Kermie's Girl (ushy-gushy fanfic)

[ReneeLouvier]

A very funny little chapter Ru! Loved the groundhog pulling him into the hole!

And I also loved the chapter before this one, where I just about wanted to get Scooter for spying on us during the rehearshels!

 

[christyb]

Ahhh yes updates! I loved Bunsen's holiday decorator. That was fabulous! Poor Beaker.

 

[The Count]

I'm excited to see how the Christmas shows at Vegas continue... What new acts get added to the playbill and who else decides to drop into the troop of performers.
Uncle Deadly: Yes, and I'm intrigued to find out how the specter of Fleet Scribbler will haunt them in such a cheery casting.
Hope for an update soonish, or whenever you get the chance.

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 35: Baby's got a brand new act

Timing is everything. At least, it is something. At least, to some things, it is something. These thoughts ran around in Thoreau’s brain like a rat in a cage.
“It’s my fault,” he thought grumpily. “If I hadn’t stopped to steal one of Mabel’s apple popovers—which will probably just go straight to my hips—I’d be happily napping in my room instead of being here now.”
Here was wading into the middle of a stage full of muppet performers in Howard’s wake while Howard pointed and growled and made snide comments that nobody even bothered to be offended by.
“Out, you’re out,” said Howard, routing Scooter and Rowlf. Rowlf shrugged cheerfully, resigned, but Scooter looked downcast and started backstage. Howard’s voice called him back and gave him hope. “And where do you think you’re going, mister?”
Scooter looked up, confused. “Um, backstage? I—you cut me. You said to get off the stage.”
“That’s because we have too many people on the stage,” Howard said with exaggerated patience, like he was explaining something obvious to a three-year-old. “But don’t go anywhere. I may need you.”
Scooter looked up hopefully and Sara flashed him a big smile and a wave. While she was waving, Howard snagged her arm and dragged her over to the side of the stage to stand near Piggy and Janice.
“Um, what am I doing here?” Sara asked.
Piggy gave her a smug look. “Looks like you made the cut, dear.”
“Cut? What do you mean, made the cut? What are we--?”
“Okay ladies,” Howard said, corralling them into a circle. “When it’s time for the third verse, you are going to be up here on stage. Before that, you’ll have partners, but this is your time to shine solo.”
“Solo?” gulped Sara. “Um….”
“That’s right, sweetie,” said Howard. He gave her a look. “You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”
Sara gulped. “Um…sortof.”
“Good—it shows, and heaven knows you needed it.”
Sara couldn’t decide to be terrified or indignant, but Howard moved off before she reached a decision. The choreographer made clucking noises, pursing his lips and looking morose while everyone waited. Howard pointed imperiously, pulling Gonzo and Fozzie back onto the stage and making shooing noises at his chorus girls, who muttered and gave him dark—and purely ineffectual—looks. Howard tapped Clifford, who bounded joyfully to the stage, then looked around him with a squint. “Where’d that little shrimp get to?” he muttered, and Pepe made an indignant noise and stomped his foot. Howard looked down, peering over his clipboard, and found Pepe glaring at him.
“Hi am a king prawn, h’okay? And ju can just take your—“
“Oh hush,” said Howard. “Get over there on your mark and stay out of the way.”
With dignity, Pepe stalked over to his mark and crossed all four arms.
“Okay, people,” said Howard. “This is not a free-for-all. If we want this to look like something we planned, we need a little bit of structure.” Everyone was looking at Howard expectantly. “Now—I’m going to be doing a little couple choreographing, so don’t go anywhere, but right now I want you to all do what I do.”
“Easier said than done,” muttered Rizzo. Howard swiveled toward the sound but couldn’t identify the miscreant.
“On the chorus, here’s what we do. Bop till you drop.” Howard illustrated, his arms raised above his head. Some people imitated, others just watched intently. “Okay, then on shake it till you break it, I want to see—“ Howard showed them a shimmy. Most of the women were nodding but several of the guys looks positively horrified. “Don’t panic, fellas,” Howard said. “The shimmy was for the ladies. Now, for you gents—“ He broke it down for them into individual movements, showing them how to roll their shoulders. Everyone tried it. Howard slapped a hand over his eyes and sighed. “Moving on,” he said wearily, “we have move it till you lose it.” He executed a perfect side-to-side bump and grind. Several people tried it, with varying results. “And then, I want to see dance dance dance like this.” He showed them a complicated move that combined all three earlier movements. “Okay—everyone, please, from the top—including you, Mr. King Prawn,” said Howard, and went over to the wall to stand next to Thoreau while Dr. Teeth ran the music again and again.
“It’s not bad,” said Thoreau thoughtfully.
“It’s not awful,” corrected Howard, taking a swig of bottled water. “What can we do about costumes?
Thoreau made a face, but Howard had already seen the light in his eyes. He was working on an idea.
“Well, I think we are going to be fine with the guys. Everybody has a pair of jeans, right? And a white t-shirt.”
“Fozzie might not, and maybe Rowlf,” said Howard thoughtfully, “but we’ve got until tomorrow night, right? How hard is that?”
“Right,” said Thoreau dismissively.
“And I’ve got something in mind for Pepe, okay? But the women….” He looked at Howard. “You’ve pulled Piggy and Janice and, uh, Sara, right? Those are your Jennie Sue girls?”
“Very good,” said Howard, happy to see that Thoreau had picked up on their superior dancing. “I want to set them up on three of those cubes from Dreamgirls—Janice in the middle, Piggy and Sara on each side.”
“Janice forward or back?”
“I think her cube should be slightly forward—not quite center stage.” He looked at Thoreau. “For a dressmaker, you have a pretty good eye,” he said dryly.
Thoreau sniffed at him disdainfully. “Well, I can make anything look good on Piggy, and Sara will look perfect in a poodle shirt. We’ll get a scarf for her hair, put it up in a ponytail.” He frowned, pulling the corners of his mouth down, then realized what he was doing and desisted immediately. The last thing he needed was frown lines. “Janice—Janice. What can I do with Janice?” His face cleared suddenly and he looked at Howard triumphantly. “I have an idea,” he said. “Let me take some measurements and get to work.” He scurried off, and Howard waded back in to the mass of writhing bodies.
“Oh, stop before you hurt yourself!” snapped Howard to Gonzo after a particularly exuberant move. “Stop that! Stop it now!” He showed the move again, watching critically as Gonzo made another attempt. Fozzie was doing okay, but then, he followed direction pretty well, and he was terrified of Howard. Not too bad, Howard thought. He’d certainly seen certainly worse. Clifford was perfect, dead-on with what Howard had shown them. Howard waved at Clifford, who grinned hugely, then turned then and looked at those that hadn’t made the stage cut.
“Okay, people,” he said peremptorily. “Listen up. We’re going to do something different with this one….”

