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A Pig Out of Water

Leyla

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Ooh, ack! Don't misinterpret me, Ru! :frown: I'm not trying to accuse you of anything, or criticize you! I just thought it was a funny coincidence that's all, and I like where you went with it! I just figured it might be a good idea for me to let my idea go for a while anyway, 'cause, you know, I didn't want other people to think I was copying you, that's all. It's hardly developed right now anyway and I thought I might use it in the fabric of a longer story.

Erm... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to annoy. I still think you're great!

As to your idea, it sounds like a lot of fun, sort of a writing challenge thread. I find those really useful when I'm stuck for ideas. And I love seeing different interpretations on the same subject. I'd be happy enough to participate, although I wont be around for a while.

Leyla
Yay for the pig and the frog!
 

Ruahnna

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There were good days and bad days. Most days, truly, were a mixture of both.
Today had been a grueling day. Piggy felt as if she’d tapped danced her toes off, and she felt like she’d been repeatedly mugged by the make-up and hair-styling police as they’d sought to keep her looking freshly powdered and curled. Swim practice this morning had not gone well because she was thinking about the day’s demands, and she was tired and sore and grouchy when she arrived. Kermit was also feeling the strain of their double schedule. By some never verbalized pact, they did not discuss their before and after hours meeting, nor did they allow them to carry over into filming. When he saw Piggy on the set every morning, it was as though they were meeting for the first time. If anything, Piggy seemed more formal, more aloof even, but Kermit worked hard to convince himself she was merely using professionalism to offset both the huge chunks of time they were spending together as well as the romantic overtones of the scenes they were now filming. It did not, he told himself firmly, have anything to do with the polite and very well-mannered interest her other co-star, Charles Grodin, had taken in her. In fact, she seemed very even-handed in her treatment of Kermit and “Charlie,” but somehow that thought did not comfort him.
In one of the many weird ways that life and art seemed intimately entwined, the story they were filming had autobiographical overtones. At it’s most basic, it was a simple frog-meets-pig story (with a jewel heist and a fashion show), complicated by the fact that another suitor shows up to court the pig. There were moments—days even, if Kermit was honest—when he wondered self-consciously about the script. Had it been absolutely necessary for the “other man” to be so bad? Had it really been believable that Piggy wouldn’t give him serious consideration as a suitor even before she knew he was a cad? Had Piggy’s on-screen single-minded dedication to him been believable? He liked to think so, but some small voice kept teasing him that is was all wishful thinking.
This is ridiculous, Kermit thought irritably. Piggy is my girl. At least, she always seemed to be when he wanted her to be, but there was no use pretending that they were not in one of their off-again phases. True, Piggy wasn’t seeing anyone else (that you know of, the voice prompted nastily), and Kermit had neither the time nor the desire for a social life at present, but something seemed off, seemed wrong, seemed wanting. The other day, filming the prison scene, she’d actually grumbled about having to do the kissing-between-the-mesh scene several times. The fake mustache he wore was supposed to transfer during the kiss, but it just wasn’t working. Take after take the darn thing wouldn’t budge off his upper lip, despite changing the angle, timing and intensity of the kiss. Piggy was a professional—when the camera’s rolled she kissed, and her kisses—fake or otherwise—were never to be taken lightly. But Kermit could sense, could feel, that her heart and soul weren’t in it. He had been kissed by her on more than one occasion with considerable heart and soul, and he knew—knew exactly—what he was missing. When the scene had finally wrapped, he could have sworn he heard her say “thank goodness,” and it put him in a monstrous mood for the whole rest of the day. If he had known—if he had even suspected how many times that afternoon that she’d been tempted to come right across the table and kiss him—kiss him to stay kissed—he wouldn’t have been so disgruntled
As it was, the evening practice found them both sulky and resentful before they even began, and the first half hour was very rocky. Eventually, though, as so often happened with them, the work became an end unto itself, and they slipped back into more comfortable roles.
One scene called for Piggy to do the backstroke, but she could not get comfortable with lying back in the water. Kermit took her out deep enough to give them some working room, but not so deep her feet couldn’t touch the bottom and tried to get her to lie back and float.
“Trust me,” Kermit said gently. “C’mon—it’s okay.”
“No, I—I don’t want to.”
“I’ve got you, Piggy,” he would say, his hands steady under her. At the last minute, she would lose her nerve, and when she panicked and tried to sit up the water closed over her head. Over and over, the pattern was repeated, and eventually Piggy’s swim-cap came off. Now her hair was in her face, her mouth tasted like chlorine and she was so tired and hungry and angry she felt shaky. She pushed the heavy curtain of hair out of her face and let out a slow breath.
“I’m done,” she muttered. “I cannot do this.”
“Piggy, you can.”
“Sell it to someone who cares,” she snapped, starting toward the stone steps. Exasperated, frustrated by his own limitations, Kermit followed her. Before she reached them, Kermit slipped up behind her and—risking sudden and immediate death if his grip was not true—grasped her firmly under the arms and became to take her back to the deep end.
“What?!” Piggy sputtered, trying to twist free, but they were in Kermit’s element now, and he could man-handle (frog-handle? pig-handle?) her with relative ease—at least for a few minutes at a time. When they got to deep water, Kermit leaned back upon the water, pulling Piggy with him. She had one panicky moment and tried to stand, but Kermit held her firmly, safely, letting the water support them both. After a moment of panting, Piggy realized she was not sinking, was not drowning. She was—quite surprisingly—lying back in Kermit’s arms and the water was sustaining them. Kermit felt her begin to relax, but he held her tight, wanting her to feel secure and very slowly began to paddle his feet.
“Oh,” Piggy said softly, ‘this is—this is nice.” She looked up at the stars, not minding the damp hair in her face, not minding the smell and taste of chlorine. Experimentally, she spread her arms wide, feeling the embrace of the water beneath her.
“Yeah,” Kermit murmured against her neck, paddling in a wide, lazy circle. “I used to love to swim at night in the swamp. It’s peaceful-like, hm?”
“Yes,” Piggy whispered, seeing the stars spread like diamonds across the sky. After a moment, Piggy began to paddle, too, letting her legs do the work. After several moments, Kermit shifted slightly--still supporting her, but now from the side, one arm under her waist. They made a couple of lazy circuits of the pools, listening to the crickets chirp. Were it not for the distant sounds of traffic, they could have been in the middle of nowhere, far from the press of the city. When Kermit felt she was ready, he withdrew his support and clasped Piggy’s hand. The paddled around dreamily, looking at the sky with the warm water beneath them. It was, Piggy thought later, a glimpse into Kermit’s world that she had never had before—a glimpse into his childhood.
“Hey Piggy,” Kermit said softly, not wanting to break the mood.
“Hmm?’
“Piggy—you’re floating.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Yes, I am.”

