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Kermie's Girl (ushy-gushy fanfic)

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction and Fan Art' started by Ruahnna, Apr 21, 2006.

  1. Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    Your wish and all that....enjoy, dear ones!

    Chapter 125: Getting Down to Business


    This was not going the way he had expected. The man with the briefcase had not been making a pass—he had been making an offer, and Clifford had assumed that Tricia and the other girls would be thrilled to have the groundwork laid for them. But either he had miscalculated—badly—about what they wanted or he had not done a very good job of explaining the offer to them. He was choosing to think the latter, but also thinking that if he didn’t carry his point now it was going to be one heck of a long trip back to Mabel’s house. On foot.
    “What on earth gives you the right to bargain on our behalf?!” Tricia demanded. He was taller than she was but not by much and she was right up in his grill, flushed with fury and indignation. The rest of the girls were still in the bar, but when Tricia’s reaction promised to become more heated than elated, Clifford had gestured her outside to the arguable privacy of the parking lot near the van.
    “Whoa, whoa,” Clifford said. He would have put his hands out in a placating gesture (or to hold Tricia off if she decided to go for his jugular) but she was so close to him that he was afraid to make any hand gestures for fear of having his block knocked off. “I did no bargaining—“ he began.
    “You got that right!” Tricia practically spat. “You probably think we’d settle for just anything because we’re girls—“
    “You don’t know jack about what I think,” Clifford snapped, and the anger in his voice made Tricia step back in surprise. “I did not presume to speak for you—or for the band. I made it plain that I was just someone along for the show and that if he wanted to talk to the one in charge, it would have to be you.”
    “Oh,” said Tricia, her face reddening in embarrassment. “I—“
    “And I do not think that you could or should settle for anything other than a decent, fair-minded offer that does not impinge on your creative control or paint you into a corner musically!”
    “Clifford, I—“
    “And while I actually do know a thing or two about a thing or two—say, recording contracts—I did not, and will not presume to speak for you or about you.” Or to you, Clifford thought darkly, if you’re gonna bite my head off.
    “Look—“
    “And I am officially out of your business,” he said, dark eyes snapping. “You want to sign to make an album and go on tour with him—fine. But I’m not part of this package, and I am not part of your band, so go ahead and paddle your own canoe all you want.”
    “Clifford, I didn’t—“
    Get in there!” Clifford demanded. “You think offers like this come every day of the world? The rest of the band is counting on you, little miss hotshot, so you’d better take it to the man like you mean it!” His voice was angry, but when he reached for her his hands were careful and gentle. Even when he was mad, he would not manhandle her or be rough with her. He took her shoulders gently and turned her around, then gave her a little push back toward the Bat, Bolt and Skull. For a moment, Tricia hesitated, and Clifford almost wished she would turn back, but then he saw her square her slim shoulders, straighten her spine and thrust her chin out pugnaciously. She stalked toward the door like she meant to do business.


    Kermit was on his second cup of coffee when his phone rang, and he looked at it, answered it and had it up to his aural organ before the second ring. Ha! he thought. Take that, Marty! “Um, hello?” Kermit said.
    “Hey! You’re finally getting the hang of that phone!” Marty said, and Kermit felt both proud and sheepish that Piggy’s agent had noticed.
    “Well, having your wife on the opposite coast will certainly improve your phone skills,” Kermit said dryly, putting a purposeful damper on Marty’s enthusiasm.
    “That it will,” Marty rumbled. “Look—speaking of—“
    Kermit’s heart gave a great heave in his chest. He felt like he’d been crabby and morose last night on the phone with Piggy. He hoped this was good news….
    “—um, look, I’m probably just an ol’ worrywart but I want to do something and I need your help.”
    “My help?” said Kermit, scowling at the phone. He did not say, “The last time I helped you, you sent my wife to the opposite side of the continent,” but he could have, and they both knew it. “What can I help you with, Marty?”
    “Look,” said Marty, and Kermit heard the wheedle in his voice. It cheered him, actually, that Marty was petitioning for his help, and he felt more benevolent than before. “I know that Piggy’s a big girl and she can take care of herself and everything, but the fan base has been on overdrive since she got on Broadway. I’m wondering if I maybe ought to send somebody up there to keep an eye on her—“
    “Send me!” Kermit said, then clamped his hand over his mouth.
    “Said that out loud, did you?” Marty chuckled, and his voice became warm and soothing. “I’d like to send you, bucko, but you’re up to your little green gills in post-production. I heard you got the film replaced.”
    Good grief! Kermit thought. Was the man clairvoyant? Did he know everything?
    “We did,” Kermit sighed. “And we found out what the problem was.” He hesitated. “You didn’t—you aren’t telling Piggy any of this, are you?”
    “You bet your buttons I’m not,” Marty said. “She’d be down here in a flat second ready to go to war on your behalf.”
    “I know,” groaned Kermit. “That’s why I didn’t tell her….” He trailed off. Marty might know about the film—he seemed to know everything about everyone’s projects in this business, but he did not know about the freezer. Kermit felt suddenly cold. If someone had taken a pass at him to hurt the studio, they might take a pass at Piggy! Why hadn’t he thought of that? He was an idiot, a buffoon, a—
    “Kermit?”
    “You were saying something about sending someone up there to take care of Piggy? Like a bodyguard?” Kermit sighed. “I’m for it, but she’d never go for that.”
    Marty snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He could tell Kermit something he didn’t know, but what would be the point of it? Could the frog do anything from down here except hire protection? And wasn’t he taking care of that for him? “So, the question is—can you think of anybody we could send up there that she would put up with? Anybody who might blend?”
    “Let me think about it a minute,” Kermit said. Blending meant Gonzo was out, and he couldn’t send Fozzie. Fozzie would spill his guts the second Piggy sat him down with honey pancakes and milk. The band could blend anywhere, and so could Rowlf, but they were all gone. All this he related to Marty. “I’m having a hard time thinking of anyone,” said Kermit. “I’d send Scooter but I might as well go myself. I’m no good here without him, and he can’t do the work without me. And besides—I can’t go. Yet.”
    “Good to hear that ‘yet,’” Marty chuckled. “We're gonna work it out.”
    “Yeah, I just wish—wait. Wait! I…I might know someone,” Kermit said excitedly. “I’m pretty sure he’s available, and Piggy won’t see him as a threat to her self-sufficiency.”
    Kermit could hear Marty smile, and in spite of their differences, he felt warm and chummy with the man right now. If he knew Piggy, so did Marty, and if they couldn’t always be on the same side of things, at least they could collaborate.
    “Sounds like a likely prospect,” Marty said. “Give me a name and I’ll give him a call. Oh! And if I wasn’t clear before, I’m gonna take the fall on this one, okay? She’s already mad at me, but she’ll be a good girl if I tell her I’m a foolish old man worried about her welfare….” This time, it was Marty who heard Kermit grinning into the phone. “Yeah, she’s a sucker for a soft touch,” Marty said. “So sue me.”
    “I might, one day,” Kermit said conversationally, and then Marty laughed out loud and they got down to business.
    After they hung up, Marty sighed and rubbed a hand over his face and neck. Okay, he thought. The hard part is over. Now comes the harder part. He picked up the phone again.

