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Ruahnna
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(This is a fanfic based on the special last night. Here's the first installment....)
“So—that’s it. That’s all the raw footage. What’d you think?” asked Scooter.
“I think I liked it,” said Kermit. “We’ve got some good stuff here. Plenty of stuff to edit down.” He nodded solemnly, looking content. It was an expression that Kermit was exhibiting more and more as their collective fortunes took an upturn. Kermit turned in his chair and looked at Scooter. “Anything you think we ought to cut?” he said dryly.
Scooter looked up hopefully. “If I get a vote, how about the chorus number with the penguins?” Behind the glasses, Scooter’s eyes were guileless, totally innocent.
Kermit managed not to smile. “But Scooter,” he pointed out, playing the devil’s advocate. “That’s your only number in the whole show. Don’t you want to be in the special?”
There was a split-second pause while Scooter shifted from polite and deferential to honest and wry.
“Um, in that number? Not really.”
“I thought it was, um…you know, it was—“
“Terrible?” asked Scooter. Kermit started to argue with him and then subsided.
“Yeah, I guess it wasn’t one of our best. Whoever wrote March of the Penguins has obviously never tried to teach a penguin to keep time to music.”
“Tell me about it,” said Scooter, wincing as he shifted his booted foot.
“How are the toes coming?” asked Kermit solicitously.
“Doc says I’ll be out of this moon boot in a coupla days.” He smiled ruefully. “I can wiggle all of them now, so I must be improving.”
“Well, thanks for your help, Scooter. You heading right out?”
“Nope,” said Kermit’s assistant cheerfully. “I’ve got a couple of things to tie up here since I’ll be gone for a few weeks, and Nick said I could come and hang out with them until their concert tonight.”
“Nick Jonas?”
“Uh huh.” He looked at Kermit hopefully. “Um, do you think my hair looks like Nick’s?”
“Well, um, gee,” said Kermit, taken off guard. “I never really thought about—oh! Look at the time. Here—let me get the door for you.”
Scooter sighed. Oh well—at least he’d get to hang out with the brothers, at least. That was better than being stepped on by penguins any day.
“Thanks, boss,” he said automatically, as Kermit held the door.
He hobbled a few steps and then turned as Kermit called his name.
“Um, Scooter?”
“Yeah, Boss?”
“You really think we should cut the penguin chorus number?”
Scooter nodded firmly. “Yep,” he said. He started to turn--
“And, um, Scooter?”
“Yeah, Boss?” Scooter hid the smile that wanted to break across his face. Kermit obviously had something else to ask him but he didn’t seem to be able to get it out.
“Do you, um, I mean…so, you like these Jonas Brothers? They seem, um, nice?”
It was Scooter’s turn to be caught off guard. “Um, sure. They seem like real great guys. Why?” he asked, although he had a theory or two.
“Oh, no reason. Just, you know, I didn’t work with them myself. They only worked with…um, that is, Piggy worked with them. I, um, worked with Ashley Tisdale and uh, Brenda Song.”
“Don’t remind me,” Scooter groaned under his breath, but Kermit didn’t hear him.
“Along with Piggy, I mean,” Kermit continued. “But Piggy worked with the Jonas Brothers by herself—I mean, she was with them, but—“ Kermit sighed and forced himself to stop babbling, but Scooter’s smile was gentle.
“So you were just, you know, wondering if they were polite and everything?”
“Exactly,” Kermit said, relieved at being read so well. He had, after all, seen the footage they’d shot. He knew perfectly well that the Jonas Brothers had been the soul of politeness to Piggy, somewhat awed by her take-charge attitude. It was hard NOT to be awed by Piggy—and her attitude—but they had seemed more than accommodating as she had playfully shang-hai’d their song and their part of the show.
For her part, Piggy had seemed to be enjoying it—enjoying it a lot. The novelty of being a brunette had struck her as fun. “I’ll be the anti-Hannah Montana,” she had quipped. And with the help of a little splicing and dicing, Piggy had seemed to transform herself from hair-curlered diva-in-waiting to “sister” Joan in short order. In reality, Piggy had merely darted off camera, taken off the hair-curler wig and tossed it and then had about sixteen waiting hands to tuck her piles of blonde curls up under the short brunette mop-cap that turned her into an honorary Jonas. Kermit had watched from the sidelines as Piggy had shaken her flaxen hair free from the curler-wig, registering the wide-eyed admiration from Joe, Kevin and Nick Jonas with something like annoyance. Then, re-coiffed and with a quick change, Piggy had (again, magically with the help of film splicing) materialized back on camera to wow them with her vocals.
