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Kermie's Girl (ushy-gushy fanfic)

Ruahnna

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Chapter 69: Convergence

Once, while visiting Dr. Honeydew and Bunsen in their laboratory—the one that had NOT burned down—Robin had viewed a complicated contraption that utilized a lever, a bucket, a pulley and a lot of cable. He and Kermit had watched, fascinated, as said device had deposited little pellets of some sort onto a plate. Then, a watering can was hefted by another pulley, dribbling water on the pellets. In a few moments, a five course meal had miraculously appeared on the plate. It had, unfortunately, blown up before they could tuck in, but Robin had agreed with the scientists that it had not seemed like a waste of effort. Kermit had been noncommittal.
To Robin, the past few days had seemed like that demonstration—not that there had been any explosions, but that a long series of carefully planned events seemed to be converging. Robin had—to his delight—been given permission to dance in the finale and he had just come from a final fitting. Although he had done both in the past, he was happy that he was not required to sing while he danced this time. Vocals were being provided by the band and anyone who wasn’t dancing, although everyone chimed in on the chorus. It was not quite as exuberant as “Bop” but he was happy to have another part in the show.
“Hey there, Robin,” said Rowlf, putting a big, warm paw on the little frog’s head. “How’re you doing?”
“I’m doing great, Rowlf!” he piped. “I’m dancing in the New Year’s show finale.”
“So I heard. Better you than me, kid,” Rowlf quipped, grinning broadly. Since this wasn’t a partner-type dance, Foo Foo had given him a pass and gone on without him. Rowlf mused ruefully that that was typical Foo-type chutzpah. “So how’re the Christmas decorations coming?”
“Super,” said Robin. “And Pepe says he’s bringing some, too.”
That gave Rowlf a moment’s pause but he shook it off determinedly. Best not to go there. “How, um, nice.”
“Um, Rowlf—can you show me a chord on the guitar? Uncle Kermit’s busy now and I’m trying to learn a new song.”
“Sure thing, Robin,” said the canine amiably. “Let’s go see about borrowing a guitar.”

“So, how does this contraption work?” Kermit asked. He looked at Scooter a little anxiously. “It, um, does work, doesn’t it?”
Scooter smirked triumphantly. “It works. I had Gonzo try it out first.”
Kermit grimaced, wondering if Gonzo’s say-so about the safety of an endeavor was worth considering, but if Scooter said so then it was so.
“Show me,” said Kermit, feeling more enthusiastic.
“Okay,” said the executive assistant with a touch of child-like excitement that was rather endearing. “The lights come up on this and it just the stage setting, right?” Several crew and cast members were busily affixing silk foliage to transform the multi-tiered wooden platform into a lush landscape.
“Yeah,” said Kermit, giving it a more thorough once-over. “It looks sortof like a tropical island.” He smiled at those working. “Nice job, guys. Looks good.”
“Right. And the dancers come out here—“ Scooter pointed to stage right.
“With our masks, right?”
“Right—the masks arrived yesterday and Thoreau says they’ll be ready for rehearsal today.” Scooter shot Kermit a look and wiggled his eyebrows. “Have you seen the new costumes?”
“Oh, yeah—wow,” said Kermit. “Piggy and Thoreau had a soft of fashion show for me. I liked ‘em,” he said simply, much like he’d said when he’d seen them. Twin glares from Piggy and her dressmaker (who was apparently now his costumer) had led him to elaborate, but it hadn’t been difficult find ways to praise the look.
The material for the costumes was hand-painted with Salvadore Dali-esque geometric designs and utilized earth colors—blue and green and taupe and brown and white and ivory and peach—and the clothes had what Piggy had called “good flow.” Kermit thought they looked airy and free and vaguely exotic, and closer inspection showed the use of asymmetrical closures and irregular necklines and hemlines. When the dancers clumped together, it was difficult to tell where one costume stopped and the other started, and yet each dancer’s costumes was unique and distinct once it separated from the pack. The effect was startling and there was a lot of excitement. To add to the ethereal feel of the number, each dancer’s mask veiled but did not obscure the identity of each individual. Kermit couldn’t wait until he could see the finished choreography with the costumes, which should happen later this morning.
“Can I see it move?” Kermit asked, still a little apprehensive. The dancers would be moving around the island counter-clockwise while it spun clockwise, and since he was one of the dancers he knew he’d feel better when they could put everything—the moving island, the costumes, the dance moves, the music—together.
“Sure.” Scooter pulled what looked like a remote control from his pocket. “I’m going to rotate it,” he called and paused while the decorating crew battened down whatever they deemed necessary. When everyone seemed braced, Scooter pushed the button.
Silently, majestically, the lush island began to twirl. Kermit and Scooter watched it go.
“Wow,” said Kermit.
“Yeah,” Scooter agreed. “Me, too.”

“So you’re tellin’ me I can sing anything I want in the second half?” said Johnny Fiama.
“That’s right, Johnny. You can sing anything you want in the second half.’ Sal beamed at him, glad to be the bearer of good news.
“That’s decent,” said the crooner approvingly. “How come I’m not singing “Christmas Time All Over the World” tonight?”
“You are,” said Sal.
“I thought you just said I could sing anything I wanted to.”
“Yeah, Johnny. In the new show. Anything you want.”
“We’re doing a new show? Where? Sweet cannolis! I’m not even packed up.”
“No—we’re not going somewhere new. We’re just doing a new show here—here at the Palace.”
“What’s wrong with the old show? I like the show like it is. I don’t even need the cue cards anymore.”
“Well, we’re changing the Christmas part around a little. That’s all—changing some of the Christmas stuff to new stuff New Year’s.”
“Oh.” Johnny put his hands on his hips and looked disgruntled. “How come nobody ever tells me this stuff?”
“If you came to the meetins’….” Sal muttered.
“Okay—if I can sing anything I want, I want to sing “My Way” Sal,” he said firmly, as though coming to a decision.
“You’re already singing “My Way,” Johnny,” Sal explained, not sure if he was being confusing or was just confused. Or if Johnny was confusing—or confused.
“Oh, good,” said Johnny. “Problem solved.”
Sal sighed and wondered what to do now.
“Hey Sal,” said Johnny. “Hand me a cannoli?”
Sal handed him a cannoli.

