RedPiggy's Comeback King Saga (a re-write)

[RedPiggy]

Chapter 17
(Summer, 2011AD)

Ms. Bitterman, a caustic Caucasian lanky brunette businesswoman in a royal blue pantsuit, slammed the door to the gas-electric hybrid taxi. She didn’t want the driver to have the satisfaction of having her hear his tirade against her abrasive personality. Besides, he really was an idiot … driving her halfway across Manhattan when all she wanted was a simple meal. Delivery had become so expensive thanks to rising fuel prices that if she had been any other person, she’d be furious. Although she was irritated that she was unduly inconvenienced, she couldn’t help but smile at what the oil companies’ philosophies did to everyone. She was always attracted to the power to make others’ squirm and she was thankfully immune to any ill words hurled in her direction.

She had wanted nothing more than to see her senile husband's pet project, the Muppet Theater, torn down years ago. However, that backstabbing little king prawn Peepee (or something along those lines) cheated her out of it. It wasn’t about the money, though that’s what she told them and her stockholders. The Theater had a consistent twenty-percent profit. That wasn’t phenomenal, but they weren’t scraping the bottom of the barrel, either. What she despised was Kermit’s contentment. She couldn’t let him know they were doing well. She enjoyed watching him and his other friends writhe in despair. However, with the help of their friends Sarah and Jenny, those two-bit (yet irritatingly successful) Broadway broads, they weren’t suffering. No matter what she did, she couldn’t knock down Kermit even a peg.

Fate hated her.

<><><><><><>

The palanquin moved at a fairly fast pace across the emerald countryside. A palanquin was an enchanted carriage with twelve small pawed legs from the front to the middle (though one pair was bound over the top of its ‘head’ with the reins) and two large pawed legs in the rear by a strong thick ten-foot-long stony-looking blunt tail, four eyes lined up in a row on each side of a thin upturned “nose”, a set of curved steps on a creamy bone body leading up to a spiked back between which was a mother-of-pearl cab bordered with gold and fanciful jeweled swirling designs on the sides with a velvet red two-person couch with decorative golden horns on either top corner.

Inside the cab of the palanquin, two figures sat, trying to keep from touching the other. They had been riding for a week … in the same vehicle … for the whole trip. The male on the left, his feathery blond hair swaying in the breeze, his black riding coat rippling, and his right black boot swung out over the side of the carriage, stared intently at a small clear crystal orb in his gloved hands. The female on the right, her shiny black hair tied into two pigtails, her pale skin showing initial signs of sunburn despite the shade of the cab’s roof, her reddened scar over her left eye toughening her otherwise dainty features, her gold-trimmed navy blue dress rippling in the wind, sighed as she stared at a small cloud racing at their side.

“If you love humans so much, why don’t you get an mp3 player or something?" the woman grumbled bitterly, trying not to look at him. When he didn’t respond, she whipped her head around, glaring. “How dare you ignore me?" she snarled.

The man kept a blank facial expression. “You did want me to treat you with the same respect as your mother, dear Moulin," he retorted quietly.

“Hmph," she snorted, crossing her arms and turning away. She hated it when she walked right into one of his cutting remarks.

He flashed a brief smirk. “Besides, it seems peculiar that one who hates humans so much would enter their world and pretend to be among the mortal commoners.”

Moulin frowned. “At least I do so to accomplish strategic goals," she replied. “I don’t go there just to woo mortal women, Jareth.”

Jareth laughed heartily. He wiped away a couple of tears with a silk handkerchief. “No, that’s only one pleasure to be had, right, Moulin?"

The small room was barely illuminated by a small forty-watt bulb in the center, dangling down from a thin wire to a steel conical lampshade. It was like an empty storage room. Well, actually, it was … since that was what Ms. Ardath had been using it for ever since Dr. Jerome Christian moved to Arizona to continue his archaeology work. It had been twenty-three years since “Doc” had moved, leaving the strangest thing in the bare room.

Ms. Ardath checked her watch. The inspector was over an hour late and she had things to do at the Captain’s Inn.

“Mrs. Betty Ardath?" asked a young female voice from behind.

Ms. Ardath turned, jumping nearly six inches. “Ms. Ardath … I didn’t hear you come in," she gasped.

The young woman, looking to be about twenty-five or so, wore her long black hair over her thin bespectacled face on the left side. Her dark red lips contrasted sharply with her pale skin. She smiled, adjusting her white blouse and black slacks. “I deeply apologize, ma’am," she said, bowing slightly. Ms. Ardath could see a pale scar running vertically across one eye. The woman stood straight again and smiled warmly. “I’m with the Water Department.” She stepped closer and shook Ms. Ardath’s hand. “I’m Miss Moraine. I understand there’s some issues with the piping here?"

She nodded toward the hole. “Do you mind if I take a look at that? There’s a long record of troubles with the piping around here.” The young woman brought out a small PDA and pecked at it with a stylus. “Hm, let’s see … weird noises on a daily basis … unexplained losses of water pressure … groundwater pollution ….” She looked up, the smile leaving her face. “Am I missing anything?"

Ms. Ardath cleared her throat and evaded the woman’s gaze. “Uh, no … I think that covers it.”

Miss Moraine smiled and put her PDA away. “I’m sure I can take care of this. Give me a couple of hours and it’ll be good as new.”

Ms. Ardath cocked an eyebrow in suspicion. “I don’t see any tools….”

The young woman laughed and pointed to the door. “I have some tools in my SUV. You can watch if you like, but wall-patching can be rather tedious.”

“But you’re just an inspector.”

Miss Moraine shrugged. “Why be inefficient? I know what’s wrong with that hole and I have the time to fix it.” She smiled widely. “I promise I won’t charge you for it.”

“How much farther is this Royal Convention of the Underground?" Moulin asked huffily, yawning exaggeratedly.

“Depends," Jareth replied casually, shrugging. He was pleased with the Kingdom of Moraine’s choice of heir (not that they had much of a choice, since her sister had died awkwardly in the Gorg Kingdom). Moulin had so many buttons to push….

Moulin could not reply for several minutes, her eyes widened. She felt as though the wind had been sucked out of her. She stared at Jareth, who kept watching his crystal. “What does that mean?"

“We couldn’t hold it within one of the castles since our most recent member can’t fit inside," he replied in hushed tones. He frowned briefly. “Apparently we must go to the source of the problem. We have kept humans out of the Underground for centuries --.”

“—with the odd exception here and there," Moulin retorted acrimoniously.

“However," Jareth continued, ignoring her tone, “over the last decade or so, one particular place keeps a whole band of humans teetering on the edge of the Underground. We must not let them destroy what we have tried to keep from them.” He finally turned to his frowning companion. “Are you quite certain you closed off portals into the Rock from the human realm?"

After Ms. Ardath stepped outside to return to the Inn, Miss Moraine walked over to the water heater which was still bolted to the wall about six feet from the floor. She was surprised at the small capacity of the device. She pulled a small test tube filled with water out of her pants pocket and pulled off a rubber stopper, letting the liquid flow down the pipe leading from the heater. It ran down toward the floor and entered the pipes going into the wall through small leaks in the joints. Almost immediately, she could hear changes if she closed her eyes. She heard the massive twisting of metal and stone as the pipes throughout the cavern behind the wall shifted. How was it even possible for this infrastructure to affect a region noted for its loose ties to space and time? She placed a hand on the water heater, feeling each individual drop as it flowed throughout the structure both known and unknown to the resident humans in this city. She could sense the water in the pipes leading to a very large reservoir somewhere relatively deep within. There seemed to be a lot of activity in this reservoir. Must be the little rodents, she thought to herself.

She pulled her hand away with a start, her eyes widening in shock.

She could feel traces of her mother’s presence in the water.

Moulin didn’t expect that. She had always felt her mother’s presence, of course, even when she traveled to distant lands. For some apparently foolish reason, though, she assumed that she would stop feeling it with her mother’s death.

She hurriedly patched up the wall and teleported back to her kingdom.

