Voiceless (Dedicated to Richard Hunt)

Gaaah, not the nagging stick!

Just a quick update, I've been working on this over the last two days, and I should be finished soonish (don't bet on it though, I'm back for my last semester at Ye Local College so it's been crazy busy).

Edit: Forget soonish, Chapter 7 is DONE! *victory dance*

You totally can.

Good, that was one thing I was concerned about for a bit there.

@ Muppet fan 123, We Got Us, bouncingbabyfig and anyone else I might have missed: THANK YOU!
Author's Note: This chapter does contain one instance where a beloved character acts rather...out-of-character. This is because grief can do really strange things to both muppets and people alike, as I learned when my sister reacted much differently to the news about my favorite English teacher's death than I did.

By the way, how's my characterization of Gonzo? I don't know a lot about him, and haven't seen the full Muppet Show past Season One (only snippets of it), so I'm not entirely familiar with his character. Was I able to get it close, at least?

Also, I'm trying to think of a good song the remaining Muppets can sing as a tribute to Richard Hunt at his memorial service, but I can't really find anything good (that's older than 1992). Any suggestions?

Anyways, on with Chapter 7!

*********

Chapter 7

Gonzo didn’t go very far. He just led Bunsen to the far right corner of the theatre and plonked down on the floor, his back against the wall. Not sure what to make of this, Bunsen gingerly sat down next to him.

“You weren’t at the theatre when Jim died, were you?” Gonzo began, pulling his feet towards himself and draping his arms over his knees, his hands hanging limply.

Bunsen shook his head. “I had the day off. My parents were in town, so I visited them for the day. It was great, but coming home to that news was a bit of a nasty shock.”

Gonzo nodded sympathetically. “Who told you the news?” He asked.

“When I got home there was a message on the phone from Beaker. He sounded pretty upset and wanted me to call him as soon as I got home, so I did. It was very unpleasant, hearing what had happened over the phone.” Bunsen winced.

“Yeah, I get what you’re saying. I can think of worse ways of hearing stuff like that though. Letters, Morse code, smoke signals...” Gonzo’s hands were coming to life, spinning and jerking around for emphasis. “You know, I was in the theatre when Jim died. Was just packing up and calling ‘er a day, and Rowlf was with me. He’d stayed late to practice a bit, you know how he gets with Choppin’---”

“Chopin.” Bunsen corrected him. Seriously, get to the point!

“Right, Chopin. Anyways, Rowlf and I are talking as Rowlf’s locking the place up (don’t ask me where he got the keys) because Kermit had gone home with a headache and had heard that Jim was sick. I don’t think anyone thought too much of it at the time. Anyways, Rowlf is kind of quiet for a bit, listening to me tell him about my date with Camilla that I was going to have in a few hours (which never did happen, once the news broke out)—”

“What does this have to do with Be—”

“I’ll get to that! Don’t interrupt a storyteller as he practices his art!” Gonzo said, giving Bunsen an annoyed look.

“Sorry, sorry.” Bunsen said, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “Continue on.”

“Anyways, as I was saying, I was telling Rowlf about my plans for the date, and he’s smiling, and all of a sudden he’s not smiling anymore. He tries to say something, but it’s like no sound comes out of him. None, just wheezing where he’s breathing all hard and funny, like someone just kicked him or something.”

“If I may speak, that sounds somewhat similar to what happened to Beaker when we were in the lab this morning. He was actually in the middle of uttering a statement when…well, you know.” Bunsen frowned and glanced towards where Beaker was sitting. He was getting really worried, as his assistant still hadn’t moved. The theatre was almost empty now, save for the Electric Mayhem at the front of the theatre.

“Right.” Gonzo gestured wildly about with his hand, his eyes vacant, caught up in the memory. “He stopped walking, just stood there, and his face…” He shuddered. “I’m never going to forget that as long as I live. I turned around and, well, kind of freaked out a bit since I’ve never seen him quite like that. I asked him what was wrong, and I guess I scared him, because he ran away from me down the street.” Bunsen’s breath hitched as he recognized the parallels from earlier that morning. “I chased him clear on down to Parker Street, I did, ‘cause I had no idea what was going on and I was really reallyscaredbecauseIthoughthe’dcaughtrabiesorsomethingandwasgonnagocrazyorhewashurtandIdidn’tknowwhattodosowhenIcaughtuptohimhebarkedatmeandIgrabbedathim—” Gonzo’s pupils had shrunk down to the size of pinpricks, and he was turning a deep shade of purple from losing breath.

