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RedPiggy
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Chapter 2: Family
The Former King of the Universe had made for himself a pleasant cottage in the heart of the flowering plain. The last thing he wanted was to build a castle, for kingship had never brought him joy. Months had passed and he had become more familiar with the terrain. The sparkling river stretched far to a majestic lake, guarded by a newly-crowned queen, whose silver hair matched the light bouncing off the water. He had barely set foot on the lake’s edge when an elegant female form slowly rose from the water, shining drops falling from her graceful figure, clothed only with a thin gown that left little to the imagination.
The female form smiled and stretched out her hand. Steam rose from her upturned palm, forming a chalice. “Quench thy thirst, Traveler,” she said in sultry tones. “Take off thy ravaged robes and let the sun bring life to a long-hidden visage.”
“What is your name?” the former King asked bluntly, his own voice deep and sensuous.
The queen laughed. “You’re not much for small talk, are you, Traveler?” She lowered her head while keeping her bright sharp eyes upon this new arrival. “Do not rebuff my offer so easily … I merely wish to be hospitable.”
The hooded former King kept his smirk hidden. “Those that know me know me as Sir Hubris.”
The queen’s face quickly became tense, her eyes squinting, her brows furrowing deeply. “Don’t LIE to me,” she hissed.
The hooded figure shrugged. “What part of my statement was untruthful?”
The two continued trading strategic barbs, but both felt as the moon rose that destiny had called them together. Coming together, they held hands, sitting on the lake shore, staring at the full moon, which cast a soft glow upon them. The queen, caressing Sir Hubris’ hand, took a sip from the chalice and offered it to her new companion. He gently took the chalice and drank from it, careful not to let his hood reveal his face. With the last sip, he felt a surge of power and intoxication … all he wanted was to unite with the queen and begin a powerful family that would live til the end of time. He began to stroke her hair … but suddenly, he jumped up and shook his head violently, backing away from the queen, who was trying very hard to hide her shock and disappointment. He glared at her, though she could not see his face.
Her eyes widened slightly, but a smirk she could not hide for long. She rose gently from the ground and silently commanded the chalice to become steam once more which she then absorbed into her palm. “Commendations are in order, ‘Sir Hubris.’ Your arrogance and your willpower are matched equally by only my own.” She paused, crossing her arms. “It is a compliment,” she assured him.
Jenny Evangelos had decided, with the help of her business partners, to take things slowly, to let the rich plot of Sarah William’s latest show pitch grow. It had been a year and a half since Sarah first came up with the idea and the projected opening of the show was to be April of 2011. Already they had started some minor projects, which would serve to set up the characters and the background story. They were still waiting on some copyright and royalty issues from one of Sarah’s favorite childhood playwrights, from whose tale of royal love and betrayal this “elaboration” would spring.
As the fall season wore on, Jenny found herself reminiscing about her father, who had lived his entire life always just out of reach of material wealth, even after he had come to America from Greece. When the time had come for him to tell her goodbye, he took her by the hand in his bedroom and smiled that warm fatherly smile. “Jenny,” he said in a gruff voice, “is good for dreams, yes? Is magic, is hope, is … is not money.” He sighed, his hand starting to slip. “Peoples is peoples. Some work, some play. Take frog. Has good dream. Bring together many peoples. Is loyalty. Is friendship. Is love. No regret dream, Jenny. Your papa … he … no … reg…”
Struggling to keep back the tears as she flipped through some catalogs as she reclined on a small sofa in a modest apartment, her phone rang. Noting the area code on her cell display, she sniffed and wiped her eyes and flipped open the cell. “Jenny,” she began, trying to hide the wavering in her voice.
On the other end was a voice that reminded one of Kermit the Frog’s, but much deeper and more even in tone. “Hi, sweetie … look, are you still coming to Thanksgiving?”
Jenny shrugged. “It’s … still on my calendar.”