Moulin rolled her eyes and sighed, exasperated. “I can hold my own, Goblin King," she snapped back. “The only entries involve an enchanted cave with multiple portals that are impossible to close and a hidden portal accessed only through special ritual.” She shook her head. “No human is smart enough to gain access to them, even your ‘family’, Jareth.”

Jareth scowled, turning his attention back to his crystal. “The ones I’ve been watching might be.”

<><><><><><>

Charlie’s was a restaurant in some hole-in-the-wall place deep in Manhattan. The outside was marked only with a small awning with the owner’s logo printed on it. The neighborhood was a dump … from Ms. Bitterman’s point of view, anyway. The taxi driver would pay for dumping her here. However, when she went inside, it was like watching the beast transform into the beauty. Dozens of small round tables covered in expensive linens dotted the dining area. Decorative golden sconces on the walls went well with the dark red leather kitchen doors in the back. The meals were served on fine china.

She was impressed, despite her mood.

After she had been seated, she noted that non-humans worked here as well. New York was filled with them, she mused to herself. She wasn’t bigoted in any way; she enjoyed non-humans … they were so … so … easily manipulated, like puppets. She chuckled to herself. She looked at the clock above the kitchen door. After five more minutes without being waited on to take her order, she’d throw a tantrum. She noticed one waiter, a three-foot-tall blue furry creature with a round head and bright red lips, dashing back and forth, spending less than a minute at each table. He spoke with an exuberant, high-pitched gravelly voice. She also noted with a bemused expression that the customers were frowning and grumbling whenever he left their tables.

“Oh, no," whined a middle-aged voice behind her. She glanced in that direction as a rotund blue-faced small male humanoid with brown hair ringing around the back of his head. He wore a black pin-striped suit and sat down in his chair at the table to her left in a huff. He shook his head slowly. “I don’t believe it," he continued. “I try coming at eleven, I try coming at two, I try coming only on the weekends … doesn’t that guy ever have a day off?"

“Bad customer service?" Ms. Bitterman asked with a condescendingly sympathetic tone.

The male nodded. “Yeah, you could say that," he said. He glanced at her and gasped. “You’re Ms. Bitterman, right? Owner of Bitterman Bank?" He held out his hand as she affirmed. “Johnson, F.B. Johnson. It’s a pleasure to meet the owner of one of the better banks in Manhattan.”

The woman smiled, shaking his hand briefly. She’d rub on some hand sanitizer later. No matter how genuine she tried to be, she could never hide a hint of irritation whenever someone talked to her. “It’s always a pleasure to meet a satisfied customer.”

Mr. Johnson grinned. “Yeah," he said, sighing, leaning his head back, “no matter what that waiter does to me today, at least I have someone pretty to sit next to.”

“I bet you say that to all the women.”

He smirked and hushed his voice. “Well, I said that once when I dined with my wife some time ago. She didn’t appreciate it at all.”

Ms. Bitterman twisted her face in confusion. “Your wife didn’t like compliments?"

He nodded, chuckling. “Oh, she loved compliments," he replied cheerfully, “but I wasn’t talking to her – that was her problem!"

<><><><><><>

The palanquin ambled on in the bright sunlight. They had passed endless fields of sparkling flowers, a dark forest with sentient (but rude) apple trees, various farms and ranches, a canyon or two, and a lazy winding river that shimmered in the sun. Jareth had closed his eyes, while Moulin communicated with her second-in-command, Esker, through a puddle of water in her palm.

Suddenly, she jabbed Jareth with her elbow. “Awaken, King of the Labyrinth," she announced with a frown. “We will have company soon.”

Jareth opened just one eye and glanced at her, shifting his weight. “Wake me if we’re attacked," he replied, snorting and returning to his nap.

Moulin splashed water into his face, making him jump and hit his head on the ceiling of the cab. He glared at her, his lips curling. His eyes always seemed more sinister when he squinted thanks to that heavy mascara he used, which elongated his eyelids visually. She glowered as her cloud companion raced in circles around the palanquin in panic. “Your precious mountain of fur is approaching.”

Jareth cocked an eyebrow. “The Yeti?" he asked, forgetting his temper momentarily.

Moulin jabbed a finger at him. “Not your silly Yetis," she replied. “The Great ‘King of the Universe’," she continued in an exaggerated tone.

Jareth soon felt the bounding pulse coming up from the ground. He realized that Moulin, new Queen of Moraine, could sense the vibrations in the groundwater, and knew of the two-story-tall Gorg’s approach. He ordered the palanquin to stop as they finally saw the brown shaggy king run up to them, panting. He wore a fraying purple robe and a golden cloth belt and carried a knapsack filled with unseen items.

“Hey! Wait up!" screamed the Gorg frantically. “I wanna go to da meeting!"

“Dunder-headed lummox," Jareth sniped under his breath, making Moulin smile for a moment.

When the Gorg finally caught up, he stopped, his boots sending clumps of grass on top of the two royal faes. After the Gorg caught his breath, he bent down and saluted. “Hiya," he noted in a cheerful voice. “I’m Junior Gorg. I got dis invitation here sayin’ dat I got to go to some meetin’ for all da kings and queens of da universe.” He stood up straight, his face slackening in defeat. “Can you tell me how to get dere?"

<><><><><><>

The furry blue waiter dashed to Ms. Bitterman’s table, spilling her soda all over the crisp white tablecloth. She glared at him. He hurriedly tried to soak it up with a towel he kept draped over one arm. “Oh, I am so sorry!" he exclaimed. He plopped her steak dinner on the table with a rattling clunk. “Here ya go," he continued as if nothing had happened, with a tinge of impatience, “go ahead and chew on that while I get you a new drink.” He dashed off, screaming at the chef behind the kitchen doors.

“I hope you don’t have a short lunch break, Ms. Bitterman," whispered Mr. Johnson helpfully. “Grover would rather see the restaurant close for the day than see you get your meal on time.”

Ms. Bitterman flashed a smirk instinctively. She poked at her lunch with her fork. “Meat’s overdone and the potatoes are too soupy and the mixed vegetables look burnt," she commented with a bored expression.

Mr. Johnson shook his head. “It’s not Charlie. It’s that dad-blamed waiter of his," he continued, slightly louder. “He keeps giving Charlie the wrong orders. This place would be raking in millions if he’d just fire Grover!" He sighed, his voice tensing. “Everywhere I go, it’s Grover, Grover, Grover. You can’t escape him! He’s like a bad rash that just won’t go away, no matter how often you see the doctor! And what’s worse, he’ll probably be the doctor!"

Grover reappeared just as Mr. Johnson finished up his latest rant. He carefully placed a full glass of soda on Ms. Bitterman’s table, which was still stained and dripping. He patted her on the back hard. “There you go, ma’am," he announced with glee. “One glass full of soda for the nice executive. Leave the tip on the table!" he added before zooming off … still having never visited Mr. Johnson’s table in the half-hour they had been there. Just as Mr. Johnson was about to stand up to leave, grumbling, Grover zipped to his table and cheerfully went through a minute-long song and dance about the special today.

“No!" Mr. Johnson bellowed, slapping his hand down hard on his table. “I’ve been waiting half an hour to get waited on! I’m leaving!"

“But sir," Grover shouted back, “you have not waited long at all! You could have waited thirty whole minutes to place your order!"

Mr. Johnson’s lip quivered, his whole body beginning to shake. “I did wait ‘thirty whole minutes’, you moron!" he barked.

“Did you count them?" Grover asked with a slightly timid voice.

Mr. Johnson screamed in anguish, his blue face threatening to turn beet red. “Of course I’m not going to count them! I don’t have time for that!"

Grover sighed and rolled his head in a huge circle, his arms spread out dramatically. “Well, then, how do you know you’ve waited thirty whole minutes?"

“You’re hired!" Ms. Bitterman interjected forcefully.

“Beg your pardon?" Grover and Mr. Johnson gasped simultaneously, their jaws dropping.

Ms. Bitterman wiped her lips with a napkin. “I’ve seen all I need to see. Grover, you are the most sociopathic waiter I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.”

“What does "so-", uh, "socio-", what you just said … what does that mean?" Grover asked curiously.