The tension backstage was thick enough to cut with a knife. Okay—maybe not a knife, but definitely a good cheese slicer. Thoreau was in a flutter about a pucker on Sara’s shoulder seam and he was swearing up and down to anyone within range that Robin had grown an inch since his fitter earlier that day. Howard was beside himself, and would actually have BEEN beside himself if he could have figured out how to clone himself to watch from two vantage points at the same time.
“What was I thinking?” he wailed. “I should have stuck with the basics. It’s too much—this was a mistake!”
Most of the cast made generic noises of sympathy and stayed out of his way, murmuring and exclaiming over their own costumes and masks and everyone else’s costumes and masks.
Scooter was recognizable as a wide grin and a shock of red hair. Piggy’s mask was delicately fluted around the edges. Robin looked like a large geometric butterfly had landed on his nose—or where his nose would have been, if he’d had one. No one had the same hemline, and Sara’s rose daringly on one leg, giving a saucy view of her dimpled knee. The wide grin got wider.
The band was arriving, adding to the mayhem in more ways than one. The wailing and murmuring surge to a pinnacle and then stopped abruptly.
“Shhh.”
“Hush—we’re about to start.”
“Tune me—play an F, okay?”
“Quiet, please.”
The noise and confusion subsided. Howard herded the dancers backstage and ran out to the auditorium to watch. From the back of the auditorium, Thoreau was watching too, pulling unconsciously at the corners of his mouth and tapping an Italian loafer nervously.
Rowlf was leading, since he was at the piano. He caught the good doctor’s eye and nodded his head in time. The ivories tinkled softly.
“Calling all dreamers and optimistic fools….” Clifford’s voice, rich and mellow, had been deemed perfect for the lead. “Don’t let go of your dream, make it now, make it all come true. If you believe in a brighter day, I know we can find our way….”
The dancers drifted out as though carried by the wind, weightless and insubstantial.
“To this island,” chimed the chorus of singers softly. The dancers began to spin. “In a starry ocean—poetry in motion, this island Earth.”
“This island Earth,” came the eacho.
“Spinning like a dancer,” sand Clifford. “Gravity is the answer.”
“Rendezvous in the blue,” the chorus suggested. “This island Earth.”
“This island Earth.”
Truth be told, this first complete run-through was a little lurchy and uneven. Steps were missed, vocal cues a little slow or fast. The slowly spinning island made Kermit dizzy and he had to look away from it to re-orient himself. Still…still…the overall consensus was that it was going well.
It looked good. It sounded good. It felt good.
Piggy thought, not for the first time, that there was almost nothing as exhilarating as performing live. She couldn’t wait to wow the crowd in this number.
 

The Count

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Hee, a nice little chapter. And yet it has so much packed into it.
Don't worry Johnny, I feel the same way sometimes.
Curious as to where in the order of the show Dance of Love and This Island Earth will fit in, and if the New Year's show will be something entirely different or if it'll retain some trappings from the regular Vegas Muppets Review.

Thanks as always for sharing this with us. Mmm, the three things that make me instantly smile all within one day, the storm, the Taker's bells, and a new chapter of my fave fic.
*Cheers Ru on, only 3 more posts!
 

Muppetfan44

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Totally loved waking up to a Kermie's Girl update!

Excited for the christmas party and curious as to where the man in black is....

great as always...can't wait for more!
 

Ruahnna

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Chapter 70: Turnabout and Foul Play

Piggy was gliding rapidly through the backstage tunnels between shows, her mind full of the applause she was leaving and the applause she intended to get in their own show when two arms reached out of nowhere and grabbed her. Before she could swallow her surprise and scream, a hand clamped over her mouth, and the other clamped her tightly across her sternum, immobilizing her arms.
“Don’t yell,” said a man’s voice urgently. “Just listen for a minute and don’t yell. Do you understand?” Piggy flashed her eyes toward her unseen abductor but his grip on her was so tight she couldn’t turn her neck. She gave a small nod, her blue eyes wide and terrified.
“No yelling and no hitting,” the man said. “Got it?”
Piggy nodded again, cursing herself for not being aware of her surroundings. She had been a city pig far too long not to know better.
“Good. Now, I just want you to listen, okay?”
Her heart was beating so loudly that she could hardly hear, and the arm across her mouth and snout was preventing her from catching her breath, but she nodded again anyway. No chance of getting off a karate chop, and she had taken to leaving her blue sequined shoes with the dress, so no hope of stomping an instep either. She would not have been afraid if her arms were free, or if it had been possible to bite the hand over her mouth, but whoever had a grip on her knew enough about her to have put her best defenses out of action. This thought—that it might be someone that she knew, or who knew her made her feel suddenly nauseated. She felt adrenaline pulse through her frame, fueling her fight or flight or flight instinct, although at present she could do neither.
“Look,” said the man. “I’m going to explain what’s going to happen. Your job is to listen.”
Piggy felt her blood beginning to boil. The insolence of this man, whoever he was. If she were free, she would rip his arms off and beat him with them, but right now those arms were squeezing the breath right out of her.
“I’ve got a client who’s interested in you.”
Piggy suppressed a shudder. Interest meant different things to different people, and she did not care to know what this man might mean.
“He’s well-connected. He could give you what you want the most.”
The lack of oxygen was becoming a problem, and her body’s shift into overdrive was making it more urgent. She struggled, or tried to, and the grip tightened.
“Not a chance,” the man said, but he sounded like it was requiring a lot of effort.
“Look—I know you’re working for the frog, but whatever he’s giving you—“
Here, Piggy gave a huge convulsive heave but did not unseat her captor. She did, however, use up a lot of the oxygen left to her.
“We know you’re under contract and we don’t want a legal battle on our hands. But this is big—this is worth some risks. Big stakes. Big money. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Piggy had no clue, but she nodded again. She felt light-headed and fought not to panic. He was too well-braced to break free, but a sneak attack might work. If I don’t pass out first, she thought.worriedly. She wriggled her shoulders, testing her constraints, but there was not even room for her lungs to take in air.
“He’s seen you and he wants you. He says it’s a perfect match and he’s willing to pull some strings. This is no fly-by-night proposition. It’s the real deal.”
Piggy had no idea what this man was talking about, but she registered the words “proposition” and “deal” and struggled again in spite of herself.
The man held her, but just barely, panting some with the effort.
“Look, all I’m asking—“
The last of the air trapped in her lungs when she’d been grabbed whispered away. Piggy felt her vision going black around the edges, felt her knees begin to buckle.
“What the—,“ the man cried, flummoxed by her sudden sag.
Dimly, she heard the sound of running feet and a sharp ********ion.
“You! Get away from her!”
Kermit? Her brain was fuzzy, but that didn’t sound like Kermit. It sounded like-- Abruptly, the crushing hold on her loosed and she sank to the ground. Sucking in air was almost painful but Piggy gasped, coughing a little, and tried to roll to her feet.
“If you’ve hurt her I’ll—“
“She’s okay,” said the voice of the man who’d been holding her. “She just fainted.”
If Piggy could have, she would have karate-chopped the smugness out of that voice. She had not fainted. She had never in her life fainted. The very idea was insulting.
“Piggy’s never fainted in her life!” said the voice that was not Kermit.
See, she thought triumphantly. Told you.
“Suit yourself.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve!” said the almost-familiar voice. “Sneaking in here, scaring her half to—“
The voice of the man who’d been holding her laughed. “I had my orders. And look who’s talking. I’m pretty sure you don’t have an employee pass to be back here, either.”
“I don’t need a pass to talk to Piggy!”
That voice. She knew that voice. The footsteps approached, then someone was bending over her.
When your foot has been asleep and is just waking up, there is a sensation like pins and needles that can make you gasp. Piggy felt like her brain had been asleep and was just now surging back to life, and the sensation was similar. She did recognize that voice. She did not know who had tried to pignap her, but she knew who was bending over her now.
Piggy’s sensei would have been proud. She popped Scribbler ferociously on the nose as she surged to her feet. She was peripherally aware of the other man—a man in a dark suit—as he made a grab for her. She stopped, spun, and karate-chopped him into the wall. He hit the wall hard and slumped.
Scribbler was on his feet, holding his bleeding nose.
“Piggy—wait! Are you—“
She regarded him wildly. “You stay away from me, you scumbag!” she bellowed. “Stay away from me and my family or I’ll have the police—“
Scribbler put a hand out defensively, the other one holding his leaking nose. “I’m going, I’m going,” he said hurriedly, but he backed away a few steps and stopped, looking at the other man uncomfortably.
“Are you okay, Missy?” he asked softly.
Piggy just stared at him, wild-eyed, breathing hard.
“Like you care!” she cried. “Tell your thugs to—“
“No!” Scribbler’s cry was anguished. “No—I didn’t—he wasn’t…. I don’t know what he was doing here. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Stay away from me!” Piggy shrieked, and Scribbler heard the rising hysteria in it. Piggy took a step forward, arms raised karate-style.
Scribbler was no fool. He ran.