They had enjoyed it. Truth be told, Kermit had enjoyed it. It had actually been sortof nice to not be in front of the camera for a moment and just watch Piggy work. But Kermit thought guiltily that he would have enjoyed it a lot more if he’d somehow been in this scene with her like she had been in all the scenes with him. He stopped and made a scrunchy face, pondering, and wondered if Piggy had somehow planned it that way.
“You’re going to cut my number? But—but Pepe and Rizzo got to be on the special,” said Fozzie. His expression was crestfallen.
“Well, yes, but just in the beginning,“ Kermit began diplomatically. He had been disappointed with the 30-minute time limit—less, counting commercials—but then, the original show had only been 30 minutes. Time is relative, he thought glumly. “Fozzie, I just looked over all the footage and I think your humor is, um, it’s, um, well it’s too….”
Kermit hoped that Piggy might jump into the gaping hole in the conversation but she was—for once—waiting patiently at his elbow, apparently texting someone on her phone. Kermit looked up, desperately groping for words, and saw Fozzie’s big sad eyes staring back at him.
“It’s too…sophisticated for some of the younger members in the audience.”
Fozzie’s eyes widened, making him look like a big cub himself. “Really?” he said. “You think it was too, um…deep?”
Piggy made a sound that might have been a snort and Kermit interposed himself smoothly, taking Fozzie’s elbow.
“Yeah. I think we should save your routine for…well, for something else.”
“Gosh,” said Fozzie wonderingly. “I wasn’t trying to be too, you know, above their heads.”
“Oh, yeah, Fozzie,” Kermit said, seizing on this line of thought. “The rubber chicken bit? That was for, you know, a different, more, um….”
“Less technology-obsessed audience,” Piggy said, without once looking up from her phone. Kermit could have kissed her.
“Yes, exactly,” he said.
“Oh.” Fozzie still looked disappointed, but not crushed, and his forlorn expression made Kermit remember something.
“But you were mentioned in one of the clips that we are going to use,” Kermit said, brightening. “When I was dancing with Ashley Tisdale, she said….” The amphibian trailed off, suddenly remembering his promise.
“Yes?” said Fozzie breathlessly. “Ashley Tisdale said what?”
“Um, she said, you were, um, someone that she, um—“
“Blondie had a thing for you,” said Piggy, again without looking up.
“Piggy!” Kermit said, putting his hands on his hips, but Piggy just shrugged.
“He’ll see the clip eventually,” she insisted.
For a moment, Fozzie looked like he might swoon. At last, the power of speech seemed to return.
“Um, had or has?” he whispered.
“Um….”
Piggy snapped her phone closed. “You should go find out,” said Piggy decisively. “She’s in her dressing room changing so she can go to the mall with Moi.”
“Piggy, you just can’t—the mall? You’re going to the mall? But you’re supposed to be going with me to—“
“Oh, yes, mon chere,” Piggy said, turning to him with her eyes carefully downcast. “I’m sorry I have to cancel our plans, but if Ashley and I are going to get back in time for the Jo-bro concert tonight—“
“Concert? You’re going to their concert, too?”
Something in Kermit’s tone must have communicated itself to Piggy for she paused and looked at him closely.
“Um, I suppose we could ask them to dig up another ticket for you, Mon Capitan,” she said, the endearment softening her tone.
Kermit sighed and shrugged. It was not quite the evening he’d had planned. “Well, I suppose we could ask,” he said morosely.
“Ohh! In that case, you can come with Moi and Ashley to the mall!” Piggy squealed. Kermit rallied at the enthusiasm in her voice.
“Really? You want me to come with you?”
“Of course, Kermiem my love,” she said warmly. She pulled out a tube of mocha magic lipstick and applied it artfully without looking. When she was done, she smiled at him, and his little froggy heart went pitter-pat. “We need someone to carry our packages!” Piggy said. The pitter-pat was replaced with a sinking feeling.
“Um, okay, Piggy,” Kermit sighed. Piggy turned to him and, to his surprise, bussed him sweetly on the cheek, leaving traces of mocha and magic.
“Thank you, Sweetie,” she said.
For a moment, Kermit’s spirit shot toward the stratosphere, but Piggy’s next words brought him sharply back down to earth.