After previewing Pepe’s act, Kermit had had most of the afternoon to himself, so he and Robin had taken a turn around the hotel. Casino’s were interesting places, but nowhere for a small frog to be by himself. Kermit let him put a quarter in one of the one-armed bandits and pull the lever. Not surprisingly, there was no match.
“Did I win?” asked Robin, looking up at Kermit in confusion.
“Nope. Winning is rare.”
“Then—what happened to my quarter?”
“It’s gone,” said Kermit. “It cost a quarter to play the game.”
“But—but I don’t get anything? Not even a piece of candy?”
“Nope,” said Kermit. “Just a chance to pull the lever.”
“Yeah, but—but I could have bought a whole handful of candied gnats back home.”
“That’s right,” said Kermit, putting his arm around Robin’s shoulders. Robin looked around the room, and the scores of people feeding nickels and quarters and dollars into the whirring machines.
“Well, that stinks,” said Robin. “That’s a stupid thing to do with your money.”
“Mostly,” Kermit agreed. “Once in a while, somebody wins, but not very often.”
Robin was silent. “What do they win?”
“Um, they win whatever kind of money they put into the machine.”
“Do they win back what they spent?”
“Not usually. Mostly, they just lose.”
Robin looked up at his uncle, digesting this mystifying piece of information about adult behavior. “Um, Uncle Kermit?”
“Yes, Robin.”
“If you give me another quarter, I’ll save it for the candy shop back home.”
Kermit laughed. “Sure thing, Robin,” he said fondly. “Remind me when we get back to the room.”

