TMS fanfic: Masks

[Slackbot]

Oh jeez louise, not another chapter of...

Masks, Part 10:
Meet the Muppets
by Kim McFarland​

*****

It was a bright and sunny weekday afternoon at the Muppets' boarding house. They did not have a show until Friday evening, so most of the inhabitants were taking some time to relax and chill out before the next round.

Scooter walked in the front door, followed by Janken, who he had finally persuaded to take a break from his studies and come visit. They were greeted by a jazzlike tune. In the living room, a number of Muppets were playing various instruments. Rowlf was at the piano, Kermit had a banjo, Fozzie was playing a ukulele, and Gonzo held a trumpet. There was no sheet music to be seen. Kermit noticed Scooter and Janken and stopped playing. "Hi ho."

Scooter jerked a thumb toward Janken and said, "Hi, guys. Thought I'd bring him to meet the family."

"Didn't mean to interrupt," Janken told them.

Rowlf said, "That's all right. We were just jamming. That's a musical term for messing around."

"Sounds like fun," Janken said.

"Do you play something?" Rowlf asked.

"Yes, but I don't have it with me."

There was a knock at the door. Scooter went back and opened it. A moment later he came back and said, "Hey, Gonzo."

"Yeah!" Gonzo had been expecting a visitor. He put the trumpet down and jumped up. When he passed Janken he said, "If you can play, why don't'cha sit in for me?"

Startled, Janken said, "Er, I don't know how to play a trumpet."

"So what? That never stopped me. Try something else if ya want."

Janken looked at the other items beside the chair Gonzo had been sitting in. "Good grief, is that a bagpipe?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Kermit answered. "It's okay, you don't have to."

"Thanks. I can play a sweet potato, but I don't have it here."

"Sweet potato?" Fozzie asked, puzzled.

"Ocarina," Rowlf said. "It's a kind of flute."

"I'd like to listen, though, if that's all right."

"Sure," Kermit told him.

Gonzo popped back in, leading a smallish, brown-furred Monster woman. "Hey, guys, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine from way back. This's Cathy Monster."

Kermit put the banjo aside. "Hi, glad to meet you."

He offered her a hand. As they shook Fozzie said, "Gonzo's never told us about anyone he knew before he came here. How do you know each other?"

Cathy glanced at Gonzo. He answered, "We met a long time ago, before I came here. You know."

"Oh," Fozzie said, nodding understanding of whatever Gonzo was talking about.

Cathy glanced at Janken, then looked at him in surprise for a moment. She looked as if she thought she recognized him, but Janken was sure he had not met her before.

Not noticing, Gonzo said to Kermit, "She's with a charity that's putting on a show in town soon. I want to help out."

"Oh?" Kermit said, interested. "Which one?"

"The TMI," Cathy answered. "We help Monsters who are severely economically disadvantaged get back on their feet, primarily with education and job assistance."

Now Janken understood. He said, "My first job was with the TMI right here in town. When I arrived here I didn't have a clue. One of my friends pointed me at the TMI. I worked in the office there for half a year until I got acclimated, and then they helped me get into college."

"Really," she said, pleased.

"Yeah. Without their help, I'd probably be wandering around, bewildered by all you silly creatures," he said with a grin.

She smiled back. Her first guess was right. She told him, "I'm glad it's worked out for you, Mr...?"

"Just Janken."

"Janken." She shook his hand.

Fozzie said to Janken, "I didn't know you're a Monster."

Janken shrugged. "If I'm not, then what am I?"

Cathy told Fozzie, "'Monster' isn't a pedigree. Some people are Monsters by heritage, of course. But anyone whose species isn't identifiable—as a bear, or a dog, or a frog, for example—is often labeled a Monster. The TMI takes a broad view."

Gonzo said to Kermit, "Anyway, about me helping out with her show. It's next weekend, and I've only got two bit parts in next week's set. How about it?"

Scooter interjected, "I could recast those parts easily."

"Sure, go for it," Kermit replied.

"Thanks, Kermit!" To Cathy he said, "C'mon, lemme introduce you to my family."

She nodded to him, then said, "Good to meet you all."

"You too," Rowlf said.

"Yeah," Fozzie added.

As they climbed the stairs to the second floor Gonzo told Cathy, "It's in our contracts that we can't perform outside shows—standard noncompete clause, I guess—except with permission. Charities and such are always OK, though."

