Kermie's Girl (ushy-gushy fanfic)

[ReneeLouvier]

*points a muffin cannon at Ru* Here's some apple-bran strudel muffins, Ru! Please post some more of the story!!!

 

[The Count]

*Wonders if anyone's figured out the connection behind the user member numbers for Hot Tamolé, Ratman, and Scooterpie.

*Hopes for more from Ru soon.

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 94: Half-Truths

“I wish I were twins,” said Piggy distractedly, opening the cupboard to look for her favorite mug.
“I wish you were twins, too,” Kermit said cheekily, watching her as she poured coffee.
Piggy snorted. “Like you could keep up,” she retorted. Kermit just grinned and inhaled the fragrant steam from his coffee.
“If I were twins, one of me could go on the shoot today and the other one could stay home with you all day.” Piggy said it like it was something that might happen, only circumstances were working against the possibility.
Kermit sighed. “Then I’d have to be twins, too,” he said. “I’ve got an unbelievably busy day today.”
Piggy sighed—elaborately, doing the best diva impression she was able to muster before breakfast. “It’s not fair,” she pouted. “In five days, I’ve got to get on some stupid airplane and go to stupid New York to be in—“
“—some stupid play on Broadway where thousands of fans will come and adore you,” Kermit finished. They had had this argument so many times he had his lines down cold.
Piggy shot him a look of annoyance. “Yes, yes,” she said, brushing Broadway away with a casual wave of her hand. Kermit was secretly amused, but did not show it. “But today I have to shoot all day, then half a day tomorrow. And you’re working every day and then we’re going to have to fight off scads of fans at the airport and not even have a proper good-bye.”
Kermit started to protest but decided to let her vent. He came around the kitchen table and put his arms around her. “Proper is over-rated,” he said, hoping to tease her out of her bad mood. But Piggy simply gave him a flashing look, kissed him fiercely and went upstairs to shower in a huff.
Kermit stood there and savored that kiss and the rest of his coffee, turning the problem over in his head. But the argument was circular, and he ended up right back where he’d started. Piggy was right—this would be easier if they were both twins.
Inspiration comes from many sources. Kermit had gotten script ideas in the shower, song ideas on the freeway and just plain ol’ ideas at lunch, in the elevator and—just at that moment—in the quiet of his own kitchen. The idea crept up on him, overtaking him by degrees. He shook his head to dislodge it. He was too busy for new ideas. He had too much on his plate to try to slide anything else onto it. Scooter would kill him. It was irresponsible. It was ridiculous. It was…possible. Just barely, maybe, but surely possible. If he…if they…if only…! Kermit shook his head. He needed a shower to clear his head and he needed to get to the studio. True, it wasn’t quite dawn yet, but time—the most precious commodity in his life (excepting the entrancing sow in the shower)—was ticking, ticking away. He started for the door, but at that precise moment, Jimmy appeared.
“Jeez,” Jimmy said, yawning hugely. “These early mornings are going to kill me.” Kermit poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him, and Jimmy did what Kermit had done—bent his face into the aromatic steam and inhaled. “Ah—caffeine—nectar of the frogs!” He took a small sip, then a big gulp. “Mmmm,” he sighed happily. “Any of that coffee cake left over from yesterday?”
Kermit gritted his hard palate and went and got what was left of the coffee cake—about a third of it—and plunked it only a plate. “Help yourself,” he said, and waited until Jimmy sat. Jimmy was now awake enough to register Kermit’s odd behavior.
“Hey, Kerm,” he said, stifling another huge yawn. “Everything okay? You’re acting a little, er,…distracted.” He’d almost said “weird,” but had decided it was a bad idea.
Kermit sighed and sat down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Jimmy,” he said without preamble. “Let me know if you think I’m crazy, but I have this idea….”