“Well, you ain’t gonna win no beauty prizes,” Mabel said matter-of-factly, “but you don’t look bad. It’s kindof like a buzz cut.”
Beaker looked unhappy and meeped a few words.
“Hey now,” said Mabel at once. “We don’t use those words around here.”
Beaker subsided grumpily, but brightened when Mabel dangled a heavenly-scented apple popover in front of his mouth. Obediently, he opened up. Mabel popped it in and patted him gently on the head while he chewed and swallowed.
“Mee meep,” he said quietly.
“You’re very welcome,” said Mabel. She poured him a cup of coffee and handed it into his hands. “So Sport—tell me what you’re doing in the show tonight.”
Beaker inclined his head, sighed, and then began a complicated explanation of some of the more technical aspects of backstage. Mabel did her best to follow.
“Doncha ever want to be onstage?” the maternal cook asked him, curious about how he and Dr. Honeydew fit into this strange conglomeration of performers.
Beaker looked slightly uncomfortable, then made a few halting comments.
“No, it’s okay,” said Mabel. “I won’t think you’re rude.”
Beaker gave her a look and leaned closer. He whispered for a moment, then Mabel nodded solemnly.
“Makes sense,” she said. “And I guess it beats the heck out of begging for government grants.”
Beaker meeped his fervent assent. He finished his coffee and left happier than he had come. Mabel watched him go with interest.
“Who’d have thought,” she murmured to herself. “His first real love is research.”

As soon as rehearsal broke, everyone scattered hastily to their rooms to catch a quick shower before reporting for show time. There was an air of suppressed excitement from the tired and sweaty performers. This was going to be different—and fun.
Thoreau caught Janice as she left, checking a final measurement.
“Oh, like you rully don’t have to make me a poodle skirt,” said Janice, not completely thrilled with the prospect. “I could just, like, wear my jeans rolled up and this white tee-shirt.”
Thoreau regarded her lean form, from her impressively defined white cotton tee that didn’t quite reach her belly button to the artfully frayed hem of her skin-tight denims.
“Honey,” Thoreau said, putting a hand on his hip. “We want them to applaud—not riot.”
Janice smiled, then drooped, disappointed, but Thoreau patted her slender shoulder in a conciliatory manner.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Leave everything to Uncle Thoreau. I never disappoint.”
Janice mustered up a smile and went out, passing Pepe on the way.
“Ju rang?” Pepe asked.
Thoreau was looking at him as though he hadn’t spoken. He circled the little prawn thoughtfully.
“Lift your chin a little,” said the designer. Mystified, Pepe did as he was asked. Thoreau clasped his hands together in rapturous contemplation.
“So, can ju make me a leather jacket like Kermin?” asked Pepe hopefully. Thoreau shook his head distractedly, still smiling.
“Oh no,” he said, his eyes dreamy. “I have something entirely different in mind.”

