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Visions 2: So We've Been Told

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by Beauregard, Aug 7, 2006.

  1. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    Yeah... You think you know a guy... And then this, he goes and revives an old story from the duldrums it's been shelved into oblivion.

    Great stuff by the way old bean. It's all so good... Piggy teaching Gonzo about the art that is shopping, Rowlf and Fozzie bonding, and then the fuzzies shared by Cliff and Skeet.

    All good, post more... Whenever!
  2. Beauregard

    Beauregard Well-Known Member

    Chapter 9

    Their job opportunities weren’t turning out as well as they had initially thought, or even dared to hope. The first interview finished with the skinny red-haired hotshot interviewer flying into a wall at the end of Miss Piggy's cuff. The next had been fine, for as long as it lasted, which was approximately ten seconds, just long enough for the frighteningly fat fingered man to point his pasty-white digit at Gonzo and scream that, "No weirdoes are allowed in my store! I won't allow friggin' freak-loaders in my store. Get your freak-loading freak nose out of my store, freak."

    Gonzo had taken his freak-loading freak nose out of the store, and pronto.

    The third and fourth interviews went off without a hitch, but even though Piggy jealously guarded her psychic phone as if it were the last slither of lemon custard pie, there were no phone calls offering a five-hundred-dollars a year wage, or any wage, in fact. There were no phone calls.

    At the apartment, Miss Piggy cooked their meals, and Gonzo scraped up months of mess. He washed pans, moved nick-nacks, straightened furniture. She tried to mend the leaking sink and succeeded in drenching herself with stale dishwater. She hadn't been impressed, but the sink had started working.

    Gonzo was making about as much progress with the Christmas tree as they were with everything else on their plate, that is, none. Whenever he tried to shift the springy spine covered thing, its needles danced every which way, scattering like an explosion of sparks across the entire room. On about the twentieth attempt, Miss Piggy had yelled from the cooker that they were now having tree-spine soup and would he please just quit while he was ahead.

    "But I am not ahead yet!" Gonzo had yelled back, half buried behind the tree. "I'm not even started!"

    "Well start!" Miss Piggy shouted.

    "I did! And you said to stop!"

    "Then stop!"

    "I will not!"

    "Why not?!"

    "Because, I have started, and I'm not finished!" Gonzo yelled.

    It should have been the most obvious thing in the world, but it obviously wasn't because when Miss Piggy spun around from the cooker, she was furious. She slammed the soup pan into the sink, splashing old soap-stained water over the dry counters. "Alright! Fine! Vous can make the dinner from what vous can provide, since Moi's soup is being destroyed by you!"

    "Great!" Gonzo said, snarkily. "Just great! Then V O Ooze can just get this tree out of our living room!"

    "Oh, what, so suddenly it's our living room, hm? Last I heard, this living room belonged to Moi and moi's kitties! Not and never you!"

    "Oh really."

    "Yes really."

    "Oh really!"

    "Yes! Really!"

    "Then explain why I have been sleeping right there," he pointed. "On the floor for the last three weeks."

    "Because…" She stopped midway into a perfectly rounded reason because she didn't actually have one. "Um..."

    "Yeah, exactly. Because." Gonzo pushed past her to the sink and dragged the dripping pan out of the water. "Well, we can't eat this," he said.

    Miss Piggy glared at him and strode in the opposite direction, clapping her tough rubber gloves around the thin trunk of the dead tree. She marched it over the carpet to the window, shredding needles that dropped onto the backs of her kitties. Yanking the window up hard, she shoved the pointy end of the tree through the open crack and shoved. The scraggily tree arms clung to the window panes and she pushed and it didn't move

    "Aaaah-aaah-aarg!" She slapped her hands against her thighs and released the tree so that it dropped onto the floor. "Great. Just perfectimont. Merry Christmas, tree."

    Gonzo set the pan down on the counter. "Did you want a-" He was going to say 'hand?', but one glare from the fierce blue porcine eyes indicated that, no thank vous, she did not need his help. Instead of finishing the question, Gonzo changed course, crossed the room and lifted the tree himself. "Can you…maybe, help me with this?" he asked.

    Miss Piggy wiped her gloved hands on her apron as she considered. Finally, she let out a breath. "Alright, alright, alright." Leaning together on the bush they wrangled it further out the window then, with a final push, sent it free-wheeling down to the street below where it was greeted with angry shouts and unpleasant expletives.

    Miss Piggy tugged on her apron, placed her fists on her hips and tried to remain angry while suppressing a sudden urge to giggle. Gonzo moved back to the cooker area and started digging through cupboards for tinned food, trying to remain grouchy and suppressing an urge to giggle.

    Outside their door, a face leant against the broken panel and an eye watched the two moving together to find food and room to live. Carefully, the face lifted away from the door and the man clasped his hands together, suppressing an urge to scream.

    *****​

    Sleeping arrangements hadn't caused any difficulty. Since Gonzo was the guest at the house Piggy had decided to simply force herself to ignore him when it came to sleep time and she had just settled herself on her sofa, fully-dressed, covered with a blanket. Her kitties crawled along the back of the purple sofa.

    Gonzo had stood in the middle of the room on that second night and watched her shut her eyes. She had struggled to maintain their shut-ness and her eyelids fluttered, long lashes batting against her cheeks. But she had managed to elude his notion that she would be uncomfortable sleeping in a room with a guy she hardly knew, by tapering her breathing into something akin to slow sleepy in-and-outs.

    Gonzo had eventually just sat down, cross-legged, on the floor with his back against a wall, and woke up lying flat with a rug draped carefully over him during the night.

    After that, the arrangements had stayed that way, with him stuck on the floor and Miss Piggy on the couch. She had once, out of guilt or panic, offered him her bed in the bedroom since she chose to stay couch-side, but Gonzo had recognised from her eyes that she didn't want anybody else to go into her bedroom any more than she wanted to go in there herself.

    So he refused to give up the comfort of the floor. It was harder than a bed, anyway, more like the luxury of the streets he used to lounge on.

    *****​

    The handkerchief sized park was deserted. Fleshy new buds of sticky brown roundness emerged from twigs that rattled on trees in the cold chill wind which flurried across the rippling surface of a small inky-pond, whirling around the bench where Gonzo now sat with his elbows on his knees, chin in his hand watching the ripples.

    Miss Piggy had managed to grab herself an interview at a small trinket store in Bitterman Plaza and Gonzo had let himself wonder over here as he waited for her. Everything about the park was familiar, and yet distant, like daja vu. The park was familiar, and yet distant, like daja vu.

    He stood up from the bench and knelt beside the pond to dip his finger into the cold water, to feel the ripples flow past. They were like life, those ripples, and he was like his finger. Ripples of life and time just moved around him and he just stayed where he was without moving forward or backward.

    Gonzo unlaced his trainers.

    It was about time that changed. Why should he be the one staying still while the world moved. Why not the other way about? He un-buttoned his shirt and pulled the sleeves away from his arms, folding the material into a neat pile on his shoes. He dragged himself to his feet, brushed stray wispy hairs back on his head and dove into the pond, immediately hit by the icy cold of the freezing water.

    It was a tiny pond and one stroke dragged him to the bottom where he opened his eyes to peer through the murky liquid that soaked into his fur. He patted the mud bed, accidentally swirling dirt into the mix and loosing what underwater vision he had. His lungs begged for air and he agreed with them, scooting back to the surface and opening his mouth to drag in a lungful.

    He allowed himself only the smallest respite before sinking back under the freezing cold water to search the slimy surface of the mud bed by feel. His fingers closed around something solid, rectangular and bitty, wrapped in mossy-slime.

    Gonzo tugged the brick free from the tentacle weeds that held it in place and resurfaced holding his prize as water streamed down his fur.

    He was startled and surprised to see Miss Piggy standing beside the water's edge staring at him in shock or horror, or perhaps an unhealthy mix of the two.