“Gonzo! Slow down!” Bunsen yelped, smacking him on the shoulder. Gonzo’s head jerked violently.

“HE BIT ME!” He shrieked. Bunsen shrank back, startled.

“What?”

“He bit me, right on the arm, hard enough to leave bruises, and if I still had them I’d show them to you.”

“Surely you jest!” Bunsen exclaimed, shocked. He couldn’t imagine Rowlf, gentle-natured Rowlf, doing anything like that. Ever. It was completely out of his character to do so. Bunsen almost found it hard to believe.

“I’m Gonzo.” The strange muppet blinked. “And I don’t jest, that’s Fozzie’s job.”

“I don’t believe it.” Bunsen murmured.

“Yeah, it was like he didn’t even know me, you know? He ran off after that, and I still followed him, but only just enough to make sure he didn’t get himself dragged off by the SPCA or something. He came to his senses later, but he didn’t know where he was at first, and couldn’t really remember what happened. He still couldn’t speak, and I think that’s when I realized that something must’ve happened to Jim. I still don’t think Rowlf remembers what happened.” Gonzo looked pointedly at Bunsen. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“No, of course not!”

“Good. Keep this between Goelz’ own, you know?” Gonzo nudged him with a smile.

“I see.” Bunsen nodded, somewhat dazed. “I can see why you held me back now, seeing as you noticed the parallels between the incident you just described to me and what happened this morning, but there was a bit of a flaw in your logic.”

“My logic ain’t flawed! It’s perfectly fine!” Gonzo snorted.

“Beaker wouldn’t bite anyone.” Bunsen said, suddenly plagued with a mental image of Beaker going feral and doing just that, and trying to stifle a laugh at the thought. It was absurd.

“Maybe not,” Gonzo stretched and shuffled to his feet. “But all I know is that Rowlf bit me, even though he probably didn’t mean to, and I was his friend, so I’d hate to see what Beaker would have done to you.” He sat back and arched his back to crack his spine. “I’m going to go find Camilla. She’s probably in the loft, so you know where to find me if you need to.”

“Right. Hey, Gonzo?” Bunsen said, still seated on the floor.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Gonzo grinned and was gone. Bunsen sat there, thinking. Something was off about Gonzo’s last sentence. What was it? I was his friend, so I’d hate to see what Beaker would have done…wait a minute! Is he saying that I’m not his friend? Of course I’m his friend! Why, I’ve given him a good job and good pay and I’ve stuck with him and have been nothing but…nice…

The argument from this morning flashed through Bunsen’s head, and he winced. Then more past arguments came back, more bickering, not a whole lot of apologies. Accusations, harsh words when it appeared that Beaker had broken some equipment, chiding him for behaving childishly, with childish fears, and all of this from Bunsen to Beaker. Ouch.

I haven’t behaved much like a friend, have I? Our last words before all of this began were angry words… Bunsen shook his head, then clonked it softly against the panel work done on the walls of the theatre. “Stupid.” He muttered under his breath. “How could I have been so idiotic and selfish? I’m not just eyeless, I’m blind!”

He sat there for a while, mentally berating himself. The lights in the theatre were turning out, one by one. Suddenly Bunsen scrambled to his feet as an idea hit him. He looked toward the front of the theatre to see if his assistant was still there. He was, and the two of them were now the only ones in the theatre. Perfect.

Bunsen quietly made his way down the side aisle of the theatre. It was eerily quiet and still in the massive room, and for a moment, Bunsen felt like he did whenever he was in a church by himself (which did happen on occasion). He could see Beaker hunched over, his face in his hands, perfectly still. Bunsen reached the edge of the stage, and then started walking alongside it, idly dragging his hand along the floor boards of the raised surface. Beaker glanced up from where he was sitting at the noise Bunsen’s footsteps were making, and then stood to his feet. Bunsen stopped several feet away, and for a moment, the two of them didn’t say a word. Beaker looked terrible.