It had been a long day—a very long day, but the film was in the can and—judging from the ecstatic expressions on the faces of the photographers, they were happy with what they’d gotten. The location had been great, the weather cooperative and she had really liked the little fringed concoction she’d been wearing last today. She might keep it, although she knew it wouldn’t stand up to any actual swimming. Or sunning, for that matter.
Piggy heard a rustle and thump behind her and turned toward the noise with no predefined idea of what—exactly—she had just heard. She could not identify the noise, and if you had asked her what she expected to see she could have formulated nothing specific. But whatever she might have expected when she turned, she had not expected the sight that met her fabulous baby blues.
Fleet Scribbler stood not six feet away from her, one hand held out to her—half in defense, half in entreaty. His camera was around his neck, but he was not pointing it.
“Missy—it’s me. It’s Fleet. Don’t—don’t hit me—I’m unarmed.”
Piggy glared at him with enough venom to make him shrink away from her. “Get out!” she growled. “Get out or so help me, Moi will stomp you into a waffle with ventilation holes!” Scribbler gulped. In those stiletto heels, she could do it! She marched toward him and the panicked reporter scrambled frantically backward. Piggy reached for him, grabbing the lapels of his battered trench coat, and Scribbler gave a desperate lurch and twisted partly away, one lapel pulling loose. He raised his hands protectively over his face, knowing full well this left his midriff exposed—
“I am gonna knock you clear into next century!” Piggy growled ominously, but Scribbler’s next words stayed her hands.
“Missy—wait! Don’t! Ahhhiii—I know who he is­­­­!” Despite the edge of hysteria in his voice, the implied threat cut through Piggy’s red haze and she halted her forward charge.
“He who?” Piggy snapped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
But Scribbler had seen the hesitation in her eyes, and uncertainty that followed. ­­­­­­
“I said, I know why he’s here.”
“He who?” Piggy began, but Scribbler cut her off.
“He—Jimmy. I figured out what Kermit’s brother is doing here.”
Piggy looked frightened. Her face paled and Scribbler felt his own flush with triumph, then flush deeper with shame. That he would be proud of making her afraid! Scribbler felt like the stuff that grows on pond scum. He saw her lower lip tremble and she pressed her lips together firmly to stop it.
“What makes you think so?” she said, but it was bluster and bravado. Her grip on his lapels loosened and the upraised fist dropped without landing a punch. Scribbler wrenched free and scuttled away. There was an uneasy silence while Piggy glared at him and wondered how on earth he’d heard—if he even really knew. She said nothing, and her silence was enough. Scribbler rose from his protective crouch, but warily.
“Don’t scream or hit or—don’t hit me again, okay?” He kept one hand protectively over his nose, partially muffling his voice. “Please—I’m…I’m staying right over here.” He had moved about six feet away from her, out of range of any sudden lunges. “I just want to talk to you. That’s all. Hear me out and I won’t tell the rest of the photogs what I know.”
Piggy’s eyes widened, and she inhaled sharply. So he could be bargained with, Piggy thought dazedly, but she worried about what he might want. They stared at each other, distrustful and silent. The sound of voices nearby carried suddenly into the clearing, and Piggy started and flinched and looked over her shoulder as though frightened someone might find them together. Scribbler saw her turning BK around and around on one satin-gloved finger and gritted his teeth. Stupid frog.
“What do you want?” she said plaintively. “Just tell me and get out.”
“I just want to…talk to you. You know, like old times.”
Piggy stiffened at once, and her expressive eyes grew flat. “State your piece and hit the road before someone comes, or someone’s going to gets hurt.”
“Gosh, we wouldn’t want someone to get hurt,” Fleet muttered, his expression sour.
“Fleet!!” It had been half-growl, half-groan, but she had said his name! Scribbler’s heart gave a great leap in his chest. She hadn’t forgotten—she hadn’t forgotten all those afternoons the two of them had spent together just….
“Okay, okay,” he said. “Just two minutes and I’m gone—promise.”
“Promise?!” Piggy hissed. “What good is your word!” She darted a nervous look over her shoulder, then took a step forward. He retreated cagily, careful to keep out of reach of her right hook.
“Look who’s talking to me about keeping promises!” Scribbler snapped. The anger in his voice stopped her. There were murmurs of conversation behind her—Jimmy maybe, and Marty—and Piggy looked quickly over her shoulder again.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded. She had not actually considered screaming, but she considered it now. If she screamed, Jimmy was just on the other side of that screen and he would come running, and leap on her nemesis and probably pound him like he had Derwin…and Claude. That stayed her hand—or voice, rather—thinking about the way the scuffle had ended between Jimmy and Claude. Although Kermit had been not-so-secretly delighted, Jimmy was still beating himself up a little about that. Piggy didn’t really want to involve him in another physical confrontation. Besides, she could handle Fleet. She had always handled him before. She crossed her arms across her cleavage. “So talk,” she demanded.