Scooter wasn’t worried. In fact, he was determinedly not worried. He was not looking anxiously for Piggy to arrive backstage from the employee tunnels. They had had no problems up until now and there was no reason to be worried.
Sara came up behind him and gave him a squeeze around the waist. She could tell just from his posture that he was worried and she adored this fretful worrywart and his meticulous attention to detail.
“If you’re going to worry,” she murmured against his ear, “worry about me.”
Scooter laughed, presented his cheek for a hasty peck and walked onto the stage. Piggy would be here. After all—what could go wrong?

It took a moment for Piggy to realize she was alone in the corridor. Well, alone if you didn’t count the figure slumped against the far wall. Eying him nervously, she backed down the hall. When she thought one of his fingers twitched she let out a stifled scream, turned and ran.
Then she was free, she was racing, she was bursting through the backstage door breathless and terrified and incoherent. Thoreau was there as usual to mob her with her wig, he skirt, her blouse with the Peter Pan collar and her bobby-socks and oxfords. This was usually her most frenetic costume change so it took a moment or two for her distress to register, but by the time Thoreau realized something was wrong she was dressed and moving numbly toward the stage.
“Darling, something’s wrong. You can’t go on like this,” Thoreau insisted, seeing her pale and shaken face, but Piggy’s answer was automatic.
“I have to—I have to go on. The show...they’re waiting for me.”
They were. As usual, everyone but Kermit had gone onstage, waiting for her to join them before the curtain went up while Kermit waited in the wings on the opposite side. Piggy walked mechanically onto the stage, her hands shaking a little as she held the schoolbook props.
Fozzie was the first to pick up on her distress, being something of a bear-ometer of the general mood backstage, but Scooter was the first to understand exactly what was wrong. The curtain was moving up, though, and there was no time to tell Kermit, no time to warn him. Piggy looked dazed and a little unfocused, but the band was playing the intro. What to do, what to do…!
With immeasurable relief, Scooter saw Thoreau practically mob Kermit as he waited in the wings, whispering furtively in his aural organs. Scooter saw his bossman’s expression change from dumbfounded, to alarmed, to furious. He nodded, patting Thoreau’s shoulder and pushing him away in the same gesture, and looked across the stage directly into Scooter’s eyes. Kermit gestured, Scooter gathered the gist of it, and then Fozzie had an arm around Piggy’s waist, taking her offstage again into the midst of a little knot of concerned muppets.
The band, sensing something amiss, elaborated on the introduction and was relieved when Clifford’s shoo-be-do-bes began, but by the time they got to the part where Piggy usually started to sing, a familiar but unexpected voice began to croon. Dr. Teeth looked up in surprise to see Kermit—minus his leather jacket—crooning and looking soul-fully toward the edge of the stage. Piggy was no where to be seen.
“One fine day you’ll look at me, and you will know our love was meant to be—One fine day, you’re gonna want me for your guy.”
They were flying blind and without a compass. Dr. Teeth barely raised an eyebrow. Business as usual, he thought to himself. We’re just gonna go with the flow.
He heard the audience reaction at the same time he saw Kermit’s face go slack, then split into a wide, wide smile. Foo Foo pranced out onto the stage wearing a little green sweater and a short black skirt. She carried the schoolbooks with such an air of superior disdain that Kermit felt his performer’s pride rise to the occasion. His crooning became more impassioned as he followed her down the stage imploringly.
The audience was murmuring and chattering, aware that something was going on but not sure what had happened, but Foo Foo vamped with such heartless candor that it was hard not to enjoy the spectacle. The audience gasped again and the performers onstage turned around to behold Piggy—poised and collected and in costume—eyeing her rival with blatant antagonism.
Kermit just stared, open-mouthed, as Piggy planted herself in a sultry pose and sang directly to him.
“Though I know you’re the kind of guy who only wants to run around,” Piggy sang soulfully. “I’ll keep waiting and—someday Darling, you’ll come to me when you want to settle down!“
Kermit looked from Foo Foo to Piggy in comic consternation. The audience tittered and shifted, loving this, and the cast just kept on improvising. By the end of the song, Kermit had walked off with Piggy and Foo Foo had walked off with his back-up singers, which seemed to satisfy everyone—especially the spectators. There was almost as much clapping and whistling as there had been after Kermit and Piggy had flipped “Baby It’s Cold Outside.” They had never seen anything like this—had never expected this. Amid the claps and calls and standing, Piggy and Kermit ran off the stage holding hands.
As soon as they had cleared the curtains, Kermit stopped and pulled Piggy, trembling and shaking, into his arms.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Your safe now, Piggy. You’re okay.” He pulled back and looked at her. “You are okay, aren’t you?”
Piggy nodded. “I’m fine.”
Kermit touched her face. “I can’t believe you—coming back out there like that. It was—you were amazing.”
“The show—“ Piggy said.
Kermit said something rude and Piggy laughed, then almost started to cry. Her frog enfolded her in his arms.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Before they cleared the door into the hallway, Foo Foo had joined them, launching herself at Piggy in a protective embrace.
“Oh Sweetie,” said Foo Foo gently. “C’mere and let me hug you.” She suited action to words, adding her furry embrace to Kermit’s. Another furry set of arms draped over them and Fozzie’s anxious face was there, patting Kermit and Piggy and Foo Foo. Thoreau was there—not at all aflutter—and Rowlf and—
“Hey guys,” said Kermit, sounding muffled. “Let’s get out of the wings, okay?”
A solid knot of fur and adrenaline and protectiveness and love shuffled off the stage and right out the hallway door.

