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Discussion in 'Fan Fiction and Fan Art' started by AlittleMayhem, Aug 16, 2012.
Thanks and I apologize for obvious grammar mistake/s. I was in a hurry to catch a bus. :/
The next drabble was inspired by one of my favourite songs!
Just like ol’ Satchmo!
The backstage was a mess, which was no surprise considering that it was always a mess. Lips carefully stepped over Baa the Sheep as he grazed on some hay, passed Kermit and Scooter at the desk and headed up the steps. He paused briefly to leaf over a pile of papers lying on the ground.
Nigel had planned a series of new pieces for the orchestra band to preform within the next few weeks and handed out music sheets for each of them. Only Lips’ copies just went walk-a-bouts. He searched the theatre thoroughly but with no luck.
The trumpet guru furrowed his eyebrows. They weren’t in here either. He continued on-wards to his dressing room, thinking to where he saw them last. Maybe he just misplaced them back home. Lips could just picture the sheets resting on the coffee table, visibly taunting his forgetfulness. Or perhaps, he thought with a shudder, Animal ate them. He sincerely hoped not. He didn’t want a repeat of when the drummer ate his mouthpiece and Floyd had to personally force his hand down his throat to retrieve it. He hadn't used it since.
Lips entered the dressing room he shared with a couple of violinists and scanned through the piles of papers on the tables. He made a metal note to have a word with his roommates about tidiness. Still, it was far superior compared to the bus, which he regularly slept in.
Downstairs, he could hear Kermit and Scooter’s voices and the radio buzzing out the local radio program, thankfully not Big Tiny Tall Saddle and his awful WHOG station. Lips rustled through a waste paper basket, just as the radio presenter announced a song which he described as ‘a little classic’. He wasn’t paying much attention until a familiar string section and guitar opening reached his ears.
I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom, for me and you
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
Lips started a little. He knew that song! Well, everyone knew that song, but he especially knew it. No, he loved it! He used to perform it for his grandmother all the time, back when she was still around. It kick-started his interest in performing and introduced him to his inspiration and hero.
Something inside him relaxed and he was suddenly at peace. It had been a long time since he heard that song. He had forgotten how utterly brilliant it was. The lyrics, the slow, calm music! And the singing! Oh, the singing! Lips couldn’t resist and began to softly sing along.
I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
His voice was raspier since the last time he spoke. But he was totally lost to notice, singing more confidently with each line and swaying in time to the music. He was even oblivious to the brief interaction between frog and gofer.
“Scooter, could you turn the radio down a little?”
“But, boss! This is a great song!”
“I know it is. That’s why I can’t concentrate.”
The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
Almost feeling like he was on a glitzy stage to a sold-out audience, Lips belted out the next lines, arms spread out wide.
I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do
They're really saying I love you.
“Scooter, I thought I told you to turn that down.”
“Then how- wait a minute?”
Lips spotted out of the corner of his eye the song sheets he had been looking for, clearly lay neatly on the dressing table. He was too much at ease to be mad at himself.
I hear babies crying, I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll never know
And I think to myself what a wonderful world
He picked them up and shuffled through the pages, smiling as he sang the last line.
Yes, I think to myself what a wonderful world. Oh, yeah.
Lips jumped in fright, seeing Kermit and Scooter at the doorway, mouths hanging open. His previous calmness vanished and he could feel his face growing hot.
“Lips! That was amazing!” Kermit cried, grinning broadly. “I forgot you could sing so fantastically! Say, would you like a spot on this week’s show? Honestly, it’s like Louis Armstrong came back from the dead!”
The trumpet player did not say anything. A spot on the show was a rare opportunity for the orchestra members. However, Lips shook his head, feeling deeply mortified.
Lips gets to sing! Too bad the poor guy doesn't want to take the spotlight.
I've never seen such a sweet Lips drabble. I loved this one! Too bad Lips hardly gets any singing solos (minus Barnyard Boogie), let alone speaking lines.....
Oh, these are terrific! My favorites I think were the first one, and the Jerry Nelson tribute. I also laughed to think of the muppets as MLP fans, some being more laughable than others!
Awsome! Lipsy gets to sing!
The RegularGuest-starring Muppet OC, Kathy!The bell rang, announcing the arrival of another customer. She looked up from her paper and smiled when she saw whom it was. It vanished when she realized he was holding his head and groaning in pain.
She folded her paper and greeted him. “Good evening. The usual?”
The Muppet Newsman just managed to haul himself up on a stool. “Please, Kathy. And some ice would be great too.”