Bunsen broke the silence. “I’m sorry, Beaker.” He said quietly. “I’m sorry for what happened this morning. I was being inconsiderate and self-centered, and I’m sorry for accusing you of breaking the machine.”

Beaker blinked, silent.

“What’s more, I’m sorry for not treating you well lately. I haven’t been a very good friend to you at all. I thought I was, but really, I haven’t, and I’m sorry that it took what happened to Richard to finally make me realize that. I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you please find it in your heart to forgive me?”

Still silence. Beaker opened his mouth and closed it several times. Bunsen stepped towards Beaker, desperation rising in his chest. “I am so, so sorry, and I know that you’re really hurting right now, and I just want to help you get through this in any way that I can.” Still silence. Bunsen looked away, guilt filling him. “I don’t know how I can ever make it up to you,” He said, his voice catching, “But I—”

Before he knew what was happening, Beaker had rushed forward and pulled him into a rough embrace, crying. Bunsen froze, unused to physical contact from anybody, and then hugged his assistant back. How could he forgive me so easily? Bunsen wondered, humbled. He patted his assistant on the shoulder.

“Thank you.” He said quietly, crying quietly himself though there were no tears to show for it. “Now come on,” He said, gently prying himself from Beaker’s hug, “let’s get out of here. We’ll get through this.” Some way, somehow, we will. “I’m sorry to hear about Richard, Beaker. He was a good man.”

If Bunsen looked towards the rafters at that moment, he would have seen two piercing yellow eyes staring at them, fascinated. For a moment, Uncle Deadly considered tossing his apple core at the bald one’s head, then thought better of it. They were leaving now anyways.

The door at the end of the theatre swung shut, and the last of the lights went out.

Oh dear Lord, the Bunsen and Beaker scene tore me up.
I've always adored Bunsen, so sweet if bumbling and oblivious. And seeing him trying to patch things up and then comforting Beaky, it just makes my heart swell to see him gain more dimensions and depth.
Oh but poor Rowlf, that must've been terrifying for him to forget himself and act like that. Is this what happens to animal-like muppets when their Muppeteer dies?

-----------------------
Very very good.

I can believe that Rowlf, in the throes of grief, might react poorly; he's possibly the most earthy of the troupe. (And yes, your Gonzo is fairly good; my only gripe is the "I did...I did" which sounds more Cockney than Gonzo. But he's a sensible soul underneath all that daring bravado, so I can absolutely see him trying to head off a situation for Bunsen.)

And Bunsen finally apologizing to Beakie...very sweet, and Beaker's response is moving and feels right. A lovely scene, Ozy, thank you.
------------------

Nope, just Rowlf because he was one of the Muppets who knew Jim the longest. I'm glad you liked the Bunsen and Beaker scene, that was hard to write.

I'm glad to hear that Rowlf's reaction is believable, and I'll make a note of that for the next time I write Gonzo. I have the same problem with Gonzo that I do with Zoot; his character was underdeveloped in Season 1, so to write him properly I'd probably have to go through Season 2 and beyond (LOL, like I needed an excuse to do that ).

I don't know whether to cry aour smile... Gonzo was definately in character, 'cept I agree with Newsie. I was suprised at Rowlf's reaction, but I found it......fitting. Gonzo was a lot like this in the rest of the seasons, gentle with a mix of that daredevil still in sight! Reading this makes me think of when my last and only Granny passed on. We were all in the hospital and I'm by her bed while she cries out: Lord help me! Make it stop, Make the pain go away! Lord! Release me! I ran away fighting tears, reaching the waiting room I found my cousins and I try to smile. Instead I kneel down and sob. She was in so much pain I couldn't help her. I never got to say goodbye or tell her I loved her. Things like this put life into a new perspective. We think we have all the time in the world, but we don't. We have only borrowed time, and someday we have to pay off the debt. Some pay sooner than others, but in the end, we all pay. So, in the wise words of Jum Henson: This is a good life, enjoy it. As for songs in the memorial, give Thankful Heart, Manahmanah, Mr. bass Man, and the muppet show theme a try, those were some of his favorite songs.