It was surprisingly hard to get started. He had dreamed about this, rehearsed it a million times in his head—this sudden chance to put everything unspoken out in the open. Now that he was here, within six feet of her scantily-clad figure, he could not think what he meant to say.
“I’m glad you’re going to New York,” he said, the words coming out in a rush. “I always knew you’d make it there—I always did!—and I’m glad you’re finally getting a chance to shine on your own.”
“Moi has shined just fine where she was,” Piggy countered. Her cheeks were pink and he didn’t know if it was from suppressed wrath or from the unexpected compliment. He wanted to think the latter, but he wouldn’t have bet on it. He’d learned a long time ago that he didn’t have that kind of luck.
It was Scribbler’s turn to snort. “Oh, right. What would you be doing now if it weren’t for this job—crocheting doilies? We both know you’re too talented for that. If Broadway hadn’t come knocking at your door….
“What do you want?” Piggy said, her voice sharp. “Why are you doing this to Moi?”
“Because I want you to remember!” Fleet almost bellowed. “I want you to remember who you…who you were! I want you to remember what you used to say you wanted, what you used to say to me—“
“That was a long time ago—“
“It was practically yesterday,” he countered, angry at the thought that mere time could wash away such resolve, dissolve such passion.
“Dreams change, Fleet. People change.”
“Some people,” the unhappy reporter muttered.
“Piggy? Piggy—is someone there?” Jimmy’s voice, a little high with worry, and little dark with threat. They both heard flippersteps approaching.
Piggy turned and looked at Fleet and—oh! The tragedy in those baby blues almost sent him to his knees! “I’m fine, Jimmy,” Piggy lied. “Just talking to…to nobody. Myself. Just talking to, ha ha, myself. Moi will be right out.”
“Piggy…?” Jimmy’s voice, doubtful now. The flippersteps slowed.
“Missy?” Scribbler’s voice, gentle but urgent. “I—I’m going. I’m leaving right now.” She looked so lost he wanted to reassure her, but he didn’t think she’d take anything from him at that moment, and he was probably right.
He started up the tree and Piggy whirled and marched toward him. Both hands were clinging to the tree, and he was vulnerable and unprotected. If she hit him now—!
But Piggy merely leaned in and looked at him, her blue eyes huge, her expression grim.
“Don’t hurt him,” she said fervently. “You promised.”
And—dang it—he had. His mouth was dry, and the taste of bile was in his throat—the taste of defeat.
“I did. And I’ll keep it.” He shimmied up another two feet. “I’ll see you in New York,” he said, and disappeared just as Jimmy turned the corner.
Jimmy looked around the clearing in surprise, clearly not buying Piggy’s assertion that she’d been talking to herself. He looked at Piggy’s flushed skin and pale face, saw the nervous twisting of BK on her left hand.
“Piggy—what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Piggy said lightly, but too quickly. “Nothing is going on. Moi just got the…the spooks. I was talking to myself.”
She looked sheepish and guilty and Jimmy bought it—hook, line and stinker. He walked over and put his slim green hand on her arm.
“Don’t blame you for having the willies,” he said with a grin. “So many things have happened I’ve got ‘em myself.” He stepped back and looked at her, still clad in her last bikini.
“Are you going home like that?” he teased. “I’m not saying the old man won’t like it, but you’ll get make-up all over the car seat….”
“Moi is changing now,” Piggy insisted. It made her think about what Fleet had said—about some people changing—and she felt her face go hot. “If you would kindly get out I could put on my regular clothes.
“You don’t have any regular clothes,” countered Jimmy, letting Piggy push him out. “But hurry up, won’t you? I’m starving!”
“You’re always starving,” she grumbled, but it was friendly. When Jimmy was gone, she looked around the little clearing carefully, then up into the leafy branches of the tree and shivered. She stepped inside the changing pavilion and shut the overlapping flap firmly. Finally alone, Piggy stopped trying to look calm and collected. She shivered as though snow were falling.
To think that Scribbler had been here who knows how long, watching the shoot, waiting to talk to her. She thought about what he had said, about what he had known but promised not to reveal. Would he keep his promise? For old times sakes if not for his word’s? She hoped so. The last thing she needed was headlines screaming that Kermit didn’t have time for her, that he had palmed off his responsibilities on his brother so he could bury himself at work instead.
Hastily, Piggy put on what passed for her street clothes and walked out. She looked up into the tree as high as she could see, but saw nothing and no one. She took a deep breath, turned her snout firmed forward and went to find Jimmy. She wanted today to be over. She wanted tomorrow to come—and now!