Scribbler eased into his room without turning on the lights. He had a splitting headache and all he wanted was a—
“Well, well, well,” said an all-too-familiar voice. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d skipped town.” The lights came on, painful and shocking.
Scribbler startled and looked around his room. At least, it had once been his room. It had been taken over and turned into what looked like an executive office. Scribbler’s meager belongings lay in a heap on the floor near the bathroom, illustrating plainly his place in the pecking order.
“What are you doing in my room?” he demanded.
Mock shock was registered. “Whose room is this?”
Scribbler gritted his teeth, knowing what was coming.
“Or should I ask, ‘Who is paying for this room?’”
“Can’t you get your own?” Scribbler said hotly. “Geez-louise, I didn’t sign on to share my digs with a—“
He caught himself in time and shut up. “With my boss,” he muttered. “What’s the matter—company insolvent again?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” came the reply, which didn’t really address the question. It made Scribbler wonder, but he pulled his thoughts sharply back to the present at the next comment. “You know the hotel would never let me register here under my own name. They’d put me out in a flat second.”
Scribbler smiled grimly, thinking you had to be pretty darn slimy to get yourself barred from a casino. The smile drew unwanted attention, and he wiped it hastily from his face.
“I was, um, a little worried about you, Scribbler, after that last report. Sounded a little soft. I thought maybe things would go better if I took a more, um, hands-on approach.”
Scribbler squirmed uncomfortably, thinking of Piggy. He dared a quick look toward the bathroom and saw with shock and considerable agitation that his knapsack was open and some of his personal letters were visible. His hands clenched into fists and he swung back to face his adversary angrily.
“Stay out of my stuff!” he said. “I work for you. You don’t own me.”
“Not yet,” came the self-satisfied reply. “But if you cross me, Scribbler—if you cross me, I will. Got it?”
“I’m going out!” shouted Scribbler. He went out, slamming the door behind him. The air seemed cooler out hear, less…less foul. He took a couple of deep breaths and felt immediately better, setting his sights on happier thoughts.
He had heard excited murmurs that the muppet show had a new act tonight—a Christmas song, or a Christmas dance number. He couldn’t quite reconcile the differing reports, but it didn’t really matter. He planned to be front and center to see for himself, at least figuratively. Once again, he’d had to buy his ticket under an assumed name—a ticket for the back row. The young man behind the counter had looked at him oddly, so that wasn’t going to work forever. If he kept going to the show—and he intended to keep going to the show—he’d have to start wearing a disguise. The thought cheered him somehow. Right about now, the idea of Fleet Scribbler disappearing for a while didn’t sound half bad.

 

[ReneeLouvier]

Awesome new chapter Ru!!! I simply adore it! Can't wait to see what old Uncle Thoreau has in mind for both Janice and Pepe. And I'm going....solo! Eek!! Even in my three plays, I've never done solo before! Ahh! Oh, well. Can't wait to see how it all turns out!

And....YAY FOR THE NEW CHAPTER! Please post more soon, Ru!

 

[The Count]

Yaey! OK, so I second Sara's pleas for more story.

Poodle shirt is what the trendy Ms. Vines will be wearing this coming Christmas spectacular?
Wonder if those are anything like, eh, will wait for the next chapter to find out what those are.

OK, so the conversations are what got me in this chapter.
Kermit's talk to Robin explaining what casino machinery consists of, that was rully good.
Mabel consoling Beaker after the incident with the holiday machine... Very good, I'm even OK with the line where she tells the laboratory assistant not to use such words. Hey, even guinea pig speech can have cussing. And the line at the end, that was funny.
The dance practice... Perfectly orchestrated... And Howard and Thoreau commenting on the ideas for costuming the girls... Made even better when he has that gleam thinking over what Janice and Pepe will be wearing. Rully liked when Thoreau confides in Janice, and she trusts him with whatever surprise lies in store.
Fleet Scribbler and his boss... Chilling, especially when you think that the journalist's public private space (the hotel room) and personal private space (the knapsack and moreso the letters) have also been defiled. Very well done. And the chill factor serves as a reminder of the original thrust that spawned this epic of yours.

Looking forward to the next installment, maybe, just maybe, it'll be...

 

[Leyla]

YAAAAAAAAAAAY!!! Kermie's Girl!! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!

I like Thoreau's trailing in the wake of Howard's litany of choreorgraphical criticism... (Try saying that quickly!) I love that no one even bothers to be offended by his comments.

I like Sccoter's disappointment at being cut, and also that Howard calls him back right away. It's a nice little character moment.

Liked Sara's shy discovery she made the cut, and Piggy's smugness. Overall, I'm really enjoying that every character has a character... it's really amazing, thorough writing. Complex too... this story is really, amazingly ambitious. Really, it deserves more attention than it gets... I mean wow... there's a whole heap of subplots all mingled together... you're a brave soul, Ru, and God bless you for it.

I had a lot of fun imagining them all practicing the bopping and shimmying... having just finished the music concerts I had such a tough time.... I mean, it was one thing to dance in front of the Primary's and Ones... but another thing entirely to dance in front of their parents.
The horrified reaction from the men to the shimmying was priceless.