A long pause. “You know, sweetie,” the male voice noted softly, “you know you can always talk to us … well, me, anyway, right?”
“How’s Foster?”
Another long pause. “Uh-huh. If you wanted to change the subject, all you had to do was ask. He’s … no, stop it!” he barked to someone else in the room. “Sorry ‘bout that, hon … you know those costumes you mailed us will get a lot of … uh … exercise this Halloween.”
“Foster?”
“Right! Right! Foster … he, uh, he’s doing well in high school. We got that whole ‘algebra’ thing worked out, so he doesn’t have that problem anymore. For God’s sake, I’m on the phone … with Jenny … from Manhattan …” His voice began to strain with irritation. “Broadway producer? Costume … yes, those costumes …” Jenny heard a loud thump. “Sorry, sweetie, I’ll let you go, okay? Everyone’s just fine here … come out to California when you can, okay? Bye.” Click.
Jenny sighed. Another ring made her roll her eyes, though this time the area code was local.
“Jenny? Hi, this is Kermit the Frog,” announced the speaker on the other end of the line.
Jenny smiled. She and Kermit had maintained a friendship well after Manhattan Melodies, their first big hit on Broadway back in the eighties. “Hey, Kermit! How are ya?”
“Oh, I’m fine, I guess. Your shows goin’ okay?”
It was like magic. Whenever Kermit talked to her, her worries just lifted up and floated away. “Yeah, me and Ms. Williams are fleshing out a really big one that should go up in 2011. Is Ms. Bitterman still causing problems?”
“Uh…” he stalled, clearing his throat.
“Kermit, I deal with her on nearly a daily basis. If you want, I can still put the squeeze on her…”
“Jenny, I told you I’ll take care of it,” Kermit replied sharply. “I’m not going to let you treat me like I’m two hops away from a soup kitchen.”
Jenny paused, gulping. “I … I didn’t mean to offend you, Kermit,” she answered in a more submissive tone. “I just want to help.”
Kermit sighed. “I know, Jenny, I know. It’s just … it’s our dream, y’know? Sink or swim.” He paused. “I’m a frog, Jenny … swimming has always been a natural talent of mine, if I do say so myself,” he continued, trying to sound more cheerful.
Jenny smiled. “Never forget, Kermit, that the rest of the world is part of that dream, too. You helped bring us together. We’re all one big family now.”
Kermit chuckled. “I don’t think I’ll convince the IRS that I’m Head of Household with six billion dependents…”
Jenny laughed, leaning back against the sofa. “Yeah … can you imagine the deductions they’d have to dish out?”
Kermit joined the laughter. “Haha, yeah …” He laughed a little while longer. Kermit never liked feeling like someone’s Inspiration … but he was happy to cheer her up, since this time of year was particularly hard on her. “Listen, I know you’re going to California for Thanksgiving and that you’re really busy with Broadway and everything … but is there still a chance I can persuade you and Ms. Williams to show up at our annual Christmas party? It would really mean a lot for you to come this year.”
“Who’s the guest celebrity?”
“Bowie, actually,” Kermit replied.
Jenny groaned teasingly. “Oh, Kermit, I don’t know if Sarah’s going to agree to come. For some strange reason, he creeps her out.”
Kermit paused in shock. “We have monsters and stuff walking around and she’s afraid of a rock star?”
Jenny shrugged, smiling. “Beats me, why, Kermit.” Her voice slipped into greater seriousness. “But Sarah’s got some private issues with her family right now. For whatever reason, maybe bringing her into a chaotic party isn’t the right decision.”
Kermit responded, “Maybe … but Sweetums is really good about winning over inhibited minds. He’ll probably have her dancing in a mosh pit by night’s end.”
Jenny gasped, her eyes nearly bursting out of her head. “You have a mosh pit now?”