Kathy, a female monster with blue-grey fur, collected a mug and a tea bag from below the counter. She switched on a kettle and left for the kitchen, returning with an ice pack that she gave to the Newsman.
The Newsman rested the pack on the bump and the pain eased away. He let out a relieved sigh. “Ahh, that’s so much better!” he said.
The kettle whistled and Kathy made his tea (an African bush tea he was fond of) handing it to him on a saucer with a small piece of shortbread. He thanked her and took a grateful sip.
“So what was it tonight?” Kathy asked, leaning on the counter. “A ton weight? Cows? The set? Sledgehammer? An explosion?”
The Newsman swallowed a gulp of tea and shook his head, cringing when that didn’t help with his throbbing head.
“Ouch! No. The wire came up with a report about some archaeologists digging up an old ship that sunk during the seventeen-hundreds.”
Kathy raised her eyebrows in surprise. “A ship fell on you?”
“Goodness, no! I would’ve be squashed to the ground. Turns out the ship had been broken into several pieces and they were still trying to find the anchor, the mast, the stern, the nettings, the guns and…well, you can guess what happened next.”
“Dear me! Where do these things keep coming from?”
The Newsman shrugged. “Search me. I gave up on trying finding that out years ago. So what happened to you?”
Kathy fidgeted. “Erm, what are you talking about? Nothing’s happened to me.”
“So there’s no reason why you’re covered in bandages?” he asked sceptically, nodding to the ones wrapped around her head, arms and stomach underneath her apron. Kathy looked down and acted as if she hadn’t noticed until now.
“Oh, those!” she exclaimed, laughing nervously. “Yeah, that’s a funny story. I was making tablet in the kichen-”
“Tablet! It’s a really sugary fudge from Scotland. It’s very nice! Anyway, I went to take the garbage out and severe a few customers as it was simmering. Next thing I know, the smoke alarm went off and I ran back to the kitchen and, well, it sorta burned.”
The Newsman looked around the charcoal-black diner, some places still smoking. “Sorta burned?”
“Okay, it really burned! Whole kitchen was up in flames! Everyone was running around screaming while I tried to put out the fire! And, yeah, that’s all there is to it.”
She looked at the floor, and then perked up. “On the bright side, the kitchen still works and my lucky tail didn’t even get a starch!” Said tail popped up from behind the counter and waved at the Newsman happily
The Newsman finished his tea. “Kathy, how is it you still own this place if you keep destroying it every day?”
Kathy crossed her arms. “I dunno. How is it that you haven’t quit your job after forty years of things falling on you?”
They sternly stared each other down for a while. Then burst out laughing, cut short as they winced in pain at their respective wounds. They spend the rest of the evening in this almost empty, sorta burned diner, sharing stories about their past accidents and their current lives, as they did every evening for many years now.
At exactly eleven, they stood outside the front doors as Kathy locked up for the night. A light breeze blew through her untidy hair on her bandaged head.
“So, same time tomorrow?” the monster asked with a knowing smile.
The Newsman returned the smile, his head free of ache. “As always.”
Awww! It's good to see the Newsman has a friend who understands (sort of) the dangers of his job.
Thanks for posting!
Rooibos? See, I always took Newsie for a black-coffee kinda guy. But this was a sweet little piece. Nice to see I'm not the only one who wants him to have a happy ending!
I LOVED your bit with the Doctor and Bunsen. Absolutely brilliant! But what, no fez? Fezzes are cool. I could totally see the good doctor -- er, that is, our favorite mad scientist -- trying to "fix" things for that poor absentminded fellow... My only nitpick: There are almost no elms left in the US, due to Dutch Elm disease decades ago. Sam's reaction to it all was perfect!
Eh, the bush tea was more of a shameless reference to the No.1 Ladies Detective Agency series. I didn't know it had a name . And the story may have been inspired by a certain someone...
Thank you! It's not my favourite as I wrote it in a rush, but I'm happy you like it! Fezzes are cool, can't believe I forgot that! Maybe Bunsen *ahem* "took it home as a souvenir."
: Humph! You pathetic, weird British writer! You have no idea what have talking about when it comes to great, true American trees!
Hey, you didn't know that either, Sam! Otherwise you would've put the story on hold right there and then!
Back to the Lips thing, HE SHOULD CHANGE HIS MIND!
Halloween Traditions or lack ofGuest-starring Muppet OC, Gary!