I'm intrigued to see how Janice gets dressed up, and it was fun to see Thoreau and Howard working on their respective crafts.

The slot machine discussion with Kermit and Robin was truly wonderful... there's something so wise about children in some ways, and Robin is a very, very wise little child. I love his perception.

<giggles> Beaker, Mabel, and his hair... poor thing... I love that his first love is research... especially since it's also his greatest torment... gee... who else does that remind me of.... It's just another wonderful example of you really looking into t he heart of these characters, discovering more about them... isn't that the funnest part of writing?

Ah, and speaking of looking into characters... Fleet is becoming more and more intriguing... it's dark stuff, it's a dark place, his world... though that should have been obvious enough from his character and writing.... but it IS dark, and filled with power struggles. Though I hate what he's doing to Kermit and Piggy, I must admit, I'm feeling the tiniest ounce of sympathy for him... though, knowing me, that'll disappear with the morning dew once the next cruel rumour comes out.

That boss man frightens me good.

Keep it up, Ru!! You know I love it!! <<<<<<<<<hugs>>>>>>>>>

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 36: Exceeding expectations

It was hard to imagine, but the show actually seemed to be going better tonight. Kermit looked around backstage nervously, half-expecting an enormous shoe to drop, but nothing untoward happened. Well, technically, several untoward things happened, but none of them fell outside the muppet norm, so Kermit didn’t really count them. Maybe it wasn’t so strange, his mind prompted. Because of the two new acts, most of the cast had spent most of yesterday backstage, which was just like old times. And, also like old times, they were all living and working in close proximity. Even though the chaos had sometimes driven him into arm-waving tirades, Kermit secretly missed it. Gonzo walked by, already suited up for Tutti Frutti, which prompted the little amphibian to check his own costume and make sure he was ready to stroll across the stage and catch the eye of his lovely wife.
Speaking of--or thinking of, as the case may be, Mr. Littleton had come backstage at Piggy’s invitation, and she was managing to host him in fine fettle. After Robin’s solo, she had handed the casino owner off to Rowlf to make her own costume change, and now she reappeared looking like a pert little bobby-soxer. She walked up to Kermit and batted her eyes at him in exaggerated flirtatiousness, gave him an air kiss that didn’t reach him by a good six inches, then slipped over to her side of the stage to await her cue. Even Fozzie’s monologue, which was just as corny as last night’s, was the prompter of a great deal of raucous laughter from the audience. Fozzie came off the stage smiling happily and gave Kermit furry thumbs up as they passed in the wings. Fozzie was certainly having a better night of it, which made Kermit’s heart lift.
The crowd went wild the second the curtain lifted, and while Kermit flushed with pleasure and adrenaline, he knew that most of it had to do with the crowd seeing Piggy for the first time. Hmmm…he might have to think about putting her on earlier in the show, but he had really liked the opening number with Rowlf and Dr. Teeth and the ladies in the kick line. In the middle of his musings, Piggy tapped him on the shoulder, demanding attention. Her shy-girl demeanor had dropped away and she was now the confident recipient of his undivided attention. They danced and sang their way to the end of the song with the crowd providing little whoops and hoots of encouragements. This time, instead of running off stage holding hands, Piggy sailed off stage with a vampish look over her shoulder while she tugged Kermit’s obviously smitten form after her with one gloved hand. The audience was appreciative and, once again, they had to sneak back on to acknowledge the applause before the next act could follow.
Gonzo’s act with the thumping musical underscore left the audience alternately astonished and mortified. He, too, received a crash of applause, perhaps partly because he managed not to maim himself during the act.
“Thank you, thank you!” Gonzo called as he left the stage. “Wow—what an audience!”