    It took Piggy a determined 45 minutes to get the puffiness under her eyes to abate, but it was worth it. If she saw Thoreau or Howard without looking her radiant best, they’d be sure to rat her out to Kermit. For a moment, Piggy selfishly wished someone would rat her out to Kermit. Then he’d come up here in an absolute fury, ready to defend her and smother her with protectiveness and kisses. Tears sprang suddenly into her eyes and she dabbed them hastily. Smother is right. She did not need a defender. She could take care of herself.
    "As long as you have your trusty Boswell around…," her brain taunted, and Piggy gave a little “Oh!” of vexation and threw herself out the door. She looked toward Mei-Wah’s door, but she knew her neighbor had gone in early to help get ready for the lunch rush. Carefully, Piggy entered the stairwell, only just aware that she was looking nervously for people who didn’t belong in the building, but she shook off her fears irritably. Mei-Wah had probably only been accosted because she had hot food on her. Why, at the theater, someone had tried to do more than mug her, so she was being a ninny worrying about muggers near the apartment. Besides, hadn’t she dispatched any of them that had dared to lay a grubby hand on her new purse? She felt suddenly better. Her phone rang and she looked down and smiled before answering.
    “Yes, Moishe—I’m coming.”
    “Well, good,” said the cabbie gruffly. “I got the meter running and everything and when you didn’t show up after you called….”
    Moishe’s worry dispelled her own.
    “I’m fine,” Piggy insisted. “Nobody even knows Moi is staying here,” she chided, and Moishe merely grunted in return.
    “Well, I’m being careful,” he said, “but you've got to be careful, too. Lot of crazies in this town.”
    “Yes. Probably why Moi’s show is sold out,” Piggy quipped. “I’m coming out!” She hung up the little phone and stepped onto the street. Moishe had the cab door open and hustled her into the front seat in record time. Once he got in himself, he presented her with a hot coffee and a cheese Danish. Piggy looked at them and her smile grew tremulous.
    “Little gal like you, living alone—you don’t eat half proper, I’ll bet,” Moishe grumbled to hide his pleasure. "Sylvia says I've got to bring you around to the house sometime and get some real food in you. You like potato pancakes?”
    Piggy nodded, overwhelmed by the way he had opened his cab and his heart to her. She chose her answer carefully. “Tell Sylvia I would love to come by for a pancake sometime,” she said, smiling. “But not until my dressmaker leaves town!”
    And Moishe just laughed, put the cab in Drive, and surged out onto the street.

    Chad stumbled into the kitchen looking rumpled and in need of a shave. Wordlessly, Rory poured him a cup of coffee—real coffee—and waited until he’d taken a couple of grateful gulps to try to initiate conversation.
    “Oh my gosh,” Chad mumbled. “This is heavenly. Is this real coffee?”
    “Your mom is a peach,” said Rory. “And she’s gone out for Danish.”
    Chad clutched his flat stomach protectively. “If she stays the week I’m going to grow old and fat!” he protested.
    “Well, at least you won’t go alone,” Rory murmured, leaning against the sink and watching his partner’s melodrama with amusement.
    Chad smirked and blushed. “So you say now,” he mumbled, “but we still have to go to brunch with your darling girl,” he complained. “My fur suit won’t zip and I’ll lose my job.”
    “So we’ll order you oatmeal while we chow down on caviar on toast points.”
    “You will not!”
    “Come over here and warm up your coffee,” Rory said, laughing, and Chad did.

    “Don’t know what I’m gonna do when my brother comes in,” said Sally Ann thoughtfully. “My apartment’s really small.”
    “Is he cute?”
    “He’s my brother!”
    “So,” Gloria Jean repeated. “Is he cute or not?”
    “And I repeat, he’s my brother. Which means he has fabulous cheekbones.”
    “Does he have fabulous abs?” Laura May teased. She was still unencumbered by a boyfriend.
    “Pretty much,” said Sally Ann. “They’re bored a lot, when they aren’t getting shot at. He’s been working out.”
    “My apartment is available!” teased Gloria Jean, but Sally Ann just snorted.
    “Your apartment is smaller than mine!” she protested.
    “I know—that’s why I asked if he was cute!”
    Sally Ann flung a shoe at her, but playfully. It was only a scuff, not a clog.
    “Hey—he’s my baby brother. Be nice.”
    Gloria Jean grinned and handed back the scuff. “How about I room with you, then, and he takes over my place? We’ve roomed together in some really tight places before.”
    “Don’t even get me started on the bus lockers…,” Laura May began, and the girls all giggled. Sally Ann took one final look in the mirror, blotting her lipstick.
    “So—how do I look? Ready for an audition?”
    “Ready as you’ll ever be,” said Laura May. “And those shoes make your legs look amazing.”
    Sally Ann smiled at her friend. “Thank you, Laura May. Now we’d better get going or Amy Lu will think we’ve forgotten her.”
    “I hope they hire us!” said Gloria Jean. “I’m so bored I’m thinking of calling Rizzo up.”
    “Aw, Rizzo’s not so bad,” said Laura May. “He can be a real sweet-talker when he wants.”
    “Yeah,” said Gloria Jean. “He’s not a bad sort.” She took a deep breath. “Good thing I’ve got this audition to think about,” she said. “Otherwise….”
    And here, her friends had pity on her and dragged her out the door before she could call.


    The phone in Howard’s room rang. Howard shrieked, still shaving, but Thoreau walked calmly over and answered it after the first two rings.
    “Only my friends have this number,” he drawled into the phone.
    “That probably explains why Moi has it,” said Piggy’s amused voice. “I called your cell first but you didn’t answer.”
    Thoreau looked down at his phone in surprise. He had a vague recollection of turning the sound off the night before to prevent it ringing at an awkward moment.
    “You did, Darling,” Thoreau admitted. “Excusez-moi, mon chere!”
    “And why didn’t you answer your phone?” Piggy demanded.
    “Are you here at the hotel?” Thoreau said, dodging artfully. “We’re having coffee in Howard’s room!”
    “J’arrive! Keep your pants on!” Piggy growled, and stepped out of the elevator. There was a second—when a trenchcoated man came bustling down the hallway—when Piggy almost shrieked with terror, but she managed to get a grip on herself. The man looked up from his phone, realized he was bearing down on her impolitely, and slowed his gait.
    “Pardon me,” he said, raising his hat.
    “Not at all,” said Piggy, and the man looked at her closer.
    “I say,” he said suddenly. “I beg your pardon, Miss…Miss Piggy.” He smiled charmingly. “I thought that was you. Sorry to have startled you.”
    So it had shown, Piggy thought dismally. She had to get a grip on herself. If she went around jumping at every little Tom, Dick or Donald, she’d work herself into a state of exhaustion.
    “Not at all,” she repeated, and gave a little laugh before trotting down the hall to Howard’s room.
    The door opened before she could knock, and she was—at once—engulfed in the arms of friends. If they notice she clung to them a little longer than she usually did, noone commented. When she came into the room, she was all business.
    “I believe you have a present for Moi?”
  2. The Count Moderator

    Phew. Finished fixing all the typos.
    :sympathy: How many times?
    Sorry Rowlf. Er, moving on.