Before Mr. Johnson could interrupt, Ms. Bitterman smiled her warmest fake smile she could muster. “It means you’ll enjoy your job no matter what. You don’t let anything bother you. I want you in my customer service division.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking," Mr. Johnson gasped. His blue face was turning almost white. “You’ll condemn us to global economic failure!"

“But," Grover replied, “I cannot leave Charlie. He always hires cute, furry, little Grover.”

“I’ll quadruple your salary," the smirking woman offered with a sultry voice full of temptation, pointing her index finger at the waiter. “I’ll even compensate Charlie by accelerating his business loan application. I’ll approve it myself. You’ll both end up rich. What do you say?"

Grover put his fingers up to his lips, lowering his head in deep thought. He took out his fingers to ask, “The word ‘quadruple’ … that is like multiplying by four, right?"

Ms. Bitterman grinned. “It is," she replied. “And if you don’t like customer service, there’s a whole list of positions you can fill at Bitterman: loan officer, security man, financial counselor … there’s no end to the rungs on the career ladder for you, my good man.”

Mr. Johnson sighed. “That’s it," he stated with deep resignation, almost to the verge of crying. “I’m going to go jump in front of a taxi.”

 

[RedPiggy]

Chapter 18
(Summer, 2011AD)

Kermit, barely two-feet-tall, stood supervising, with one hand above his eyes, the Rock-climbing Wall Construction Team on a bright sunny day in Central Park. The area was closed off to visitors with yellow “Caution” tape, though occasionally muppets and monsters would pose with those who begged for pictures. After all, they didn’t want to make their audience unhappy. The muppets had been struggling to make ends meet for a couple of decades, forced to take less-than-minimum-wage just to keep the Theater afloat. Thankfully, with a little cross-promotion, ticket sales had started to pick up, when it was agreed to trade some cast members with Sarah Williams. Little crossovers here and there wouldn’t hurt, surely, Kermit started to think to himself.

He turned his head and spotted Toby in a gray tank top and jean shorts sitting at a laptop several yards away, with Gonzo, a hook-nosed blue furry “alien”, wearing a loud yellow T-shirt with black blotches and slick black dress pants and some purple flip-flops and some rose-colored sunglasses, pointing at the screen. Those two were still plotting the best setup for the different athletic/sports areas with Toby’s software. Kermit smiled to himself. Toby had taken a bigger interest in helping where he could ever since the Great Fraggle Evacuation. He also refused to accept any wages, which was also a great help. However, he did request Bunsen and Beaker’s help with some big science project he had set his mind on, and Kermit felt obligated to agree to it. After all, keeping those two busy meant fewer technical problems at the Theater.

“Hey Kermit,” a low-key gruff male voice said behind him, “I need to talk to ya for a minute.” Kermit turned around and looked up a bit to see Rowlf, sucking on an orange popsicle. Rowlf always had this cheerful “whatever, dude” look to him, which Kermit had always admired. Kermit tried to be like Rowlf, but he always fell prey to the mayhem around him. And then there was her, of course.

“Yeah, Rowlf?” Kermit replied.

“I think I came up with a name for your sports thing,” he offered cheerfully. “It even ties into the Theater for cross-promotion like you wanted.”

“Oh?”

Rowlf tried hard to keep a straight face. He kept his black lips tight for a couple of seconds until he could say it without laughing: “‘Break a Leg’”. He started to snicker.

Kermit face contorted in that disbelieving expression of his. “Ha ha … cute, Rowlf, cute.” He gave his old friend a strained smile. “I don’t think the insurance companies would appreciate that.”

“Oh, do you think so?” Rowlf asked, smirking. “I didn’t know slogans could be appreciated or depreciated!” He snickered some more, covering his face in embarrassment over such a bad pun. He stuck the tongue depressor from his finished popsicle in his mouth, gnawing on it casually. He slapped Kermit on the back. “So, anyway, Kermit,” he added, his tone getting more serious after a long pause, “when’d she come back?”

Kermit swallowed hard. “Who?” he asked nervously. “Don’t tell me Wanda’s here looking for a job again.”

Rowlf shook his head and kept his voice quiet. “Your ‘Athletic Coordinator’, Kermit. How’d you get her to come back?”

Kermit stared at Rowlf for several minutes, despite the hollers of pain coming from a monster whose foot was stuck under the rock climbing wall frame. He sighed. He couldn’t keep secrets from Rowlf. Not for long, anyway, he thought to himself. He hung his head. “I told her … ESPN … would be here all week … covering the event,” he answered slowly and sadly.

“You lied to her?”

Kermit shrugged. “They might still show up,” he offered weakly. He looked up at the big brown dog, who wore a skeptical expression. “Rowlf, this is the twenty-first century. If I have to film her myself and put it up on Youtube, that’s what I’ll do.” He jabbed a thin green finger into the rotund belly of his friend. “She’ll get her exposure, Rowlf,” he stated emphatically. “That’s all she cares about and that’s what she’ll get.”

<><><><><><>

It was the New Year’s after the Family Christmas at Mrs. Bear’s house, Fozzie’s mother. Rowlf sipped a small fruity mixed drink at El Sleazo, which had been turned into a swank sports bar a couple of years ago. A small black-and-white television set sat on the table, where Rowlf watched the year’s highlights as techno-pop filled the air with those awful synthetic sounds.

Skeeter sat down opposite him on a small black chair, her red hair swaying with small multicolored beads on each thick strand, glitter on her eyelids, neon pink blouse and neon green spandex leggings, and a yellow band around her wrist with little red hearts drawn on them made from what looked to be a segment of Venetian blinds. She nodded and Rowlf nodded back. They silently watched television for a little while. Then, she spoke in a serious voice. “I’ll be heading to South America soon to train in some martial arts down there,” she said as if reading from a daily planner.

Rowlf nodded and continued to sip his drink.

Skeeter frowned. “Rowlf, look,” she told him, “theater work is fine for all of you … but I want to be an Olympic gold medalist.”

Rowlf stopped sipping and looked across the table, leaning forward slightly, his eyes betraying a suppressed hurt. “I’m not trying to stop you.”

Skeeter gritted her teeth and shifted in her chair uncomfortably. She retorted in an angry whisper, her orange hands clasping the edges of the table, “Why can’t you people be proud of me? Why do all of you act like I abandon the group because I actually want to BE somebody?”

Rowlf suppressed a sigh and shrugged, chugging down the last of his drink and smacking his lips. He stared at the table. “Must be that ‘Pathetic’ label we’ve all got stuck to our heads.” He flashed the subtlest frown and stared at her. “You know us … we’re so provincial that way.”

Skeeter sighed and leaned back, letting go of the table. She stared at the television. “I’m not Piggy, Rowlf,” she said finally, avoiding his stare.

“Do you base that assessment on the fact that, unlike her, you’re independent, condescending, or desperate for attention?” he sniped back (in his usual laid-back voice, of course). “It’s the pot calling the kettle ‘black’, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “I don’t take that stuff from her and I won’t take it from you, either, Skeets,” he added, his voice growing more tense by the sentence. “I’m not zero-percent fat. I KNOW that. I’m not into playing GOLF, much less that suicidal ‘skateboarding’ fad that’ll get everyone killed in a year. I’ve been one-hundred percent honest with you, Skeets.” He sighed, nodding to the bartender for another round. “I just wish you’d give me the same courtesy,” he said sadly.

Skeeter’s lip quivered. “Do you REALLY think I’m so shallow?” She turned to him, tears welling up in her eyes. “Rowlf, we’ve been friends longer than I’ve spoken to my own BROTHER. Doesn’t that say ANYTHING to you?”

The bartender showed up, leaving Rowlf a margarita. Rowlf took a sip from the slushy drink. “Even the PIG comes back to the frog when she’s lonely.”

Skeeter slapped the table, stood up, and flung the glass at Rowlf, drenching him in frozen alcohol. Her voice quivered, “Maybe your perennial girlfriend ‘Margarita’ tastes better in your mouth!” She slammed the chair up against the table and turned slightly. “I am NOT Piggy!”