Kermit chuckled. “Well, by the time the party gets done with the theater, I’m sure we’ll end up with one.” He paused. “Look, I have to go … Homeland Security wants to talk to Crazy Harry again. Please say you’ll come.”
“I’ll do my best, Kermit.”
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The leaves had turned red and gold in the Gorg’s garden, while stiff cold breezes became more frequent. Deep inside the castle lay Pa Gorg, a dusty blue Gorg with a balding head, a beard and squinty eyes. Despite his wife’s protests, he could not bring himself to get out of bed. He barely turned over when there was a knock on the door.
“Daddy?” It was Junior. Pa groaned. Junior bounded in and shook his resting father. “Daddy, get up, alweady! Ma wants you to pwepa-yuh for my Five-hundred party!”
“I’m not going!” Pa shouted, stubbornly clenching onto the blankets. “Now leave me alone, Junior … go sing songs with some Fraggles or something and leave your old man to die peacefully, okay?”
There was a long pause. “Daddy,” Junior chastised him, “you’re not dying. You’re bittuh, dat’s what you are.”
Pa sat up and shoved Junior away from the bed. “You’re darn tootin’ right I’m bitter!” he shouted angrily. “I used to have a purpose! I used to have goals!” He started to sob. “I used to have a shiny crown and sacred Gorg tradition behind me!”
Junior cocked an eyebrow. “Pa … now we can make our own twaditions. We nevah wuled anything but our own gahden … now we have fwiends.”
Pa grunted. “You have friends, Junior. A King was supposed to rule his subjects … and I know we didn’t have real subjects … but that’s not the point! Having that crown meant I could do whatever I wanted to do without anyone naggin’ me all the time!”
Junior crossed his arms. His voice still betrayed smug disbelief. “You do dat now, Pa … and Ma …” he continued, hushing his voice so his mother wouldn’t hear “… still nags.”
“I heard that!” Ma yelled from the kitchen. Both Pa and Junior shuddered instinctively.
Pa stared at the covers. He couldn’t understand why everyone thought he was wrong. Why would Junior take the care-free advice of Fraggles over centuries of sacred Gorg tradition? Sure, that was around a quarter-century ago, but Pa had never felt completely satisfied with Junior’s decision. After all, that “shadow” had helped Junior learn to play the Royal Kazoo … something only a great Gorg King could do. What was the point of the “shadow” singing the praises of a great Gorg King when Junior was just going to sabotage the whole thing? And for what? So he could be friends with Fraggles? He could have done that with the royal crown upon his head! He looked up at Junior. “You go do whatever your mother tells you, Junior … I’ll be up shortly,” he said, defeated.
“You pwomise?”
“Yes, I promise,” Pa answered in an irritated tone. When Junior left Pa’s bedroom, Pa leaned back against the headboard and sighed. There was only one Fraggle in all of Fraggle-dom Pa ever felt any kind of connection with … that little light blue one with the red hair and the brown cap. This particular Fraggle tended to think about impending doom, even when his Fraggle cohorts believed whole-heartedly in peace and love and all that care-free nonsense. Nine years ago, after a particularly horrible storm that nearly blew all the neighboring swamp waters into the Gorg’s garden, that Fraggle had professed a belief that something terrible was still going to happen. Pa believed it. The last time the water supply was in danger, it was the fault of those creatures from Outer Space, as the Fraggles called it. Pa seemed to see what none of his family had seen … that a terrible magic caused the storm.
He got up, grunting as he stood, and stretched. He shuffled over to a dresser Junior had made for his parents, and began to sift through the drawers, looking for a small black orb … a royal jewel entrusted to a Gorg King by Sir Hubris himself…
Announcer: Tune in next week, when we hear Jareth say ... "My name is Jareth."
Author's Note: Now we're in late 2009. As you might surmise, when the story hits 2011, I'll stop with the Legends of Sir Hubris opening because by then that particular part of the story world will be caught up with the others.