    Chapter 125, yay, you reached the one-and-a-quarter mark!

    1 Clifford! Aw dude, you've seriously blown it in blowing up like that. It'll be a silent ride back to Mabel's between them.

    2 Like I said before, I'm visualizing Tricia as a Muppet molegirl version of Ginny. And I love how this segment shows her in two, two shades of red.
    There's the red of her spitfire hotheaded self when angry at Clifford.
    And then there's the red when she embarrasedly admits Clifford's explanation of what he told the little dark man at the bar.

    3 :concern: Kermit wears buttons?! Thought all he wore was that collar of his.

    4 Wonder who the person Kermit suggested to Marty could be. I've narrowed it down to either Rizzo or Sweetums, as either of them can put up with Piggy (or put up against her), be seen as a bodyguard or at least keep an eye out for her, and are both available at the moment.

    5 "Smother is right."
    :o Should it be snowing?
    :) Uh no, I don't think so.

    6 Enjoying that Moishe is also protectively watching out for Piggy.

    7 *Laughs at the banter between the chorines.

    8 Oh I bet Gloria Jean plans to be "very" nice to Sally Ann's baby brother if she gets the chance.

    9 Bus lockers, that made me smile.

    10 Wonder what the girls are auditioning for.

    11 Do you think they've taken in the new chorines from The Muppets as fellow troop members/trainees under their leadership on the show?

    12 "j'arriv!" For a moment, I misread that as Jareth.

    13 My, the pig certainly seems jumpy. But can you blame her? No, I can't.

    Thank you as always. Now if you don't mind, I'm taking a deserved rest.
    The pools will probably open either tomorrow or Monday, depends on how the day goes.
  3. muppetfan24/7 Well-Known Member

    Hey, Ru! This is a great chapter. Very inspiring! I would like another post, please.
  4. newsmanfan Well-Known Member

    -------------
    Hmmmm. Who could have been enlisted as a piggyguard without tipping our heroine off instantly? Who would be strong enough to keep away the nasties yet subtle enough to be almost invisible to Piggy? Well, that rules out Link on both counts -- except for the invisible part. He wasn't very boarly even then, though...

    I'm guessing the accidental-bump-trenchcoat guy is it? But she didn't recognize him even though he made a point of letting her know he knew her? Hmmmmm.

    Very cute morning banter all around. Yes, what ARE the chorus gals auditioning for now? We haven't seen them in a while -- wonder how they fit back in here?

    And YAYYY to Clifford for telling his indignant new squeeze what for when she thought he would be less than respectful! I hope when the record deal is done she comes right back out and makes it up to him. A lot. ;)

    Bring on the show! Bring on the Oscars! Bring on the mayhem!

    :D Indubitaposilutely!

    Er...I was speaking figuratively...

    :D What, you don't like my figure? Heh heh heh!
    -----------------
  5. Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    Awww. Drat. I thought I got most of 'em, except of course for Chad's Mom going to pick up a Dane instead of some danish, although she might like that.... (I hate spell check.) Well, Countie, dear, I guess you'd better email me the next batch of typo-fixes. I have actually been going back through the ENTIRE thing, reading it out loud to one of my lovely offspring, and I have been fixing typos (LOL! I almost typed "making typos"! LOL!) and adding a few "Moi's" here and there. Wow--this thing is getting sort of, um, huge.

    For the rest of you--I'm writing! I'm WRITING! Sheesh! Stop lurking and comment once in a while, huh? It encourages me and lets me know you're still waiting and watching. Unlike Marty, I am not clairvoyant, and it's nice to know you're still out there. Lately, most of the feedback I've been getting (Most--not all) is from my professors! I'd rather have yours.

    Next post up soonish!
  6. muppetfan24/7 Well-Known Member

    All right! We are all sorry to keep giving you good comments, but I really loved your last chapter. Unbelievable! Fine! I will let you keep writing from now on. Sheesh Women!
  7. The Count Moderator

    Aunt Ru, sent you the clean copy I've got on file, hope it helps and I await the next update.
  8. miss kermie Well-Known Member

    WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!1

    I like updates!

    I like Piggy's little shreik at the guy in the trenchcoat.

    It reminds me that Aligators aren't all she fears!

    More please!
  9. Muppetfan44 Active Member

    Bringing this fic back to the top of the list; anxiously awaiting to read more
    The Count and muppetfan24/7 like this.
  10. The Count Moderator

    Cause I ish starved... We demand mooore ic! Please? *Grumbles in the background.
  11. WebMistressGina Well-Known Member

    Why am I never notified of these until I get bored and decide to re-read my own stuff here!?

    :concern: YOu re-read your own stuff?

    Yes, yes I do because sometimes I need to remember what it was that I wrote and sometimes, I just get bored and instead or skimming through someone else's work, I just skim through mine.

    Does that answer your question, Mr. Nosy Butt?

    Moving right along - I too am wondering who Kermit got. My first thought was his brother, but then people would think Kermit was in NY, which...actually could be beneficial. Hmmm...I bet Rowlf Puppy would've been perfect.

    You know, I like that Cliff went off on Tricia. He's trying to help the band and she gets on her 'girls fem wagon' before even asking, "hey, what's up with the manager guy?" first? Not to say I don't like her, I do, but she got -5 on that.

    And can I just say (skipping back to Kermit's convo with Marty) that I could easily envision Piggy getting any kind of info out of Fozzie by just offering him breakfast.

    :mad: Hey Fozzie, why don't you come over here and have some pancakes? I got your favorite - honey and a side of milk.

    :o Gee, thanks Piggy! (starts eating) These are so good!

    ten minutes later

    :o So now Scooter and Beaker both think that someone tried to kill Kermit and he was nearly frozen solid and I really thought he was gonna DIE!

    :mad: We should have more talks like this. Remind to feed you again around my birthday or Christmas.