    Gonzo started shivering, but clung to the brick with both hands.

    "Gonzo?" Miss Piggy gasped. "What are you doing?"

    *****​

    Miss Piggy switched the electric cooker on high and banged the plastic oven door open, letting the heat escape in a blush of hot air that tumbled out into the apartment. Gonzo shivered uncontrollably, still clinging to his brick as his fur clung to his skin. He'd managed to get his shoes on and sling his shirt over his shoulders, but the buttons were not yet buttoned.

    Miss Piggy closed the apartment door and returned to the kitchen area where Gonzo stood, dripping on the carpet. She hurried into the bathroom and dragged a pink towel free from the shelves. "Here. Stand on this."

    "It'll get muddy."

    "It's that or the floor, bucko."

    "Yeah, but the floor's already mucky," Gonzo insisted.

    "Fine." Piggy placed the towel in his hands. "But seriously, vous have got to get dry."

    Gonzo's brain ached from shivering. "Alright." He buried his face in the towel and rubbed his nose. "But I've been in that pond before you know. I didn't freeze then, and it was colder outside."

    Piggy's eyebrows tilted. "Why?" she demanded as she moved Mr Meowmeow aside with her foot and reached into a cupboard for a saucepan. "Why were you in the pond?"

    "Because…" Gonzo interrupted himself with a shaking fit of shivers which he finally managed to control. "Because I threw Amy in there," he said.

    Miss Piggy froze, ironic considering the circumstances. The saucepan scraped against the top hob of the cooker. "Who's Amy?" she asked.

    *****​

    Fozzie and Rowlf were settled. Not completely settled, but rather they were settled like salt in an egg-timer, pilled against the edge and ready to tumble, yet still, settled and in place.

    Rowlf spent most of his time writing. He was working on a book, something he called 'The History of Life.' It was very epic, apparently, and he wrote it page after page in a notebook, then typed it up on a typewriter and stacked the pages together in a drawer, which he locked.

    Fozzie spent his time recovering from his history, eating a lot and sleeping a lot. He told Rowlf that he needed to find a job to pay him back for his hospitality, but Rowlf replied that employment was scarce at the moment. Besides, he then reminded the bear, he already had a job he should be working on, namely his future.

    Rowlf had then climbed into a small attic and carried down a cob-web drawn typewriter. He'd placed the machine down on a small desk and stacked a pile of yellowing paper on one side. "When this is all there," he said, indicating the other side of the typewriter. "You are ready."

    "What am I doing?" Fozzie had asked.

    "You tell me."

    "Writing…jokes?"

    "Nope. Not exactly," Rowlf said, sitting down on the edge of the desk. "The keyboard is an extension of your fingers," he said. "You'll be telling jokes, but you'll be writing from your heart. Make a portfolio. Try doing a script. Unless I'm much mistaken, you need to put something together that will impress Miss Bitterman."

    Fozzie began timidly at first, and in his head the tap of every keystroke was an angry retort from a murmuring crowd, but that changed as he typed faster and the clattering of the keys became smatterings of applause, then a standing ovation as his imaginary audience of long-stemmed keys rose to their feet, throwing hands and hats into the air, whistling and cheering, shouting for more. He smiled, and typed.

    They were settled, but Rowlf couldn't quite shake the feeling that their egg-timer was about to tip over.

    *****​

    "Who is Amy?" Miss Piggy asked and her snout trembled with contained anger.

    Gonzo's eyelids receded, widening his eyes. "Didn't I tell you about her?"

    "No." Her answer was a growl, but she managed to flick her head at the same time, tossing her short hair as if she were honestly little concerned with the answer. "So who is she?" she asked again.

    Gonzo stepped up to the sink and placed the brick down inside. He ran water from the cold tap, rubbing green slime off the rough edges of the brick with his fingers. Pond-scum swirled around the sink and plunged into the plughole.

    For a moment, Miss Piggy found herself distracted from her angry surprise by the faint smell of the pond-scum. She caught the corner of the scent on the air and inhaled. "Oh," she exclaimed, surprised by a sudden recognition of the odour, but then again, no, she didn't recognise it, it was just...What was it?

    She cleared her head by shaking it. "Who is Amy?" she asked a third time.

    Gonzo lifted his brick out of the sink and dabbed it dry with the towel. He lifted his eyes to meet Piggy's. "Miss Piggy," he said. "Meet Amy the Dancing Brick. She's, er, she's a brick and she can…dance."

    Whatever answer she had been expecting, dancing bricks didn't quite cut it. Miss Piggy blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

    Gonzo failed to see any evidence of belief in Miss Piggy's eyes. "Amy is…" He adjusted his hold on the rock. "…she was…ah…" Be was beginning to realise how odd this sounded. "I found her." He shrugged. "I called her Amy. She-"

    "-dances, yeah, I know, I get it." Miss Piggy folded her arms and eyed the brick suspiciously. "How?"

    "With much...difficulty, and…er…panache." Gonzo stared at Amy and realised that she was a brick, lying lifeless on the edge of the sink. He was sure she used to be… more than that.

    Miss Piggy poked the brick with one rubber-gloved finger. "I don't understand," she said.

    Neither did he. There was a time when Amy had seemed as real to him as anything that lived and breathed, but now, she was a brick. Amy never had danced, had she? Gonzo opened his mouth, then closed it. When he had needed a friend, Amy had been there as a constant companion, now though he had a friend, Miss Piggy, so, "I don't think I need her any more." His voice was unexpectedly loud. "Do I?"

    Miss Piggy made an effort to find an answer. She settled on, "Maybe not," and left it at that.

    Gonzo carried the brick out of their apartment..

    Miss Piggy scooped the pink towel up from off the damp floor and was hit once again by the hint of a smell of pond-scum. She pushed her face against the towel and breathed, tasting the tangy scent in her mouth. "Kerwin?" she murmured, questioning herself, her memory, and the world.

    "Piggy?" Gonzo had arrived back in the doorway and was watching her with curiosity.

    Miss Piggy dropped the towel and it fluttered to the floor. "Oh! Gonzo. Um…we um…we need to get some dinner," she said, flustered. "Hungry, hungry! Gotta put first things first." She pulled the fridge open with a plop. "Need to feed the kitties."

    Gonzo approached the towel with care, balled it up and threw it like a cannon-ball into a waiting washing-basket.

    To be continued
  3. Leyla

    Leyla Member

    Hum de dee de dee....

    Beau update! WHEE!!! This is news of extreme awesomeness!

    Ah, so, what do I like about this story? Well, for one, it's so very unique, at least of the muppet stories I've read on this board. The world without Kermit... continuing once Kermit learns his lesson and goes racing back into the loving embrace of his pig, his friends and his destiny. <happy sigh>

    Of course... he's not here now... and it's... well, it's ...it's darker, and sadder...but you know what, it's not without hope, and I like that too. I like the way the characters, our old friends, save that they've never known one very special amphibian, are still out there, plugging their way through this difficult, difficult world. It's hopeful... it's muppety even though I find it really, really emotional painful... in a quiet wistful sort of way.

    I still want Kermit to sweep into town and rescue them... but that's just me being silly, AKA me being me. I don't think I'd be so affected by this story if I didn't recognise the characters I love so dearly in their Kermitless counterparts. I recognize Piggy. I recognise Gonzo, and Fozzie, and Clifford and Skeeter, and, oh, help me, Robin. Yup... I do, and that's why it gets to me... almost so's that I can't read it, and yet... I really do appreciate this story for what it is. It's good writing, you know... and very powerful... and I'm trusting you, Beau dear, for a satisfying, positive ending, maybe even a happy one, though, ushy gushy girl that I am, it'll be hard for me to imagine a happy ending where Piggy doesn't end up with Kermit, and never will.