<><><><><><>

“Kermit,” Rowlf sighed, staring intently at his little green friend, “I’ve already discussed this with her back at her place. She wanted to come … this time,” he added unsurely. Kermit stared at him. ‘Discuss’ was Rowlf’s word for ‘argue’. Rowlf looked around. “She wants to be more socially responsible.”

Kermit patted Rowlf on the shoulder gingerly. “They denied her again, huh?” he asked in a quiet and knowing voice. The old dog nodded without replying verbally. Kermit sighed, motioning for Rowlf to join him on an impromptu walk in the park. As they left the area, Kermit confessed, “I tried not to believe your story, Rowlf. I always figured Piggy was my unique problem. I mean, I knew Skeeter had been headstrong just as much as Piggy, even as a kid. But,” he added after a small pause, “when you said she tossed out all our home movies with her in them and left you for South America … I couldn’t believe she was that selfish and vindictive. You were always my role model. I didn’t … I didn’t want you to experience the sensation of being strung along in a relationship.”

Rowlf smiled and draped a heavy arm on the back of his friend. “Kermit, what did I tell you in that hotel lobby, huh? I told you my trouble was women. We sang a song about it, remember?”

“Yeah, but --.”

“No, ‘but’ nothing,” Rowlf replied, cheering up. “I only think of it as a curse when I’ve had too much to drink … which is what happened between me and Skeeter.” He patted his friend on the back. “Kermit, I’m okay. Life moves on. I’m an old dog and I don’t intend on learning any other tricks. I’m flattered you wanted to protect me … but we dogs don’t let that sort of thing leash us for too long,” he added, chuckling. He stopped, nodding in the direction ahead of them. “Besides, let’s focus on that competition-slash-educational experience.” He pointed ahead. “I think they’ll make the insurance company wet themselves.”

Kermit followed Rowlf’s gaze until he saw a troop of metallic-clad creatures of all shapes and sizes approaching, looking as though they were ready for a medieval battle. A tall green-skinned heavily muscularized ‘man’ with a square jaw fitted with a trimmed goatee marched up to Kermit and Rowlf and saluted by pounding a fist on his chest, his armor chinking incessantly when he moved. The being had long slicked back black hair, which swayed slightly in a breeze. His voice was deep and commanding. “Kermit the Frog … by order of our master, we offer combat training classes for your war games exercise later this week.”

Kermit shook while Rowlf whistled as he glanced at the leader in appreciation of his bulk. Kermit shivered and barely spoke. “Uh, th … that’s n-nice,” he exclaimed, craning his neck up at a being that seemed to step out of the Lord of the Rings. “Wh-who are you?”

The ‘man’ could not help but smile, his sharpened teeth glistening in the sun. He enjoyed making smaller creatures quiver. “I am Candlewic, general of the forces of the Goblin Kingdom. With your permission, we would participate in your tests of skill and strength.”

 

[RedPiggy]

Chapter 19
(Summer, 2011AD)

Beastie sniffed the large ladder and shook its head, backing away. It looked warily at its master, Tosh. It pointed at a stray metal shard poking out of the rock wall near the ladder.

Tosh shook her head, shivering. She glanced at Lou, who jogged in place to keep warm. “Someone got injured on that ladder, Lou,” Tosh noted sadly. “Beastie doesn’t think it’s a good idea to climb a broken ladder that brought blood.”

Lou shook her head as she jogged. Her voice was filled with determination. “I’m not going to freeze to death in here because you two are a bunch of cowards,” she told them. She inhaled deeply and lunged and leapt and caught hold of the upper rungs of the ladder. She scrambled up and crawled into a tunnel not much bigger than a Fraggle. She looked around and glanced at Tosh and Beastie, who looked on her in awe. “Hey!” she exclaimed excitedly. “It’s not icy up here!”

After crawling through the rocky tunnel, they found a hole that led to some strange room that reminded them of the kind of rooms Gobo’s Uncle Traveling Matt used to describe: plastered walls, strange boxes and half-melted metal objects … Lou, Tosh and Beastie gawked eagerly at what was clearly some place used by Silly Creatures. They also noticed a design repeated all over the place: a black emblem with a white seedling in the middle, surrounded by straight line trigrams. They walked around and noticed a large hole on the opposite side of the room. However, there was a large stain in the middle of the floor. Beastie shivered and whimpered.

Tosh sighed, combing her pink fingers through her algae-tinged short hair. “C’mon, Beastie, whatever happened here happened long ago. Lou is right. We need to find the tunnel back to the Rock.” She shook her head. “Cantus has got Cave Madness or something.”

“That’s not nice,” Lou lectured, following Tosh and Beastie toward the large hole.

Tosh turned and glared at her. “Cantus sent us on a wild purple sproinger chase, Lou. He sent us on a journey that’s gonna get us killed before we ever get back to the Rock.”

Lou snorted in indignation. “Don’t strain yourself being so positive, Tosh.”

They found a small round object on the wall next to the hole. Beastie reared up and pushed it with a single paw. They all leapt backwards several feet at the sudden sound of mechanical grinding. A metal platform appeared from high above what must have been a vertical tunnel. The Fraggles (and Tosh’s pet) glanced at each other warily and shrugged, hopping onto the platform. It groaned and shuddered and started rising through the vertical tunnel.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, they decided to sit down. Lou broke out a small radish bar from a pocket in her maroon blouse and broke it into three and shared it with the others. They looked up. A long way up the tunnel was a bright light coming from the side. Lou chomped on her piece of the radish bar (which looked like a Fruit Roll-Up, but stiffer). “This is a very long tunnel,” she noted in between bites, her tail swishing back and forth.

Beastie groaned in agreement.

When they at last reached the top, the platform stopped with a squeaky jolt and they blinked at the sudden infusion of bright sunlight, shielding their eyes. When their eyes adjusted, they cautiously walked out into an area filled with broken metal shelves and ivy and flowers and a peculiar humid, musty smell.

“What is this place?” Tosh gasped in awe. “It’s got more plants than the Gorg’s garden!”

Lou smiled widely. “It’s … it’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen!” she exclaimed, sniffing a purple flower. “It’s so much better than that stuffy Silly Creature cave.”

Tosh glanced around and noticed Beastie staring toward some trees, its ears perked up. “Beastie? What is it, sweetie?” she asked, adjusting her light blue tank top. “What do you --?”

Lou crept up behind Tosh as they listened intently. A gaggle of barely audible whispers streamed through the trees. As soon as they ended, a grating sound much worse than the squeaky metal platform developed. What scared them even more, though, was the sight of branches and leaves flying up as though ripped from the plants below. A column of grey-black smoke rose from beyond the edge of the treeline, making the lost trio gasp and shudder, inching back away slowly.

Tosh grasped Lou’s hand with a death grip. “Wh-what do you think that is? Is that the Invisible Gargoyle?”

Lou’s voice shook. “I … I d-dunno.”

It disappeared just as suddenly.

Tosh and Lou looked at each other. A tremendous groaning filled them with dread, but they couldn’t help feeling … odd.

Stop me, they heard in a garbled whispered chorus.

Tosh spoke first. “D-did you notice it disappeared when we said it was invisible?”

Lou nodded, nervously twirling her long pink hair with purple strands in her fingers. “If it really were the Invisible Gargoyle … why did we see it as smoke before? It should always be invisible, right?”

Eem eeb oot veeleb oot mees, the whispers sang with melancholy voices.

Tosh glanced to her side, noting Beastie’s cocked head to one side, its tail twitching in anticipation … the behavior it exhibited when it wasn’t one-hundred percent certain of a visitor’s identity. To be sure, though … Beastie was no longer shaking.

An unearthly roar vibrated the ground beneath them. The trees all around them started to shake and shatter.

“Maybe it’s Skenfrith!” Lou blurted out finally, making Tosh and Beastie jump, clutching at their hearts and gasping loudly for breath. Lou stared at Tosh. “Remember, Tosh? He was just barely bigger than us, brown and shaggy, with no visible eyes and a happy, even cheerful disposition.” She jerked at Tosh’s arm. “Remember?” she goaded.