    I saw that all in my head. True story.
    miss kermie and The Count like this.
  12. The Count Moderator

    You never get the update notifications unless you either:
    A. have the thread marked on your watch list by posting to it like you did now, or
    B. keep checking back in constantly so the system thinks you're still subscribed onto the thread, thus sending you the notifications.

    Trust me, once you stop checking in on a thread you know you've posted to and should be subscribed to, you won't get notifications unless you go back into it. It's happened to me a number of times now.

    *Hopes the Indy Vittles' girls are being treated well by the State Line club's staff.
  13. Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    Let me be the first to admit that writing a story of this size in chronological order in front of other people is harder than I thought it would be. So some of this section and the few previous sections, and probably the next few sections or even the whole durn rest of the story is not going to run completely smoothly. I hope this will help YOU where I may have been unclear:
    It is 3 hours later in California, time-wise, than in New York.
    There are characters all over the map right now, and I don't always know when I'm writing which particular order different scenes happen in real time. What I do (usually) know is what happens NEXT to each character in the time they are currently experiencing.
    This means that I have, in this next thread, things that happen late Friday night in Vegas, things that happen early Saturday morning in California and things that happen at various times on Saturday in New York. So you're going to have to sort it out a little. When I get the whole blinking thing DONE then I might have to move things around. Until then, cope, please. (Pretty please?)


    Chapter 126: Exceeding Expectations, Once Again

    The ride back to Vegas was anything but quiet, but Clifford felt quiet as he sat in the back of the van with the instruments and listened to the girls—er, ladies—chatter about the offer. They had managed to contain their excitement with a heroic act of will while there were still patrons in the Bat, Bolt and Skull, worried that a bevy of excited females might prove overwhelming for those monsters who were already a little behavior-challenged. It was a testament to their exhilaration that they actually allowed Clifford to help them. But once the van had been loaded, Clifford had climbed into the back and listened as they squealed and shouted and talked and talked and talked about making the new album and about the U.S. tour that would start as soon as the album had been recorded.
    “He said the label’s looking for a new sound,” Tricia had explained, “and needed an act that was strong musically.” She grinned at them, her face flushed in the dashboard light. She was driving, Susie riding shot-gun. Coraline sat on the floor behind the hump, with Tia and Tootsie in on either side. “He said it didn’t hurt that we awfully easy on the eyes,” she muttered, but her expression made it plain that she hadn’t taken offence.
    “What else?” Susie had said, bouncing up and down in the passenger seat as the old van jolted down the highway.
    “Hey!” protested Tia. “You’re gonna make Bob fall!”
    Clifford reached out and put a hand on Bob’s, um, neck, holding the sleek instrument securely. “I got ‘im,” Clifford insisted quietly. “We’re good back here.”
    Tricia half-turned in the seat before she caught herself, then kept her eyes determinedly on the road. “He, um, said he’d like at least half the music to be original. I told him that was no problem.”
    That sent a ripple through the van, each of the women lost in their own thoughts. “We’ve got Making It On Our Own,” said Tootsie, and the other girls nodded. It had kind of become their theme song.
    “And there’s, Brassy Lady,” said Susie, turning to look at Tia. “That one’s good.”
    “We need something that showcases Coraline’s killer chops,” Tricia insisted, turning to flash a quick grin at the lead guitarist on the floor. Clifford saw the flash of her smile in the darkness and wished…well, lots of things. It was probably for the best. The last thing he needed was to have a messy relationship with Mabel’s daughter. It might spoil things between them all, and that would be a shame. A darned shame….
    *******************************

    Thoreau and Howard watched with interest as Piggy opened the little package first. When she finally lifted the lid of the little silver-wrapped box, the room filled with the sound of awe—and “ahhhhhs.”
    Piggy lifted the pearl-and-diamond-drenched bracelet out of the box and laid it across the palm of one lilac satin glove. It glittered enough for Piggy to be mildly embarrassed, but she did not mind being embarrassed by Kermit’s generosity in front of her good friends. If Kermit had come with them, she would have taken great delight in embarrassing Kermit with her own riches, but the second wrapped box was—sadly—too small to contain her frog.
    “Oh my,” said Thoreau, and Piggy could see from the expression on his face that he was already designing an outfit around her newest bling.
    “It’s lovely,” said Howard frankly. “I don’t know why everyone thinks he’s such a cheapskate.”
    “It’s the movies,” Piggy said, matter-of-fact-ly. “We’re always poor in the movies. People just assume….” She trailed off. Never mind what people assumed.
    “Let’s hear it for real life, then,” said Thoreau, taking Piggy’s fingers with his own to hold the bracelet up to the light. “Piggy, Honey, this is an astounding testament of undying love,” he drawled lightly.
    “Yes,” said Piggy. “Moi has certainly inspired Mon Capitan this time.” Her supreme self-confidence in the face of Kermit’s gift was heartening—to her and to her friends. Although she had looked positively radiant when she walked in, her mood was somewhat subdued compared to her usual sassiness.
    “Open the other one,” Howard prompted. “There’s probably a car in it.”
    “She could sell this bracelet and buy a car,” Thoreau murmured, thinking rather benevolent thoughts about the frog right about now. When separated from the object of your desire, gifts of expensive jewelry were a perfectly acceptable way of saying, “I miss you,” and the little amphibian had outdone himself. He watched with interest while Piggy opened the second box.
    At first, they stared at it, not sure what to make of it. Finally, after a moment’s consternation, Piggy reached into the box and lifted the simple white t-shirt from the box, her face suffused with tenderness. She sniffed, trying to hold back tears, and Howard and Thoreau looked at her in surprise.
    “Sweetie?” asked Thoreau.
    “Piggy?” Howard queried. “What on earth—oh. Oh!” Comprehension flooded his face and he smiled. “Well, give the frog a gold star,” he murmured, then started to explain to Thoreau, but the designer had realized what the box contained at almost the same moment as Howard. They grinned at each other when Piggy held the garment up to her cheek and sighed.
    “Nice,” said Thoreau. “I believe I may have been underestimating the frog.” He had thought the same thing more than once already on this trip to New York.
    Piggy giggled and wiped her eyes with the pristine handkerchief the dressmaker handed her, careful not to get tear stains on Kermit’s shirt. It smelled like him, clean and sleek and slightly swampy, and it aroused a surge of homesickness and loneliness even as it banished the same. Carefully, Piggy put the shirt back into the box and rewrapped it, looking forward to tonight when she could go to sleep and snuggle into slumber with it.
    “Kermie is very thoughtful,” she said, wiping her eyes one final time. Both men knew that—if asked which gift she valued most—she would say Kermit’s shirt instead of the bracelet.
    “That was thoughtful,” Howard agreed. He fetched Piggy a cup of coffee and a muffin. The coffee she received gratefully, but she passed on the muffin. Initially, her refusal of food was met with worry and despair on the part of her friends, but she explained about Moishe, and the cheese danish and they relented. By the time they were all seated cozily around the coffee table, Piggy’s tears had dried and she had regained her aura of divahood.
    “We’re going to the theater first to meet everyone,” she said. “If we go now, everyone will be pretty available. If we wait until later in the afternoon, things can get chaotic.” While they were there, Thoreau would inspect and possibly tweak the outfit she was to wear tomorrow on camera with Kermit. “So we’ll meet and greet, then get some lunch. I’ll take you anywhere you boys want to go in the city, provided we can get there and back in time.”
    There was a flurry of activity as the men got ready to face New York. Piggy thought fondly that she had taken less trouble getting herself ready that morning, unless of course you counted working on the bags under her eyes. She had been up too late. Up too late talking to Fleet. Piggy flushed with guilt and pleasure. He had been very sweet, very reassuring, and he had not said anything bad about Kermit or her marriage or…or anything. She had felt him trying to please her through the phone line, and it had brought back a tidal flood of memories—things she had long forgotten.
    When they had been starting out, Fleet had been so helpful, so ready to listen if she wanted to talk. She could talk to him about anything, and the thing that had made it easiest was that he put so few demands on her, always grateful for her company, always happy to take her call. She could even talk to him about Kermit—had even talked to him about Kermit, and, well, if some of that wishful thinking on her part made it into an article, Piggy had not minded. Kermit, on the other hand, had minded a great deal. He had never been a big fan of her relationship with Fleet—for obvious reasons. He would never understand her talking to Fleet—not after everything that he’d written—and she could not explain about Fleet’s rescue without relating the terrifying incidents that led up to it. It was a miserable conundrum, and though Piggy kept pushing it out of mind, it kept returning, again and again, to haunt her.
    “Earth to Piggy. Thinking of hubby?” Thoreau teased, and Piggy started guiltily and blushed again.
    “None of your beeswax,” Piggy had growled, and though both men laughed, Piggy had not found it very funny at all.