Kermit was ready for tomorrow to come, too.
Although he’d done his best to push away the persistent idea that morning, it had taken hold of him now and was not so easily dismissed. Scooter finally stopped in the middle of one of the editing sessions and just looked at Kermit, then sighed and shook his head.
“You might as well ask me,” Scooter said. “You’re not worth anything with whatever it is on your mind, so go ahead and spit it out so we can get some work done.” But when Kermit did ask, Scooter was taken aback.
“Scooter—have you ever lied to me?”
Scooter looked up, surprised by the question. “Not—not on purpose,” he stammered. “I mean, when I was a kid, probably, but—“
“That’s fine, Scooter. I was just—it was a rhetorical question.” Kermit sighed and rubbed his wrist against his temple. He looked exhausted and miserable and Scooter watched him anxiously, wondering what he could do to help.
“Oh.”
“I—look, Scooter. I’m pretty desperate here. I need—look, Piggy’s going to be gone in a very short time and there’s something we want to do before she goes.”
Scooter was really glad Kermit wasn’t looking at him because he blushed to his hairline.
“What…what is it?” he asked cautiously.
“We…we’re trying to take a drive up the coast to see an old friend,” Kermit said enigmatically. He smiled, knowing this wasn’t much of an explanation. “The problem is…the problem is I don’t see any white space in my calendar. We’re backed against the wall in terms of meeting the next set of deadlines.” He handed his phone with the schedule displayed on it to Scooter, though it was hardly necessary. Scooter knew Kermit’s schedule better than Kermit did.
Scooter nodded. It was true.
“So, what I’m wondering is if you think it’s possible that—if I take off tomorrow afternoon, we could make up the lost time when…when she’s…gone.”
Kermit turned and looked at Scooter, hope and entreaty on his face. It took a moment, but Scooter eventually smiled at him. It was not a bad imitation of the lop-sided smile that Kermit often wore.
“Sure thing, Boss,” Scooter said. “But once Piggy’s on her way, I own your schedule.” He gave Kermit his best evil eye, which must have worked, because Kermit did not laugh.
“You got it,” Kermit said seriously, bulbous eyes wide.
“Own it,” Scooter repeated for emphasis.
Kermit bobbed his head.
Scooter nodded, pleased. “In that case—not a problem. We could finish anything.”
For a moment, Kermit just stared, disbelief warring with joy on his face.
“Really?” he asked. “You think it will be okay?”
“Come back in here after lunch with your game face on,” Scooter said firmly, “and no dilly-dallying tomorrow morning and then…”
“Then…?”
“Then tomorrow afternoon, you’re a free man.”
Kermit put his hand on his assistant’s shoulder. “Scooter…um, give yourself a raise, won’t you?”
“On our budget? You must be joking.” But he was smiling.
Kermit grinned back and made for the door, pulling out his phone as he went. He stopped at the door. “Scooter, I owe you.”
Scooter waited until he was gone, then frowned and looked down at his own schedule worriedly. He sighed. “Fine. Then just don’t ask me if I’ve ever lied to you again.”