Piggy’s hands were wrapped around a cup of tea. If Mabel had had anything stronger, she’d have offered it.
“What happened?” Kermit asked urgently, kneeling in front of her. “Tell me what happened.”
“Someone gr-grabbed me,” Piggy stammered. Now that the adrenaline from the stage was wearing off, she was beginning to feel cold and shaky again. “Scribbler—“
“Scribbler grabbed you?” People in the audience heard some sort of bellow that seemed to originate backstage, but it was quickly overtaken by The Electric Mayhem’s music.
“No—not Scribbler. Another man. I—I didn’t know him….” Piggy trailed off, only just then realizing that, despite her fears, she hadn’t known her attacker. Her relief was tempered by puzzlement. “But Scribbler was there. He—“ She stopped, trying to piece it all together in her head. Scribbler had been trying to…help her? That didn’t seem possible. But he had argued with the other man—the man she didn’t know. “I punched him,” she finally said.
Kermit’s hands tightened on her upper arms. “Scribbler?” he demanded. “Or the other guy.”
Reliving the attack in her head, her husband’s embrace was making Piggy slightly claustrophobic. She moved restlessly and he loosened his hold on her without quite understanding what was wrong.
“Yes, I punched Scribbler in the nose.” She shook her head. “I—the other guy….”
“What about the other guy? What--what did he do?”
“He grabbed me,” she said, her mind skirting over the details as though shying away from a too-bright light. “I—I fell down.” She did not like to admit that she had almost passed out. Kermit flinched as though hit.
“Sweetie….” he murmured. “I’m so sorry.”
Piggy was already feeling a little too cosseted and confined and she could not bear Kermit’s pain and concern. Not like this. Not in front of everybody. She stood up restlessly. “I have to change.”
“Change?” Kermit said. “No—no way.”
He looked around at the group for support and found…uncertainty. Only Foo Foo stepped forward and put a hand on Kermit’s shoulder, looking at Piggy intently.
“You don’t have to, Sugar,” she said gently. “I can go on for you if—if you want me to.”
Piggy smiled—her diva smile—and all traces of vulnerability fell away. To Kermit, kneeling at her feet, she looked like a goddess sprung to sudden life.
“You’ve already tried to steal one of my songs, Foo Dear,” Piggy said sweetly. “I couldn’t possibly let you take another.” She put one soft, satiny hand on Kermit’s cheek, then she was moving, grabbing Foo Foo’s wrist as she passed. “Come with me, Foo—I need help changing.”
 

The Count

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Ooh... The action, the suspense, the Fine Day that wasn't so fine when they found out. Is getting hectic as all get out now... Please post more, we need to find out what happens next!
 

TogetherAgain

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So I'm getting ready for bed last night, and by sheer chance, I happen to stop by MC and see that the latest fanfic post was in--<gasp> Kermie's Girl? ! ? And so soon since the last one! Oh, so I rush to read, and I'm very happy, and--<gasp> ANOTHER chapter? And I'm just SO tired I can't POSSIBLY read another full chapter of Ru-ish glory and actually process all of it, so I shuffle myself off to bed, but not without catching enough words to know that something very very bad is happening involving Piggy.

But, I need to sleep. So I crawl into bed and let my minds wander through my own stories (in which all sorts of nasty things happen to Piggy, truth be told), and I realize that I am not sleeping. And now it's almost two in the morning, and I'm not sleeping. And now it's four-something, and I'm not sleeping. And now it's six, and--ah, heck with it. I'm obviously not sleeping, yet I feel rested, so I must have slept, but at any rate I get out of bed and realize my computer is still on. Why is it on? I thought I turned it--OH! Oh it's still on because it's waiting for me to read the next chapter and something bad and Piggy and AHHH! ...Well no wonder I didn't sleep. :stick_out_tongue:

So now that I've gotten all of THAT out of my system (rambling is usually a strong indicator of my lack of sleep...) allow me to get on with the usual rave of Ru's Ru-ness. I must confess, Ru, that I'm much too fond of my title as Queen of Fanfic to give it up, but I do occasionally wonder if you don't deserve it more than I do.

First, chapter 67, you suck me right back into the story with the very first sentence. (Well, alright, so it only took the word "Robin," but you know what I mean.) The mere subtlety of distinguishing it's the Bunsen/Beaker laboratory that did NOT burn down... That is excellence. I love working with those subtleties of Muppetdom and chaos, and I love reading them. And I LOVE Robin's thought process comparing the show to this odd contraption of Bunsen's... and that Kermit's reaction to said contraption was non-committal. I'm just hoping the show doesn't take the same turn as that five-course meal! And I'm... curious, hesitantly curious, about the decorations Pepe's bringing... but, because it's Robin and it's Christmas and Pepe IS a Muppet, which means he's solid heart wrapped in felt and foam, I have faith. (I like to think that I'm part-Muppet, too, which also contributes to my level of faith in Pepe.)