“Oh, and Kermie? Bring your credit card.”
“So—that’s it. That’s all the raw footage. What’d you think?” asked Scooter.
“I think I liked it,” said Kermit. “We’ve got some good stuff here. Plenty of stuff to edit down.” He nodded solemnly, looking content. It was an expression that Kermit was exhibiting more and more as their collective fortunes took an upturn. Kermit turned in his chair and looked at Scooter. “Anything you think we ought to cut?” he said dryly.
Scooter looked up hopefully. “If I get a vote, how about the chorus number with the penguins?” Behind the glasses, Scooter’s eyes were guileless, totally innocent.
Kermit managed not to smile. “But Scooter,” he pointed out, playing the devil’s advocate. “That’s your only number in the whole show. Don’t you want to be in the special?”
There was a split-second pause while Scooter shifted from polite and deferential to honest and wry.
“Um, in that number? Not really.”
“I thought it was, um…you know, it was—“
“Terrible?” asked Scooter. Kermit started to argue with him and then subsided.
“Yeah, I guess it wasn’t one of our best. Whoever wrote March of the Penguins has obviously never tried to teach a penguin to keep time to music.”
“Tell me about it,” said Scooter, wincing as he shifted his booted foot.
“How are the toes coming?” asked Kermit solicitously.
“Doc says I’ll be out of this moon boot in a coupla days.” He smiled ruefully. “I can wiggle all of them now, so I must be improving.”
“Well, thanks for your help, Scooter. You heading right out?”
“Nope,” said Kermit’s assistant cheerfully. “I’ve got a couple of things to tie up here since I’ll be gone for a few weeks, and Nick said I could come and hang out with them until their concert tonight.”
“Nick Jonas?”
“Uh huh.” He looked at Kermit hopefully. “Um, do you think my hair looks like Nick’s?”
“Well, um, gee,” said Kermit, taken off guard. “I never really thought about—oh! Look at the time. Here—let me get the door for you.”
Scooter sighed. Oh well—at least he’d get to hang out with the brothers, at least. That was better than being stepped on by penguins any day.
“Thanks, boss,” he said automatically, as Kermit held the door.
He hobbled a few steps and then turned as Kermit called his name.
“Um, Scooter?”
“Yeah, Boss?”
“You really think we should cut the penguin chorus number?”
Scooter nodded firmly. “Yep,” he said. He started to turn--
“And, um, Scooter?”
“Yeah, Boss?” Scooter hid the smile that wanted to break across his face. Kermit obviously had something else to ask him but he didn’t seem to be able to get it out.
“Do you, um, I mean…so, you like these Jonas Brothers? They seem, um, nice?”
It was Scooter’s turn to be caught off guard. “Um, sure. They seem like real great guys. Why?” he asked, although he had a theory or two.
“Oh, no reason. Just, you know, I didn’t work with them myself. They only worked with…um, that is, Piggy worked with them. I, um, worked with Ashley Tisdale and uh, Brenda Song.”
“Don’t remind me,” Scooter groaned under his breath, but Kermit didn’t hear him.
“Along with Piggy, I mean,” Kermit continued. “But Piggy worked with the Jonas Brothers by herself—I mean, she was with them, but—“ Kermit sighed and forced himself to stop babbling, but Scooter’s smile was gentle.
“So you were just, you know, wondering if they were polite and everything?”
“Exactly,” Kermit said, relieved at being read so well. He had, after all, seen the footage they’d shot. He knew perfectly well that the Jonas Brothers had been the soul of politeness to Piggy, somewhat awed by her take-charge attitude. It was hard NOT to be awed by Piggy—and her attitude—but they had seemed more than accommodating as she had playfully shang-hai’d their song and their part of the show.
For her part, Piggy had seemed to be enjoying it—enjoying it a lot. The novelty of being a brunette had struck her as fun. “I’ll be the anti-Hannah Montana,” she had quipped. And with the help of a little splicing and dicing, Piggy had seemed to transform herself from hair-curlered diva-in-waiting to “sister” Joan in short order. In reality, Piggy had merely darted off camera, taken off the hair-curler wig and tossed it and then had about sixteen waiting hands to tuck her piles of blonde curls up under the short brunette mop-cap that turned her into an honorary Jonas. Kermit had watched from the sidelines as Piggy had shaken her flaxen hair free from the curler-wig, registering the wide-eyed admiration from Joe, Kevin and Nick Jonas with something like annoyance. Then, re-coiffed and with a quick change, Piggy had (again, magically with the help of film splicing) materialized back on camera to wow them with her vocals.