Tosh nodded, taking the hint. “Right! Skenfrith is a great friend to the Fraggles and the Gorgs and anyone else he meets!” she announced to the trees, the shaking of which was starting to die down. “Some Silly Creatures probably thought he was a monster! But he’s not! He’s the kindest, not-scariest creature in all of Fraggle Rock!”

Tosh and Lou began to sing cheerfully, with Beastie mewing along in harmony:

We only see what we seem to believe to be you,
Making-believe that the dream in our head could be you.
But it's oooonly we … that we see.
But it's oooonly we … that we see.

The roar and the shaking stopped.

A few branches at ground level snapped as a furry brown object lunged at them. It jumped on Lou and Tosh, hugging them in its shaggy arms. Its voice was high-pitched and scratchy. “Oh, Fraggles! Oh, Fraggles! Oh, how I love Fraggles and Gorgs and anyone else I meet!” it babbled wildly. Just as suddenly it was sobbing. “They made me into the most horrible monster, dear Fraggles!” Skenfrith continued. “I told Red and Wembley I don’t like being a monster! I had to do bad things! I was even scarier than the Terrible Tunnel!” Despite his weight making them uncomfortable, they patted him on the back.

“You’re safe now, Skenfrith,” Lou groaned.

Skenfrith let them up and shook his head, wiping away tears from his snout. “Oh no, dear Fraggles!” he replied in terror. “Those creatures have this thing that teleports me here from anywhere … even the Gorg’s garden!” He whimpered, his knees shaking. “It makes me into that horrible m-monster! And then when I try to stop them, they lead me to these posts with bells on them that make this awful noise that hurts me worse than getting stomped on by a Gorg!” He sat down on his knees and cried. “I am whatever you believe me to be! How could those creatures want me to be something so mean?”

Tosh dusted herself off and nodded sympathetically. “If you know where they summon you, maybe we can do something to stop them.”

After many hours of walking both in the jungle and through some tunnels, the openings of which were too small for Silly Creatures, they finally arrived at a large engraved door. Skenfrith whimpered and shivered. “D-do y-you t-think you can h-help m-me?” he asked timidly. “I … I don’t w-want to be a monster any… anymore.”

Lou and Tosh each patted Skenfrith on his narrow shoulders and Beastie licked Skenfrith’s cheek. “Don’t you believe we can?” the Fraggle girls asked.

Skenfrith shrugged slightly. “I believe whatever you believe.”

The trio smiled. “Then we believe we can help you!” exclaimed the Fraggles, while Beastie roared in agreement.

Soon they found themselves within a hidden cave behind the engraved door. It was dark and they couldn’t see, even if they hummed or sang little ditties. They heard Beastie sniff around and groan quietly as if it were talking to itself.

Tosh whispered, “Beastie smells something.” They could hear Beastie growl as it clamped its jaws onto something and growled and snarled until a loud snap confirmed it had broken whatever was there.

Suddenly they heard soft whispers that didn’t sound as scary as the ones where all those flowers were: Hip hip hip hip hooree! Let's shout for you and me. We beat the beast, so we'll have a feast and now it's time for tea!

A faint light was just barely visible coming from a small distance ahead. All four approached it and discovered a Fraggle Hole. They rushed inside to ensure it really … YES IT WAS! The multi-colored lighting of the Rock greeted them, as well as the smells of rock daisies and … and …

Cantus stood there with the Storyteller, smiling. He clapped his hands and spoke gently. “Congratulations, dear Fraggles … and Beastie, of course,” he added. “You saw what could not be seen and heard what was never heard and freed Skenfrith from the Heart of that place.”

“Yes,” Skenfrith added, hugging and kissing the rescuing trio. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“Skenfrith,” Tosh started timidly, stroking his chest fur gently, avoiding eye contact, “I believe you can do anything you want to do from now on.”

“I believe that, too,” Lou added. Beastie nodded in agreement.

Skenfrith took a couple steps back and gasped. “You honestly believe that?”

Cantus nodded, his smile weary but warm. “And we believe it as well. To be forced to dance to another’s tune must be horrible indeed.”

Skenfrith began to reply, but couldn’t find the words and hugged Cantus, sniffling. He nodded and skipped away, humming to himself. Cantus and the Storyteller glanced at the Fraggles Who Were Found. The Storyteller smiled and patted them on the shoulders. “Tosh, Lou … why don’t you head over to the Great Hall and celebrate. I’ll be back shortly to get that story from you so I can add it to my collection.”

The trio laughed and shouted “Whoopie!” and dashed away, singing and dancing loudly a medley of songs that announced they were finally home.

The Storyteller sighed as she heard Cantus approach the tunnel the heroes had come from. Without looking, her tail slightly drooping, she said softly, “Cantus….”

Come gather round you Fraggle clan and hear the tale I tell,
About a Minstrel true who had known of the Rock’s Great Bell,
About two Fraggle's bravery, about a creature’s curse,
About a quest to save him from fate that could not be worse,
About the tunnel back from which he never came again,
About the Minstrel, the Rock, where he sang his last refrain.

The Minstrel united Rock and Cave, and the Gorgs as well,
Everybody loved him for he could make their spirits swell.
The flowers bloomed, the lights did light, the Rock was harmonized,
Lou, Tosh, and Beastie followed his plan, thought disorganized.
They saved Skenfrith from the darkness, the violence, and the pain.
Then old Cantus left the Rock and he never came again.

 

[RedPiggy]

Chapter 20
(Summer, 2011AD)

Ms. Bitterman checked her voicemail again for the fifth time today, tapping her long glossy fingernails impatiently on her office desk made of a black metal frame and a glass oval surface.

Nothing.

At least, nothing she wanted to hear. Most were spammy messages about getting a new home mortgage or new credit cards … like she needed those.

Beep.
Ms. Bitterman? The male voice was high-pitched and gravelly. This is your cute, furry pal Grover. I just wanted you to know the very, VERY good news, Ms. Bitterman! I have been counting VERY hard … and J. P.’s debt is almost fully repaid! Is that not nice to hear? I am sure Froggy-baby will be SO happy!

Great, she thought to herself, frowning. How will she extort Kermit now? He was from that overbearing neighborhood, same as Grover. Surely Kermit would have figured it out by now. Then again, she smiled to herself, he hadn’t told her about it. Maybe he still wasn’t aware of his situation.

She frowned again. The little green smear was also too nice to rub it in her face, too.

<><><><><><>

Dance your cares away,
Ain’t got no worries, you say?
C’mon, girl, let’s play,
Right behind that rock!

A baritone upbeat humming filled the tunnel leading to the Gorg’s garden, punctuated by loud cackles to unheard jokes. The sunlight from the Fraggle hole illuminated an approaching pale blue Fraggle with shoulder-length red hair, a multi-colored polka-dotted tank top, a red armband on each wrist, and a red and yellow patchwork cloth hat accessorized with lots of feathers of different colors and sizes. He stopped singing to himself as soon as he saw the taller lavender Fraggle with bluish-white shoulder-length hair, a burlap long-sleeved gown over a bright blue sweater, panting slowly just around a corner. She seemed fixated on the opposite wall, though nothing was there.

“C’mon, Mokey, lighten up!" the smaller male Fraggle exclaimed heartily, slapping her on the shoulder. “A giggle a day keeps the blues away!" He spotted something on her nose. His head bounced up and down as he dramatically surveyed her face. “Mokey," he said, his voice showing a tinge of concern, “you’ve got rock mites on your face!"

Mokey bit her lower lip, closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and turned to her companion. She opened her eyes and stared at him. “I’m not infested with rock mites, Boober," she noted in a weary but dreamy high-pitched voice that always managed to soothe those around her.

“Boober” scoffed and shoved her, nearly knocking her over. “Please! Do I look like that awful stick-in-the-mud to you?"

“Sidebottom, I apologize," she replied in a deeper, sultrier voice. “It’s just I’m having trouble getting radishes today.”

Sidebottom, the quirky “fun” side of Boober, smiled and shrugged. “If I had just put on some crystal dust makeup on my nose, I wouldn’t want it to get filthy either!"