They were shy with each other when they climbed out of the pool moments later. Piggy set about drying herself carefully. Kermit pretended to the do the same, while actually watching her out of the corner of his eye. He enjoyed watching her, especially when she was relaxed, unguarded. He wished she felt that comfortable with him all the time.
Piggy was toweling her hair carefully. The stylists would rake her over the coals tomorrow, wondering what she’d done to her hair, but there was nothing for it now. She stepped into her sandals, flung her cover-up around her shoulders and picked up her duffle. It was dark, and Kermit stepped up close to her so he could see her face.
“You did great.”
“Not really.”
“Yes, really.”
“Thank you for helping me—I didn’t know—I couldn’t get it until you showed me.”
Kermit stubbed a webbed toe against the concrete in mock self-deprecation. “Aw shucks, ma’am—twernt nothin’. It’s a frog thing.”
“Apparently.”
They laughed softly, then Piggy looked away.
“See,” Kermit said quietly. “You were worried for nothing. I told you I’d hold on to you, Piggy.”
Kermit thought he heard her inhale sharply, but she did not move. In the dimness, her expression was unreadable.
“Yes,” she whispered, not looking at him. “You did say that.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, then Kermit reached out to take her duffle, his hand closing over hers.
“Here—let me carry that for—“
“No—I, I’m doing fine on my own,” Piggy said quickly, turning away. Before Kermit could say anything else, she was gone.
 