    Still... I do enjoy your own, unique take on things, and you've definately got no troubles ushy gushying yourself when you wish.

    See what I mean? This is pretty interesting really, because you've got Skeeter acting like an insecure obsessive stalker girl, and Clifford wanting space, and yet identifying her as his girl. The burden of his desire to protect her is such a familiar feeling to me, and again, very affecting. It's an intriguing dynamic, and I'm interested to see where it goes.

    Dark, yes... <shivers> Very dark, and even the lighter things have a touch of shadow about them. Still, I can't be the only one amused by Clifford wrestling to fix a struggling light... let's hope he has more luck with this one... goodness knows he has trouble with Lisa's light.

    Well... his art is quite different anyway. I like the bantering. Feels genuinely lighthearted, and I need that. There's something about this whole thing I'm trying desperately to forget.;)

    Okay, so... it's not entirely lighthearted. It's lighter anyway, and cute and funny. I don't know what Piggy has against paint, and that's probably just as well. Ah, my poor girl.

    Show you what Gonzo? Show you how shopping is an art, or show you who's hiding underneath that make up? You're a very sly writer, Beau, and I enjoy that.

    <cheers>

    Oh... the flipper slippers.... <is stabbed>

    Nothing. Nothing. She wasn't saying anything. Excuse me while I cover my eyes and sing. La la la la la la la la laaaaa!

    <is reminded of Kermit's book> <sings louder>

    Aww... I do love Rowlf/ Fozzie interaction. They're sort of alike and unlike.

    <sigh> I wish I could talk to Rowlf when I was feeling low. He's one of those people you could tell anything to.

    <shivers> Nice analogy. Very very vivid image... you're a good word painter, Beau.

    Ooh... smack me why doncha? I'm... I'm glad Fozzie doesn't have to feel empty anymore... there aren't many feelings worse than that one, and... I'm glad he's got a real, stable, friend in Rowlf.

    I miss Kermit.

    <giggleS> It's funny, and I love the reference to Gags Beasly, but it also reminds me of how wrong everything is... he should be off writing the Banana Sketch. Wow... a world without the Banana sketch... Kermit would like that anyway. ;)

    I enjoyed the ushy gushy, even as it their relationship still has this odd, uneasiness about it... It's interesting... but I'm not quite sure yet, how to feel about this couple. Anyway, beautifully written Beau, really and truly, and I'm looking forward to feeling uneasy about more. <is teasing, and yet, truthful.
  4. theprawncracker

    theprawncracker Well-Known Member

    Wowowowowowow!!! I will never cease to be amazed by your talent Beau! Tres awesome! I LOVE Fozzie and Rowlf! Awesome! And Gonzo and Piggy's relationship is turning out great too! Skeeter and Clifford are fun to watch ush gush as well. Great job Beau! More please!
  5. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    Wha huh? And here he goes and posts another chapter... On the same day no less!

    Loved it Bo... Much more so because...
    Amy! Yaey, Gonzo finally dove into the pond to go get Amy. That earned you some points my friend. But then he gains the sober realization that it was just a brick... And the mind starts to learn the folly of one's youth... Yep, it's quite a good thing you've got going here... Spring is definitely starting to take root, and I'm anxiously awaiting whatever crisis tip that eggtimer over.
  6. Beauregard

    Beauregard Well-Known Member

    WARNING: Not for the faint hearted...contains slight action, slight scaryness, and slight ushy-gushyness between something other than a pig and a frog...

    Chapter 10

    Miss Piggy returned to the trinket shop for a second interview, stopping short at the glass door to let light illusions of rainbows twinkle over her skin. Prisms and bulbs provided a shining, shimmering balance of light and colour that swept periodically throughout the shop, reflecting off silver trays and gold watches. Miss Piggy pushed the door open and stepped through into that light.

    An old man with white hair and gammy eyes rested his angular elbows against the clerk desk. He chewed on a cigar. "Can I help you?"

    Miss Piggy formulated a flattering flash of a sultry smile. "I am Miss Piggy," she said.

    "And?"

    "And vous invited moi back for a second tête-à-tête, no? And if vous wanna tête let's tête, shall we?"

    The man shook his head. "I didn't call you," he said.

    "Pardon?"

    "I didn't ring you. Why would I bring you back for an interview when the job is taken?"

    Piggy stumbled. "Wha-how? Who?"

    "I got someone else, sweetie. I see how you look at the jewellery here. You have the wonder of a little girl in the body of a tougher nut than that. Good markings of a thief, I says, and I just don't trust you.""

    Miss Piggy snapped forward, high-heels clicking on the tiled floor. "Trust? I can tell you something about trust! I trusted someone, one day, to actually get moi a job! And that someone let me down, again. I'll show you trust!"

    A long curtain of bright beads which hung to cover a door behind the store owner shivered as a pair of black boots stepped through, joined by tight black trousers, and a perfect black jacket. "He hired me," the man informed, pulling a pair of dark glasses down from his eyes and folding them in one hand. The man's voice was rough, sandy, and sounded foreign. "I am the man who called you back and asked you in here."

    The owner moved towards him in indignant confusion. "Why would you do a thing like-" His sentence was cut off by a single swift movement, too fast for Miss Piggy to follow, then the owner was sinking to the floor and his cigar rolled under the counter.

    The man in black smirked. "He interviewed me already. Always asking questions, that man."

    Miss Piggy's breath silenced in her head as her lungs stopped working and panic overcame her. When she tried to turn and run, her heels defied her and twisted, one snapping clean off her ankle-line shoe. She slipped and felt her feet scrambling on the slippery floor as she tried to right herself before she went down completly.

    The man in black lifted a trapdoor in the counter and let himself through.

    Miss Piggy scrabbled to her feet unsteadily and felt for support, catching hold of a glass shelf with her dark red velvet gloves. She saved those gloves for special occasions. A second interview was one of them. The thin glass began to spider-web in crunching cracks away from her fingers and then shattered, throwing rings and pearls at the floor. An alarm blared at the back of the shop.

    A black leather glove latched into Miss Piggy's wrist. "Get up."

    "Who are you?"

    He yanked her up. "I'm looking for certain people," he said, then sneered, "Muppets, actually." His handlock tightened as he pulled Miss Piggy to standing.

    She glared in his face. The alarm bellowed. The soft rainbow lights swept over them, reflecting off the ricocheted glass under their feet, unaware of the damage around them.

    Miss Piggy whimpered and pressed mouth tightly together to stave off any sign of weakness.

    The man kept his hold on her wrist as he awkwardly undid buttons on his jacket with the other hand. His jacket flapped. He reached inside, bringing out a small sheet of black paper with white writing. "I need to know, what you know. About these Muppets. Fozzie Bear. Dr Teeth. Zoot. Animal. Floyd and Janice Pepper. Howard the Pig. Do these names ring anything in there?" He tapped the hard paper against her head and she flinched and shook her head stubbornly.

    "Bunsen Honeydew," the man listed. "Sam the Eagle. Scooter Grosse. Johnny Fiama, Statler, Waldorf, Robin Frog?"

    Miss Piggy shook her head again. The shop's alarm bell beat inside her ears and she realised that no one was listening, that no one would respond to that alarm.

    "None of these names mean anything to you?"

    "No, they…"

    "Rowlf the Dog, Clifford, Skeeter Grosse. They’ve all been affected now."

    "Who has?" she asked, and winced as his fingers bit into her wrist.

    "Muppets," the man replied, spitting the word. "Don't you get it? This is a hit list. I'm looking for these Muppets."

    She hadn't.

    "Do you know where I might find Gonzo the Great?"

    The Great…? She shook her head. "No, I don't-"

    He raised her hand and smashed it against a lower shelf. Cracks in the glass slithered away from her glove. "Your name is on here to," he said. "If you can't help me remove more than one from here, I'll be content to eliminate a single one. I cannot allow any more change here."