And then, I just LOVE that Bunsen's exploding five-course meal is still so fresh in our minds as Kermit asks how/if "this contraption" works. And ooh, what a contraption it turns out to be! I LOVE the sound of this number. It's fantastic. And then you nail some Johnny/Sal interaction, and then we see more of this glorious number, and just OOH, it's lovely! <content sigh> Lovely bed time story.

And then, AHHHHHHH! PIGGY! Not breathing! Scary guy! AHHHH! RU! ! ! ! ! ! HOW CAN YOU MAKE ME CHEER FOR FLEET? ! ? ! ? Oh for crying out Pete. Wow. Intense. Scary. Wow. GO PIGGY! And I just LOVE that you say her sensei would have been proud. I just... love it.

And then, and then, flash to Scooter being NOT worried. I just loved that.

And then PIGGY again! GAH! The poor thing! All panicked and awful and GAH! BAD MAN! And she tries to go onstage ANYWAY! Of course she does. She's Piggy. And the Muppets STOP her and be all Muppety and then IMPROV! OH that is specTACular! Oh I love it. Love love love love love. And the audience loves it, too. I have to admit that at first I was worried, with Kermit singing to Foo-Foo, what the press might think... and then Piggy came BACK! And it was just glorious.

And then MUPPETS! Being the INCREDIBLE, protective family that they ARE! MASSIVE GROUP HUG! Oh I love it. And everyone hovering over Piggy, and it's probably the one kind of attention she CAN'T handle, especially just then, and she's JUST realizing Scribbler was somehow HELPING, and just... Wow, I feel dizzy FOR her! And the poor thing, Kermit's hold making it worse because of the attack... oh, gosh. But what finally gets her to her feet is KERMIT'S pain, and having to bear it in front of everybody. Not HER pain or trauma or dizziness or claustrophobia or ANYTHING having to do with HER. It's KERMIT. Fantastic. THAT is the Miss Piggy I know, and you write her so well, Ru.

DEFINITELY the "good morning" I needed... This was just excellent.

MORE PLEASE! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
 

Muppetfan44

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LOVED the update! The man in black returns...with a vengence! We get a teenie sneek peek of what his client wants Piggy for, but is it what we are expecting! Love the suspense, can't wait for more! Wonderful job as always Ru!
 

The Count

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After rereading the latest chapter to be posted...

Mystery Man in Black: "Look, we don't want a legal battle on our hands…."
Oh rully? So you commit an attempted pignapping, hold her as a captive, and pretend to get her to ascent to your client/boss's proposition under duress? Hate to tell you this, but that'd still leave you with a legal battle on your hands. Idiot.

The entire scene with Scooter not being worried about Piggy's arrival and Sara's line about who he should worry if he's going to worry about someone... Cute, cute feel-good moment.

Finally, I like how you've developed Foo-Foo in the story overall, giving her her own voice and personality. Additionally, I have to admit that even though I'm not a big fan of dogs in general, I very much <3 Foo's impromptu appearance for that one time in One Fine Day. She reminded me of what I remember Frenchie as from the movie version of Grease.

Thanks for continuing this narrative of heavy-duty proportions. Please, post more soonish.
*Leaves box of OR cookies, one pack for Aunt Ru and another for Cousin Ari. :insatiable: :batty: :smile:
 

Fragglemuppet

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Ooh, along with Heart of Gold, this was the other story I read over the past few days in my MC, and specifically MC fanfic nostalgia. I'm very glad you plan on comtinuing it! As for this chapter, I love the suspense! I think we know who the first man is, but I wonder who his boss is. Good on Miss Piggy for knowing how to take care of herself!
:mad: Still, I wish she'd be more careful and gentle with herself, maybe by not going back on stage for a while. Oh, and I never thought I'd feel anything but contempt for Scribbler, but he's trying...
:sympathy:

More please!
 

Ruahnna

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Chapter 71: All Quiet on the Western Home Front

Marty signed and rubbed his face. “You charge him with—what? Stalking?”
Kermit and Piggy exchanged uncertain glances.
“Let’s be honest here,” Marty continued. “Scribbler may be acting like a slimeball, but he’s a working slimeball. He’ll say he was just after a story.”
“Yeah, but—“ Kermit began.
“He was always tenacious about getting the story,” Piggy said quietly.
“Right. And if you try to bring changes, he’ll charge you with assault.” He smiled at Piggy wryly. “And Missy, you do not want to do community service—again.”
Piggy sniffed, indicating that an answer was beneath her dignity.
Marty laughed and leaned over and gave her shoulders a sideways hug. Piggy remained stiff for a moment, then relaxed and leaned into the one-armed embrace. “That’s a good girl,” he said approvingly. He stepped back and smiled at them both. “Look, kid—that pesky reporter got in your space and scared you and I’m sorry a bout that,” he said kindly. “But you popped him a good one right in the schnoz, didn’t you? That’ll make him think twice about invading your space. Plus, we’re gonna keep security on that door, okay? Have somebody to walk you to and fro, too.”
“Um, unless Piggy doesn’t want to do the other show anymore,” Kermit offered. They had already had this discussion—er, argument—last night in their suite, and Kermit had not prevailed. Piggy glared at him, annoyed at him trying to get Marty on his side and miffed at being referred to in the third person.
As it turns out, however, this was a miscalculation on Kermit’s part. Marty was, first and foremost, Piggy’s agent, and the second show was just the sort of venue he liked. The exposure was good, but limited. The duties were light, but showcased Piggy well. The star cred was stellar, and the pay was great.
“You want to do the show, don’t you, Honey?” Marty asked.
Piggy nodded vigorously, giving Kermit a baleful glance. “I want to,” she said, and there was an edge to her voice. Marty saw Kermit shift backward slightly and resisted the urge to do the same. He and Kermit had learned a long time ago not to get between Piggy and what she wanted unless absolutely necessary.
“Well, then….” Marty said, as though that settled everything, which it sort of did.