Next to Beauregard, Scooter was usually the last one left in the Muppet Theatre. Most of the time, it was working on last minute bill payments and time-consuming, yet necessary paperwork for Kermit. Tonight, it was answering Miss Piggy’s fan-mail and typing up an e-mail to Craig Ferguson, requesting him to appear in the next show.
Usually Beauregard pottered about with chores, so Scooter was mostly left on his own. Tonight, however, he brought company.
“Okay, how about this one?”
Scooter looked up just as an open sketchpad thrust into his face, not for the first time that night. He took it and viewed it properly. It was obvious from the askew lines, untidy colouring and pencil smudges that it was just a rough sketch, but Scooter was impressed by how detailed and exact the fire exit looked. Even the colours matched perfectly, an achievement considering Scooter could only find children’s crayons from Bobby Benson’s room.
“It’s great, Gary. It looks exactly the same as real life.”
Gary, grinned impishly. “I thought so,” he said, smugly. He was a humanoid-like person about Scooter’s height with untidy blonde hair. He usually wore sunglasses, even inside, which didn’t bother Scooter as a few of the Muppets did that too.
Scooter chuckled, sealing the last of the envelopes and packing away his laptop. “Well, that’s me for tonight,” he said. “Let’s head.”
Beauregard, who was passing by with a mop on his shoulder, turned to them, confused. “What’s wrong with my head?”
Gary bellowed excessively with laugher, clapping Beauregard on the back. “Ah, you crack me up, Beau!” he exclaimed, then thundered down the steps to the exit.
“Oh, um, you’re welcome?” Beau said, puzzled. Scooter shook his head and patted him reassuringly.
“Goodnight, Beau. See ya later,” he said and followed Gary.
Ever since Scooter began studying Theatre Arts at the local university, Gary was the first to befriend him. He was an art student studying there who originally from South Africa, made clear by his distinctive accent. An excitable individual with a hint of a mad glint behind his shades, he would’ve fitted well with the rest of the Muppets, if it weren’t for his artwork (his “true calling” as he liked to call it). He was one of those people who could not sit still for a millisecond, which was why Scooter got him to explore the theatre and do some sketches while he worked. Gary had taken the challenge as eagerly as a five-year-old.
They walked through the dark streets, with Gary talking animatedly about the different medias he used in his modules while Scooter listened patiently with his hands in his pockets. It slightly baffled him how Gary could contain so much energy, but it also intrigued him.
They passed several houses and shops, decorated to the max with glowing ghosts, ghoulies, skeletons, cobwebs, craved pumpkins, and many other oddities that were only acceptable once a year. Some especially over-the-top ones caught Gary’s attention, enough for him to stop and stare. Scooter, noticing the sudden quiet, looked over.
“Gary? Is there something wrong?” he asked.
“Naw, I’m fine. It’s just…” he paused. “Wow, you guys really take Halloween seriously!”
Scooter smirked. “Of course we do! We don’t get many holidays here, and when they come, boy, do we go all out!”
Gary turned to him. His mouth turned in a sceptical manner. “But it’s three weeks away, and look at this!”
He threw his arms toward a house, whose decretives had gone on a more original route. A giant purple spider hung from the top left window. Next to it, two mean eyes with spiral pupils rested on the roof of the porch, with pointy teeth stuck on the top and bottom, giving the impression that the house had turned into a Muppet Monster.
“Hey, I think that’s Peter’s house!” Scooter said.
“He’s a friend of Walter’s. Anyway, I thought you were into creative stuff, Mister Art Student!”
“I am! It’s just, it seems a bit much. Besides, I’m not really used to Halloween decorations back home.”
It took a second for Scooter to realise what Gary just said. “Wha- Gary? Are you saying that you don’t celebrate Halloween?!”
Gary shrugged. “Not really. We get the occasional costume party, but it’s not really a big deal in South Africa. I remember this one time when some kids tried to make it a thing, but it didn’t work- Hey, Scoot! You okay?”
Scooter had been gaping at him for a few seconds. He then recovered and put an arm around Gary’s shoulder.
“Gary, you have much to learn and we only have three weeks! Get a pen and listen closely!” he said, in an utterly business-like tone.
They continued the trek home, the roles now switched, with Scooter talking extensively about Halloween Traditions and costumes ideas while Gary listened closely, making notes.
AN: I have too many Muppet OCs! The ones you have seen in all my fics are barely even half of ‘em! And, yes, Peter Linz really did decorate his house like that! Happy Halloween, whatever background you have!
Monster House! Love it.
Gary, the South African Muppet?
Do I hear vuvuzelas?