    ********************************

    “I thought you were going to come back with a danish?” Chad demanded as his mother arrived in the kitchen with no paper sack in sight.
    His mother flashed him a wide smile. “No…,” she said, “But there was a good-looking Italian guy on the corner who admired my, um, ankles as I walked by.”
    Chad was mortified but Rory just laughed. Chad’s mother kissed him on the cheek as she came into the kitchen, then fished in her purse for the white paper sack. She handed it to Rory and kissed his cheek as well. Rory looked inside.
    “No danish,” he said sadly, and Chad turned, crestfallen.
    “No danish?” he asked, his dark eyes tragic.
    Rory grinned. “She bought bear claws,” he said, and handed Chad the bag so he could have first pick.
    Chad’s mother took the mug of coffee Rory proffered and sat down at their little table. “So, Rory,” she said, after a sip and a sigh. “When do I get to meet this pig of yours?”

    ************************************

    Clifford must have dozed. A particularly bone-jarring jolt caused him to startle to wakefulness and he looked around wildly.
    “Where’s Bob?” he asked thickly, and heard Tricia’s quiet answer.
    “He went with Tia,” she said. “Everybody’s been dropped off.” Her voice was light and neutral, but Clifford heard the strain in it. He stood up in the moving van and made his unsteady way to the front to plop down into the passenger seat. Tricia waved at the seat belt without taking her eyes off the road, and Clifford fastened it.
    “That was some fine musicianship,” Clifford said, treading lightly but trying to steer them onto safe conversational territory. He wanted them to be friendly—maybe even friends.
    “Thanks—it was good,” said Tricia, and he could hear the jubilation in her voice. “The audience was really great. We…I—thank you. For setting everything up.”
    “No problem,” said Clifford. “Just doing a favor for a friend.”
    Out of the corner of his eye, Clifford saw Tricia look down, embarrassed. “I appreciate the favor,” she said, trying hard to sound grateful and not humiliated. “I—“
    “I didn’t mean you,” Clifford teased. “I did a favor for the guy that owns the Bat, Bolt and Skull.”
    Tricia drove, blinking rapidly for a few minutes, and when she answered him, her voice was level. “Good for him,” she said at last.
    Clifford smiled in the darkness. “Good for everybody.”

    *******************************

    Scooter came into the kitchen dressed for work. Sara was up, showered and made-up, but had put her fluffy pink bathrobe back on over her undergarments. Although Sara had a nice collection of intriguing loungewear, Scooter liked the sight of her making breakfast for him in her this robe. She looked comfortable and at home—like she belonged in his kitchen. He walked up and put his arms around her waist as she stood at the stove, then bent and kissed her neck fondly.
    “I’m cooking!” Sara protested, giggling.
    “You’re telling me!” Scooter said, and was thrilled when Sara put down the spoon she’d been stirring with to turn and embrace him. Hmmm. Sara’s kisses were better than caffeine, Scooter thought, but since both were available…. When Sara released him, he poured a cup and sat at the little kitchen table. It had a tablecloth, now, and the dishes usually matched, and there were cute little magnets on the fridge now. Life was good.
    Sara had turned with the kettle in hand and was giving him a quizzical smile. “I know you aren’t smiling like that because I’m making oatmeal,” she said.
    Scooter made a face. Eating healthier was the price tag on surrendering his kitchen, but it was well worth it. “No,” he said. “I’m not smiling about the oatmeal.”
    “Then what?” Sara demanded.
    Scooter was quiet so long, just looking at her, that she blushed and looked away. “I’ve been with Kermit and the gang since I was 14 years old,” he said softly. “They’ve been everything a family ought to be—weird and funny and stern and affectionate. And weird. Did I say weird?”
    “You did,” said Sara, smiling at him.
    “And I’ve been with Kermit for…gosh, I guess from the beginning. I don’t know if I was very much help at first, but now…I…I think I carry my load.”
    Sara put the oatmeal down and sat down across from him, reaching for his hand. What a funny mood he was in today! “Sweetie, you carry your load and several others. Everybody knows that.”
    But Scooter waved her away. “Thanks,” he said, “but not where I was going.”
    “Okay…?”
    “And all the time I’ve been working for Kermit I’ve been watching him and Miss Piggy, watching them flirt and fight and break up and make up and—finally, sort it all out and get married.”
    “I believe you helped quite a bit with that last.”
    Scooter grinned, remembering. “I think she’s forgiven me for that,” he said, then continued. “And I can’t tell you how many years I watched them and wondered….” Scooter cleared his throat. “And wondered if I would ever find someone of my own. If I would ever have what they had.” He cleared his throat again. “And then you came.”
    Sara’s eyes filled with tears. “Scooter, Sweetie….”
    “I was just minding my own business—well, Kermit’s business—“
    “And everybody else’s,” Sara interjected, grinning.
    “And everybody else’s business, and you showed up at that expo, covering—what was it?—Emerging Trends in Children’s Programming?”
    Emerging Trends in Children’s Educational Entertainment,” Sara corrected quietly.
    “Yeah,” said Scooter. “And you wanted to talk to Kermit about his time on Sesame Street.”
    “Um hum.”
    “And I told you he was too busy to talk to you that day.”
    “You big meanie,” Sara murmured.
    “So I could get you to reschedule and come by the studio.”
    “I thought you were blowing me off,” she said, remembering. “And then you called me to make a date.”
    “An appointment,” Scooter corrected.
    “A date,” Sara insisted. “I got the interview, but I got you, too.”
    “You got me, too,” Scooter said. He smiled at her. “Lucky me.”
    “Lucky us.”