Routine, though monotonous, can be soothing. No one felt particularly soothed while they established a routine for escorting Piggy between shows. But Kermit and company had not survived for so long in showbiz without a great deal of resiliency. Piggy had resigned herself—somewhat petulantly, to be honest—to being conducted back and forth in her slip. Kermit had plastered a look of calm onto his face and refrained from nervous fidgeting, but he did not feel calm. To be honest, he felt annoyed and vaguely resentful at…well, everything. He was annoyed with the Elvi for asking Piggy, although he knew the gesture had been well-meaning, meant to showcase Piggy’s talents in a nurturing environment. He knew it was unfair of him to blame them, but he had been giving them a wider berth than usual, especially since one of them seemed to hovering back-stage all the time now. Guilt, he supposed. He was mad at Marty for not siding with him, although he had long known that Marty always had Piggy’s best interests at heart. He was put out with the Palace for what he viewed as a serious lapse in security, although the owners had professed themselves universally horrified. He was furious with Scribbler and his scurrilous tabloid, disdainful of the drivel that had been printed and the other rags that had followed suit like so many sheep. He could not even think about Scribbler accosting his wife in the backstage passageways without feeling his blood pressure shoot through the roof. And…he was annoyed at Piggy, for being too proud and stubborn to let him…. Here he faltered. To let him…what? Lock her away from the public she needed and who so loved her? Hide her from the world to keep her safe? To tell the truth—and Kermit was getting pretty tired of being honest with himself—he was worried. They had not been able to identify the man who had been in the tunnel with Piggy and Scribbler, nor divine that man’s true intentions. All this, however, Kermit stuffed away into that hard, painful place where he kept his jealousy and insecurity corralled.
Luckily, there was much to do, and the doing was pleasant, and it was not at all hard to stay too busy to dwell on it for long at a time. Rowlf had found a song that Johnny could sing for the New Year’s show. Two trees and about forty-billion presents now graced the corner of their suite. Dr. Honeydew’s tree had yet to materialize—or dematerialize, thank goodness—but the other trees had been put up, festooned and almost hidden by the piles of presents. Robin’s paper chain had been separated into two lengths in order to use it on both trees, and Pepe had—to everyone’s surprise and consternation—actually made decorations of his own. They seemed largely comprised of cocktail napkin flowers and snowflakes make from little coffee-creamer cups. Mabel confirmed that Pepe was still trying to chat up a group of showgirls in one of the casino’s many cafes, but so far had not made any real progress. Robin was delighted with this contribution and had scampered up the tree to place them around. Everyone had to admit that the splashes of white added something, especially to Mabel’s antiquated gold aluminum tree.
Kermit had worried a little about his wife’s assessment of this ancient relic of Christmases past, but Piggy and Thoreau had eyed it with more interest than derision.
“I don’t know,” Thoreau said brightly. “I think it adds a lot of bling.”
Christmassy bling,” Piggy had said, pronouncing it good.
The tree stayed and spread it’s old branches over a tidal wave of presents.
Kermit had something to add to the critical mass of gifts, but he had made a promise he had to keep first.
“Okay,” said Kermit furtively, looking around like someone in an old spy movie. “A quick peek, and then we have to hide it again until Christmas.”
Kermit pulled out a little box that had been hidden in a snack bag labeled “Hot & Spicy Thoraxes” and lifted the lid.
“Ooh!” said Robin, his round eyes growing large. “It looks delicious!”
Nestled on a little bed of pink cotton was a beautiful amethyst brooch in the shape of a dragonfly. The winged were made of myriad amethyst stones in various shades from periwinkle to deep purple with little diamonds scattered throughout. The slender insect body was gilt-edged onyx and the delicate antennae were platinum wire. Although Piggy didn’t usually wear adornments on her ears, a pair of matching earrings perched, cattycornered, in the box.
“It does look delicious, doesn’t it?” Kermit admitted with a grin. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
“I think she’ll love it, Uncle Kermit!” Robin said firmly. “It’s from you, and it’s all sparkly.”
“That’s what the lady at the jewelry shop said,” murmured Kermit, amused. “Now—no telling, okay?”
Robin had already seen the boxes and bags of clothing, purses and perfumes that had been wrapped and placed in the corner of their suite, but he knew that this was they special-est of the special presents his Uncle had bought for Aunt Piggy. “Scout’s honor,” he agreed.
Carefully, Kermit placed the lid on the box and slid it back inside it’s purple foil paper. Robin helped him tape the ends and pick out a bow, and they placed the little confection way in the back where it could barely be seen.
“I think it will be safe until Christmas,” Kermit said, although he was actually the present-peeker in the family. “I don’t think she’ll notice it back there.”
At that precise moment, they heard Piggy’s voice in the hall and scrambled guiltily away from the tree and the presents. Trying (and failing) to look nonchalant, Kermit and his nephew perched on the edge of the sofa and pretended to be absorbed in the Room Service menu. The lady of the suite came in and sashayed by her men without even glancing at the tree. Kermit was about to let out the breath that he’d been holding when she stopped, turned, and looked directly at the little purple box—or at least at what portion of the box was visible. She walked over to it and picked it up, noting the to/from card and then turning to look at Kermit.
“I like the look of this box,” she said approvingly. “Somebody’s been a good frog this year.”
Kermit relaxed and smiled. “Very good,” he said firmly.
Piggy started to put the box down then held it closer to her and sniffed delicately.
“Kermie,” she said, puzzled. “Why does my present smell like ‘Hot and Spicy Thoraxes’?”