Ruahnna

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Leyla said:
Ooh, ack! Don't misinterpret me, Ru! :frown: I'm not trying to accuse you of anything, or criticize you! I just thought it was a funny coincidence that's all, and I like where you went with it! I just figured it might be a good idea for me to let my idea go for a while anyway, 'cause, you know, I didn't want other people to think I was copying you, that's all. It's hardly developed right now anyway and I thought I might use it in the fabric of a longer story.
Erm... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to annoy. Layla
No criticism felt, honey--you didn't annoy, not one bit. And I do think this sort of simultaneous-great-idea thing happens often in fandom, and that it is just a sign that we are all picking up on something essential about the characters--what they want to show us, or teach us, or make us think about. I just wanted you to know I don't feel proprietary about story ideas--anyone and EVERYONE can write their own version of an idea. I'm readin' 'em as fast as I can!
 

ReneeLouvier

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This is just so beautiful! I love reading these romance-y stories! It's the Harlquins of Muppet Fandom!!

(And this coming from someone who swore she'd never read a Harlquin Romance Novel as long as she lived! -- But...that probably happened because my Mother owns over 400 of them. XD)
 

redBoobergurl

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I love it! I'm glad you wrote more, I wasn't sure from how you had left it in the first chapter. I like your idea about picking a theme and having people write on it. Might be something to run past Fozzie Bear though, he might decided it should go in games or something. Ok, sorry, enough muffining. I like this story! Yea for the pig and the frog!
 

TogetherAgain

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Ohhh! Oh it makes me so happy inside... <Sigh> I love the idea of them floating together in the pool, it's just so... peaceful, and quiet, and sweet, and... <Sigh>...

But what a pity that they're in an "off-again" stage.

"I told you I'd hold onto you, Piggy." Oh! Do I detect a double meaning? Aw...

MORE PLEASE!
 

Leyla

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Oh good, so were okay then. Yay!

I don't know what to say about this scene, although I think I could just point to Lisa's post and say "ditto".

I like that it isn't all sunshine and roses for them, in both their work life and their personal lives. I like Piggy's uneasiness in the water and Kermit's solution. It's sort of a trust exercise, and it's so different seeing Piggy have to conquer a fear. She so rarely frightened of anything.

Piggy felt as if she’d tapped danced her toes off, and she felt like she’d been repeatedly mugged by the make-up and hair-styling police as they’d sought to keep her looking freshly powdered and curled.
Great description! It's very tactile... I can completely empathise with that feeling. (Just got highlights done... my scalp is still whimpering)

I like your contrasting Charles personality with his bad guy character in the movie. He's such a cad in that movie, so it's nice to imagine him being polite... oh, and he's interested in Piggy too. One jealous frog, coming right up!
Life imitates art... or is it art imitates life... and with the Muppets, who can tell? I've said it before, but I do love all these layers of reality.

You keep reminding us of these fun Kermit/Piggy moments from the good old days. "Piggy is my girl" Avery Schriver Episode, the Rosenthal kissing scene (Gosh, I love that moustache!), the water ballet. It's like watching Muppet home movies.

If he had known—if he had even suspected how many times that afternoon that she’d been tempted to come right across the table and kiss him—kiss him to stay kissed—he wouldn’t have been so disgruntled
I never used to like romances... at all, but lately I've been such a girly girl! I loved that line!!

Kermit stubbed a webbed toe against the concrete in mock self-deprecation. “Aw shucks, ma’am—twernt nothin’. It’s a frog thing.”
So cute!