Mokey shook her head, her panting stopping. “It’s not crystal dust either," she continued in her deeper voice. She inhaled. “How can I put this? They’re just little specks of chlorophyll that make going out in the sun very difficult for me sometimes.”

<><><><><><>

The phone had been ringing off the hook all morning long. Scooter had nearly wiped himself out running the Theater while Kermit was busy over in Central Park. He had stayed in his small office room to keep away from all the noisy mayhem that was part and parcel of working at the Muppet Theater so he could have business conversations that didn’t involve lots of yelling and screaming. More than once he had had to apologize to investors and reporters … especially when loud screams were accompanied by the sounds of explosions.

A brief knocking startled him as he had started to fill out some spreadsheets on his computer. It had taken him nearly five years to save up enough for even a low-end desktop, but it sure made his life a lot easier. Paperwork was hard enough without the threat of Animal or someone eating it or using it for the bathroom.

He turned to the door just as it opened. An orange head with long red hair peered out from the doorway. “Fifteen seconds to curtain, Scooter," a cheerful female voice announced, giggling.

Scooter gasped as his visitor finally came into view, wearing a white short-sleeved T-shirt with sports logos printed on the front and blue jeans and red and white sneakers. “Skeeter?"

Skeeter bounded up to him, embraced him, and kissed him on the cheek. “Yep! Thought I’d come in and say ‘hey’!" She glanced around his office. The room was filled with boxes and computer equipment. “So," she continued, “you’re the bookworm of the theater group, huh?"

“At least I’m not a dumb jock," Scooter retorted.

Skeeter stared at him and started laughing, slapping her brother on the back. “Good one!" She wiped away a tear from her eye. “Nice to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor, Bro.”

Scooter stared at his sister in utter confusion. He leaned back against his desk. She would’ve socked him had he said that when they were kids. She seemed … happy. “Uh," he started, “what brings you to New York?"

Skeeter shrugged, looking around, and finally planting herself on a box near his desk. She looked up at him. “Oh, this and that, you know," she replied, smiling. “I’m Kermit’s Athletic Director for that thing he’s got later this week.”

Scooter’s face fell slightly. He tried to keep his voice calm and even cheerful. “Since when? Today? Did you just get in?"

Skeeter’s eyes widened. “You … he … he didn’t …?"

Scooter shook his head and turned toward his computer. “Musta slipped his mind," Scooter mumbled. “He’s been kinda busy lately.”

Skeeter walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He still avoided her gaze. “Scooter … I didn’t know you didn’t know.”

Scooter typed. After about a minute, he shot back, “Phones are amazing little gadgets, Sis. They even allow for two-way communication nowadays.”

Skeeter frowned and backed up a couple of steps. “You must not be able to afford outgoing calls," she sniped back. “Must be very hard to do business if you don’t ever initiate a conversation.”

The pause was long and insufferable. Finally, Scooter mumbled, “Welcome to New York, Sis.”

Skeeter growled. “Don’t, Scooter, just don’t, okay?" She pointed at him angrily even though he wasn’t looking at her. “I’ve already had this discussion with Rowlf --.”

“So Rowlf knew you were back too? Great," Scooter moaned. “I guess we’re all having a wonderful little family reunion. Too bad actual family wasn’t told until just now.”

Skeeter balled up her fists, gritted her teeth, and glared at her brother. She silently counted to thirty. She inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Scooter, I … I apologize if I’ve seemed distant all these years," she told him solemnly. “I don’t want it to stay this way. You live your life and I’ll live mine. Everybody’s happy.”

“Whatever.”

Skeeter sighed and walked toward the door. “Write this down on your little spreadsheet, Bro – I made the effort to patch things up first.”

<><><><><><>

Rachel Bitterman had just graduated high school at the top of her class. She had worked extra hard for her position. Namely, she had smeared her competition and drove many of her rivals to drop out. She was beaming. She stood up through the opening in the limo’s ceiling, whooping and hollering as it flew down the streets of Manhattan. She sat down opposite a twenties-ish young woman with soft black shoulder-length hair. They both wore snazzy dresses fit for the night life that Rachel was still too young to enjoy (legally). They had had a couple of drinks from the limo’s cooler and were laughing.

“C’mon, I wanna get a tattoo like yours," Rachel announced spontaneously to her friend, who had a triangular red mark over her left eye.

Her friend smirked. “It’s NOT a tattoo, I said," she replied coldy. “It’s like a birthmark.”

Rachel shrugged and took another sip. “Birthmark smirthmark. I want us to look exactly the same.”

There was a long pause. “You and I work really well together, Rach," the older young adult noted with a weak smile. “But you’re just not my type.”

Rachel nearly choked. She gasped and gawked at her companion. “What do you mean? This isn’t one of those arbitrary ‘You’re too young for me’ kind of things is it?"

The other young woman shook her head and crossed her arms. “No, this is one of those ‘I have pre-existing arrangements that don’t include you’ kind of things. It’s not personal. You don’t have to get so upset over it.”

Rachel’s eyes started to tear up. She frowned. “You’re already in a relationship? I am NOT ‘the other woman’, I’ll have you know! I’m ALWAYS the better choice!" she barked.

Beep.
Ms. Bitterman? A deep guttural male voice spoke. Your repeated requests for a meeting have not gone unnoticed. Please be advised that at this time Ms. Moraine cannot attend due to mitigating circumstances. She hopes you are well and that business is going along nicely. She will contact you at her earliest convenience.

<><><><><><>

Sidebottom’s jaw nearly fell to the floor. “That’s what this is all about?" He fell to the floor laughing. “That is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard!"

Mokey’s face slackened, downcast. “You think I’m silly, then?" she replied in a smooth, sultry, and sad voice.

Sidebottom popped up and patted her on the back. “Are you kidding? I love silly! I thrive on mayhem and merriment!" He shrugged. “I’m not very fond of starving to death, though," he continued with a mischievous smile. “It’s your job to get the radishes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t share in the fun too! Just you wait – I’ll have half the garden in here by sundown!"

Mokey whipped a hand onto Sidebottom’s arm before he could dash out into the garden. “It’s not right to just take their food, you know.”

Sidebottom looked at her like she had just spoken gibberish. “What are you talking about? I’m not gonna get thumped by Gorgs! Where have you been? They haven’t tried to kill us for decades!"

Mokey shook her head. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t ask for permission.”

Sidebottom nodded. “Right.” He leaned toward the opening that led to the garden and put his free hand to his mouth. “Hey Gorgs! I’m gonna get some veggies! Say somethin’ if you don’t think I should!" he bellowed. After waiting a couple of beats, he shrugged and turned to Mokey. “Not a peep! Permission granted!" he announced cheerfully. He peeled her hand off his arm. “Look, Mokey, I intend to party as hard as I can in Outer Space. If you want to sit in Fraggle Rock and watch moss dry, be my guest.” He pointed at himself. “I tell you what – I’ll carve a little happy face in the side of a radish for you as a present, okay? Maybe we can take some twigs and make little radish dolls out of them and have little skits out in the middle of the Great Hall. Doesn’t that sound like fun?"

<><><><><><>

Skeeter sighed, wiping away a tear as she walked down the stairs to the first floor of the Backstage area. She turned to her left and walked over to the desk just offstage where a ton of papers and odds and ends lay. She sat down on a stool and stared at the desk.

“Hey, Scooter, I thought you said we were having lunch today!" a cheerful male voice announced. Skeeter turned to see an obese pig with a thin tuft of black hair on top of his head, nearly five feet tall in a gray Armani suit standing beside her, impatiently tapping his foot. Suddenly, he looked her up and down, his eyes widening. “This is new," he commented dryly, putting a hand to his lips. “I had no idea you had decided to present.” He wrapped his thick arms around her and sniffed. “I am so proud of you, you little bright ray of sunshine, you!"

Skeeter grunted as she tore herself away from him. “What on Earth are you talking about? I’m not Scooter – I’m his sister!"

The pig gasped and stumbled backwards. “His … his … sister!" He nodded exaggeratedly. “Oh, he has a --," he laughed nervously, clearing his throat. “Ahem! What I meant to say was, "Have you seen your brother around?" I mean, I’m on vacation here in NYC and I thought I’d stop by and see how the Great White Way was nowadays! Heh heh!"