The Former King of the Universe had made for himself a pleasant cottage in the heart of the flowering plain. The last thing he wanted was to build a castle, for kingship had never brought him joy. Months had passed and he had become more familiar with the terrain. The sparkling river stretched far to a majestic lake, guarded by a newly-crowned queen, whose silver hair matched the light bouncing off the water. He had barely set foot on the lake’s edge when an elegant female form slowly rose from the water, shining drops falling from her graceful figure, clothed only with a thin gown that left little to the imagination.
The female form smiled and stretched out her hand. Steam rose from her upturned palm, forming a chalice. “Quench thy thirst, Traveler,” she said in sultry tones. “Take off thy ravaged robes and let the sun bring life to a long-hidden visage.”
“What is your name?” the former King asked bluntly, his own voice deep and sensuous.
The queen laughed. “You’re not much for small talk, are you, Traveler?” She lowered her head while keeping her bright sharp eyes upon this new arrival. “Do not rebuff my offer so easily … I merely wish to be hospitable.”
The hooded former King kept his smirk hidden. “Those that know me know me as Sir Hubris.”
The queen’s face quickly became tense, her eyes squinting, her brows furrowing deeply. “Don’t LIE to me,” she hissed.
The hooded figure shrugged. “What part of my statement was untruthful?”
The two continued trading strategic barbs, but both felt as the moon rose that destiny had called them together. Coming together, they held hands, sitting on the lake shore, staring at the full moon, which cast a soft glow upon them. The queen, caressing Sir Hubris’ hand, took a sip from the chalice and offered it to her new companion. He gently took the chalice and drank from it, careful not to let his hood reveal his face. With the last sip, he felt a surge of power and intoxication … all he wanted was to unite with the queen and begin a powerful family that would live til the end of time. He began to stroke her hair … but suddenly, he jumped up and shook his head violently, backing away from the queen, who was trying very hard to hide her shock and disappointment. He glared at her, though she could not see his face.
Her eyes widened slightly, but a smirk she could not hide for long. She rose gently from the ground and silently commanded the chalice to become steam once more which she then absorbed into her palm. “Commendations are in order, ‘Sir Hubris.’ Your arrogance and your willpower are matched equally by only my own.” She paused, crossing her arms. “It is a compliment,” she assured him.
Jenny Evangelos had decided, with the help of her business partners, to take things slowly, to let the rich plot of Sarah William’s latest show pitch grow. It had been a year and a half since Sarah first came up with the idea and the projected opening of the show was to be April of 2011. Already they had started some minor projects, which would serve to set up the characters and the background story. They were still waiting on some copyright and royalty issues from one of Sarah’s favorite childhood playwrights, from whose tale of royal love and betrayal this “elaboration” would spring.
As the fall season wore on, Jenny found herself reminiscing about her father, who had lived his entire life always just out of reach of material wealth, even after he had come to America from Greece. When the time had come for him to tell her goodbye, he took her by the hand in his bedroom and smiled that warm fatherly smile. “Jenny,” he said in a gruff voice, “is good for dreams, yes? Is magic, is hope, is … is not money.” He sighed, his hand starting to slip. “Peoples is peoples. Some work, some play. Take frog. Has good dream. Bring together many peoples. Is loyalty. Is friendship. Is love. No regret dream, Jenny. Your papa … he … no … reg…”
Struggling to keep back the tears as she flipped through some catalogs as she reclined on a small sofa in a modest apartment, her phone rang. Noting the area code on her cell display, she sniffed and wiped her eyes and flipped open the cell. “Jenny,” she began, trying to hide the wavering in her voice.
On the other end was a voice that reminded one of Kermit the Frog’s, but much deeper and more even in tone. “Hi, sweetie … look, are you still coming to Thanksgiving?”
Jenny shrugged. “It’s … still on my calendar.”
A long pause. “You know, sweetie,” the male voice noted softly, “you know you can always talk to us … well, me, anyway, right?”