Loved Piggy having a glimpse into Kermit's childhood, and as has been said, the whole peaceful atmosphere of the floating scene.
“See,” Kermit said quietly. “You were worried for nothing. I told you I’d hold on to you, Piggy.”
Oh, that's a good frog, yes you is!

“No—I, I’m doing fine on my own,” Piggy said quickly, turning away. Before Kermit could say anything else, she was gone.
And Piggy's in one of her independant moods I see. Well, no wonder. It's not easy to admit you need help with something, especially with all the romantic tension between them. They are definately in one of their off-again phases though... pity they can't seem co-ordinate their emotions better, eh?
 

Ruahnna

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Out of his element

Piggy seemed much her usual self the next morning, except she seemed distracted and easily flustered. She worked hard—worked with palpable concentration on her swim strokes—and seemed more at ease in the water than she had before. Something had changed the night before, and though Kermit couldn’t identify it, he could see the results.
After practice, Piggy dried herself off with her usual thoroughness, but she kept tilting her head as though her neck were stiff.
“Everything okay?” Kermit asked.
“Yes, fine,” Piggy said. “I just feel like I have water in my ear.”
“Oh. Sorry, Piggy, I never thought…, that is, um…frogs don’t have, you know, ears like—” An idea seemed to hit him. He looked around the pool for a spot of bright stone tile, then grabbed her hand and pulled her after him. “I’ve heard this helps, though.” He knelt quickly, then stretched out on his side, his head pressed to the hot concrete where his ear would have been—if he’d had one. ‘Here—lay down with your ear against the hot stone.”
Piggy gave him a look that was openly skeptical, but she stretched out facing him, her velvety pink ear tilted onto the sun-drenched ground. Her expression of bemusement turned to wonder as the heat of the stone pulled the moisture from her ear. She smiled at him, delighted.
“Better?” Kermit asked.
Piggy nodded slightly, still smiling. “Much better.”
It was nice, Kermit thought, to stretch out on the warm sidewalk beside her. Nicer than going to work. Neither spoke, but they smiled at each other drowsily, letting the sun warm and dry them. Kermit waged a silent internal battle, finally heaving himself up with a sigh only when Piggy herself sat up and brushed the hair back from her face.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m learning all sorts of things.”
Kermit meant to say something else—meant to say how well she was doing, to tell her how much he appreciated her hard work, to ask her if she’d like to have lunch with him. Before he could figure out what to say and how to say it, Piggy had gathered her things and left.
“Oh well,” he thought philosophically. “I’ll see her at the set.”

Kermit knocked on Piggy’s dressing room door, but didn’t wait to enter since it was already open.
“Hey Piggy,” he called. “I was wondering—“
He pulled up short, looking with surprise and displeasure at the big picnic hamper Charles Grodin held in one well-manicured hand. Piggy gave a guilty start, but Charles favored him with a brilliant smile and stepped forward.
“Kermit—wonderful stuff this morning. I caught the end of the Happiness Hotel bit—loved the part with the bed.”
“Oh—oh, thank you, Charles,” Kermit said stiffly. He did not look at Piggy, who was not looking at him.
Charles must have sensed some of the tension in the room because he looked from one to the other quickly, his face uncertain, but Piggy came to his rescue, stepping forward and putting a gloved hand on his arm. She took a deep breath and looked right at Kermit.
“Charles came to see if I wanted to go out onto the studio grounds for lunch,” she said. “We worked through lunch yesterday, and he wanted to make it up to me.” Her eyes were steady, but Kermit thought—hoped, maybe—that there was just the tiniest plea for understanding there. He squared his shoulders and pasted a smile on his face.
“What a nice idea,” he said. He hoped his voice sounded hearty, and that they could not tell he was gritting his teeth. Kermit tried to return Piggy’s look, but succeeded only in looking just past her shoulder. “It’s a beautiful day—you kids have a nice time.”
Charles smiled, obviously relieved. He turned to Piggy eagerly, clasping her hand in his free one. Piggy took one step forward and looked at Kermit.
“Did you need something, Kermit?”
“No,” Kermit said quickly. “I just wanted to tell you that we’ll be filming on location by the lake tomorrow.” I thought maybe we could take a picnic.
“I’ll be ready,” Piggy said quietly. For a moment, she watched him go, then she took a deep breath, turned back to Charles and allowed him lead her out into the sunshine.