The Electric Mayhem, who were already set up, now took over the stage. Once again, Janice’s hot vocals made the people in the audience want to get up and move. Floyd looked over at Dr. Teeth, who flashed him a toothy gold smile. “Beats the heck out of recording studio tracks,” thought Floyd. “In fact, this pretty much beats the heck out of anything else.” He turned his gaze back to Janice, who was leaning into her guitar with ardor, and quickly reassessed. “Well, almost anything else.”
He would have done something about his new insight, but the second they got off the stage, Janice had to change for Dream Girls. He waited not-so-patiently for the last number of the first half of the show, watching her dance to Clifford and not liking it very much at all. Clifford might have been on stage and acting his part, but there was no mistaking the frank appreciation in his gaze when he looked at her. If Floyd had been fair, he would have acknowledged that pretty much everyone looked at Janice that way when she was dancing, but he did not feel very fair-minded. He sulked a little, waiting for Janice to come off stage.
Once again, his intentions (and attentions) were thwarted when Piggy’s dressmaker rushed up and grabbed Janice’s arm excitedly the second she came off the stage.
“Come here!” he hissed, then, seeing the expression on Floyd’s face said. “Oh, go ahead and bring your boyfriend with you. I cannot wait another minute to show you what I’ve done.”
They scurried back to Piggy’s dressing room.
Piggy was changing clothes--behind a screen, thank goodness—when Thoreau brought the two band members charging into her dressing room.
“Getting ready here!” she growled, but Thoreau shushed her and she rolled her big blue eyes and subsided. She could hardly go out there half-dressed, anyway. She buttoned her green silk pajamas as quickly as she could while Thoreau pulled Janice toward his work area.
“Honey, look!” Thoreau squealed. “Just for you!”
Janice turned and looked at the newly minted creation that hung elegantly from a dress form. Her face brightened and split into a wide, brilliant smile.
“Like, wow, Mr. Thoreau. That is so…so me!”
Thoreau preened a little. “Well, I knew we couldn’t do a traditional poodle skirt for you, Honey. You’re just not the poufy type, but I thought you might like this look. It’s the same silhouette, but it’s definitely got more edge, more attitude.”
“Fer sure,” Janice said. “Can I—do I have time to try it on?”
“If you hurry,” said Piggy, sitting down at her vanity and applying powder. “It’s intermission, but you’re on first thing after.” She waved airily behind her. “Better lose the fleabag or use the screen.”
“Hey!” complained Floyd, but without much real heat. Sparring with Piggy was commonplace, and he wanted to see Janice’s transformation.
It only took a few moments, then Janice re-emerged from behind the screen. The white cotton sweater was fairly pedestrian, although it did nice things for Janice’s natural endowments. But the skirt—the black skin-vinyl skirt with the huge silver guitar appliquéd where a poodle might usually have been expected, made Janice look like someone Elvis would have wanted to pull onto the stage and twist with.
“Spanking,” murmured Floyd.
“Yes,” sighed Thoreau. “Exactly what I thought.” He beamed at Janice. “See—I told you I wouldn’t disappoint.”
Janice was looking down at the outfit in wonder. Thoreau snagged her arm and pulled her over in front of the full-length mirror.
“Never look down at an outfit,” he instructed. “It ruins the line. The only way to see it actually hang correctly is to look at it in the mirror.”
Janice was looking at herself in the mirror. She looked hot, and sassy and very far from an innocent little bobby-soxer. She narrowed her eyes, staring at the guitar, then turned to Floyd excitedly. “He put my name on my guitar!” she said. “Look—my name is embroidered on there.”
“That’s right, Sweetie,” said Thoreau. “Now shuck out of it and give it back to me. I need to do some understiching.”
To Thoreau’s astonishment—and Floyd’s considerable delight—Janice did exactly that on the spot, standing completely unselfconscious in her blue-and-green-checked lady boxers. At Thoreau’s startled glance, she shrugged and disappeared behind the screen again to take off the sweater and put back on her jeans and blouse.
“Like, thanks, Mr. Thoreau,” Janice said sweetly. She looked at him with something akin to awe. “You, like, totally got me.”
“It’s my job,” said Thoreau airily, seeing them out the door, but Piggy could tell he was enormously pleased with himself.
Floyd slipped his arm around Janice as they moved out into the hall.
“I get you, Babe.”
Janice laughed and slipped her arm around Floyd’s waist. “Oh, like you get me better than anyone, Honey.”