“How’s Foster?”
Another long pause. “Uh-huh. If you wanted to change the subject, all you had to do was ask. He’s … no, stop it!” he barked to someone else in the room. “Sorry ‘bout that, hon … you know those costumes you mailed us will get a lot of … uh … exercise this Halloween.”
“Foster?”
“Right! Right! Foster … he, uh, he’s doing well in high school. We got that whole ‘algebra’ thing worked out, so he doesn’t have that problem anymore. For God’s sake, I’m on the phone … with Jenny … from Manhattan …” His voice began to strain with irritation. “Broadway producer? Costume … yes, those costumes …” Jenny heard a loud thump. “Sorry, sweetie, I’ll let you go, okay? Everyone’s just fine here … come out to California when you can, okay? Bye.” Click.
Jenny sighed. Another ring made her roll her eyes, though this time the area code was local.
“Jenny? Hi, this is Kermit the Frog,” announced the speaker on the other end of the line.
Jenny smiled. She and Kermit had maintained a friendship well after Manhattan Melodies, their first big hit on Broadway back in the eighties. “Hey, Kermit! How are ya?”
“Oh, I’m fine, I guess. Your shows goin’ okay?”
It was like magic. Whenever Kermit talked to her, her worries just lifted up and floated away. “Yeah, me and Ms. Williams are fleshing out a really big one that should go up in 2011. Is Ms. Bitterman still causing problems?”
“Uh…” he stalled, clearing his throat.
“Kermit, I deal with her on nearly a daily basis. If you want, I can still put the squeeze on her…”
“Jenny, I told you I’ll take care of it,” Kermit replied sharply. “I’m not going to let you treat me like I’m two hops away from a soup kitchen.”
Jenny paused, gulping. “I … I didn’t mean to offend you, Kermit,” she answered in a more submissive tone. “I just want to help.”
Kermit sighed. “I know, Jenny, I know. It’s just … it’s our dream, y’know? Sink or swim.” He paused. “I’m a frog, Jenny … swimming has always been a natural talent of mine, if I do say so myself,” he continued, trying to sound more cheerful.
Jenny smiled. “Never forget, Kermit, that the rest of the world is part of that dream, too. You helped bring us together. We’re all one big family now.”
Kermit chuckled. “I don’t think I’ll convince the IRS that I’m Head of Household with six billion dependents…”
Jenny laughed, leaning back against the sofa. “Yeah … can you imagine the deductions they’d have to dish out?”
Kermit joined the laughter. “Haha, yeah …” He laughed a little while longer. Kermit never liked feeling like someone’s Inspiration … but he was happy to cheer her up, since this time of year was particularly hard on her. “Listen, I know you’re going to California for Thanksgiving and that you’re really busy with Broadway and everything … but is there still a chance I can persuade you and Ms. Williams to show up at our annual Christmas party? It would really mean a lot for you to come this year.”
“Who’s the guest celebrity?”
“Bowie, actually,” Kermit replied.
Jenny groaned teasingly. “Oh, Kermit, I don’t know if Sarah’s going to agree to come. For some strange reason, he creeps her out.”
Kermit paused in shock. “We have monsters and stuff walking around and she’s afraid of a rock star?”
Jenny shrugged, smiling. “Beats me, why, Kermit.” Her voice slipped into greater seriousness. “But Sarah’s got some private issues with her family right now. For whatever reason, maybe bringing her into a chaotic party isn’t the right decision.”
Kermit responded, “Maybe … but Sweetums is really good about winning over inhibited minds. He’ll probably have her dancing in a mosh pit by night’s end.”
Jenny gasped, her eyes nearly bursting out of her head. “You have a mosh pit now?”
Kermit chuckled. “Well, by the time the party gets done with the theater, I’m sure we’ll end up with one.” He paused. “Look, I have to go … Homeland Security wants to talk to Crazy Harry again. Please say you’ll come.”