    "Who are you?" Piggy asked.

    "I'm an Agent with IOU. That won't mean anything to you."

    The name didn't fire any synapses of memory. "Why are you?" she asked.

    "Someone fluctuated the system," the IOU Agent replied. "That's why. Someone named-"

    Miss Piggy had gotten him talking about himself and that was all the distraction she needed to slide her fingers under the shelf with her thumb tucked above it. A tug and the back of the shelf fell free from the wall. A lift and throw and it collided with the agent's head, spitting jewellery across the shop and smashing over the man's skull. He released her arm, gasping mid-word at the end of his sentence.

    "-Kerm-" Smash. He was thrown sideways and his ribs met the counter.

    Miss Piggy snatched her arm free and ran, bouncing off the door in her hurry to yank it open. She pitched out into the street and hobble charged away through the plaza, side-stepping citizens. Her broken shoes held her up but slowed her down. She didn't have time to remove them. She glanced once over her shoulder and saw the man raise a gun from inside the shop.

    Piggy dove out of the plaza into a central square and heard plate glass crumble before a bullet in the distance, and kept running.

    She stumbled through the park, racing past the bench and joining an alleyway. Her footsteps echoed of the crummy dark walls.

    A dog leapt at her from a doorway, tangling into her feet. She screeched. The dog yapped.

    It was a small dog with matted white fur, gone grey with spots of black dirt and dust. It's teeth were sharp and snapped at the skirt of her pale dress. She had worn that dress to impress. Now she remembered why she wore sweatpants at home. The dog's teeth caught the material and the hem ripped.

    Piggy kicked at the dog and it yelped, cowering away from her. "Leave me!" she shouted, bumping off the wall of the alley, backing away from the dog. "Stay back! Shoo! Go away!"

    The dog lowered its head, ashamed, then peeked at her and whined.

    Piggy turned and ran.

    She rushed along the alleyway towards the light at the other open end and a man stepped neatly into her way. She gasped in horror, then melted in relief. "Oh, Murray, thank god."

    Her landlord, the honourable Murray Plotski, stood silently, looking through blurred eyes at Miss Piggy's state of disrepair. Her dress was torn up one side to her thigh. The top-half of her dress was lopsided and had fallen off a shoulder, revealing soft pink skin. Her make-up had run with sweat and tears and she breathed erratically. Murray sucked air through his teeth.

    "Oh, Murray, dear. I am so glad to see you…vous. Can you…I need…" She stuttered and wondered if she was physically capable of asking that man for help. That man who…was… Miss Piggy dry swallowed. "I need to get back home," she said finally.

    Murray's moustached lips trembled, and his feathery eyebrows quivered. "Okay," he said. "Let's get you back." He moved in, slipping his arm under hers as support, sliding his hand up from her elbow to her shoulder.

    Piggy closed her eyes and hopped, forced to bump against him each time she walked. He trod on her foot. The tips of his long fingers touched cold against the soft skin of her neck and Miss Piggy just kept moving.

    Just get home. Get in. Shut the door. Lock it. Be alone.

    Murray guided her off the pavement into the street and they crossed as cars screeched and trembled to a stop. Miss Piggy stepped onto the opposite curb and he stepped up after her and behind her, banging his right knee against the back of her left leg. They struggled to the door where Murray released her and flipped keys on a ring.

    Piggy leant against the doorframe and drew breath.

    Murray pushed the door open with one hand and stood for her to pass him.

    "Um…I…um, I am very thankful." She wasn't, and as she ducked under his arm she thought she felt his hand in her hair, for just a moment, then she was safely inside and stutter ran up the stairs before he could follow. She reached her room and slammed the door shut.

    The bolts and chains were cold as she shook them into place. She stepped backwards and felt her cats flocking around her feet, meowing and welcoming her home. The kitties and her, alone, in her home. She let her eyes sweep the apartment, pausing on a heart-shaped box that lay propped against her couch. Yes, she was safe. She was home. No one could get in here.

    She rustled her dress down off her shoulders and let it slid down and off her onto the floor in a tangled mess. It had been a stupid idea to wear that dress in the first place. She hated dresses. She hated needing jobs. She hated needing. She hated.

    She stepped out of the dress, tugged one glove free from her right hand and dropped it onto the dress on the floor. Behind her, to the left, she heard the bathroom door open as she turned around she heard a voice sang out.

    "How did it go Miss Pigg-"

    Piggy.

    ...Gonzo.

    .......How did…?

    Gonzo's eyes widened as Piggy's face burnt red. She had forgotten…she hadn't remembered him until now. Gonzo's mouth parted, but he didn't say a word. Miss Piggy stared. How could she have been so-…? Now it was Gonzo's face growing hot as he discovered it was too late for him to pretend he'd seen nothing, too late to dive back into the bathroom and pretend it never happened. He realised he was staring and panicked to decide if looking away was better or worse then not moving at all.

    At the same time, Miss Piggy realised that it was far too late to snatch her dress up from the floor to cover herself, without seeming either embarrassed or ashamed and she did not want to seem embarrassed, and she had nothing to be ashamed of. Her ankles started itching and she jigged her foot a little bit, trying to ignore it the twitch.

    Gonzo finally shut his mouth. His eyelids moved in confusion. Miss Piggy tipped her head sideways, but could not think of a single thing that would be worth saying to make this situation any better.

    She moved her foot again. Gonzo opened and closed his fingers and managed to part his lips enough to speak. "How did it go at the interview?" he asked.

    "It didn't," Miss Piggy replied. "Not well. "

    "Oh."

    "Yes."

    "What happened?"

    "He'd…employed someone else, I think. It was really quite complicated."

    "Aah."

    Their eyes met and they both blushed from their eyes down throughout their faces, then both moved at once, mumbling, "Excuse me." Gonzo turned completely around and walked back into the bathroom. Miss Piggy scooped her clothing up in an armful and ran into her bedroom. Bedroom and bathroom doors both slammed shut together and neither emerged for an hour.

    When they finally did regroup, about the time that their hunger overcame their embarrassment, all conversation revolved entirely around the fur shedding habits of Miss Piggy's cats.

    To be continued...
  7. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    Hmmm... Not sure what to think of this development... Will let you know as soon as more gets posted. So post more please!
  8. ReneeLouvier

    ReneeLouvier Active Member

    ........

    *faints at the thought of that pairing*

    I...guess anything could...happen in a world with no....Kermit.
  9. Beauregard

    Beauregard Well-Known Member

    Pairing? What pairing?

    Ok...so...I don't suppose I will get away with acting innocent here? But let's not get ahead of ourselves, people, this was just Gonzo stepping into the room to find Piggy in a state of undress...this wasn't pairing. A lot of misunderstanding can still happen...and in this universe, you can be assured that it will.
  10. theprawncracker

    theprawncracker Well-Known Member

    Beau! LOVED IT!!! MURRAY!!! EEEEEEEEEEE!!! GONZO AND PIGGY!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I can't WAIT to see where this goes! Oh I am so excited!
  11. ReneeLouvier

    ReneeLouvier Active Member

    Still...wow! That...will be quite interesting to see play out in the resulting chapters, Beau. Gonzo and Miss Piggy. In-tres-ting! Whoo!
  12. Beauregard

    Beauregard Well-Known Member

    Ok...I can't deny that Gonzo and Piggy are...becoming close-er, but there are still a lot of things going on in their heads (particularly Piggy's) that need to be sorted...I'm trying to handle this whole thing carefully becuase I know it hurts and...well...you'll see, but I'm really trying not to rush anyone into anything.

    Anyways! On to happier things...I set myself a challange with this chapter, and have incorperated every line of "We Couldn't We Ride!" into the scene. If anyone can find all the lines from that in here, they get a prize of invisable badges becuase some of them are hidden pretty deeply...

    Enjoy...or don't...here's the next chapter:

    Chapter 11

    It was a pretty day with a sunny sky.