 

[Muppetfan44]

Hooray!!! Update!

ooh Scribbler is so creepy! Not happy that he said he will see her in NY...

I hope Kermit and Piggy have time to have a proper goodbye, it would be hard on both of them.

Compelling work as always...can't wait to read more!

 

[DramaQueenMokey]

ooh Scribbler is so creepy! Not happy that he said he will see her in NY...

I agree with Muppetfan44, Scribbler is tres creepy! I loved Scooter and Kermit at the end here, especially the 'have you ever lied to me' thing, it made me laugh so hard!

This update made me smile

Can't wait for more, but you can't rush perfection

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 95: Whole Truths

“You okay, Sister-in-law?” Jimmy asked. She’d been unnaturally quiet on the trip home. “I guess you’re tired of all this.”
Piggy tried to rouse herself from the funk she’d been in and make normal conversation—whatever that was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a perfectly innocent conversation about the simple things in life—like shoes and ice cream and lip gloss and shopping.
“You have no idea how tired Moi is of…all this,” she said, and smiled wanly. She saw Jimmy’s eyes crinkle worriedly at the corners and smiled. How like Kermit he was! “I’m fine,” she said, and reached over and patted his arm. “Really.” The hand in her lap crossed fingers quickly, begging the universe’s pardon for such a bold lie.
Jimmy took a deep breath and Piggy sat up straighter, knowing instinctively what was coming. Kermit sometimes worked himself up before an emotional outburst or an expression of some deeper feeling, and she could tell that Jimmy was currently working up to something similar. Piggy bit her lip to hide a smile. And here she thought she was the only one with deep, dark secrets.
“I—thank you for asking me to come,” Jimmy blurted. “Thank you for wanting me to help. It—it meant a lot to me to know that you would call. And…um, and—“ Jimmy took a deep breath and let it out. “And I never really knew what it was like for Robin, living here with you guys. But staying her with you, seeing you work, sleeping in his room…I feel closer to him.” He stopped again, pressing his froggy lips together, his brow furrowed with concentration. “I knew it was the right thing, letting Kermit be Robin’s legal guardian, but now I…I know it, you know? I see how it is.”
Piggy’s eyes were soft, and she smiled at him in a way that was not-at-all diva-like. “Robin’s like our own,” she said. “Kermit is a wonderful uncle.”
“I know. He—Kermit—was what Robin needed. Even when he was little, his dreams were too big for the swamp.”
“Like Kermit,” Piggy said, and Jimmy nodded enthusiastically. “And Robin just thrives here—I see it. This is where he belongs—not the swamp.” He did not say, “With me,” but it hung there, unspoken, between them.
“Robin lives both places,” Piggy said earnestly, knowing this must be hard for Jimmy to say.
“Yes, he lives both places,” Jimmy said, “But he belongs here—with you and Kermit. And I am eternally, indescribably grateful that you—that you love him and treat him like your own when he’s here.” Jimmy made a face—a wonderfully familiar scrunchy face. “I’ve tried to talk to Kermit about it, but…but you know how he is.”
“I know,” said Piggy, smiling. “He’d rather show you than talk about it.”
“Exactly!” Jimmy hit the steering wheel for emphasis and accidentally honked the horn. A driver in the next lane flashed them the oft-abused signal for “Welcome to California!” They giggled, and Piggy felt her dark mood lifting. She turned sideways in the passenger seat, readjusting her seatbelt. “Will you stay with him—after I’m, um…?”
“Gone? Yeah—if he wants me, which he probably won’t.”
“Stay anyway,” Piggy said, and it was somewhere between a plea and a demand. “I don’t want him to be alone.”
“Piggy, you have been my sister-in-law for more years than you will admit, and I am going to say two cheeky things to you and take the risk that you won’t hi-ya me right through the windshield.” He looked at her uncertainly. “You won’t, will you?”
“Moi will promise to try,” Piggy said grimly. She had had quite enough revelations for one day.
“I will try to stay, if he will let me, but it isn’t going to do any good. There is no replacement for fabulous you, because if there had been, he’d have found it. I’ve never seen anyone fight harder not to fall in love, or fall harder when he fell, but the truth of the matter is, he couldn’t help it.
“You are the only thing he couldn’t make himself happy without, and I think that just terrified him.”
Piggy was staring at Jimmy in astonishment. Tears well up in her blue eyes and spilled over. She didn’t think anyone else knew this, understood this about Kermit.
“Dad was ready to charge down here and take him to task for playing with your feelings, but Mom seemed to know he wasn’t playing—just lost. She convinced Dad that Kermit would figure it out on his own.”
“He did,” Piggy said softly. “He did figure it out.”
“Thank goodness!” Jimmy said fervently. “I don’t know how you hung in there. I’d have clocked him one.”
“Moi did,” Piggy said simply. “Several times, if you’ll recall.”
Jimmy grinned broadly, then sobered. “If you had turned him down, after all that angst, Kermit probably would have become some sort of social recluse.”
“Oh please—“ Piggy groaned but Jimmy cut her off.
“I’m not the only one who thinks that,” he said firmly, and Piggy did not argue the point. “So he is going to be plenty miserable when you go, but you have to go anyway.”
“I don’t have to go—“ Piggy began, but Jimmy cut her off once again.
