those red eyes roved the room.
“Obey me, all of you, and reap the reward of your loyalty – I shall give you more frightened little people than you could eat in fifty years! This city has millions of foolish creatures, my frightening children, millions of soft bodies to swallow, millions of flittering little hearts to beat in terror as you chase them through the endless maze of buildings above! Can you feel their fear? Can you taste their terror, my children? Can you?”
“Yeeeeesss!” the crowd howled, pounding the floor, leaping and laughing. The rest of the ceiling fell in chunks, and the monsters howled louder, fists upraised. Deadly stared at them, horrified.
What absurd nonsense is this? Don’t they know that can never happen? What good is terrifying people if it becomes the standard, not the surprise? What fun is a dark corner if there is no sunlight to make people think they can escape? How is this lunatic planning on bringing all this about – or is he only stringing these fools along? Deadly shook his head, staying well out of sight, as the monsters continued to cheer. The black figure on the black screen gestured for silence, red eyes sweeping the crowd, and slowly they quieted once more.
“But none of this wondrous change will take place if you do not follow me, my dear dungeon-dwellers! Only I can make this city a paradise for monsters! Remember I am not just your leader, I am the paragon of monsterdom: I am the darkness, I am the one who sees into the hearts of men and Muppets alike and knows how best to terrify them, how to undermine their whole society to bring about this new, horrible era of the Rule of Monsters! Heed not any who say these lesser creatures bleed like us, eat like us, feel like us! They do not! Only the Glorious Monster Race will be permitted to exist in the coming age of supreme darkness! Keep your thoughts pure and focused on this! Allow no doubt in your miniscule brains, no pity for them in your cold little hearts! Only the true monsters will triumph! Only us!” The voice raged, echoes making creatures wince and cringe throughout the room, but then all of them cheered, ragged voices raised in a cacophony of screeches and growls.
“This is madness,” Deadly muttered, astonished. The monsters chanted, their voices louder and louder: Un-der-lord! Un-der-lord! “Madness!” Deadly whispered, backing away.
Suddenly those lasers of crimson sliced through him; startled, he looked down at the beams disturbing his ethereal body...and then realized everyone had turned to look as well. “Er, ahh...heh heh...salutations, fellow ghouls!” Deadly said heartily, lifting one hand in a vague wave.
“Does this one not work with the Muppets?” the dark lord murmured. A chill flew through the room. Shivering despite himself, Deadly backed away another step.
“Er...not so much with them,” Deadly said. “I haunt the Muppet Theatre, ‘tis true; but I assure you, I take much joy in scaring them out of their tiny little wits on a weekly basis...”
“Daidlee? Iz zat you?” Blind Pew cried out, staggering into the clearing rapidly forming around Deadly; no one wanted to appear to be standing next to the phantom dragon right now. “Mon ami! Ah can vouch for him, mah despicable oogliness: Daidlee has always been one scareee monstair!”
“Quite so, old bean, quite so,” Deadly murmured, feeling distinctly unwelcome; the crowd edged forward, eyes narrowing, claws glinting in the eerie green glow suffusing the room.
“That remains to be determined,” the dark figure on the screen said, its voice low and silky.
“Oh, come on, I can tell by your diction you’ve done some stage work,” Deadly protested. “Haven’t you heard of acting? Really, do you think I’d associate with those...those...Muppets? Heh heh...when I so clearly am horns and whiskers above their ilk in talent and sheer charm and presence!” Silence fell; the monsters looked back at the screen for guidance.
“Get him,” the voice said simply. Three or four hundred monsters surged at Deadly.
“You fools! Beeeewaaaare!” Deadly cried, spreading the wings of his cloak wide; the leading edge of malfeasants fell back, startled. Deadly bolted. Phantom or no, he didn’t like the smell of this anymore. Not one whiff.
He ran, desperately trying to recall which corridors he’d come through, which turns led to what tunnels, wishing he had the ability like some spooks to simply think himself back to his final resting-place. He remembered to vanish, but then tripped over an abandoned cart of spider eggs in a dark tunnel, and shouts of pursuit began to catch up to him. Suddenly he emerged through a jagged great hole in a wall into a brick-lined tunnel, some vestige of the first subways from the turn of the last century. He leaped forward, intending to jump a gap in the floor – and crashed back down, stunned, in a heap of tattered eveningwear. He sat up slowly, feeling as though he’d run face-first into an invisible wall, and then heard the soft trickle of water. Oh NO! You must be joking! he thought, staring down in horror at the tiny rivulet of filthy water flowing along the bottom of the floor. Had he been alive, it would have presented absolutely no problem, but being a ghost wasn’t always a plus...
Running water! “Oh, come on, that can’t possibly count!” he cried aloud, realized he was visible, and whirled. A crowd of ugly, snarling monsters, fangs bared and compound eyes glittering, poured from the hole in the tunnel wall, advancing on him.