    Gonzo and Miss Piggy left the apartment and headed down to the lobby. Miss Piggy pulled the stiff front door open and then leapt back into Gonzo in surprise as a tiny white dog shot between her legs and dashed up the stairs. Gonzo shook his head and stepped around to get the door.

    "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Miss Piggy asked as they climbed onto a bus and settled beside a window. They'd raided Piggy's bank account for the bus-fare and entry fees to a motor-bike race on the outskirts of the city. Bus was the best was to get there, and the race was there new last hope.

    The bus pulled away and drove slothenly past yellowing walls where graffiti stick-figures striked ungainly poses.

    "Lovely pictures," Gonzo said, leaning towards sarcasm.

    "No. They aren’t." Miss Piggy turned her back on the window, locking a barrage of images back in their cage.

    "You can shut them," Gonzo said as he noticed fear or something dance in… "Your eyes," he said. "You can shut them"

    "I'm fine," Piggy insisted. She shifted uncomfortable until Gonzo looked away from her face.

    "We can do this," Gonzo assured her. "Besides the fact that we've got to and need the money, it all seems so right."

    "It all seems to rare," Piggy objected with a hint of bitterness. "Chance doesn't play fair, Gonzo."

    Hydraulics squeaked as the bus cranked to a stop. Doors opened and closed and the bus lurched on. A brush of cold air trilled up the bus from out doors. Spring was still bubbling slowly to life, hinting at summer. Soft mud squelched beneath the thick tires.

    "Who knows? Maybe we'll get a sudden breeze of good luck," Gonzo suggested as the bus turned off the road into the outer limits of the city where fences held back wildlife. Gonzo lent forward to see around Piggy to where he could watch the wind play tag in the trees. At least with them taking this step, doing this, they were the wind, not the trees, the finger not the ripple.

    The bus crunched to a stop beside an abandoned stretch of buildings which had sunk into a slump and collapsed into various states of rubble with piles of bricks, sloping roofs, and solid staircases. For a dirty bike race, it was the most perfect and dangerous setting in the world.

    "Is so bright," Miss Piggy exhaled, catching glances of sunlight off broken windowpanes. "Oh. Wow."

    Men and women in leather stomped out of the bus. Gonzo and Piggy followed, the doors hissed closed, and it trundled away up the road. They felt out of place as they made their way around elbows and legs. Miss Piggy was dressed in a red suit of protective leather. She carried her helmet under her arm. Gonzo wore just a pale blue shirt and jeans. He'd told her that he'd be safe. He was very flexible, he'd said. She raised an eyebrow at that.

    A hastily erected PA system barked the rules of the fight, or, race rather. "You start here. You end there. You do this by any means. So, perfectly fair play is out the window. Got it?" A roar from the crowd implied an affirmative.

    The race track was a road running through the broken down ghost town, winding around various houses and corners, then cutting through a park and ending out soon beyond the other side.

    Piggy ground her teeth. "After vous," she muttered.

    It had been Gonzo's great idea to compete. He'd felt it was time to be the ripple…and he'd gone for it. The winner received a cash prize, it was big. They had every reason to enter, and no good reason not too. Assuming they could both ride a motorbike. Piggy had smiled at that. Did she ever!

    The crowd they were moving through acted like a mob, bunched close, shoulders touching, hands clasping, feet stomping. There were singles, couples, and lovers. Singers dressed in punk stood on a platform. Their grating voices screamed encouragement and insults through the PA. As far as Gonzo could see, there were no children.

    Dance music on stereos fought with the punk rock, arguing for a beat in everyone's ear drums.

    "For a minute," Gonzo yelled towards Piggy, "We’ve got a chance, alright?" They broke from the crowd and made their way past a huge chain-link fence to the starting line where a row of motorbikes, both gleaming and rusty, angled for attention.

    Gonzo went up to the roster and signed their name in the book. Miss Piggy handed over the money and strapped her helmet down. They were pointed to two nearby bikes. Piggy's was almost new, probably stolen, with red handlebars that, naturally, accented her dark suit. She climbed up on, sliding one leg over the seat.

    Gonzo's bike was old, held together with mismatched bolts and a wish. "Let's do it," he said, jumping up on.

    "Ready to fall flat on your face?" Miss Piggy asked, optimism rising.

    "I would be. But my face isn't flat." He touched his nose. "Besides, why couldn't we fly?" he said mischievously as he adjusted his position on the seat and grabbed the handles.

    Piggy raised an eyebrow and revved her engine. "I know we'd get by," she said.

    Gonzo grinned. "Ready!" he shouted.

    "Ready!" Miss Piggy echoed.

    A stream of steady Ready!'s filtered down the field.

    Pushing to the front of the crowd, a purple dude with dreadlocked hair, and his yellow girlfriend stepped out of the mob and ran towards the roster. "We're ready, too," Clifford yelled, throwing down a handful of notes and taking Skeeter's hand in his. Originally, they had come to watch. Motorbikes were a hobby of Clifford's. But the sight of the bikes and the scream of the singers excited him. He had to do this. Skeeter had tagged along. Neither had helmets.

    "Don't do anything dangerous," Clifford told her as he climbed onto a blue-painted bike.

    Skeeter tugged her pale leather jacket tighter. "I'll do whatever you do," she said, ignoring her bike and swinging onto the back of his. "Is this ok?"

    Clifford's face ran through a variety of emotions, then he shrugged. "Sure. But…why?"

    "If we go down," Skeeter whispered, suddenly close to his ear. "I want to be with you."

    Clifford turned around on his bike and met her mouth with his. Skeeter held the side of his face with her hand as she fought for a better grip. Eventually Clifford pulled back, releasing her, and turned to the race. Skeeter wrapped her arms around his waist. "I love you," she said.

    Clifford nodded grimly. He was going to have to be careful. He revved the engine.

    Gonzo and Miss Piggy held one another's gaze as they waited for the singers to stop and for the crack of a gun indicating that the war…the race rather, was on. There was still the signs of a sunny sky up above, but the pretty day was gone, replaced by a day of grim determination.

    The announcer hit a button. Just a push, and the music, all sound in fact, ceased. He lifted a gun, aimed, and fired. The bullet embedded itself into the solid wood of the announcer's desk beside at least thirty others.

    "We're on our way," Piggy thought as she felt her bike accelerate from nothing to double numbers in a moment, reaching higher every second.

    "YES!" Gonzo shouted, feeling the wind scrape against his body.

    "Couldn't we ride!" Miss Piggy yelled as their bikes meshed into line, side by side, kicking along the roughly laid out track, skidding around bricks and debris.

    Engines stirred the air. Dust kicked. Eyes narrowed. Fingers squeezed. Crows lifted from a crumbled roofline, flapping across the sun. Gears shifted. Front and back tires lifted off the ground. Rocks spat. Steering veered. A biker collided with a wall. Another skidded, lowering till its rider lay almost flat, then raising rapidly, spinning around a corner.

    Smoke shook in the air

    Skeeter clung to Clifford who watched buildings swerve in and out of his view. Gonzo yanked his steering and side-winded into a house rather than round, bouncing through an empty doorway, rushing through a living room, barrelling out the back, back onto the track ahead of the pack.

    Piggy slowed up behind a gang of three riders and saw Gonzo skid out of the house in front of them. She avoided a tree. Someone else didn't. An explosion burnt hot against her back. She pushed on forward.

    The three bikers up ahead divided, two of them splitting and overtaking Gonzo equally on opposite sides, the third racing behind. They reflected off Gonzo's mirrors. He swerved left, then right, then left again.

    The biker on the left over-compensated his steering to avoid him and met a bump in the road, spinning his bike way up into the air and over twice before it landed. The man on the right slowed, levelling with the other biker behind, who then split left.