    ****************************
    Piggy’s friends had been as interesting to her castmates as her castmates had been to her friends. Mr. Lowery had been polite, acknowledging Thoreau’s preeminence and making a couple of well-placed comments about Howard’s accomplishments that had the astonished boar practically giddy with pleasure. Piggy thought the mutual admiration society had gotten off to a good start, and took her friends around to meet her co-stars. Rory had been suitably impressed and impressive, and Piggy was proud of him for making such a warm welcome. Kristen, who could be quite imperious when she wished, was gravely charming and deferential to Piggy, and Piggy saw Thoreau admiring her lean leggy-ness. He was undoubtedly designing something that would look marvelous on a figure like hers. Darcy’s unbridled enthusiasm and bubbly personality were comically endearing, and Piggy saw the men exchange amused smiles as they both bent over her hand. Harrison had blustered showily, but was so transparent that Piggy had merely taken his arm and told him firmly to “Knock it off!” whereupon he became meek and almost polite. The last stop was wardrobe, and Piggy knocked a little apprehensively, hoping that her bringing in a ringer wasn’t going to be offensive to Ramona, the quick-tongued, quick-fingered costumer who had been so accommodating to Piggy’s wardrobe needs..
    But Piggy’s worries were completely unfounded. Thoreau, when he wanted to be, could haul up a devastating charm and he spoke knowledgeably and approvingly about the show’s wardrobe, dropping a couple of little hints that made it clear that he was aware of other shows Ramona had done. Although formal when they arrived, she and Thoreau were chatting like old friends in no time, leaving Piggy a moment with Howard.
    “How is everything at the studio?” Piggy had asked. She had not wanted to appear worried in front of Thoreau, who had so much at stake on this trip.
    “Everything I hear is good,” said Howard. He was not as completely plugged in to the studio grape-vine as others, but word made it around. “They’ve circled the wagons around your frog and he’s not moping or starving.”
    “Moi hears that Scooter is working him like a frog,” Piggy murmured, and her blue eyes searched Howard’s, wanting to be reassured.
    “You hear right,” Howard said. “They are working hard to get the film done.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry about opening night.”
    Piggy gave a little half-shrug that was not negation, but pressed on. “Is he…do you think he’s happy?”
    “Without you there? Not a chance!” said Howard, then chuckled at Piggy’s stricken look. “He’s fine, Honey. He’s busy. And Scooter will make sure he stays busy until he can come and see you.”
    “Oh,” said Piggy, thoughtful. If Kermit was working, he would be okay without her.
    “And then he can come up here and be busy,” Howard teased, and Piggy blushed and huffed and swatted him. Thoreau heard Howard say, “Ouch!” and tore himself away from Ramona’s conversation.
    “Ramona says we can use do anything we want to the costumes,” he said, flushed with pleasure. “I’ve pulled the pedal-pushes and I’m not so sure I’m not going to want to see the prom dress. It’s actually sortof classic-classy,” he said, “if you don’t mind all the cleavage showing.”
    “Moi doesn’t mind,” Piggy said complacently, her blue eyes satisfied, and both the men laughed and shepherded her expertly down the hall.

    *********************

    Kermit roamed the studio in the dark. Frog’s have pretty good night vision, and he could see plenty well enough to make the rounds without turning on the lights. It was still early—too early even for Scooter, but since he was already up and caffeinated and not dressed for the day, Kermit had come in shortly after Marty’s early-dawn call. Marty had already texted to say that Operation Worrywart was underway. Kermit made a grin that was half grimace. Marty had promised to absorb the fallout from Piggy—if there was any—and he was grateful, but he wondered again at Marty’s suggestion. When Piggy had been considering the role—as if she’d actually had a choice—no mention had been made of her needing security. Piggy had always been quite able to take care of herself physically, as he well knew. He caught himself rubbing his middle and grinned ruefully. He’d deserved most of what he’d gotten, and gotten more than he deserved when Piggy said “I do.” He wondered how the new bodyguard would fare and if Piggy would allow him to try and protect her. She could be very prickly if she felt she was being dismissed or dictated to, and he had thought of all the right things to say to soothe and sympathize with her if she called him to complain. Which she hadn’t.
    Yet.
    Kermit smiled, wondering if she had met up with Thoreau and Howard yet, wondering if she had opened his gifts. The bracelet had really been an anniversary gift, but he thought it would make her happy to wear it out and have it admired and be able to say, “Oh, yes, Mon Capitan was just thinking of Moi and bought me this little bauble.” He could hear her saying it now, and hoped that she would be saying to to genuine friends and admirers. Although she had been fairly vague about her cast-mates, he gathered that she was getting along swimmingly with the fellow that played Kenickie. Kermit tried to be glad about it, but it was hard. He did not like the idea of Piggy in someone else’s arms, and he did was already steeling himself for the time when he would see her onstage kissing someone else. Nope. He wasn’t going to like that at all.
    He returned to the problem of Marty—or rather, to Marty’s solution to a problem that—earlier in the week--he wouldn’t have said they were having. Was Piggy safe? Had Marty somehow heard about Kermit adventure with the ice chest? New York was a tough place. Had Piggy been mugged? He remembered the way she had reacted when the script for The Muppets Take Manhatten had suggested that she might be mugged. They had argued long and loudly—pre-proposal—about the likelihood that she could be mugged, but they had finally prevailed. Actually, Jim had prevailed.
    Jim could reason with even the unreasonable, and he had convinced Piggy how appealing and vulnerable she would seem if she had just been mugged, especially while thinking that her boyfriend was hugging other women! Trusting him, Piggy had deferred—to him and to Kermit—and had played the scene as written. But when they had suggested the opportunity to catch up to her mugger and exact a little of her own back…well, that had gone amazingly well. Kermit suspected that Gary Facon, the fellow who had played the unhappy mugger still looked over his shoulder when walking through Central Park. Kermit found himself in the kitchenette and stopped short, suppressing a shudder. He’d been wool-gathering again, and he warranted he’d gotten enough for an afghan, so he was more than relieved to hear the front door buzz. That would be Scooter, who would have seen his car in the lot. Kermit sighed, and set his face toward another busy day.