Thank you bbf, I appreciate that. It must've been hard to have to see your grandmother in that state. I can't even imagine something like that. *hugs*

Right now, a slower, more calm reprise of "Thankful Heart" sounds really good for a tribute. Thank you for the suggestion!

You're welcome! It was hard, but it was, in a way nice to see her be released from pain. Sometimes that's all you can do. You can call me Figgie, too! Thankful Heart does sound good right now, don' it?

Glad to see yuo have your tablet back, btw!!

Haha, I'm using it right now, actually.

Thats good! What do you like to draw on there besides muppets, or is it only muppets?

Whatever pops into my head, which is usually Muppets but can be other stuff as well.

Haha! Same here! Do you know how much tablets cost and where I could find one of my own?

Hmm...Wacom Graphire has served me pretty well. I got mine secondhand from a friend, but if you want to buy a new one, you could be looking at about $250, I think.

Anyways, I'm off to plan the tribute!

Good, I mean the tribute part! *Looks at empty wallet* Hmm. May have to wait a while for that...

It's time to put on makeup,
it's time to light the lights.
It's time to point the nagging stick!
At Ozymandias tonight!
*Points canon at Ozy* Post more, or this thread will become a lot messier! J/K

Thank you for the laugh, I needed it. ^__^ I'm working on the next Chapter of "Voiceless" (I'm hoping to be done within another 3-4 chapters) and I should be done around Wednesday evening (as I'll be running around like mad tomorrow).

Quick question to anyone who knows more Muppeteer details than I do: is Jane Hunt (as mentioned in the Muppet Wiki) Richard's mother or sister? Please let me know!

Hi Ozy--nice story progression. I liked the moment with Gonzo and Bunsen--two totally lovable loons--but I liked the scene with Beaker and Bunsen more. Very sweet.

I'm going to comment here, although this has been happening other places here in this particular forum, and the thing I'm going to comment on is an activity known as "muffining." "Muffining" is where you take a thread that is about a topic, or is a story thread, or a "Want to trade thread"--any thread at all, and sortof hi-jack it with a personal conversation that isn't relevant to the thread you are in, posting post after post about things that are not about the thread topic.

This isn't a cardinal sin--and everyone has done it at some point (except maybe Sam, the American Eagle, whose morals are upright and perfect) and sometimes they are silly and fun and everybody is enjoying them, but mostly--mostly--they are sortof like two friends (or six) having a fun, private, maybe-even-entertaining conversation behind you in the movie seats while you are trying to watch the movie.

Shhh! And pass the popcorn! (And feel free to chat as long as you want--just not in the middle of a thread!)

Mean ol' Auntie Ru

I am Guilty convict of this! SO, I will apologize firstly to Ozy, to Aunty Ru, to all readers of this thread, and to Sam the Eagle.
Sam: You should be ashamed!
Me: I am!

^ Duly noted Ruahnna. Also, I can't help but giggle at the term "muffining." You learn something new everyday, it seems. Thanks!

As of this chapter, Voiceless is now over 10,000 words long. 0______0

EDIT: *dying with laughter* Ahahahahaha! Ozy can't count! Ozy can't count! She can't count, even though she's reading a 'How to Count' book! I just realized I accidentally put chapter four in TWICE, meaning that chapter 4 is actually chapter 5, Chapter 5 is chapter 6 and so forth. In other words, this is technically supposed to be chapter 9. XD XD XD


In any case, onto Chapter 9!

**********

Chapter 9

“I’m sorry, but we cannot do for Richard what we did for Jim. I don’t think it is what the family would want, anyways.” The director of the memorial said.

“I understand that,” Kermit said quietly over the phone. “I wasn’t suggesting that. I’m just saying that we would like to contribute in some way, other than just coming. Shall we donate flowers, or should I or Scoo—Rowlf give a eulogy? Something for us to show just how much Richard meant to the Muppets.”