    Gonzo steered off the road, jumping onto what had once been a pavement but was now a pit-hole heaven. He danced the steering back and forth, avoiding each and every bump.

    The man who had been on his right, dove after him, following suit. Ancient lampposts flashed past. Lamppost, one, two, three, lamppost, one two three, lamppost, one, two, steer! Gonzo swung back onto the track road. His following friend attempted the same move, one, two, three, lamppost, one, steer, two, lamppost! He was kicked up from his bike and landed in the road.

    Miss Piggy shot her bike around him levelling beside the man on Gonzo's left. She glanced ahead as a right turn rushed towards them and drove a little closer to the leftie.

    Gonzo spotted her for an instant as he took the turn. Then she was gone. He studied the mirror. Two more bikes took the turn, only one made it. Gonzo recognised the red suit and allowed himself a proud smile. A set of railings appeared on his left, a fence of what had once been the park. The gate was open. Gonzo steered though it and ate up the dirty grass playing field with his tires.

    Miss Piggy's eyes danced as she followed her leader. Gonzo made for a good chase. This was how she won races, she chased and then, at the last minute, overtook. More bikes span into the park after them. One or two mangled the fence with their front wheels and were automatically out of the race.

    Skeeter shifted her grip from both arms around Clifford's waist, to one arm bent around each of his shoulders. She buried her head into his jacket. Mud flew under their tires.

    Metal frame playground toys zoomed up in front of the bikers, swings and roundabouts and a slide.

    Using the width of the playing field, four daring bikers in a team surrounded the leads, cutting across Gonzo and Piggy's paths. For the factionist fraction of a second, Piggy and Gonzo levelled and their eyes met sideways, then they changed direction, together, aiming for a new target, the park slide.

    The solid slide started on the ground and rose up to a set of handles and steep steps down the other side. They would use it backwards. Their competitors gathered closer. Gonzo's tires screeched as they hit the bottom of the slide and shot up the silver surface, leaping into the air above the steep steps.

    Piggy's bike rose up behind him.

    A bolt fell from Gonzo's front wheel and tumbled towards the ground. The other bikers spread out from under them. Gonzo's front wheel shook. He pulled his handlebars higher and the bike began to flip into a 180. He felt more than saw Miss Piggy's bike shoot under him, released all grip on his own bike, and dropped sickeningly to land behind her on the bike's seat. This was how he won races, as a team.

    Piggy's tires touched the ground, bumped, and settled, racing far ahead of the others once more. "Why couldn't we fly!" Piggy screamed in exhilaration.

    "I knew we'd get by!" Gonzo yelled from the back.

    The sunny sky reflected the un-pretty daylight accident as Gonzo's bike smashed into the ground at the foot of the slide, shattering into an explosion that threw shards of metal in a dozen different directions.

    Clifford saw the explosion and felt it run through the ground, through the wheels of his bike, through his steering. He pealed to the right and avoided the wreck, just. A push against his back from Skeeter brought his concentration back and he slipped the engine down, slowing rapidly as the bike lost it's proper grip and span, like a fast motion roundabout, the back revolving around the front in a barely controlled spin. Skeeter clung on. Clifford released the gas control. The bike slowed and shuddered to a stop. Clifford and Skeeter leapt together from the bike with a push and landed on the hard ground, rolling. Somehow they were still connected as they rolled together, over and over. They laughed and choked and kissed in exhilaration and exhaustion.

    Gonzo hung onto Miss Piggy as she expertly revved her motorbike around obstacles and shot back out the park gates, back onto the road track, back in the lead, back in the winning position. Their bike screamed across the finish line to floods of shouting and clapping and a myriad of lost bets among the crowd.

    Piggy angled her bike to a stop as other bikers rolled in behind her. She hopped down onto the asphalt and turned to Gonzo with a gleam of unbelieving triumph. She unclipped her chin-strap and lifted her helmet free over her sparkling eyes.

    Gonzo leapt down beside her. He grabbed her hands, then her shoulders in a hug. "We're on the way!" he yelled in her ear. "We are on our way!"

    Piggy let the helmet in her hand drop to her side as she responded to Gonzo's embrace. "Yes," she said!

    Gonzo's grin was wide as he kept hold of her hands but moved away to look at her. Piggy's face reflected his own in her flashing eyes. "Couldn't we ride!" Gonzo shouted elatedly. "Couldn't we!"

    Piggy's emotions slowed. She felt his hands through her gloves but didn't let go. "Side by side," she said.

    Gonzo saw the emotion in her face and carried it. "Side by side," he repeated and Miss Piggy met his questioning eyes confidently and with an unexpectedly eager gaze.

    "Why couldn't we ride?" she asked, and it wasn't exactly a question.

    *****​

    That night they hid the cash prize in their apartment, dividing the hiding places in case of robbers. They had barely spoken a word on the way home, except to compliment one or the other on his or her driving skills. Or to discuss the changes that having free cash would bring. Of course, they had to save it, but surely there was some little thing that they could-

    Miss Piggy opened the fridge and examined the contents. There wasn’t anything here that caught her attention.

    Gently, Gonzo pushed the fridge door shut in front of her. "I have a better idea," he said.

    Miss Piggy tipped her head and noticed that his wispy hair was combed back, his hands were washed, and his shirt was tucked in.

    "Would you," Gonzo started, "join me," he went on, "for dinner," he added, "maybe," he said, "tonight?"

    Miss Piggy shut her eyes as a memory of a frog and a faint scent of pond scum flashed into her mind, followed by other memories, the smell of paint and an image of an artist friend she had trusted. She saw saw herself cutting her hair in front of a mirror. She felt Murray's fingers touch her shoulder with his cold fingers as he helped her into the apartment. She pressed her face into a green towel, deeper and deeper and took a breath and opened her eyes to meet Gonzo's curious gaze.

    Gonzo managed a smile, but he was almost unsure as he repeated the question to her. "Will you dine with me Miss Piggy? See, there this fantastic Greek place on the corner of eighteenth street and I thought..." He trailed off.

    "I, um, really…" Miss Piggy swallowed back her original answer. "I'll need a little time to get ready," she replied.

    To be continued...
  13. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    Magnitrillyscent! The bike race/war was everything it could have been... And more so! Such daring, such do, and the song mixed in hereabouts. This was quite clever of you Bo old bean... Now, could we get some more please?

    *Leaves humming... Oh couldn't we get more fanfic...
  14. ReneeLouvier

    ReneeLouvier Active Member

    A wonderful story! I loved the song somehow strangely mixed in throughout. Nice touches.
  15. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    So... We gonna get more of this Bo? Or do we have to turn the hoses/super soakers on you again?
    After all... It's soon becoming spring, when a young weirdo's fancy turns to, um, dunno what exactly. But I think there was a chicken trapped in a cage at the beginning of this story, she needs to be set free and Uncle Deadly's plan needs to be explained, or at least sprung.
  16. theprawncracker

    theprawncracker Well-Known Member

    OH WOW! Beau! That was great! Touche with the bike race and song mixed through, I wondered if I was just seeing things or if it was really supposed to be there, very cool!
  17. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    Hello... This is a message from your friendly nagging service. This message is simply a reminder that loyal readers are in need of an update, soonerishkibbible
    if not sooner than that. So please post more, your fans will thank you.

    That is all... Thank you and please post more!
  18. Beauregard

    Beauregard Well-Known Member

    Before I post this chapter, I have to place a small shipping warning, athough I've never seen this as shipping in the common sence on the word. (Shipping, for those of you who don't know is "A term used to describe fan fictions that take previously created characters and put them as a pair. It usually refers to romantic relationships, but it can refer platonic ones as well. [Just think of "shipping" as short for "relationSHIP". ]").

    Athough this story ships a relationship between Miss Piggy and Gonzo, I have never looked at the story purely as shipping. The characters, while the same, as NOT the happy-go-lucky Gonzo we know, nor the deeply-in-love Piggy we love. Instead, it is this Gonzo and this Piggy. Kermit is not here. They deserve a chance of happiness.