Skeeter frowned. “You are?"

The pig slapped his forehead. “Oh, where are my manners? Hollywood – go fig, you know?" He shook her hand. “Bobby Vegan. Actor extraordinaire, loving father," he showed her a bright gold ring with massive diamonds on it, “and married!" he shrieked, shrugging. “Of course, it wasn’t as fabulous as the frog’s wedding … but we were kinda in a rush.”

“Congratulations," Skeeter replied with a frown. “You and Scooter are friends or something?"

Bobby gasped and shook his head, waving his arms dismissively. “Not like ‘friend’ friends, you know. Strictly business. Completely aboveboard, uh, what was your name?

“Skeeter," she replied curtly.

Bobby stared at her for a few moments. “My, how derivative. You must know that little porky starlet. You definitely have the same taste in creative nomenclature.”

“Better to be derivative than ironic," she shot back, unable to keep from smirking.

Bobby leaned close, squinting. He laughed and slapped her on the shoulder. “I hope they keep you, toots. I like your spunk!"

 

[RedPiggy]

Chapter 21
(Summer, 2011AD)

Nine o’ clock in the morning and Central Park was filled to the brim with people and all different types of creatures. The place was divided into several sections within Sheep Meadow in the South End, which was a large fifteen acre stretch of grass bordered by trees. Sesame Street, in the northwest corner, maintained some nutritious snack pavilions and typical playground equipment such as slides, swings, and such. Their playgrounds also had ramps and tactile puzzles for those without the full range of senses and mobility. The Fraggle Rock area in the northeast consisted of several fabricated rock walls of varying difficulty, aboveground tunnels for greaseberry leaf-racing and stunts, and two rock hockey arenas (one for muppet and fraggle-sized visitors and one for taller visitors like humans adults and some monsters). Rock hockey was a unique blend of basketball, hockey, football, target practice … the rules were so complicated that for the most part it wasn’t necessary to worry about them. The important thing was to just have fun. In the southeast stood a circular arena filled with armor and weapons made out of Styrofoam (at the prolonged insistence of Kermit), with bleachers surrounding it. Candlewic, general of the goblins from the Goblin Kingdom, instructed visitors on basic goblin military strategy before they could practice against goblins or each other. Finally, the southwest corner, sponsored by the Muppet Theater, had a small stage for learning how various stunts were performed and an Epcot-like whirlwind tour of various types of sporting events, from biking on nearby paths to a skate park to a large fan for simulating skydiving.

In the center was a large circular wooden stage with lighting rigs suspended above it. As the morning wore on, the Electric Mayhem band set up their instruments and spoke with two visitors: a gangly Caucasian male with long curly brown hair and wild eyes, and a light blue Fraggle with a brown cap and a red scarf. They spent a few moments working out the details of how the duet would go and then took their places. The human male, wearing a cheap mockup of a biohazard suit (the helmet was made out of papier-mâché), tapped the microphone as the band started a slow, dramatic tune.

Sometimes I really want to be alone
But that's one state I'm never in
Because I know that I've got millions upon millions
Of tiny, one-celled organisms living on my skin.

The light blue Fraggle nodded, holding his own microphone as he sat atop a large speaker, singing:

They'll come from the east.
They'll come from the west.
They're coming to get you when you wake and when you rest.

The man nodded, his fake helmet nearly coming off. “Tell me about it, Boober, li’l buddy ….”

Boober shuddered. “Al, you’re the first Silly Creature I’ve met to be this knowledgeable about infection!” he announced cheerfully as he continued:

You know they're name is contagious.
Their number's outrageous.
They're wriggling and raging like worms.
And it wiggles and squirms.
I'm talkin' 'bout germs!

“Aren’t they awful?” Weird Al Yankovic gasped as both of them pretended to wipe themselves off wildly. “I mean,” he said, as they both sang together:

They're all over me
I can feel' em all over me
Over every part of me
Microscopic bacteria
I know they're watching me
They're always watching me
They're coming after me
Microscopic bacteria
Won't somebody help me
Please sombody help me
You've got to believe me
They're out to get me
They wanna control me
They wanna destroy me
They're tryin' to kill me
It kind of upsets me!

[song spliced from Weird Al’s “Germs” from Running with Scissors and Boober’s “Talkin’ Bout Germs” from Pebble Pox Blues[Fraggle Rock]]

<><><><><><>

Skeeter, wearing a navy blue biking helmet and joint pads, walked up to the aboveground tunnel in the Fraggle Rock section and watched for several minutes. She started to get in line, behind a group of slimy human children (for some, greaseberry juice was more amusing to wear than to use in sports), she heard someone excitedly calling out her name. She looked and the obese pink Fraggle with the unkempt brown hair ran towards her, his arms waving madly. When he finally got to her, he bent over to catch his breath, his short brown jacket starting to show some pitstains. “Hey, Skeeter,” he huffed and puffed, clutching his knees, “I saw you over at that ‘skate park’ thing and I wanted you to know that I think you are positively magical! I’ve never seen such aerial grace and beauty … the way you twirled that wheeled board on the edges, the way you hopped gracefully from rail to rail, the way you glided effortlessly across the ground --.”

Skeeter smiled and touched him on one shoulder. “Thanks, uh, Marvin, was it? I tried my best.” She nodded. “I’m sure with enough practice you can be athletic too.”

Large Marvin took a step back, staring at her confusedly. “Uh, I am an athlete?”

“Speed eating?” she replied with her eyelids in a droopy droll expression.

Marvin shook his head, still looking quite puzzled. “No, I am one of the top swimmers and splashers of Fraggle Rock. Only Red and Gobo can match me.” He grabbed her by the hand and started pulling. “Let’s go back to that place with the U-shaped platform you skated on. What is it called?”

“The half-pipe?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Marvin nodded enthusiastically. Skeeter nearly flew behind him as he dashed south toward the half-pipe. Marvin grabbed a board and wrapped his tail around it, skittered up the ladder to the deck of the half-pipe some 14 feet high, and waved to Skeeter down below on the ground, bowing graciously to the cheers and mutterings of the crowd.

Marvin stood atop the skateboard, moved it to the lip, holding one edge with his right hand, and gently pushed his front left foot down, making him zip down the ramp, up the other ramp, and back again. Marvin did this several times until he got used to the momentum and the sensation of speed and gravity. He wrapped his tail around the board again as he hopped back onto the deck, nodded with satisfaction, and announced cheerfully, “Okay, here I go!”

He gave a loud whoop as he careened down the ramp, nearly squatting against the board, waited until he reached the top of the opposite side, kicked the skateboard up ahead of him, twirled around to face downwards, grabbed the board with his tail, whipped it back underneath him just as he made contact with the transition part of the ramp (the curvy part), rode it with his belly against the board partially back up the first transition, stood as he started going back down, did a headstand at the bottom, and finally kickflipped it as it came to a stop. He panted a little as the crowed erupted into applause. Skeeter could see some money change hands in several places around the half-pipe, as well as camera-equipped cell phones capturing the event.

Marvin returned the board and walked over to Skeeter, whose eyes could not get any wider. He wiped off some sweat from his brow with his jacket. “So,” he asked with a tinge of exasperation, “do you think that was a good first time?”

Skeeter nodded like she was a zombie. “Th-that was your first time? You didn’t fall once.”

Marvin smirked, patting himself on his chest with one hand. “Of course … I have been told I have gazelle-like prowess!” he told her with a bragging tone. He winked. “There are certain advantages to having more mass than others, you know.” He looked down sheepishly, then he glanced back up at Skeeter with a hopeful tone. “Please don’t think of me as being fast, but … do you … do you want to … uh … hang out with me?”

Skeeter couldn’t breathe, she was so taken aback. When she at last remembered to inhale, she nodded and smiled, taking him by the hands. “Marvin, I would be honored to hang out with you.”

<><><><><><>

After locating a suitable spot, the palanquin had stopped to rest. Moulin stretched her legs as Junior sat down in front of the enchanted vehicle, rubbing a reddish paste into his fur. “What is that?” Moulin asked with a bored tone.