After Piggy had left, Thoreau went looking for Pepe. Since Pepe was not in tonight’s show, he was standing—mostly underfoot—backstage. He was identified and dragged back to Piggy’s dressing room, which was looking more and more like a sewing studio.
“Si, Hi am here,” Pepe said. “What do ju need?”
“Watch and learn,” Thoreau said. He reached behind his machine and pulled out a outfit on a hanger. For moment, Pepe just stared, then he staggered back, half fainting. Thoreau caught two of his arms and sat him down. Pepe looked up at him hopefully.
“Ju—ju want me to dress like Elvis?” he asked.
“Jes,” said Thoreau.
Pepe sprang to his feet, all four arms reaching for the glittering jumpsuit. “Si, si,” he said. “Hi will do it!”
Enjoying himself, Thoreau surrendered the white satin and watched as Pepe held the thing almost reverently for a moment before gingerly stepping into it. Like everything else Thoreau made, it fit perfectly, and Pepe turned and regarded himself in the mirror. After a moment of stunned silence, he let out a little whimper.
“Mira, mira! Hi am beautiful,” he breathed.
“Yes, yes,” said Thoreau. “Now take it off and let me finish the rhinestones.”
Again, Pepe staggered. “More?” he asked faintly. “There’s more?”
Thoreau patted him on the head. “Of course. Now let me have it so I can finish it before tomorrow.” He looked at Pepe narrowly. “And mum’s the word, okay? I want this to be a surprise when we show Kermit tomorrow morning.”
“Si, si,” gulped Pepe, still staring at himself. After a moment, he began to slip out of the costume reluctantly. When he finally returned it to Thoreau’s waiting hands, he looked up at Thoreau with tears in his eyes.
“Hi could kiss ju,” he said.
Thoreau laughed. “Honey,” he said. “It’s a nice thought, but you’re not even in my league.”
Pepe was still stuttering as Thoreau showed him to the door.

 

[The Count]

Sorry it's taken me long to read this and reply... Man, my inbox's gonna be so full, well, not as full as my trashbin.

But this was great Ru.
What I kind of liked best was at the beginning... Kermit misses the armflailing, the cast spent most of the day yesterday backstage, working in close proximity like they used to... That's rully nice, connects back to the feeling of Muppetness familiarity.
Great that the show's still going strong with all the acts...

The dressing room scenes...
Janice, she's pleased with her costume... And I like the touch of her name on the huge guitar appliqué.
But I think Floyd was most pleased when she, er, um, shucked it to go back to her ordinary clothes. Not that there's anything wrong with ordinary mind you...
And the bit with Pepe and his own suit, that was great. The jacket does have four sleeves right? Of course, Thoreau has made it fit perfectly. Heh, if he needs rhinestones, I think Gonzo still has some from the bunny ears for the chickens' act with Liberaci.

OK, now I'm hoping for updates soonerish... And if I don't reply, it's cause I'm listening to MC or working on my own stuff.
Take care Ru.