    **************************
    Piggy’s fashionable pantsuit had hidden the scrapes on her knees, but when they got down to the brass tacks of fitting her tight little pedal-pushers, the cat was out of the bag. When Thoreau reached unsuspectingly for her knee in order to inspect the hem, Piggy gasped when his strong hands grazed her bandaged skin and Thoreau drew back in surprise and consternation. When Piggy didn’t meet his eyes, he reached out and turned back the edge of the hem, then said a few choice words.
    “What in the name of Broadway did you do?” he demanded. He reached out and turned up the other cuff, letting out a little hiss when he saw that both of her knees were scraped. Howard had stayed out of the way while Thoreau worked, but he came over and surveyed Piggy’s red, slightly swollen skin with a dark expression.
    “What happened?” Howard said, and Piggy shrank back from their fierce expression.
    “Moi, um, fell while, um—“
    “We had a little mishap during rehearsal,” Rory’s voice said from the doorway. Underneath the chagrined expression he had pasted on his face, Piggy saw his jaw jut out defiantly and she knew he had dropped his eyes to hide the fury blazing in them.
    “Just a little mishap,” Piggy repeated, retreating from her friends to go and stand alongside her co-star. “Moi was confused and leapt too soon. He tried to catch me, but—“
    “It wasn’t her,” said Rory. “I missed my mark.” He swallowed, playing his part to perfection. “I’m really sorry, Piggy,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean….”
    “It was not his fault,” Piggy cried, genuinely distressed. She had not asked Rory to take the blame for this, did not want him to take the blame for this!
    But Piggy’s distress put all accusations aside.
    “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” said Thoreau soothingly.
    “I’m sure it was an accident,” Howard said, but whether he was talking to Piggy or Rory was unclear. The hovered over her protectively, and Piggy looked up over their shoulders to see Rory looking at her levelly, his jaw working, as he leaned against the doorframe. She started to speak but he shook his head and slipped out the door, leaving her alone with her friends.
    “Well, we’ll just have to make the best of it,” said Thoreau. “Come back over here and let me see what we can do.”

    ******************************
    The van bumped and glided to a stop in the gravel driveway, and Tricia turned off the ignition but made no move to get out of the vehicle. Clifford sat too, not wanting to be the first one to leave. They had managed some polite conversation after he’d awoken, but nothing more, and Clifford saw her face in unhappy profile in the reflected glow of the porch light. Tricia opened her mouth to speak, then sighed and shut it again. She moved suddenly, heaving herself out of the car and closing the door in one smooth move. Clifford was slower, and he had just turned to shut his own door when Tricia came around the corner of the van.
    Warily, they looked at each other, and Clifford had opened his mouth to speak when something slammed him back against the side of the van. The something was Tricia, who had thrown her arms around his neck and kissed him with enough energy to bring him fully and completely awake.
    It was a testament to how surprised Clifford was that it took him a minute to shake off his shock and surprise, and another full minute to cotton on to the fact that a very enticing pair of lips had fastened on to his. He had caught her instinctively when they had lurched against the van, but now his arms moved to actually hold her to him, and his lips responded—then moved decisively over hers. When the kiss ended, Clifford’s head was spinning.
    “I’m sorry,” said Tricia, her green eyes earnest. “I’m really sorry, Clifford. I was a total B, and I shouldn’t have assumed you were like all the oth—“ She stopped, biting her lip and looking away. “I should have listened.”
    “Yes,” said Clifford, still a little defensive. Whoa! What a kiss!
    “I should have trusted you.”
    But here Clifford chuckled, and took her two soft shoulders and set her back form him a little. “I want to say ‘yes,’” he said seriously, “but I’m going to say ‘no.’ You have good instincts, although you are a little fast on the offensive.” He rubbed his neck ruefully. “Tricia, the person you need to trust here is yourself. When it comes to the band, trust yourself. As to the other….” Here, he sobered, looking off above Tricia’s head. “Look—I am a pretty decent guy,” he said, uncomfortable now. “But I don’t know if you should trust me enough to do what you just did.”
    Tricia was looking at him uncertainly.
    “Not that I didn’t like it—I did. It was…pretty straight up amazing,” he said, “but I do not know if you should trust me with your, um, lips.” He had almost said heart but had veered off at the last second, not wanting to presume.
    Tricia continued to gaze at him, then her expression became sardonic and cocky. “Are you telling me what to do with my own lips?” she demanded.
    Clifford saw the train coming down the track but couldn’t figure out how to get out of the way.
    “Um, no ma’am,” he said.
    “Would you like to tell me what to do with my own lips?” she demanded, out-and-out grinning now.
    “Um, yes ma’am,” said Clifford. His mustache twitched in amusement. “But I am way too smart for that.”
    Tricia regarded his serious face for a long moment, then socked him—hard—in the arm. “Darn it,” she said. “You are, aren’t you?” She stubbed the toes of her boots in the dirt. ”I’m sorry about, um, going off on you like that,” she said. “Really. I was out of line.”
    “You mean the yelling, or the kiss?” Clifford said, and Tricia colored again, but she was still grinning.
    “I’m sorry I yelled. Okay?”
    “And the other?” Clifford said.
    “I’m about to be,” said Tricia, turning away from him, but Clifford reached out and pulled her into his embrace. He tucked her head beneath his chin and held her against him, sighing.
    “Don’t be,” he said at last. “Don’t be sorry about the, um, kiss.” They stood that way for a long moment, with no idea what to do next, with no idea what ought to come next, then Clifford loosened his hold and her and set her back from him.
    “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go inside and tell Mom about the band.”
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  14. The Count Moderator

    Don't apologize for that. You posted. You posted more story! That's the important thing.

    As for the scene arrangements, I already know they have to be moved around somewhat within the various chapters to make for better fluidity if this were to ever be staged/filmed as an actual project.

    As for the chapter itself...
    Is there an additional subtitle to set this instance of "Exceeding Expectations" apart from its use for Chapter 36?
    *:) at the segment with Scooter and Sara.
    Has the gofer grown some to reach his wife's neck from behind?
    *Ish melted with the end segment with the catfish-looking dude and pretty molette. There's the pay-off we been waiting for. :flirt:

    Would say more, but this made me happy. Thank you Aunt Ru.
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  15. miss kermie Well-Known Member

    Ahhhhh!
    Oh Kermit, you're so sweet. I don't even think you needed to send the braclet!
    Sending his shirt is such a sweet thing to do! :flirt:

    And seeing how jumpy Piggy is when her knees are noticed, I'd assume, that sometimes, she really is NOT good under pressure.