They had enjoyed it. Truth be told, Kermit had enjoyed it. It had actually been sortof nice to not be in front of the camera for a moment and just watch Piggy work. But Kermit thought guiltily that he would have enjoyed it a lot more if he’d somehow been in this scene with her like she had been in all the scenes with him. He stopped and made a scrunchy face, pondering, and wondered if Piggy had somehow planned it that way.
“You’re going to cut my number? But—but Pepe and Rizzo got to be on the special,” said Fozzie. His expression was crestfallen.
“Well, yes, but just in the beginning,“ Kermit began diplomatically. He had been disappointed with the 30-minute time limit—less, counting commercials—but then, the original show had only been 30 minutes. Time is relative, he thought glumly. “Fozzie, I just looked over all the footage and I think your humor is, um, it’s, um, well it’s too….”
Kermit hoped that Piggy might jump into the gaping hole in the conversation but she was—for once—waiting patiently at his elbow, apparently texting someone on her phone. Kermit looked up, desperately groping for words, and saw Fozzie’s big sad eyes staring back at him.
“It’s too…sophisticated for some of the younger members in the audience.”
Fozzie’s eyes widened, making him look like a big cub himself. “Really?” he said. “You think it was too, um…deep?”
Piggy made a sound that might have been a snort and Kermit interposed himself smoothly, taking Fozzie’s elbow.
“Yeah. I think we should save your routine for…well, for something else.”
“Gosh,” said Fozzie wonderingly. “I wasn’t trying to be too, you know, above their heads.”
“Oh, yeah, Fozzie,” Kermit said, seizing on this line of thought. “The rubber chicken bit? That was for, you know, a different, more, um….”
“Less technology-obsessed audience,” Piggy said, without once looking up from her phone. Kermit could have kissed her.
“Yes, exactly,” he said.
“Oh.” Fozzie still looked disappointed, but not crushed, and his forlorn expression made Kermit remember something.
“But you were mentioned in one of the clips that we are going to use,” Kermit said, brightening. “When I was dancing with Ashley Tisdale, she said….” The amphibian trailed off, suddenly remembering his promise.
“Yes?” said Fozzie breathlessly. “Ashley Tisdale said what?”
“Um, she said, you were, um, someone that she, um—“
“Blondie had a thing for you,” said Piggy, again without looking up.
“Piggy!” Kermit said, putting his hands on his hips, but Piggy just shrugged.
“He’ll see the clip eventually,” she insisted.
For a moment, Fozzie looked like he might swoon. At last, the power of speech seemed to return.
“Um, had or has?” he whispered.
“Um….”
Piggy snapped her phone closed. “You should go find out,” said Piggy decisively. “She’s in her dressing room changing so she can go to the mall with Moi.”
“Piggy, you just can’t—the mall? You’re going to the mall? But you’re supposed to be going with me to—“
“Oh, yes, mon chere,” Piggy said, turning to him with her eyes carefully downcast. “I’m sorry I have to cancel our plans, but if Ashley and I are going to get back in time for the Jo-bro concert tonight—“
“Concert? You’re going to their concert, too?”
Something in Kermit’s tone must have communicated itself to Piggy for she paused and looked at him closely.
“Um, I suppose we could ask them to dig up another ticket for you, Mon Capitan,” she said, the endearment softening her tone.
Kermit sighed and shrugged. It was not quite the evening he’d had planned. “Well, I suppose we could ask,” he said morosely.
“Ohh! In that case, you can come with Moi and Ashley to the mall!” Piggy squealed. Kermit rallied at the enthusiasm in her voice.
“Really? You want me to come with you?”
“Of course, Kermiem my love,” she said warmly. She pulled out a tube of mocha magic lipstick and applied it artfully without looking. When she was done, she smiled at him, and his little froggy heart went pitter-pat. “We need someone to carry our packages!” Piggy said. The pitter-pat was replaced with a sinking feeling.
“Um, okay, Piggy,” Kermit sighed. Piggy turned to him and, to his surprise, bussed him sweetly on the cheek, leaving traces of mocha and magic.
“Thank you, Sweetie,” she said.
For a moment, Kermit’s spirit shot toward the stratosphere, but Piggy’s next words brought him sharply back down to earth.
“Oh, and Kermie? Bring your credit card.”