Despite the recent trouble, it was a happy time, and it was hard not to get caught up and completely enveloped in their insular performing world. No one had time to read the papers—no one cared anymore about the reviews—and the gossip columns were kinder and gentler with the holidays approaching. No word of the, um, the trouble—even Kermit had trouble calling it an attack—had leaked out—none, which meant that whoever had done it was happy to remain unknown.
Marty checked in five times the day after, two or three in the following days and was finally down to a quick call or text. Piggy managed to shuck off her irritability because she could tell Kermit was fretting, and she made sure that she stayed close to home, and very close at home, which did wonders for Kermit’s mood.
It had taken a whole team of them to figure out how to assemble the train set—everybody, it seemed, had pitched in at some point. The music room was scattered with plastic and metal parts and various muppet bodies trying to assemble them.
“Do you think that’s flap b or flap d?” asked Rowlf. He showed the little piece to Kermit, who rubbed his forehead thoughtfully.
“Maybe a d?” the puzzled amphibian guessed.
“I guess it depends on which way is up,” said Scooter, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
“Hey man—do not ask me,” Floyd grumbled. “I am lost in this gibberish. I’m beginning to wish Chef was here to read these directions.”
Scooter stopped and looked thoughtful. “Gee,” he said. “Do you think that Amazon would have an English to Mock-Swedish dictionary?”
“Be careful what you wish for,” said Rizzo. “Do you really want to know what he serves us?”
“I do,” said Gonzo.
“You would,” muttered the little rat.
“I think this is a q—or like, maybe a p,” said Janice. She leaned over Floyd’s back and handed him the little metal connector. He took it an looked at it.
“A Q,” he said. “Thanks, babe.”
Janice hugged his neck before returning to dig through the box.
Mabel contributed sandwiches and Southern sweet tea, or vegetable soup and lemonade and lots of coffee. Piggy and some of the others covered frog-sitting and ran interference for the others. Ace and Deuce took Robin back to their stage area and let him try on costumes and hair-pieces, much to the youngster’s delight, while they worked to finish assembly.
Zoot wandered by and peered at the crowd gathered around a particularly confusing set of connections.
“This makes no sense,” said Rowlf, scratching his chin in consternation.
“Maybe if we flipped it over?” asked Sally Ann.
“No—then the tracks won’t—“
Zoot reached over them all, rotated two pieces 180 degrees and snapped the whole thing together.
“Cool, man. A train set.” He drifted away.
For a moment, they stared after him, then started dividing the finished set into pieces they could cart up to the The Frog suite

“So, Mabel,” said Clifford, munching on a veggie gyro. “What’s Santa gonna bring you this year?”
My Life as a Furry Red Monster,” she answered tartly. “I hear it’s a best-seller.”
Clifford laughed out loud. “Naw, c’mon, Mabel. What do you really want?”
“You mean—that I don’t already have?”
“Yeah—that you don’t already have.”
Mabel was thought for a moment, sprinkling some canapés with a little sea salt. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I think I’m pretty good, you know. My kids are grown. Nobody’s in jail….” She shot Clifford a look. “Just joking,” she said. “I like my work. I’m comfortable.” She turned and looked at the dreadlocked muppet thoughtfully. “What do you want?”
The question took Clifford back a second, then he recovered his cool. “A new bass,” he said. “A solo album. Millions of screaming fans.” He smiled widely and spread his hands. “Another gyro?”
Mabel put one down in front of him. “Z’at all?” she asked.
Clifford shrugged and took a bite of his wrap. “Sure. I’m good.”
Mabel sat down at the table and looked at him for a moment. “Honey,” she said at last. “One day you’re gonna meet someone, just like I did. Someone wonderful. Someone for you.” She reached out and patted his hand once, then stood up and went back to her tray of canapés. “Until then, you’ll just have to work on those million fans.”
Clifford smiled and munched. “You are one smart cookie, Mabel,” he said quietly.
“And I make a mean cookie, too,” she said. “What d’ya think? Chocolate chip or macadamia nut?”
“Chocolate chip,” said Clifford. “We’ve already got a lot of nuts around here.”
Mabel laughed and shooed him out of the kitchen. “Get on with you, then,” said Mabel. “I got stuff to do.”

“Hey Kerm, my main frog,” said Floyd Pepper.
“Oh, hi Floyd,” Kermit said, looking up from his PDA and smiling. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going, man—and coming back around!” He laughed his raspy laugh.
Kermit smiled but did not try to respond. He had learned quite some time ago that his attempts to be hip were usually duds.
“Hey,” said Floyd, coming to the point. “Gonzo’s been rockin’ some serious blues in the music room.”
“Oh, um, yeah,” said Kermit guiltily. “Scooter told me that he and Camilla sort of broke up.”
“Yeah. Love sure can stink when your grooves aren’t groovin’,” said the bass man, remembering the dull ache he’d felt when he’d thought that Janice was lost to him. “But, hey—listen man. I heard you’re always looking for something different.”
Kermit thought that was a remarkably tactful way of putting it.
“Um, sure, Floyd. So, do you have something you want to play for me?”
“Well, Gonzo’s got something I think you should hear.”
“Happy to lend an ear,” said Kermit, untroubled by the fact that he had no ears.
“That’d be righteous,” said Floyd. “How ‘bout today?”
Kermit looked at his PDA. “Three okay?”
“Sure, man. Three’s cool. See you here.” He extended his hand and, surprised, Kermit put out his own, but instead of a handshake Floyd was offering his fist. Kermit stared at it.
“Um….”
Gently, Floyd folded Kermit’s fingers into a fist. “Now hit me,” Floyd instructed.
Kermit was horrified. “Hit you? Why would I want to—“
Floyd tapped his knuckles against Kermit’s. Kermit stared, puzzled.
“Like that,” Floyd said.
“Oh,” Kermit said blankly. Then, “Oh! So that’s how you, um, seal the deal, huh?”
“That’s it,” Floyd said. He gave a little chuckle. “Show the kid—he’ll think you’re cool, man.”
“Sure,” Kermit said dryly, doubting it. He looked at his watch and thought he’d just have time to nab a cup of coffee and a sandwich before meeting Gonzo.

It had been almost a week and it still took a couple of tries for him to lever himself out of a chair. Even so, standing up was accomplished only with a series of grunts and expletives that his companion was too wise to laugh at.
“C’mon, Old Man,” said his companion with mock solemnity. The man, sans his dark jacket—in fact, sans everything that had to be buttoned or maneuvered on—glared at him. The nickname rankled, but he wasn’t in a position to do anything about it right now.
“You try getting around with busted ribs and see how funny you think it is!”
“Hey—you should consider yourself lucky, from what I hear.”
“Oh—is that what you hear?” sputtered the convalescing man. “Well, hear this—“
“C’mon, cool it, cool it. I’m not trying to yank your chain. I’m here to help, remember?”
“So you say,” he muttered darkly.
“All I’m saying is don’t shoot the messenger.”
“She karate-chopped the messenger,” the other man snarked. “Look—all I wanted to do was talk to her alone and she—“
“I warned you she was pretty high strung, didn’t I? Well, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waved this pronouncement away.
“And I told you you might want to talk to her agent first, didn’t I?”
“Hmpff.”
“So…talk to her agent now.” There was a sullen silence but the man’s companion waited it out. “Look,” he said, trying to be reasonable. “I know you wanted to be the conquering hero and bring home the bacon on your own.” This last was met with rank hostility and he took a step backward. “But it’s not going to happen—not now, anyway.” He made his voice firm. “You tried the unconventional approach—not try the conventional one.”
There was a long silence, then, “Yeah. Okay. Maybe.”
“That’s the spirit,” said his companion. “And look—if you get what you want, maybe you can buy yourself some new ribs!” He edged out of the room with a stream of invective at his back.