    So...you have been told. And I hope it doesn't put you off. And I do hope you enjoy this next chapter dispite (or because of) the ushy-gushy moments.

    - Beau

    Chapter 11

    Gonzo went ahead to wait for a table and one was found at the back of the restaurant where Gonzo was promptly seated and presented with a vase of breadsticks with which he could fiddle until his lovely date arrived. She wasn't his date, Gonzo informed the ever so helpful waiter, actually, no, quite the opposite. This was a congratulatory dinner. The waiter bowed out of the conversation with a knowing smile and Gonzo twirled a breadstick around and around in his fingers.

    A dainty cough brought him out of his meditations and he glanced up, up, up into the flatteringly full eyes of Miss Piggy. Her short-cropped hair was curled with a bounce around her ears and down the back of her head in a flourish. She had done something to her face, although he couldn't…quite distinguish what. He just knew it enhanced her features into something almost…he struggled for the right word, telling himself that beautiful or delightful were too something, and that nice or smart didn't cut it, so he would have to go with something more simple and in the end all he managed was an exclamation. "Wow," he said at last. "You look fantastic, Miss Piggy." He winced at the sound of the words, then cringed at himself for wincing.

    "Oooh, thank you." Her lashes flickered as she realised he was uncomfortable with her new-found daintiness. It amused and intrigued her. She gestured at her seat. "Shall I sit down?"

    Gonzo hopped up, helped her into her chair, and offered her a breadstick. She munched it nervously and quickly, biting her way down the breadstick towards her fingers. She glanced up sharply to be sure he wasn't watching her or judging her etiquette.

    Gonzo was watching. He wasn't thinking about etiquette.

    The young waiter appeared with menus. He complimented Miss Piggy as he handed hers over and she blushed. Gonzo ignored them and studied the specials. Miss Piggy trailed her hand around and around the rim of her bread-and-butter plate. The waiter reappeared with a free bottle of tap-water and Miss Piggy asked if that meant he thought she looked thirsty. He produced glasses and assured her it did not.

    Gonzo ordered a salad with feta cheese. Miss Piggy asked the waiter what he would suggest. When he indicated an olive starter, Piggy fained indignation and insisted he was implying she needed to lose weight. No such thing, he exclaimed! But olives are for dieters, Piggy gushed. Actually, they are very good for the complexion, though, he hurriedly reminded her, with a blush of his own, her skin was perfect as it was. Gonzo crushed the end of a breadstick between his fingers. The waiter caught his eye and dissolved into other parts of the restaurant, leaving them alone again.

    "Friend of yours?" Gonzo asked.

    "No? What makes vous think he's a friend?"

    "Well, you seemed awfully…"

    "No." She said the word without hesitation, then ran on in clarification, "No, aheh, silly dear. I do not flirt with friends. It tends to…ruin things."

    "Things?" Gonzo asked.

    Then the waiter was at their table again. Apparently they were all out of feta, sorry. Gonzo ordered the same as Piggy. There was no way, he assumed, they would be out of that.

    *****​

    Conversation dipped as Gonzo shook salad dressing over his lettuce and Miss Piggy skewered olives with a long-pronged silver fork. They'd already discussed what an unbelievable coincidence it had been that Gonzo's bike had crashed when it did, and not before or after. They'd already speculated on the mangy white mutt that seemed to dog them whenever they left the apartment, yapping up and down the stairs. After that, conversation seemed like deja vu all over again. Gonzo attempted to settle on a new topic. Had she always lived in the city, he asked. Or…?

    No, not forever. In fact, she was quite the country girl.

    A farm? Gonzo was surprised.

    Did he have a problem with that?

    Well, no, he was just surprised. He knew about farms. They were harsh and awkward places to grow up. "You're not awkward," he said.

    Miss Piggy laughed, drawing glances from nearby tables. "But I can be harsh," she warned, squishing a black olive under her thumb.

    Gonzo warmed to her laughter. "Yeah, well, I knew this chicken once, Farm bred. A pretty tough bird. She never let me get close to her."

    "Her?"

    Gonzo tried filling his mouth with salad to avoid the question, unable to speak for a long, silent, food-chewing minute and a half. He found himself wishing that Miss Piggy's handsome waiter would return. Eventually he had to swallow. "Her name was Camilla," he said, staring firmly at his almost empty plate. "She was nice, smart even, but we never were…We were never close."

    Miss Piggy leant back in her seat. "And did vous ask el chick'ino out?"

    No. Yes. Well, no, sort of. He was young. She was a chicken, and, yeah, she turned him down, three times. See, it was nothing.

    "Mhmm." Miss Piggy tapped her glass with the edge of her fork, creating an almost inaudible ping. Within a moment, her waiter was by her side and Piggy ordered a glass of the house wine, white. Gonzo said he was happy with water. The waiter tried to stare him down, but Piggy cleared her throat, and he swiftly dodged away from the table.

    "Three times," she said. "Then vous chased her?"

    "I…a little while," Gonzo admitted with an embarrassed catch in his voice. "Then I got a part in a small production. We went our separate ways."

    Wine arrived and Piggy sipped.

    "What about you?" Gonzo asked.

    "What about me, what?"

    “The same,” he asked. Any boyfriends? Any secret crushes? Loves?

    Miss Piggy angled her head to look away from him and found herself focusing on a candle three tables away. The candle flame bobbed and weaved. The wick bowed. Wax smudged into tear droplets that rolled down the neck of the candle. An amorous couple were directed to the table and seated themselves, letting their interlocked hands settle in front of the flame light.

    "Some," Miss Piggy answered, "But, they, um, they weren’t secret." Her eyes left the candle and refocused on Gonzo's eyes. "And they weren’t love," she finished.

    Gonzo swallowed and set his fork down on his plate. Miss Piggy adjusted her seat.

    A voice interrupted. "Are you done?"

    "I beg your pardon?" Miss Piggy snapped her head up to look at the waiter and noticed him for the first time. She discovered he was really not that nice. His shirt, she noted, was untucked on one side and not the other. The underside of his supposedly smooth chin had actually not been shaved properly this morning. There was something oddly crooked about the guy's nose, and his eyes were lazy. His eyebrows met in the middle. Piggy saw his bitten nails as he pulled her plate out from in front of her and complimented her healthy appetite. His voice was actually annoyingly grating as he asked if they wanted to see the sweet menu, remarking that the lady pig was sweet enough already, so perhaps they should go straight to coffee.

    Piggy's face grew hot as she stared at the waiters faults. She felt embarrassed and flustered. She should not have been flirting with him. He was not a nice guy. She stood up in one motion, and snatched her handbag off the table to her side. "Shall we go, Gonzo?"

    The waiter was all surprise. "No desserts? No caffe con leche?"

    "We'll take the bill," Miss Piggy growled.

    Gonzo arrived beside her. "Everything ok?"

    "Its fine."

    "Er, we'll take the bill," Gonzo repeated to the struck dumb waiter. "We're leaving now."

    The waiter practically tripped over himself on his way to the kitchen, returning in seconds with a hastily written up bill. Gonzo paid in cash, added a small tip, and they left the Greek restaurant behind them, stepped out into the night.

    *****​

    "I'm sorry," Piggy repeated as her heels click-clacked off the pavement ahead of Gonzo. "I over acted."

    "You did not," Gonzo assured her, taking longer strides to keep beside her.

    "I over re-acted then."

    "You did not over act. You were brilliant."

    "Pardon?"

    "You were brilliant, Miss Piggy. That waiter was a pi-" he swiftly avoided the word pig replacing it at the last moment with, "-prig. He was shamelessly angling for a tip."

    "And I was what?" Piggy asked, never slowing. "Angling for attention? Demanding sweeter service? Hinting for a discount? Why was I playing his game, Gonzo?"