Jealousy brought out some interesting things in Kermit, but patience wasn’t one of them. He pushed Piggy mercilessly at practice that evening, snapping orders, criticizing her form. It did not help that Piggy was having an off night. All the new-found confidence and sereneness she had found earlier in the week seemed to have evaporated, and she despaired of ever getting it right. The more she worried, the less focused she became, and her last set of choreographed moves were well below what she expected of herself.
“What’s wrong with you, Piggy?” Kermit barked irritably. “Do the sequence right for once tonight, won’t you?”
“I’m trying!”
“Then try harder. If we can’t pull this thing together, all of this misery will have been for nothing.”
Finally, Piggy snapped, turning on him angrily. “I can’t!” she cried. “I—it’s too much. I can’t think about what I’m doing now because I’m trying to think about what I’m supposed to be doing next.”
“You’re just not concentrating—“
“Don’t you tell me what I’m doing or not doing!” she flung at him. “How would you know? Let’s see you try to do all these things while somebody’s watching you, waiting for you to mess up!”
Kermit grew quiet, feeling ashamed. “No one’s waiting for you to mess—“
“I hate this! I hate not being good at something!” Piggy shouted, but her voice was almost a wail. Kermit heard the anger in her voice, but the pain came shimmering through. He was very afraid she might cry because—if she did—it would be his fault.
“Piggy—“
She took a ragged breath. “I don’t want to do this anymore. Go find yourself another pig!”
Oh please, Kermit thought suddenly. Let her mean for the movie. The movie had seemed all-important before; now it seemed very low on the scale.
Kermit’s voice was gentle. “Piggy—I don’t want another pig. I just want—“
“Don’t talk to me about what you want!” she shouted. “I want this to be over. I hate not knowing how to do something everyone expects me to know how to do. I hate feeling like I’m not doing it right. I hate—“ she broke off and took a breath that was half sob. “I can’t live up to everybody’s expectations.” She did not say, “I can’t live up to your expectations, but they both knew that’s what she meant. She pushed her streaming hair back from her face with both hands, framing her face for a moment. “I’m tired--tired of having to look perfect and act perfect and be perfect all the time.” She sniffed, looking into the water. “I want everyone to leave me alone.“
Kermit reached out gently and put his arms around her. He was very afraid she might move away, but she did not. It was not meant as a romantic gesture, Kermit told himself firmly—just a desire to connect and comfort, but once his arms enfolded her, Piggy grew still. She looked at Kermit and felt the invisible pull, drowning in it, and gazed at him with longing in her eyes.
“I just want—“ Piggy looked away, unable to go on. Kermit stroked her hair and ran his thumb along her cheekbone, turning her face back up to his. Her blue eyes were full of tears.
An alarm was going off in his head—danger, stop, look out—but Kermit wasn’t listening to it. He was listening to the soft lap of the water against the filter. To Kermit, it sounded like heaven, like childhood, like home. He did not stop to think, didn’t want to think, wanted only….
“Just once,” Piggy said raggedly, “couldn’t you kiss me when the film isn’t rolling?”
Kermit nodded slowly, then he wrapped his arms around Piggy’s shivering form and kissed her until she grew warm and leaned against him. Even then, he couldn’t think of a good reason to let her go.
“I can’t do this,” Piggy said finally, her voice muffled against his chest.
“You can do anything,” Kermit murmured, believing it.
Shakily, Piggy disentangled herself and stepped back--out of touching distance. She put her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said, and her voice sounded odd. “But you’re wrong—I can’t. I just—“
“I know, Honey,” Kermit said gently. “I know.”
Honey, she thought. He called me Honey. It had been a long time since he’d done that. Kermit wasn’t thinking bout what he’d said. He was looking into her eyes and seeing something old and new and timeless. Something he wanted—something he’d almost lost. Before he could act, Piggy took another step back.
“I’m so sorry, Kermit” she whispered. “But I just can’t do this.” Piggy got out of the pool. She caught up her towel and duffle as she went, not bothering to dry off, and by the time she reached the gate, she was running.
Stunned, Kermit stood quietly in the moonlight and watched her go. He could still feel the sweet weight of her as she leaned into his embrace, taste the salt and chlorine on her lips. He put both hands over his face. Sheesh, he though miserably. I am so out of my element.
 