Deadly remembered a story the legendary Phantom of the Opera had told him early one morning while they shared a coffee break during the last film shoot. “The living are gullible, no matter what the species,” the Phantom had advised the dragon. “Why, once, when I was cornered in the catacombs of Paris...”
Deadly took a deep breath, narrowed his eyes down to pinpricks of evil green, and built up a truly menacing chuckle. “Mwah ha ha, ha ha ha... mmmwwooooaaahh ha ha ha ha ha!” Raising his cloak high over his head, teeth all exposed in his wide-laughing snout, Deadly took a step toward the crowd. Uncertainly, they fell back. Still laughing crazily, the Phantom of the Muppet Theatre took another step toward them, menacing; and another, and another. Confused, the monsters scrambled back, tripping over one another...until a tiny blue Frackle yelped.
“You guys – anybody got a spectral net? He’s only a ghost!”
Although the Frackle was instantly squashed by the misstep of a hefty furred thing with long spiraling horns, the crowd muttered and looked at one another. Deadly paused, his laugh dying in his throat, his eyes flicking from side to side, but he could see no way around the crowd. A monster near the back called out in a low, puzzled voice, “Uh, yeah...I do! But...what good’s that?”
“You idiot,” a goblin snarled, snatching the filmy silver net from the dullard. He turned back toward Deadly, holding the one item guaranteed to trap a ghost which didn’t involve splitting plasma beams. Slowly the goblin grinned.
“Now wait just a—“ Deadly said.
The crowd fell on him.
-------------------
Newsie and Rhonda sat on a mostly-unstuffed sofa in the green room, staring intently at the laptop screen on the wooden bench before them. “I’ve never seen so many monsters in one place,” Newsie muttered nervously.
“Sweetums, what are they all doing down there?” Rhonda asked.
The puzzled troll scratched his head. “Uhhh...makin’ TV shows, I guess? They seemed like really nice guys. See there, that guy gave me his hamsterburger! Haw haw haw!” His enormous finger pointed out the intimidated-looking Frackle handing a wriggling thing between sesame-seed buns up to the troll, captured on the hidden camera.
“Eeesh,” Newsie shuddered.
“Uh...yeah. I see that. So they, uh, they didn’t tell you why they’re doing all this?” Rhonda tried again. Newsie stared at the Frackle onscreen, surprised to find he sympathized with the frightened look the small monster was giving the troll.
Sweetums shrugged. “Uh, that one guy, I think his name was Harry, he took me down to some kinda office and asked me to sign somethin’. I told him I, uh, I didn’t get that far in kindergarten, though, so he just made an ‘X’ for me. Somethin’ about Santa...no, Klaus...yeah, that was it. Some kinda clause, I think he said; but I didn’t understand what that had to do with cons.” His eyes widened. “Uh, hey! Aren’t cons like criminals? I’m not a criminal!”
“No, big guy, you’re not,” Rhonda assured him. “A...a confidentiality clause?”
“Yeah! That was it!” Sweetums chuckled and rolled his eyes, abashed. “Huh huh...you called me ‘big’ again.”
“What did they ask you to keep secret?” Newsie asked, looking up, ducking quickly as the troll’s huge tongue slurped his triple-dozen-scoop ice cream cone and another scoop of it fell to the floor; this one looked like Rainwater Runoff Ripple. Newsie scooted his laptop a little farther from the corner of the bench where Green Pistachio Goo and Peanut Tarantula made sloppy dissolving puddles.
“Oh! Uh...well if I told you about the monsters taking over the city on Halloween night, it wouldn’t be a secret, right?” Sweetums rumbled, happily licking his ice cream cone.
“Yeahh...gotcha,” Rhonda said. “Did they say how?”
“How what?”
“How they’re planning on taking over the city!” Newsie barked, worried. He glanced at his producer, who looked, for once, just as concerned. I was RIGHT! he thought, but this brought him no sense of personal triumph.
“Oh, uh...hey! How’d you guys know about that?” Sweetums demanded, frowning.
“It’s okay, Sweetums. You can trust us. We bought ya ice cream, remember?” Rhonda sighed.
“Huh huh...’course I remember! This stuff is great! Hey, uh...can we go on another underground expedition again tomorrow?”
“Er...maybe soon,” Newsie offered. “Please, Sweetums, this is really important! What exactly did they say the plan was?” They’d been through the footage thoroughly once already, but in places the troll’s fur had clogged the small mic of the camera and garbled the sound.
“Oh, uh...somethin’ about, ‘elevatin’ the dark underlord to Supreme Monsterdom an’ sacrificin’ all the Muppets who stand in the way of pure unhappiness sweepin’ over the city forevermore.’” At the stunned looks on his friends’ faces, Sweetums bent over and whispered loudly, “Between you an’ me, though, I’m pretty sure he was speakin’ semaphorically.”
“Erg,” Newsie choked, eyes wide.
Rhonda recovered first, and patted the ankle of the shaggy troll. “Uh...okay. Thanks, big guy. Go enjoy your ice cream.”