“Hmm…Kermit, could you hold that thought for a moment?” There was the sound of muffled conversation, then, “Hello?”

“Hello?” Kermit said, uncertain who the voice belonged to, “This is Kermit the frog.”

“Oh! Hello Kermit, this is Jane.” At first Kermit couldn’t recall ever meeting a Jane, but then he suddenly realized who she was, having given his condolences to her only a few weeks earlier.

“Jane Hunt?” he asked.

“Yes. I’ve heard a lot about you, Kermit.” Richard’s mother* said.

“And Richard told me a lot about you.” The frog said. Jane laughed softly, but her heart wasn’t quite in it.

“The memorial director said that you wanted to ask me something.” She said.

“Ah, yes. Umm, well, I was wondering, is there anything the muppets can do at the memorial to pay tribute to Richard? I mean, he was a big part in a lot of our lives, and we really loved him and thought very highly of him here at the theatre.”

“That sound like a wonderful idea. Do you have anything in mind?”

“Well, would you like Rowlf or I to do a short eulogy for Richard, or for us to donate some flowers?”

“Hmm…actually, I was going to contact you soon myself, as I had a similar idea.”

“Oh, ok, what can the muppets do for you?” Kermit asked, surprised.

Jane told him. He blinked, surprised, then grinned. He was surprised he hadn’t thought of it himself. After a few more minutes conversation, he hung up, then pulled out his phone book and started dialing.

“Hey, Rowlf? Do you feel like sitting on the piano bench for Richard?”

“What’s the plan?” The dog asked.
“You’ll see, I have to make a few phone calls first.” The memorial would be that Saturday, and it was Monday now, so maybe, just maybe, they could make it.

*******

The last muppet he needed to talk to was still in the building. Good.

“Bunsen told me you played the guitar.” Kermit said. Beaker had been stooped over a diagram that was laid out on one of the lab tables, but turned around at that. There was a pencil sticking out from his hair, presumably tucked behind his not-visible ear. He yanked out the pencil and ripped off a corner of the paper, then scribbled a message on it. He handed Kermit the paper and waited for Kermit to read it. It took the frog a few minutes to decipher the words simply because the quality of the written letters was so lax. Beaker’s handwriting was synonymous with the term ‘chicken scratch’ for a good reason.

Yes, I can. Why do you ask?

“We want to do a tribute to Richard. Thing is, we would be singing, and I know you guys can’t do that right now, but I wanted to include you guys in some way, seeing as he was your Muppeteer.”

Beaker took the paper back and wrote another sentence, was about to hand it back to Kermit, then shook his head and wrote some more.

I prefer to sing Will they laugh at me?

“Well, it’s a funeral, so they’d better not.” Kermit said. Beaker nodded.

“Does that mean you’ll do it?” Beaker took back the piece of paper and wrote on the back of it. What about Janice?

“Dr. Teeth asked her if she would already, and she agreed, but we need a second guitar for the song. Please, Beaker?” Kermit pleaded. The red-headed scientist nodded.

“Thank you. We’ll be meeting in the orchestra pit in two days to practice, since Jane told us what song she wanted us to perform. We should have sheet music available for you by then. Wednesday at 7.”

Beaker nodded and returned to his work. Kermit, seeing that the conversation was over, walked out of the lab room, lost in thought. Sweetums already indicated what he wanted to do, Statler and Scooter will handle the candles, Scooter’s going to be standing with the Hunt family, and now Janice and Beaker have a part to play. Kermit smiled slightly. I hope we can do your spirit justice, Richard. I really do. He ducked into his office and picked up a framed photo that sat next to his address book. It was a picture of Kermit, wearing last year’s winter scarf. A bearded, brown-haired man’s face was beside him, and man and frog were both smiling.

Hey, Richard, while we’re on the subject, say hi to Jim for me, will you?