Junior looked down at her. Even sitting down, she was less than half his size. He shrugged. “It’s a wadish paste,” he replied. “Ma makes it fwom wadishes.”

“I gathered,” Moulin responded coldly.

“Well,” Junior offered with a hint of offense, “actually, I gathuh wadishes.”

Moulin glanced over at Jareth, who napped draped across the cab’s couch, snoring slightly. She crossed her arms in indignation. “I don’t see why we didn’t just follow those two humans to the Council,” she muttered bitterly.

“You mean Pwince Wobin da Bwave and Pwincess Melora?” Junior asked, putting away his radish cream. “I think Suh Hubwis said he wanted to go his own way.”

“Typical,” Moulin shot back. “Men are allergic to asking for directions. I think they actually prefer being lost.”

Junior stared at her. “You know, you’re not a vewwy nice person, Miss Moulin,” he commented dryly. He wagged a finger at her. “You haven’t smiled since we met.”

Moulin rolled her eyes. “Entertainment is for the masses. There’s no point in frivolity on business among equals … if you could be called that,” she added under her breath.

“You know what I think?” Junior egged on.

Moulin snorted in disgust. “Nothing compares to knowing what you think,” she replied sarcastically.

Junior pointed to himself. “I t’ink you’re upset because you’re Mommy died. I t’ink you haven’t wesolved personal issues wegarding her demise.” He began to sing an upbeat song:

I feel glad and you feel sad.
Just that kind of weather.
Nudge your nose and touch your toes.
Whoops! Feelin' better.

“Please don’t psychoanalyze me,” Moulin replied, glaring at the singing mound of fur. “Furthermore, do not mock me in song!” she growled.

Still, Junior continued, jumping up and dancing:

I say yes and you say no.
Who can say whichever?
Nudge your nose and touch your toes.
Whoops! Feelin' better.

Moulin watched as he continued to jump up and down, kicking and waving his arms and singing to the top of his lungs, bellowing out one verse after another, no matter how much she protested. She motioned for her cloud companion, ordering it quietly to soak the ground underneath the gigantic Gorg’s feet. Junior squealed as he fell flat on his back, rocking the ground beneath him and waking Jareth, who started swearing and demanding what in the Underground was going on.

Both Jareth and Junior, though, were shocked to see Moulin doubled over, laughing to the point of making her hoarse, tears streaming from her tightly-shut eyes.

<><><><><><>

Pa and Ma Gorg watched the roof intently as a large gray shiny box rose into view, sunlight glinting off its surface. They sat in front of their castle at the picnic table, sipping a fruit juice concoction handed down by Ma’s mother Queen Esmerelda. The sounds of drilling and pounding emanated the Gorg Kingdom, scaring birds and other creatures from their roosts.

“I still don’t know why we need this new-fangled equipment,” Pa groused to his wife. “We’ve lived for an eternity without such high-falutin’ concepts as ‘electricity’.”

Ma patted her husband on his hand and blinked lovingly. “Now, Pa, if that nice young man can clear up Junior’s sinuses and pump the water from the basement, then maybe it’s for the best.”

Pa shook his head and chomped down on a brownie. “It’s against nature! The sun can’t make lightning!” He gulped down another brownie. “And you can’t store lightning in a box. I don’t care what that meeping little critter says.”

“It’s ready!” Toby announced from atop the Gorg Castle roof with a megaphone. The two Gorgs walked into the castle and found a large mechanized fan in their bedroom and Junior’s bedroom, and a refrigerator with water from the basement piped into its back to cool food.

Eventually, Toby appeared, drenched in sweat, atop a windowsill where he had rappelled to from the roof. He smiled broadly as the two Gorgs approached curiously. “Well, there you go,” he announced proudly. “That’s all we could put in that can be powered easily from the solar cell we put on the roof, but these things should make life a little easier.” He pointed down. “Now, I don’t have anything that can get rid of the water in the basement … which is why I switched to the idea of pumping it to the refrigerator. It’s so cold down there that it should work.”

Ma glanced over at her husband who stood shaking his head. “Pa, what do you say?”

Pa grumbled.

“I don’t think that nice young man heard you, dear,” she growled, angrily putting her hands on her hips.

“I said, ‘Thanks for the help’, oh Loving and Patient Glint in my Eye,” he snapped back, rubbing his chin.

Toby smiled, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. “Well, you’re welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Gorg,” he said loudly so they could hear. “I hope you enjoy. If you need me, for anything at all ….”

 

[The Count]

Okay... All caught up now. There might be a bit of dialogue and pronoun confusion in Chapter 20 between Bobby and Skeeter... But I'm enjoying this retelling/reshaping of your fanfic realms. Hope to get more as soon as you can post it.

 

[RedPiggy]

Well, Bobby WAS confused. He didn't know Scooter had a sister so he (naturally) thought Scooter was in drag. The issue is supposed to be a reference to that go-go dancing scene in that Christmas special. While I personally view Skeeter/Scooter's issue as one of career choice, that scene really made me think.

Act 3, the Scavenging Pangaea arc, will be delayed by a day or two because I have to upload some abridged Dinosaur clips for those "cheat sheet" things I now put on the beginning of each arc.

 

[The Count]

Right... That confusion I understand. It's towards the end of the chapter... Skeeter refering to Bobby as "her"? The snipping at each other, Skeeter throws out her own name as an insult aimed at how Bobby and Scooter know each other? That sort of thing. And like we say, post when you can, it's all great schtuff.

 

[RedPiggy]

Uh ... all the "her" I see refer to Skeeter:

He shook her hand.

Bobby stared at her for a few moments.

Skeeter didn't use her name to insult Bobby. She hadn't told him her name yet (at the time, all she'd gotten out was that she was Scooter's sister). She just said it abruptly because she didn't feel comfortable with what Bobby's gaffe suggested. It was Bobby who then insulted her, suggesting the oft-repeated theme in this arc that she's like Piggy. He was saying her name was uncreative because it was just a slight alteration of Scooter, just like Piggy's name was highly uncreative. So, Skeeter retorts that she prefers being uncreative over being ironic, since a pig's last name is Vegan. Although I didn't mean to, Skeeter defending her name could also be a metaphor for her acceptance of her self and her brother, just like how she finally accepted later that she shouldn't judge large creatures. One of the recurring themes I've noticed in all the Muppetverse is character hypocrisy. Skeeter disliked Piggy's "diva-ness", but she didn't see that she was just as bad. Even Rowlf in the flashback couldn't make her see. All Skeeter knew was that she wasn't into "shallow" pursuits like fashion. She didn't see that her sports career was just as superfluous (and I don't mean to knock either goal ... I'm just saying that one person's "deep" concept is another person's "shallow" one). That's why I made her have the same sort of troubles Piggy has always had in her career. Whereas Piggy's weight brings her problems sometimes getting a good fashion gig, Skeeter's small Muppet size decreases her chances in the sports arena. I wanted it perfectly clear that I thought Skeeter and Piggy were practically mirror images of each other. At any rate, Bobby liked the fact that Skeeter defended her own name because in his world, acceptance of oneself is hard to find. In the one pilot sketch of his, he suffers from some mid-life crisis because while he enjoys some of the more ... outward ... behaviors, he still has self-confidence issues that Samson wanted him to get over. Had the sketch continued (hinthint, guys), I think Bobby's stereotypical behaviors would have made more sense and he would have grown. I think that's partly why Bobby named the boy Foster ... while the description of his reasoning makes him seem like a callous jerk, I think Bobby was trying to "foster" a sense of accepting one's place in life.

(For those readers who thought that Tinseltown was a bad stereotypical idea, I will still defend it because I saw a lot of potential.)

 

[The Count]

Okay... Found the quibble.
Posted by Piggy in Red: "Skeeter grunted as she tore herself away from her. “What on Earth are you talking about? I’m not Scooter – I’m his sister!"

That second "her, if it's refering to Bobby, shouldn't it be a "him" instead?

Thanks for the explanation of the rest of the conversation between them, it makes more and deeper sense now. Post more when you can please.