Kermit arrived, munching the last of an egg roll and licking his fingers.
“Ooh—eggrolls,” said Gonzo. “Are there any left?”
“Er, I don’t think so,” Kermit said doubtfully. He was a terrible liar and stood there looking guilty.
“Fine,” Gonzo said. “So what’s in them, anyway?”
Kermit told him. “Mabel made them for me,” he explained. “Me and Robin.”
“Okay,” the furry blue performance artist said philosophically. “So I’ll rustle up my own grub later.” He sat down on one of the cubes and fiddled with the strap of his guitar, plucked the strings a little nervously. He looked up at last. “You ready?”
“Um hum.” Kermit said down nearby on another cube.
“Santa, I see shoppers buying presents,” Gonzo began, and put his heart into it.

“I got a letter from my brother, Duncan!” squealed Sally Ann.
The backstage crowd crowded around her excitedly.
“What’s he say?”
“Is he doing okay?”
“Did he get the package you sent him?”
Sally scanned the letter nervously, then let out a sigh of relief.
“He says he’s fine and wants to know where all the snow is!” she said happily. She read some more, hurrying through the tightly-scrawled paragraphs. “He says thanks for the pics of the show—and the showgirls! They were a huge hit with the guys. He…he liked the thing we’re doing in the Christmas show about the troops. He liked the hard candy but the cookies didn’t survive shipping very well. He says….” She broke off for a minute and then took a big shaky breath. “He says he misses me.” She was quiet for a moment, biting her lip to keep from crying. “He says he misses home but he’s okay and he’ll see me when he comes home.”
“Aw, honey—that’s great,” said Gloria Jean.
“We’ll send him more pictures if he wants!”
“I’ll bet you’re really proud of him!”
It had been a week of group hugs. One more was nothing, but it sure felt like something to Sally Ann.


The final chord faded away and Gonzo looked up.
Normally, after an audition like this, Kermit would have said “Wow” or “Great job,” but this was no ordinary audition. Instead he said, “I’m sorry about you and Camilla. I hope things work out the way you want them to.”
“Thanks,” said Gonzo. “I think we need to want the same things, and right now we don’t.” He smiled. “So what’d you think about the song?”
“The song? Oh—the song was terrific,” said Kermit. “I’m going to put you on right after…”
“For the Christmas show? Are you sure? We’ve only got a few runs left before we switch over to the New Year’s show.”
“I’m sure,” said Kermit firmly. “It will be a great addition to our last few shows.”
“Okay then,” Gonzo said with a wide smile. He stood up and shifted the guitar strap over his shoulder. “You know what I always say!”
Kermit was afraid to ask but his expression must have given away his bewilderment. Gonzo laughed and put his arm across his boss’s shoulders as they walked back toward the hallway.
“If you can’t get the girl, at least get the song.”
Kermit gave him a wry look. “Good advice. Where were you when I was dating Piggy?”
“Trying to do the same,” Gonzo admitted. For a minute, surprise warred with the green-eyed monster in Kermit’s bulbous eyes, then he sighed and shook his head, You had to admire that kind of honesty.

Scribbler looked in the mirror and tried wrinkling his nose. The pain wasn’t excruciating anymore, but there was a dull ache all along his proboscis. The skin around his eyes was less swollen and had faded to yellow from purple. He wouldn’t need as much makeup to cover up the bruising, which was a good thing. Though there had been no comment—good or bad—about his battered nose, his boss had not been happy at first to find that they had competition of a sort. He had been more than a little worried himself. He knew the man from the corridor and he didn’t care much for the people that he worked for. On the other hand, his presence there was the proof that Piggy’s star turn in both shows was being noticed, and that had made his boss chortle with glee. It was working. The world was starting to see Piggy less as one-half of a whole and more as an individual commodity. Scribbler didn’t like thinking of her that way, but it was getting easier and easier not to think about what he didn’t like. There were so many things on that list now….

With Gonzo’s song fitting seamlessly into the Christmas program, they cast and crew wound down to Christmas eve. As promised, bonuses had been distributed the morning of, and the day had been full of giddy excitement and last minute preparations.
Last-minute seemed to be the order of the day, because just before the final song, Kermit went off the paved road and did something unexpected.
Kermit walked out to thunderous applause. He smiled and inclined his head to acknowledge it, then took his position center stage and waited for the noise to die down. And waited. He made shushing movements with his hands and the cacophony swelled to fever-pitch for a moment, then backed off. Kermit waited it out, smiling.
“Hi ho, everyone. I hope you’ve enjoyed our very special Christmas Eve show—“
He waited, looking modest and mildly embarrassed for quiet to reign once more.
“—and we have one more Christmas Eve surprise for you.” He looked backstage right and gave a ‘come here’ wave with his hand. Robin trotted out onto the stage, smiling and waving at the audience as the people jumped to their feet.
“Hi everybody!” said Robin, waving. “Merry Christmas!”
The audience clapped and cheered.
“Well, um, some of you may remember a little song we did a few years ago for ‘A Muppet Christmas Carol.’ A song that Robin and I did a duet for?”
There was an excited murmur through the crowd.
“We’d like to do that for you tonight, just as a special Christmas Eve treat.”
The audience rippled like water, and there was excited whispering that hushed expectantly when Kermit looked at his nephew and tapped out a tempo. They began the familiar scat (at least, familiar to fans from A Muppet Christmas Carol) softly, then built in volume, even adding in a little soft shoe.
There was something wonderful, Piggy thought, about the two of them together, Uncle and Nephew moving in tandem with rhythm and grace. She smiled, watching from the wings and waiting for Kermit to call them all out. Tonight, after one talented little frog was zonked in his bed, she and Kermit would have the privilege and pleasure of putting Christmas gifts out for Robin. Watching him, moving in harmony with Kermit, Piggy felt like no gift would ever match what Robin had already given them.
The dance/duet ended to fervent applause, then Kermit was motioning to her—to all of them—telling them to come out on stage for the last song before Christmas. Surrounded by friends and family, Piggy went to join them.
 
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