    More please Ru!
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  16. Ruahnna Well-Known Member

    Here is my take on relative sized of different muppets/people: I see everyone as compatible. Unlike Newmanfan, who makes a point that Newsie is short, gold, foam and felted, I see the muppets as people who are correspondingly as tall or as short as the people that they interact with. Peoples is peoples. Although things do happen to muppets in my stories (thank goodness, or they'd be long and boring), they do not simply replace their parts from the whatnot bin. Piggy's knees, for example, will have to heal naturally, and Kermit actually had to be thawed out by warm contact, not put into the microwave on defrost.

    Scooter is a muppet and his soon-to-be-wife is not. Nevertheless, I see them as compatible in size. In fact, I think that when Sara is wearing heels (which she will be wearing to the Oscars, er, the Academy Awards in the next chapter (or so), then they will be about the same height. Can't explain it, but that's the way it is. If that bothers you, adjust your world-view while reading my stuff.

    I see Piggy as a little shorter than her co-stars, but still compatible. On stage, Rory does not look like he's dancing with a munchkin. When Seymour dreams of holding Piggy in his arms, her head should just about reach his shoulder (but we'll hope it doesn't come to that). Kermit and Piggy, of course, are perfectly suited to each otehr, and the best canon example I can call to mind is when they are dancing in The Great Muppet Caper. Kermit is plenty tall enough for Piggy to put her head on his shoulder, and he has no trouble at all on the dips.

    In my story (as well as in real life), rats date people. I let them work their own thing out and don't try to explain it. (Or think about it too much.) Even Pepe has had a date with a human or two in my stories. And I did dig up a date for Dr. Honeydew, whom he seems to have held onto. I would also point out that Beaker danced very compatibly with a human-sized girl (who spoke flawless guinea pig, I might add) in Letters to Santa.

    Whenever possible, I try to avoid "stage direction," and I try not to be toooo bossy outside of my own stuff. What I mean is, if I don't agree with something you do or say, I will try to suspend my own version of muppet reality to read it--if I can. I can't do it for everything, and if that happens, I try to keep my opinions to myself. Unlike Kermit, I do not need to be the boss of everything. (I would like to be the boss of everything, but I work hard to keep it under wraps.) And when you are reading my stuff, there happens to be a lot of cross-species dating, because I grew up seeing Kermit flirt with female co-stars (you did so, you conniving little amphibian!) and seeing Piggy flirt with male co-stars (you too, Missy), and everybody sang duets and played the piano or another instrument side-by-side with the special guest of the week and it wasn't weird there, so I don't see it as weird here, in KG.

    I hope that helps, and I hope I'm not "over-explaining." I want the work to stand on it's own and try not to meddle too much. One of my main goals is that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. Another is to up the quotient of frog/pig snuggling in the world, which I'm working on even as we speak.
    Piggy: Oh yeah? Well get the lead out, sister! I'm dying up here!
    Kermit: Um, yeah. What she said.
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  17. The Count Moderator

    Trust me, I have no qualms with how you present Muppet-interspecies dating and relationships in your works. Have I stopped reading your bredth of fanfics?, no. Do I always look forward to a new addition?, yes. Do I ask when a doubt presents itself to get a clearer understanding?, yes. So by all means, continue writing cause I'll be here reading.

    You hear that world? This bat's staying! This bat isn't leaving! Not when I've got a date for a Broadway show.
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  18. Muppetfan44 Active Member

    oooh, I love that Kermit gave Piggy jewelry that he wants her to show off to everyone! And the whole t-shirt thing was so adorable. Like the dynamics between Scooter and Sarah and Clifford and Tricia- you write the pull-my-heartstring romance so well!

    The past relationship between Fleet and Piggy is definitely interesting- it could explain partially why Piggy stuck around so long until Kermit eventually finally realized he loved her and married her-she at least had someone to talk to and confide in while waiting for Kermit to wise up. But beyond the whole "friend to confide in who doesn't demand anything" angle, I still get puzzled at times why Piggy still seems to be very fond of him...hmmm interesting indeed.

    Cannot wait until Kermit and Piggy reunite on screen at the Oscars, then hopefully in person very soon after that! Still curious to see who the bodyguard will be! Dying to read more as always Ru!!!
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  19. newsmanfan Well-Known Member

    -------------
    First and most importantly, I love love LOVE IT that Kermit sent her a SHIRT. A shirt of HIS. A shirt of his which he has obviously worn at least once before sending so that it smells like him! That is the ULTIMATE "miss you" gesture as far as I'm concerned, and I am delighted that you included such a thing here. Bravo frog! :)

    Ah, and finally, Clifford and Tricia are working cautiously past that whole awkward who's-in-charge thing that wrecks so many fledgling relationships! The flying tackle kiss is always a good move for establishing just WHAT one feels for another. Good goin' girlie! (I'm not THAT kind of a Clifford fan, but I could still see where those catfishy lips would be really, really good at kissing...)

    I enjoyed Howard and Thoreau making nice with (and being made nice to) Piggy's new theatre associates and friends. I suspect, though, that both men are smart enough to suspect Piggy and Rory are acting, and that the scraped knees may connote something much worse. Granted, I kind of hope Thoreau doesn't...I can see him having a screaming mimi fit if he thinks Piggy isn't safe...eek. :eek:

    Scooter's confession to Sara about deeply appreciating what she's done for him, completing his life and making his house a home, was not at all as fussy and old-fashioned as I think I just made it sound! Touching, and real. (And I don't mind your take on heights and species. Did you see the joke Rizzo makes about that in the Muppet Show Comic: Spring story just out? Very cute.)

    Wondering what will happen at the Oscars...and what our Fleet is up to...

    Oh, um, as someone currently in Pacific time (AZ is screwy, don't ask), the west coast is three hours EARLIER than the east coast, not LATER, but I get the vagaries of zipping between scenes in multiple time zones! Following just fine...just write it! Looking forward to whatever you can spare from your hectic life! :news:
    -------------
  20. WebMistressGina Well-Known Member

    I definitely agree with this.

    As a fellow writer, I humbly admit that the closeness that Scooter has to not only Kermit and Piggy has definitely influenced the way I write him. This was probably my favorite part with them cause it does speak to someone who has grow up around such a power couple that even in their worst battles, he keeps thinking, "I hope I have what they have one day."

    Newsie, I didn't know you were in AZ. Where? Where? And yes, I concur with the newshound. Arizona is one (the only one) of those states that doesn't believe in daylight savings, so when the rest of the world is springing back and moving forward, we Arizonans don't do that.

    Now, that kinda works cause I never needed to change my clocks, but it becomes screwy when I try to figure out the relatively time for everything else. Currently, if I have this right, the East Coast is two hours ahead of Mountain Time (where I am) which means it's three hours in Arizona time (and California and sometimes Colorado depending).

    I hate DST. :mad:

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