Chapter um... well... another one, anyway.
Oh, thanks and hugs and love to everyone who replied to the last chapter... this in another introspective one, next one should have a little more dialogue and action and stuff.
And, just for the record, despite appearances, Beau is NOT an ushy gushy guy. And, as always, I am NOT a fangirl.
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Though Marcel offered him a lift, Kermit chose to walk back to the hotel. His mind was roiling with tumult and turmoil. Foremost in his mind was the sense that he should not be where he was, and there are few feelings that nag more persistently then that. He needed time to think things over, and nothing settled him like a good long walk in a quiet, green place. The streets of Paris were somewhat lacking in tranquility, it’s true, but there was still something stabilizing about the soft, rhythmic slaps of flippers on stone, no matter the noise and light around him.
Even in the varying light, passersby would be able to notice something usual about the walking anthropomorphic frog walking their city. Kermit’s expression was calm, yet distant. His eyes were focused on a faraway place and his heart on a place farther still.
If Kermit hadn’t known the schedule for the show, if he didn’t know his friends as well as he did, or if he didn’t know who was supposed to have sung “Bahama Mama” and the old torch song, Kermit would have thought it was insanity as usual back home in the theatre.
But he did.
He did know the schedule of the show; he knew his friends, and he knew just who was supposed to be there, and wasn’t.
What Kermit didn’t know, however, was why, and without knowing why, he didn’t know what to do or even what to feel about it. He passed a French deli, and, catching sight of what was on sale this week, firmly steered himself away with a queasy little whimper.
Piggy was usually, heck… constantly, demanding to be on every show, always pushing for a bigger role. That she would voluntarily miss a show where she had not one, but two leads… Kermit shook his head uneasily. Well, there had to be a reason… Piggy always had her reasons, even if he didn’t always see much reason in her reasons. Illness? She hadn’t sounded sick on the phone, and he rather suspected that if Piggy was ill, he’d have heard about it in pity inducing detail. Kermit turned over the other possibilities in his mind and didn’t like where they were taking him.
As if Piggy’s absence wasn’t bizarre enough, Gonzo’s act, not what he’d been planning to do before Kermit had left, had pushed the show to a whole new level of oddity. In fairness… this was not unusual. Gonzo’s acts always pushed the show to a new level of oddity. Still, the sudden focus on Piggy. Watching him, Kermit had been chilled by the strange poetry about Piggy, about Piggy… getting hurt?
It was a horrible thought, almost unthinkable… but again… she had sounded fine, nervous, but fine on the phone.
As well, since the strange implications of Piggy being hurt were coming out of Gonzo, could Kermit even dare take it literally? This was Gonzo after all, and there was no telling what he would say or do next. Had Gonzo actually done something to Piggy or had she simply been so irritated by the Haiku that she’d refused to go on? Was this some sort of protest? Kermit wouldn’t have put that past her, but then, wouldn’t she have complained to him? Demanded that he take action, never mind that he was on another continent? He sighed, miserable in his confusion. Kermit had trouble conceiving of anything being bad enough to keep Piggy willingly off the stage ….but something HAD happened. He knew that… and guiltily wished he didn’t. This wasn’t a decision he wanted to have to grapple with right now.
What was happening back home?
The aggressive sounding of a horn brought Kermit back from the theatre and dropped him squarely back in the streets of Paris. He had somehow made his way back to the posh hotel where he’d been put up. It looked back almost accusingly at this impertinent frog from a swamp who had had the audacity to enter into its domain.
“Why are you here at all”, it seemed to demand, added its weighty voice to all the other questions assaulting him, pushing him for answers, for decisions.
Kermit couldn’t answer that question, but after that walk… he did know something…
“Time’s up,” he told it quietly.
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When Piggy was dragged out of her room by a flustered Camilla at nearly eleven o’clock that night, it took no time for her to figure out that Gonzo had still not returned home. Camilla’s genuine distress and her status as a fellow woman, not to mention Piggy’s grogginess spared the hen from a trip through a nearby wall. Incidentally, this spared Kermit, at least temporarily, from having to repair that wall.
Although there was no real cause for alarm yet, the little blue daredevil’s absence had stirred the others to action. They were holding a meeting, which evidently, Piggy was late for. Nearly everyone else was already there, babbling one over the other in a wildly excited din that Piggy knew in an instant, and with the help of long experience, would accomplish nothing for a good long time.
Fozzie was displaying his usual talent for getting everyone’s attention, and his usual talent for keeping everyone’s attention, which was not much better than his talent for stand-up comedy. Without Kermit there to organize them, to give them a unified sense of purpose, the well-meaning bear’s efforts were wasted.
Piggy rubbed her temple as a fresh headache began to blossom. She’d finally managed to claim enough sleep to start feeling better and now the little twerp had gone and disappeared. What the chicken expected Piggy to do about it, she had no idea. Watching the chaos unfold, it was more than obvious no one else expected anything of her.
“What am I doing here?” she wondered aloud. Lew Zealand heard her and shrugged before lancing a fish at Fozzie. It did not return. Ten minutes after that dismal thought, Miss Piggy was quietly shutting the door to the boarding house behind her, unnoticed in all the kerfuffle. Though the diva eschewed jogging as a matter of course, walking was something else entirely, and in any case, it was certainly better than being back in that mess, being hounded by a chicken who could give any of the dogs lessons.
Uncertain of any destination in particular, Piggy paced uneasily. She always liked to know where she was going, where she was headed. Piggy was, as those in the know might say, a goal oriented person. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of someone staring out their window at her. She glowered at him. Apparently he found something noteworthy about a Piggy wandering the streets at night. She stopped then, thinking, becoming aware of how silly she looked, walking back and forth like that in the middle of the street in the middle of the night like a crazy woman. Piggy liked being a spectacle, but only in certain circumstances, circumstances which generally involved lavish parties and a certain handsome green escort. Tossing a fearsome glare at the gawking onlooker, she moved just far enough to be out of sight, then halted.
The wind blew softly against her skin. Piggy sighed into its caress, imagining another’s and then looked searchingly up at the stars. Without warning or fanfare a streak of radiant light fell across the broad expanse of the sky in a silent blessing of comfort hope, and beauty.
Seeing it, Piggy knew where she was going.
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