“I’ll do my best, Kermit.”
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The leaves had turned red and gold in the Gorg’s garden, while stiff cold breezes became more frequent. Deep inside the castle lay Pa Gorg, a dusty blue Gorg with a balding head, a beard and squinty eyes. Despite his wife’s protests, he could not bring himself to get out of bed. He barely turned over when there was a knock on the door.
“Daddy?” It was Junior. Pa groaned. Junior bounded in and shook his resting father. “Daddy, get up, alweady! Ma wants you to pwepa-yuh for my Five-hundred party!”
“I’m not going!” Pa shouted, stubbornly clenching onto the blankets. “Now leave me alone, Junior … go sing songs with some Fraggles or something and leave your old man to die peacefully, okay?”
There was a long pause. “Daddy,” Junior chastised him, “you’re not dying. You’re bittuh, dat’s what you are.”
Pa sat up and shoved Junior away from the bed. “You’re darn tootin’ right I’m bitter!” he shouted angrily. “I used to have a purpose! I used to have goals!” He started to sob. “I used to have a shiny crown and sacred Gorg tradition behind me!”
Junior cocked an eyebrow. “Pa … now we can make our own twaditions. We nevah wuled anything but our own gahden … now we have fwiends.”
Pa grunted. “You have friends, Junior. A King was supposed to rule his subjects … and I know we didn’t have real subjects … but that’s not the point! Having that crown meant I could do whatever I wanted to do without anyone naggin’ me all the time!”
Junior crossed his arms. His voice still betrayed smug disbelief. “You do dat now, Pa … and Ma …” he continued, hushing his voice so his mother wouldn’t hear “… still nags.”
“I heard that!” Ma yelled from the kitchen. Both Pa and Junior shuddered instinctively.
Pa stared at the covers. He couldn’t understand why everyone thought he was wrong. Why would Junior take the care-free advice of Fraggles over centuries of sacred Gorg tradition? Sure, that was around a quarter-century ago, but Pa had never felt completely satisfied with Junior’s decision. After all, that “shadow” had helped Junior learn to play the Royal Kazoo … something only a great Gorg King could do. What was the point of the “shadow” singing the praises of a great Gorg King when Junior was just going to sabotage the whole thing? And for what? So he could be friends with Fraggles? He could have done that with the royal crown upon his head! He looked up at Junior. “You go do whatever your mother tells you, Junior … I’ll be up shortly,” he said, defeated.
“You pwomise?”
“Yes, I promise,” Pa answered in an irritated tone. When Junior left Pa’s bedroom, Pa leaned back against the headboard and sighed. There was only one Fraggle in all of Fraggle-dom Pa ever felt any kind of connection with … that little light blue one with the red hair and the brown cap. This particular Fraggle tended to think about impending doom, even when his Fraggle cohorts believed whole-heartedly in peace and love and all that care-free nonsense. Nine years ago, after a particularly horrible storm that nearly blew all the neighboring swamp waters into the Gorg’s garden, that Fraggle had professed a belief that something terrible was still going to happen. Pa believed it. The last time the water supply was in danger, it was the fault of those creatures from Outer Space, as the Fraggles called it. Pa seemed to see what none of his family had seen … that a terrible magic caused the storm.
He got up, grunting as he stood, and stretched. He shuffled over to a dresser Junior had made for his parents, and began to sift through the drawers, looking for a small black orb … a royal jewel entrusted to a Gorg King by Sir Hubris himself…
Announcer: Tune in next week, when we hear Jareth say ... "My name is Jareth."
Author's Note: Now we're in late 2009. As you might surmise, when the story hits 2011, I'll stop with the Legends of Sir Hubris opening because by then that particular part of the story world will be caught up with the others.
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, don't worry... Even the best of us have trouble deciding how to continue or keep plugging away at a particular project. Keep at it, and tell your friend Kelly she's got a surefire hit here.