Leyla

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Ooh! So much to say, but I gotta go to bed. I'm graduating tommorow! I'll come back and blather more tommorow, but for now I have to say I like seeing this whole thing from Kermit's perspective. He's so fun when he's jealous, poor bugger.

Oh, and I'm soo excited 'cause you're leading up to that really fun (odd adjective, I realise) argument in GMC where they break character. I can't wait to read what happens next!

Great part, and I'll rave properly later.
Leyla
 

Ruahnna

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The show must go on

She did not show up the next morning, and though he was certainly not surprised, Kermit had hoped that her dedication to the work would carry her through. But this time—for the first time—it did not. Although he would have had trouble putting words to it, Kermit was beginning to acknowledge that he had been more than content to let the work take the place of his initiative, at least as far as Piggy was concerned. If he wanted to spend time with her, she was there—always there—at the studio. If he was filming, she was filming. If he wanted to hear her say sweet nothings, all he had to do was script them. Looking back, he wasn’t very proud of himself.
When he arrived on the set, Piggy was her usual self—that is, she was on time, polite, prepared and…aloof. She tap-danced, posed, ran wonderful dialogue with Charles and Diana Rigg and was extra-courteous to the ladies and men trying to tweak her make-up and coiffure. Twice, Kermit had sidled up to her, hoping to talk about what had happened, but she gave him alarmed looks and moved away. After lunch, they would have to do the scene by the lake—the scene he had been dreading all morning. How hypocritical of me, he thought more than once. Kermit had happily mined their private lives—and the lives of all their friends—for good material, but this one was awfully close to home for him. He didn’t know how it was going to play. As if sensing his black mood, his friends gave him a wide berth. Even Fozzie, who shot him anxious mother-hen looks from the sidelines, did not crowd him that day.
Peter Falk, always professional and always a pleasure, had arrived on the set early that morning. He joked with Fozzie and had been well-cared for by Scooter and Rizzo. Gonzo seemed to consider him a kindred spirit, and they had passed the time with intense, hand-gesticulating conversations that ended in chuckles and head-nodding. Like many other stars who had guested, Mr. Falk had looked forward to being introduced to Miss Piggy. Kermit sucked it up and did his duty, but he need not have worried. Piggy greeted their guest graciously and talked with warmth and insight about Mr. Falk’s distinguished career. At one point, Piggy had even tucked her hands under both their elbows and joked about being “a sucker for a man in a trench coat.” This was said with a gentle look in Kermit’s direction, and Kermit felt himself begin to relax, to relent just a little. When Piggy volunteered to take over hosting duties so Kermit could get ready for the afternoon shoot and tend to three-thousand details demanding his attention, he accepted gratefully and left them chattering.