Thankful HeartThe taxi pulled up at the sound of her distinctively piercing whistle, just as her cell phone rang.
Skeeter paused, tapping her foot and listening to the other end, frowning.
“Oh, you again. Look, I have the list here in my hand with everything ticked off! What? The heck is that supposed to mean? Uh-huh. Yes, I checked everything with a pen, unless you scribbled all over the list before you gave it to me! Hey, don’t be so touchy! It’s not my fault you forgot to do your Christmas shopping, nerd!”
She continued to argue down the phone as the driver, a turtle in a cap, loaded the mountain of colourful boxes and bags into the taxi in a painstakingly slow manner. The first snowflakes of the night were carried swiftly by the cold wind, blowing astray her plaid scarf and orange dreadlocks. She tucked the dreads behind her ear, ignoring the glares from passing shoppers. Scooter had given her a particularly long list of presents, most of which were taking up the sidewalk. It didn’t help that it was Christmas Eve and the streets were full of people who, like Scooter, had left present shopping at the last minute.
“Yes, I got Fozzie’s Stewart Francis DVD, Lew’s fish-patterned paper towels, Walter’s suit, Floyd’s guitar pick and Gonzo’s chicken pin-up calendar. I got everything. I repeat, ev-ry-thing! What? Miss Piggy? Oh, no I couldn’t get that new perfume. I was already over budget. Calm down, I just bagged a fluffy blanket. It’s more practical at this time of year. Believe me, when I spent last Christmas in the Artic, a snuggie was the best luxury I had. Urgh, I know we’re not in the North Pole, stupid! Well, I don’t care if you get broken ribs for life, she’ll get her present and like it! Look, I gotta go! I’m causing a traffic jam here. Bye!”
Skeeter hung up and began helping the turtle with the load. Geez, you come back from the Amazon for one little break…
Eventually, after some shoving of presents, diverting of traffic, yelling at the turtle to hurry it up and throwing insults to any complaining pedestrians, all was calmer and there was one present left. Skeeter picked up the bag containing Miss Piggy’s blanket and let out a hefty sigh. She had dealt with booby trap filled temples less stressful than this. Now, she was ready to return to the Boarding House where the spare mattress in Scooter’s room was calling to her.
The turtle, though slow, was gentlemanly and opened the door to the passenger seat for her. Skeeter nodded her thanks and set her foot in.
“Spare change, sir? God bless.”
The voice was deep and rough around the edges, though warm and friendly like a Christmas fire. It caught Skeeter’s ear and she turned around, surprised to see it was from the least likely person.
A beggar, dressed in a tattered jacket and old jeans, sat on some steps with his hands stretched out in alms.
She watched him shiver and ask anyone who walked near him for money only to be silently dejected for a few seconds, then turned back to the monster pile of presents tied down to the taxi. In an instant, Skeeter felt a pang of guilt in the pit her stomach. Suddenly her stress-filled day didn’t seem so bad.
She addressed the turtle, “Sorry, could you wait here for a sec? Thanks.” Without waiting for an answer, Skeeter sped off towards the beggar. “Hey, you on the steps!”
He looked up in surprise. “Er, yes?”
Butterflies flitted around inside her, but she didn’t hesitate. She held up the bag, trying to ignore the cheap liquor scent he wafted.
“Here, I figured you’ll need this more than I do. Sorry it’s pink.”
After a slight awkward hesitation, the beggar took the bag and pulled out the fuzzy material in awe. For a moment, he was gobsmacked. “I- thank you!” he gasped. “I haven’t received any kindness like this in years.”
Trying not to show that she was blushing, Skeeter dug out her pockets and dropped a few quarters at his feet. “Yeah, well, this is Christmas after all.”
He wrapped the blanket around himself, looked very strange in hot pink but very happy. “I can’t thank you enough, miss.” he said, grinning. “God bless and Merry Christmas.”
Relieved, Skeeter smiled back. “Yeah, you too.”
With that, she walked back to the awaiting cab and waved goodbye. On the way back home, she rested her head against the window, watching the lights whizz by with a somewhat warm contentment replacing her previous guilt. For the first time in her life, it felt like a real Christmas.
Now, she just hoped Miss Piggy would forgive Scooter for not getting her a present…
What a nice deed for Skeeter to do! I'm sure after being calmed down enough Piggy would understand. Maybe.
Awww, this was such a heartwarming one. Awesome job!
Apologises to James Corden and Ruth Jones for kinda ripping of a scene from Gavin and Stacey but...I had to.
Separate names with a comma.