**********

Saturday dawned crisp and cold, with a fresh layer of snow on the ground. Miss Piggy pulled open her curtains, and milky white light filtered through her boudoir window, revealing a four-poster bed, a vanity dresser and embroidered silken dressing screen, among other things. She pulled the belt of her bathrobe a bit tighter. Her hair, still soaking wet from the shower she had just come out of, was wrapped turban-style in a towel on her head. She leaned closer to the window to gauge the weather better, and saw that a blanket of smudgy grey and white clouds had been pulled across the sky, rumpled in some places and stretched thin in others, occasionally falling to reveal a bare patch of naked, brittle blue sky. Piggy shivered and stepped back, turning towards her walk-in closet. She had picked out her outfit in her head several days ago, but was just now about to put it on. It was near the back of the closet, but she pulled it out, along with the shoes and other necessary items.

The black dress would fall to about her knees when she tried it on, and the sleeves were long and ended in lace. It was by no means a fancy dress, but it was insanely important to Miss Piggy because it served one specific purpose.

I do not want
To wear this dress again.

Her full-length mirror was on rollers, so she positioned it so that she could see herself without being seen from the open window. The towel came tumbling down from her head, revealing long, tangled locks. She ran a brush through it several times, then stepped lightly behind the dressing screen. She had to make sure the dress would fit her, of course, though she had doubted she had packed on much weight since the last time she’d worn it, a mere seven or eight months earlier. The bathrobe tumbled down around her feet.

It fits like a glove,
A modest design
With curves in all the right places,
But black, that cloying colour,
Is not for moi.

Piggy looked at herself in the mirror for a moment, touched her bare shoulder in the mirror, smiled. Then, quickly, she finished getting dressed, tugging the black cloth over her head.

I slide it on,
And in that moment
I am back there again,
Looking at his closed casket in the harsh light

It still fit. Piggy didn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed. She took off the dress (as she didn’t want to get hairs all over it while she was styling it), but kept on the slip that was needed underneath. Shoving on her bathrobe again, she checked to see if the hair curler was heated up yet. It wasn’t quite yet, but would be by the time she was finished drying her hair.

The hair dryer droned on as she ran the brush through her golden locks, trying to avoid thinking about what was going to happen today. She had insisted that she would go and pick up Scooter, seeing as he didn’t have his licence yet, and his uncle could not come as he was out of town. She didn’t want Kermit exhausting himself and locking up his own feelings inside him, like he almost did that…that other time.

And though we stand against the backdrop of
A sea of faces,
This silence has put you
In a cage of glass
My feet hurt in these shoes.

Miss Piggy pinned her thick hair up on her head, then started working in layers, methodically pinning each fistful of curls upwards as she went. The style required some bobby pins and hairspray, but wasn’t too flashy to be wasted underneath a wide-brimmed hat with a silken black lily tucked into the headband. She’d wear her pearls, but no gloves or rings this time.

I reach out
But you cannot feel me.
I call out
But you cannot hear me.
You and they have gone
Where I cannot follow.

She turned her head from side to side, satisfied with her efforts, then stood up to finished getting dressed. The waist was emphasized by a silk sash and there was black lace around the collar, but the rest of the dress was made of a duller black cotton. Nothing overly fancy. Piggy slipped her string of pearls around her neck, then dabbed a splash of Northern Light onto her wrists and neck. For a moment, the room was filled with the scent of cedar and jasmine, with a hint of myrrh, but the perfume faded to a noticeable presence on her skin.

I am lost among the mourners
And you stand there,
Surrounded by the silent,
Alone.
So I cry out for you who cannot
And we become the voice
For those who cannot speak up for themselves,
For this silence is poison.

She doesn’t put on any mascara or eyeliner today…just in case. It’ll just be some smoky blue eye shadow, foundation, a hint of blush to enhance her rosy cheeks and some red lipstick today. Satisfied, she sat on the edge of the bed, struggling with pantyhose, and then slipped on a pair of plain black pumps. Half an hour before she had to be outside Scooter’s house.

She looked at herself one more time in the full-length mirror.

I do not want
To wear this dress again.

********

*I'm not sure what relationship Jane Hunt had to Richard Hunt, so I'm just going to assume that Jane was his mother. If Jane was actually his sister, cousin or other relationship, please let me know and I will see if I can edit this post ASAP.