“’Big guy,’” Sweetums rumbled, grinning. With a pleased shake of his head, he lumbered off, a crowd of rats eagerly trailing after him with tiny spoons, scooping up the melting debris in his wake.
“R-rhonda?” Newsie stammered.
“This ain’t good,” the rat murmured. “All right, look. Let’s post this online right away. I’ll do a fast edit tying it into the Nofrisko footage and the...the bug-thing. You start working on writing a voiceover, and let’s get the word out! At the very least it’ll warn people there’s something nasty going on!”
“I told you it was all a monsterish plot,” Newsie muttered. “I told you!”
“Fine. Have you got all the I-told-you-sos out of your system yet? In case you haven’t noticed, this is a serious news story, and we have no broadcast anymore! The best we can hope for is a podcast, which my friend at the Times has reluctantly agreed to link to from their ‘Happenings Around Town’ page!”
“What?” Newsie started, then scowled. “But this is serious! This isn’t some socialite giving a karaoke appearance at an uptown bar, this is a warning about monsters planning the city’s total takeover from a secret base under the sewers!”
“You and I know that, but we’ve lost our journalistic standing,” Rhonda griped. “Check your email; I got a notice that Blanke’s revoked our press badges!”
“What?” Newsie blanched. “He—he can’t do that!”
“Unfortunately, he can. You know they only hand those things out to legit reporters working for legit media outlets, and since we’re suspended and probably gonna get fired –“
“But this is awful!” Newsie pulled his prized badge from his wallet and stared at it longingly; he’d worked so hard just to earn one of these, the ultimate status symbol for any newsman working in the biggest news center on earth! It was the next best thing to a Pulitzer...well, at least, as close as he was likely to ever get...
“Tell me about it, Sunshine,” Rhonda sighed. “Now I’ll never find a parking place again! But look; we gotta move on this, and I mean yesterday. So you sequester yourself in your little closet over there or whatever you gotta do to get those journalistic juices flowing in your foam and write me a kick-butt, five-minute V.O. for this story while I get all the film spliced together, okay?”
“O-okay,” Newsie gulped, trying to gather his wits. Halloween night, monsters plan to take over the city? Sacrificing Muppets? Is the theatre safe? We should warn Kermit...cut off the drains completely...post guards...why us? So it’s true monsters think we’re delicious? Shivering, he remembered the pills Dr Honeydew had compounded for him, and dug the bottle out of his coat pocket. The plaid had ripped slightly at one seam when he’d wrested it free of the rusted subway rail finally, but at least he hadn’t lost his phone or this... He took one of the capsules, washing it down with a swig of coffee, wincing at the taste. “Gaaahhh...why does this taste like shrimp?”
“Jou say somethin’, pointy-head?” Pepe snapped, glaring momentarily as he trotted by with a towel slung around his neck, showing off his new Speedos to the room at large. “Hey, Chef, jou gots my hot tub ready yet?”
Newsie stared after him. Rhonda sighed. “Fine. Duck around the corner and grab us both cups of something drinkable, why doncha?” She poured her untouched cup into a wastebucket nearby, and focused her attention on the screen, claws clicking across the keyboard. “What if we start with a shot of the bug-thing?” she muttered to herself. “Hmm. Too jarring? Nah...that commercial for Al’s Chicken-Suit Costume Barn is scarier, and they show that every danged hour on KRAS...”
Turning away, Newsie brought out his phone, thinking, I should call Gina again, make sure she’s okay... Although she hadn’t mentioned anything odd happening at the Sosilly, he wanted to hear her voice right now, just to soothe his nerves. Before he could even scroll through his contact directory, the cell phone rang, startling him. He managed not to drop it. “Er...hello? Muppet Newsman!”
“Um...hello...this is Nurse Susan at Blucher Memorial...” In the background, Newsie could have sworn he heard a horse neighing for a second.
“Oh. Yes, is...is my aunt...” He swallowed a dry throat, anxiety of a different cause rising.
“She...uh...”
“Just...just tell me. Did she...did she feel any pain?” Newsie asked, his voice rough, eyes closing, bracing himself for the news.
“She’s awake, Mr Crimp,” the nurse said.
“She...what?”
“She’s awake. And she’s asking for you.”
Newsie stood stock-still, frozen, disbelieving, several seconds. The nurse asked, “Uh...Mr Crimp? Are you there?”
“I’ll be right there,” Newsie said. He hung up, and somehow found the energy to start moving his feet.
“Whaddaya think about putting the shot of the Nofrisko building right after the running shot of the monster tunnels, Goldie?” Rhonda asked. When he didn’t reply, she looked up, frowning. “Goldie?”
The short, golden-yellow-felted reporter had vanished from the Muppet Theatre green room. The rat sighed, shaking her head. “Him and his French-press coffee. I swear, that woman’s spoiled him.” Grumbling, she returned to her task, skimming through files of footage, trying to determine what combination of images would best make this city sit up and take notice, and take heed before the hour grew too late.
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