“Hey you! Well, well, well—if it isn’t the fake Lady Holiday.”
“Hellooo!” This would be easier, Kermit thought viciously, if she didn’t look to darn cute. Darn that cute hat and those big blue eyes.
Hello? Last night you never even said good-bye!”
“Oh, Kermit, that was just…silliness.” She laughed nervously.
“Yeah, but you lied to me—you used me.”
“Oh Kermit, please let me explain. Kermit, my name is Miss Piggy and I really am a model. I only lied because I—I wanted to be with you.”
“Oh yeah—I saw the way you were dancing with that guy last night.”
“Oh Kermit!”
“Let me tell you something. You’re dancing partner happens to be a jewel thief. What do you think of that?”
Piggy gasped. Her face was a picture of surprise and delight. “You’re jealous!”
“I am not!” What a liar I am, Kermit thought, and it somehow fueled his annoyance instead of abating it.
“You are! You are, you are, you are, you are!”
He groaned, then turned and stomped away.
“Oh Kermit, I’m sorry. Oh please, please don’t go, Kermit—please! Please, please, Please!”
“Piggy—Piggy, hold it!” Sheesh—she certainly sounds convincing. “Piggy—Piggy, you’re overacting!”
That was most definitely not in the script. The shock on her face was almost worth it. Piggy looked as though he’d said something rude about her mother.
She stepped back from him. “What!?”
The film crew were looking at each other in astonishment. Scooter was flipping script pages uselessly, finally staring in mute amazement as their two stars proceeded to have a knock-down drag-out argument while the cameras were rolling. After a moment, a blank look from Scooter and no further direction from anyone remotely in charge, the techies shrugged and returned to their equipment.
“Piggy, you’re over-acting. You’re hamming it up.” Kermit did not feel sorry—he felt empowered. Hah! Take that you Jezabel!
“I am not! I am trying to save this movie.” You of all people ought to know how hard--
“Oh, yeah? Well, save your performance instead.”
“I—I am playing 800 different emotions!” Piggy sputtered. Unlike some uptight, tight-
“Yeah? Well, try to play one of them right!” Kermit flung.
Piggy looked daggers at him. How dare you, she glared at him. How dare you! “Oh! Oh! I have a career of my own—“ I’m here because I want to be, buster.
“I know all about your career, pig!” I know you could leave me at any time.
“I do not need some lousy duck pond!”
Personal foul! Kermit thought. “I’m sure you don’t need some lousy duck pond!” Kermit shouted.
“Maybe I’ll just walk!” She was shaking with rage.
“Yeah? Sure--go ahead and walk! Just—“ Just leave me—I knew you’d leave me one day, heart-broken and alone and--
“Well, maybe I will walk—“ Her back was to him, but Kermit heard a sniffle. All his rage leaked out of him as suddenly as a balloon deflating. He felt awful. He was a terrible amphibian. He was a bad frog.
“Piggy, listen—“
“I’m doing my best.” She was crying. Kermit felt like crying too, but directors don’t usually have the luxury. He put a gentle hand on the small of her back.
“I know you are. Piggy, I’m sorry.” She didn’t move away from his hand, but he felt like she wanted to. “Uh, we gotta get back to the movie, though.” How lame…
“Oh all right.” She lifted her head, pulling her professionalism around her like a shield. “Okay, okay." Her features were veiled, her eyes blank to him. "Kermit, I’m sorry I left you last night…at the night club.”
“Um, well, it’s okay, Piggy.” It was not okay—you broke my heart, again.
“Oh Kermie.”
“Oh, Piggy.”
Mercifully, the cameras stopped. Kermit looked around. The cast and crew were so surprised they couldn’t even pretend to not be eavesdropping.
“Um, can you give us a moment here, guys?” Kermit asked.
Still, they stared in various states of slack-jawed amazement until Scooter shook himself out of his reverie and began to literally shoo people away.
Piggy stood up, not looking at him, and started for the park bench. Afraid to touch her, Kermit matched her stride.
“Piggy, look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what just happened back there. I never meant—“
“You never do.”
Kermit took a step back. He could have handled her anger. He didn’t know how to deal with the defeat in her voice.
“But, Piggy—“
“I would like you to go, please,” Piggy said softly. “I do not want to have this conversation. If you want me to stay for the movie, just go.”
Kermit had a momentary vision of saying, “The heck with the movie—can’t we please just fix this?” He took a step forward. Piggy looked up, her eyes hopeful, but Kermit was a pragmatic frog at heart.
“I’m sorry,” he said fervently, and left her alone.
 
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