“Oh, you’re going,” Jimmy said, sounding so much like Kermit that she stared. “You’re going if I have to hog-tie you and throw you in the baggage compartment myself. I’m with Kermit on this one—this is the chance of a lifetime and you have to take it.”
“I’ve had my share of chances already,” Piggy argued, but it lacked sincerity.
“Never kid a kidder,” Jimmy said, and grinned. “Now I’m gonna tell you the other thing.” He paused dramatically. “The one thing—the only thing—that has ever pushed you out of his mind is work.”
“You got that right,” Piggy growled.
“And when you’re gone, they’ll be plenty of that.”
“I know,” said Piggy worriedly. She bit her lip, then took a chance. “There’s a problem with the schedule.”
It was not a question, but Jimmy answered it anyway. “Yes.” His expression was grim, his eyes fixed on the road.
“Because they moved the release date up?”
“Yes.”
“But….” Piggy bit her lip, trying to think how she wanted to ask this. “Was the schedule—was the change the only problem? We weren’t behind before?”
“No. I mean, yes. The change was the only problem.”
“So…New Year’s didn’t put us behind?” Jimmy liked the way she said “us,” including him.
“What?! No! No—New Year’s was nothing—dead time. The schedule probably wasn’t affected at all.” Piggy looked relieved. She had worried about that.
“And—tomorrow? Tomorrow isn’t going to be a problem?”
Jimmy hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “The only person who knows that for sure is probably Scooter, and he gave Kermit the go-ahead, so….” Jimmy shrugged noncommittally. Piggy got the message loud and clear. Tomorrow was probably a bad idea, but they were going to do it anyway.
“Do you think Kermit and Scooter can catch up to the schedule? I know Kermit’s pretty worried.”
“I’d say he’s a little worried,” said Jimmy. “Just the usual worrywart Kermit. I think the other is just worry about…everything else.”
“That covers a lot,” Piggy muttered.
“Yes,” Jimmy agreed. “That it does, but I’ll tell you one thing that really is worrying Kermit.”
Piggy sat up at once. “What?!” she cried. “Tell me.”
Jimmy opened his mouth and shut it, afraid he might misspeak. “He’s worried you’re not going to get on that plane.”
“But—“
Jimmy held up a hand and waved her protest away.
“Save your arguments for him.” He frowned. “No, don’t.” Jimmy’s frown deepened into a grimace. “Piggy, he’s worried you won’t go. He’s worried he’ll have to make you. And he’s worried…he’s worried he isn’t frog enough to see it through. If you really push him, he’s afraid he’ll cave in and let you stay.”
Piggy stared at Jimmy in astonishment for the second time in this conversation. The thought that Kermit might cave in, might give over to her and let her have her way—whether it was good for her or not—was astounding.
“Don’t push him too hard,” Jimmy said. “Okay? Be nice. Wait—not too nice. Then he’ll cave for sure!”
Jimmy laughed and Piggy smiled in spite of herself. She silently vowed to be very, very…compliant tonight. They rode through the traffic, watching the dusk gather.
“Jimmy?” Piggy’s voice was very small.
“Yes?” His answer was automatic, as though his mind was far away.
“Scribbler says he knows why you came to help with the photo shoot.”
“Oh—I know,” Jimmy said simply. “I heard.”
“You heard? What do you mean, you heard?” Piggy demanded. “Were you eavesdropping?”
“I prefer to think of it as taking my job seriously,” Jimmy murmured. Piggy had nothing to say to this. “Do you think he’ll spill the beans? Tell everyone that Kermit’s devastatingly good-looking brother is the one in the pictures?”
“No,” said Piggy slowly. “He said he wouldn’t.”
“He promised you.” It was not a question.
“Yes. He promised not to…to hurt Kermit, at least not with this information.”
“Do you trust him?”
It was an odd question. It had been an odd conversation, and an odd day.
“About this—yes,” Piggy said slowly. She reached out and plucked at Jimmy’s sleeve. “You won’t—you won’t tell Kermit he was there, will you? Please—he’ll just worry.”
“What about me? I’ll worry….” But Jimmy was smiling. “I won’t tell, but don’t be so…trusting, Piggy. I know you have some kind of history with Fleet, but don’t assume you know what he’s capable of now.”
Piggy said nothing, twisting her ring. “I’ll be careful,” she said quietly.
They were home. Jimmy pulled into the driveway and sprang out of the car to open her door. He took her hand and helped her out, then walked her to the back door. With a flourish, Jimmy kissed her satin-ensconced hand and bowed.
“I bid you adieu, Madam,” he said formally.
Piggy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Aren’t you coming in?”
“I have plans elsewhere,” Jimmy said, and nodded toward the door. “You kids have fun,” he said lightly. “Don’t wait up for me.”
He turned and walked back to the car, whistling a jaunty tune. Piggy suddenly wondered what Foo Foo was up to tonight. She shook her head and smiled. She unlocked the door and stepped through into the kitchen just as Kermit came through from the living room with a pizza box. He grinned. “Extra cheese,” he said. “And millipedes.”
“You just keep the millipedes on your half,” Piggy insisted. Kermit smirked. “My pleasure,” he said. He looked at the kitchen table, then back the way he had come. “You want to eat here or in the dining room?” he asked.
“I want to eat…upstairs,” said Piggy. She started up the back stairs, giving him her best over-the-top come-hither glance and trying not to spoil it with a giggle.
“Upstairs it is,” said Kermit, and couldn't stop grinning. He followed her lead up the stairs.