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 37: Changing

Janice had quick-changed and was back in her flashing Christmas-tree-inspired dress. That had not been one of Thoreau’s ideas, (a little too outré for his sensibilities), but the idea and the effect were both worth noting. Kermit was once again pleased with the way the band propelled the audience head-on into the second half with a boisterous holiday spirit and a lot of energy.
Once again, he and his little family waited in the wings to go on. Kermit looked down at his velvet Santa suit thoughtfully. Strange at it might seem, Santa was going to have to visit this casino this year or there was going to be one very disappointed little frog on their floor. An idea occurred to him, a very faint and indistinct idea, but Kermit nursed it with some part of his brain even as he went out on stage and had the daylights kissed out of him. That pretty much short-circuited any conscious thought for a while, but after he had recovered somewhat, it was still there, like a seed growing underneath the ground. While Johnny crooned and he swapped his clothes for his uptight little suit for Baby It’s Cold Outside, Kermit continued to devote a growing part of his brain to the actual celebration of Christmas. Johnny was winding down now, and Kermit reached in his pocket and pulled out the little horn-rimmed glasses that Thoreau had handed him earlier that day. Putting them on, he looked every bit the innocent lamb about to be devoured by a wolfish femme fatale. He wondered what Piggy would do with those glasses onstage, plotting and planning how he might react. That was the exhilarating thing about live performances—you never knew just what was going to happen, even when you knew just what was going to happen.
Johnny sailed off after taking more bows than he was entitled to, but the audience seemed benevolent tonight, and laughed good-naturedly. As soon as the stage was completely dark, Kermit slipped onstage and found his mark on the three-quarter living room set that had been silently wheeled out. He couldn’t quite see Piggy, but he could hear the rustle of satin and smell the sweet, indefinable scent of her nearby. The lights came up, the audience gasped and laughed, and then Kermit was lost in the performance—and under Piggy’s spell—once again.
The song went well—it was well-suited for them—and Kermit was glad to have the audience in a cheerful and buoyant mood before Rizzo’s new act came out. It would make the shift that much more compelling, pull the heartstrings just a tad more. Kermit hastily shucked out of his jacket and dress shirt, which Piggy had practically unbuttoned on stage, but he made sure he was leaning unseen in the wings when Rizzo began to sing.
There wasn’t an actual noise from the audience, but there was a sustained, communal reaction. They sat still: they watched and listened with rapt, respectful attention as Rizzo, then Gonzo and finally Sally Ann began to sing. Clifford and Rowlf, after some consideration, had turned so that they, too, could make eye contact of a sort with the audience members. Kermit could see people in the audience searching each of the performers faces, seeing—not them, but brothers, sons, daughters and spouses who were far away. People searched for tissues in their pockets and purses, but quietly, not wanting to draw attention away from the song. When the last haunting notes of the song soared toward the back of the big auditorium, the audience sat as though made of wax, but after a long, pregnant pause of sound, the room surged into murmurs and claps. Before the curtain had completely closed, several people were standing. No one whistled or whooped, but the harsh, steady sound of many hands thumping went on for some time. Kermit touched the shoulder of each performer as they filed past him, very, very proud.
“Good job, guys. Terrific, terrific number. Thank you. Thanks a lot you guys.”
Finally, when Rowlf jerked open his camouflage jacket and began to put on a holiday bow-tie, Kermit remembered his half-dressed state, but Scooter and Rizzo somehow managed to zip and tuck and button him into his Christmas outfit for the final number before he missed his cue.
The audience was hushed now, and the heartfelt sentiment of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas worked its way among the huge crowd. Kermit felt more alive, more connected to the people they performed for than he had in a long, long time. All around him, the faces of his friends—his muppet family—were shining. When they crowded around him and Rowlf at the piano, Kermit almost felt like crying. This was what Christmas was all about—being with the ones you loved the best. And if you were lucky enough to also be doing what you loved most in the whole, wide world, well, more’s the better.
They got a standing ovation that night that went on long enough for Kermit to once again sheepishly call for an encore. Silver Bells didn’t quite do it tonight, though, and they ended on a completely unplanned, free-for-all version of Sleigh Ride before the audience would leave. Gradually, they trailed out of the auditorim, murmuring and talking excitedly as the performers grinned at each other.
Defying social custom, one of the audience members had kept his hat on throughout the entire performance, but had at least had the good manners to slump way down in the seat so as not to block the view of the person behind him. He paused in the doorway, looking back at the stage. He looked a long moment at Kermit, this small green amphibian whose vision of making the world happy had done so much, had brought so much joy into the world. For a moment, Scribbler felt his insides twist. What was he doing? What was the matter with him? He squared his shoulders defiantly. He was going to march right up to the room and tell-- Scribbler let out a gasp. Piggy had grabbed Kermit’s shirtfront and was kissing him in the middle of a huge group hug. Even with all the others pressing up around them, he saw Kermit’s arms slip around her and he returned her exuberant kiss. The sight of it made Scribbler hot, then cold. His shoulders slumped. He trudged wearily toward the elevators to get his marching orders. It was time to go to work again.