    Gonzo hunted for an easy answer as he kept up with her pace. "You were…"

    Now she stopped and turned to him in front of a glass store front window. A glow from night-lights inside silhouetted her frame and Gonzo lost track of the sentence.

    "I was…?" Miss Piggy prompted.

    "You were…" He pushed his hands into his pockets and swung his body slightly, lifting up on his toes and dropping back to the flat of his heels, unsure how to go on.

    Piggy probed for a reply. "I…?"

    "You…" The word trailed off and Gonzo shifted up and down again. "Perhaps you weren't able to resist," he suggested eventually.

    Miss Piggy's gaze steeled, clamping a cage in front of her eyes. "What?"

    "You were unable to ignore him," Gonzo said. "He was good at his game. You couldn't resist."

    Miss Piggy adjusted her shoulders. "You think moi am weak?" Her voice was anything but.

    "No. I think-"

    "Then you think I'm not strong?"

    "You are, Piggy, but…"

    "What? I am not pathetic. I'm not weak. I didn't need his attentions. I didn't ask him to give moi olives!"

    "This isn't about olives."

    "Oh? Oh? This isn't about olives? Then what is it about? Cheese? Hmm! Or the wine? Is it about that? Is this about breadsticks?"

    "Piggy."

    "Hey, I do not need vous to protect me."

    "Protect you? I'm not protecting you."

    "Oh! Sure, like you can protect moi! I can look after myself, I do not need vous to interfere in moi's life. I don't need vous to get me a job. I didn’t ask you to find moi in a telephone box."

    "Piggy! No one asks to be found!"

    "Yeah, well, yeah! Yeah! Er, yeah!" She stopped and turned away, seeing her face reflected in the glass. "I'm...not weak."

    Gonzo's jaw tightened, anger warming inside him, tightening his stomach. “You're not strong, Miss Piggy." There, he had said it. It was out. It was open. It wasn’t closed. The statement hung between them like a knife, twinkling in the thin glow of shop lights.

    Miss Piggy’s mouth opened, shut, and opened again. She tried to muscle the strength to reply, but the knife had dug deep and severed all vocal connection between her cold-air filled lungs and her parted lips.

    "Come with me," Gonzo said, spinning on his toes and walking away from her. He stepped off the curb, and moved through a soft sludge of traffic towards a new destination. There was more to say, but it had to be shown.

    On the other side of the street he looked back. “Come with me,” he insisted.

    Miss Piggy shook her head and started in the opposite direction, paused, turned around, paused, and turned back. She fought an urge to leap into the road, or to slam against the storefront window, and then softly followed Gonzo’s footsteps. “Alright, wait.”

    He didn’t. He kept walking.

    "Gonzo! Wait!"

    *****​

    Gonzo walked straight, without glancing back. He could hear her following, and knew the whimpered "Wait!" was adjusting itself into anger once again. Well, she deserved to be angry. She needed to see herself angry. She needed to see herself at all. Her high-heels specked against the grimy streetwalk in this part of town.

    Gonzo slammed his hands against a set of steel gates that screeched open ahead of him. A set of steps led to the flat platform of the city’s main train station. Almost no one ever left the city. Trains were few and far between.

    Gonzo kept walking.

    Miss Piggy approached the station hesitantly, holding onto the wire frame gates as she closed them behind her. "Gonzo?" she whispered.

    "Over here."

    She crept forward and rose up the steps, dilly-dallying there for a second, unsure, then headed towards the voice.

    Gonzo's figure appeared on the edge of the platform where he stood so close beside the drop to the train-lines that his even his innate balance seemed affected by the dip ahead of him.

    “What are you doing?” Piggy asked, approaching him from behind.

    He twisted his head to meet her gaze with his eyes. "I'm doing what I want to do,” he said. “What I choose to do. You, though. You're doing what other people want you to do. You can’t make your own choices, so you latch onto whoever is near you. You just can't do that, Piggy. Eventually that latch--” he paused and Piggy glared.

    “It’s going to fall,” Gonzo finished, and he did.

    Piggy’s breath caught short as Gonzo jumped. One minute he was there, a black statue on the edge of the platform, then he was gone, dropping like a brick down to land awkwardly on the tracks where gravely pebbles were scattered for support.

    “Gonzo!” The exclamation escaped before she remembered that she was still mad at him. “What are you doing?”

    “Ouch,” Gonzo responded automatically before collecting himself and settling into a cross-legged position between the lines. “Join me,” he said.

    “The trains!"

    "Who says there will be any?"

    "I…what if there is?"

    "Come down here."

    "No."

    "Come down here!"

    "Gonzo, no."

    She folded her arms and he crossed his. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Gonzo's widened. He insisted she jump down and she paced back and forth above, never backing. She wasn't stupid. She did not have a death wish.

    Her eyes wondered as she paced, moving along the painted stripes of the platform, meeting the concrete walls that were laced with bright graffiti and black marks from years of skateboarders' shoes kicking off in a high-spin.

    A screech sounded down the line, rattling ahead of a train, warning and informing anyone who cared to hear. Gonzo's yell carried over the shouting voices of the echoing steel wheels. "You have to join me!"

    Piggy flung herself forward, leaping towards the edge of the track. A train appeared, it's blinding lights flashing off the walls in a blaring wave. "Gonzo!" She pulled up short of the edge, stepping back from the rushing beat of wind that ran ahead of the locomotive, and suddenly, it was slowing, either the train, or her mind.

    Gonzo was standing up in the centre of the tracks. His mouth was moving, shouting for her to leap down in front of the train. And she was shaking her head. "I don't have to!" she screamed over the scream of the traim. "Moi does not have to do what vous say!"

    A force slammed her and the train shot by, its carriages appearing in sudden flashes of light. The force pushed her back from the edge, its hands on her shoulders, its legs slamming against her own. Carriage windows flashed and Piggy stepped backwards over the platform, propelled by the force, hitting against the wall. "I don't have to!" Piggy repeated and she saw Gonzo's face inches from her own.

    Sparks flew from the wheels, scattering over the pebbles.

    Gonzo's breath brushed against her snout, warming the smooth skin. His eyes were searching hers for an answer, and whatever he was looking for, he found. She was stronger than he thought, pushing him away from her, holding him at arm's length.

    The train receded, disappearing first from sight and then from ear-shot. The silence fell sweetly around them. Miss Piggy let her hands fall down his arms, reaching his hands. She was suddenly very aware of the delicate curve of his nose. "I don't have to," she whispered again, more to herself than any other.

    The nose angled towards her, turning towards the left and she realised that it was her turn to move her face, her mouth, towards the right. His nose touched her cheek, softer than she had imagined, pressing against her.

    She lifted her eyelids, and saw his eyes, closer and deeper than she had known them to ever be before. Then his lips were meeting hers and she was kissing him back. She felt his hands on her shoulders, her elbows, her back. She leant her head against the wall, feeling its coldness though her hair, and one kiss became many, yet one, continuous, and repeating like the beating of her heart and the shattered suddenness of her breathing between kisses.

    To be continued...
  19. The Count

    The Count Moderator Staff Member

    You know... There's something about this chapter that I like. There are a few garbled passages where it's a bit tricky to understand... But so much action and pathos between the two main costars. The dinner scene was well orchestrated, that Greek waiter was definitely oily... Get it? Greece? Oily? Aaaaaaah!
    Ooh! The scene at the train station where Gonzo hurled himself down onto the tracks, calling for Piggy to join him. And then, wen she proves her strength, she does join him. That turned out to be one of the sweeter parts of the chapter. Very much liking this Bo. Now don't take so long next time and post more!
  20. theprawncracker

    theprawncracker Well-Known Member

    Beau... Ya know I love it... Ya know I do. Great, great, great job. I LOVE the scene with the train. Very, very powerful.


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