 

[Ruahnna]

Okay, Ed--if I cry "Uncle Kermit" will you tell me what the numbers mean? I've thought of birthdays, anniversaries, the number of typos in this epic....what obvious thing am I missing?

 

[The Count]

, no need for calling in the big frog, I'll tell.
Hot Tamolé = 2337, that's your own user number Ru. Mabel is after all your own fan-character.
Cliffhanger = 3069, that's part of my phone, but reversed to try and hide behind some anonymity. That, and I couldn't find an MC user who I strongly associate with Clifford.
Ratman = 4618, that's MrsPepper's since she campaigned for the smilie.
Scooterpie = 5123, that's Sara's because, well, is there rully need for explanation?

Additionally, finished reading. The two conversations between Piggy and Fleet Scribbler and then Piggy and Jimmy were very powerful stuff as they affected her outlook on current happenings. Thank you for continuing to post this narrative of most definitely heavy-duty proportions.
Why do you say that? The Earth's gravitational weight has no bearing on this conversation.
Mee-meep?
Tss tss tss, oh I've just always wanted to use that line.

 

[newsmanfan]

------------------------------------
*sits silent a moment*
*picks jaw up off floor*
*applauds fiercely*

WOW.

My first thought when I walked in here and saw ANOTHER new post (I only just read the last one last night!) was "What, are we in competition now??" Then I sat here and read it.

WOW.

Holy jumping frogs! That is some of the finest psych insight about ANY character I have EVER seen. WHY ARE YOU NOT PRO YET???

*grumbles*

Okay...specifics. Last chapter. Scribbler is indeed faintly menacing, even if sincere in his desire not to hurt Piggy...but like any stalker, one senses all it would take would be one tiny little rejection to send him postal...er, tabloidal. Your description of how Piggy felt, physically as well as emotionally, after that confrontation, was dead-on! Love, love, love.

And the library is kicking me off the terminal, dang it... snarl snap grrr... Ok. More review tomorrow! And keep writing!!!
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[Muppetfan44]

Wow- definitely a narrative of very heavy duty proportions

Love how Jimmy knows that Piggy wasn't ok, and that he has Piggy's profound "overhearing" skills. Jimmy's insights on his brother were great. I always love how you put so much depth into the characters....

while reading this whole thing I have always been DYING to know about the past that Piggy and Scribbler had. Is it really all Scribbler dreams it was or was it all in his crazy tabloid head? Definitely a very interesting plot twist throughout this.

Craving more as always!