Miss Piggy, wearing a smart pantsuit and a happily preoccupied expression, passed them in the hallway without a glance. She went down the stairs and said to Kermit, "I will be back in a little bit, dear. Moi has a little interview with N'Importe Quoi magazine today."

"Really?" Kermit said, interested. "When will it be printed?"

"As soon as possible," she answered. "Ta ta!"

She swept away. When the door closed Rowlf observed, "It's like Grand Central Station in here today."

"Well, where were we?" Kermit replied.

Rowlf thought. "Here, I think."

He began playing a simple melody on the piano. After half a minute Kermit joined in on the banjo, and then Fozzie on his ukulele. It was no tune that anyone could name; they were just following the improvised, jazzlike music that they played, enjoying the trip rather than following a path. The tip of Janken's tail tapped along with the rhythm. After a while he decided, why not, and began scatting along with them. Fozzie and Kermit looked at him in surprise, then grinned and kept on playing.

*

Miss Piggy sat down in the N'Importe Quoi interview studio. As a photographer began shooting pictures of them, the writer, a young ovine lady with a wealth of pale, curly hair, began, "Miss Piggy, I cannot remember a time when you were not in the public eye in the world of beauty and fashion."

Miss Piggy smiled winningly. A flashbulb went off. "Well, of course, dear. When you look like moi does, what choice has one?"

"What was it like, beginning at such an early age?"

"Just like it is now, but smaller," Miss Piggy answered with a stage laugh.

"Surely you must have some memories of those early days that you can share with us."

Yes, Miss Piggy had memories. Some were pleasant; being adored by crowds of adults as she wore pretty clothes, her hair and face made up. But for every one of those she could also remember the backstage jealousies between contestants too young to see the show objectively, the days she had not wanted to perform but had to because her mother had entered her months before. The times she had lost because she was, after all, a pig, and some people did not appreciate that standard of beauty.

She smiled sweetly. "Surely there are more interesting things to talk about? Really, I can hardly remember those days. Moi is afraid they're all a blur."

The writer smiled winningly. "You were a beautiful child, Miss Piggy. Our readers will want to know more about those early times."

Miss Piggy's smile was less winning. "Dear, what does that matter? Moi is a self-made woman. If you want to write about pageant children, you can simply talk with their mothers. Lately I have returned to the stage. I find being before a live audience positively exhilarating! And, of course, a teensy bit intimidating because one cannot simply do a re-take if one makes a mistake—so moi is careful not to make any!"

The interviewer listened and took notes while Miss piggy chattered about her recent projects and those she was considering for the future. Miss Piggy was happy to talk about those at some length, and of course to drop hints about Kermit the Frog's involvement as well. When she slowed down the interviewer said, "I must admit, I'm amazed by all you've done. How do you keep up with it all?"

"Moi has people," Miss Piggy said. "I couldn't do a thing without them."

"And it appears you've been busy all of your life. Miss Piggy, people of all ages look up to you as a woman who has defined her own standard of beauty—"

Miss Piggy brushed her hair back with one gloved hand and purred, "How kind of you to say so."

"What would you say to those who want to follow in your footsteps? To the hundreds of young people and their parents who participate in pageants every year—"

"Forget it," Miss Piggy snapped.

"What?"

"It's back to those pictures again, isn't it? For those who haven't noticed, dear, I am a grown woman, not some simpering waif in a frilly dress. And now I think you have enough for your article, so I'll be leaving now. Good-bye."

Without any parting pleasantries Miss Piggy walked out, shutting the door a bit more firmly behind herself than wound be considered ladylike. The writer stared after her, surprised, then turned a page in her notebook and began writing quickly.

*

By the time Miss Piggy, still in a foul mood, returned to the boarding house, those who had parts in the upcoming weekend's shows were getting ready to go to the theater. Without saying a word to anyone she went to her room, changed, and plunked herself into a seat beside Kermit on the bus.

*

When they got to the theater, Scooter and Janken went to stage left. While Janken checked all the cameras, Scooter made notes about which acts would need which props and scenery. Then, while the others were deciding which skit to rehearse first, Scooter said in a low voice, "You know, I never thought about it before, but Gonzo never has mentioned anything about his life before he joined us. Now I kinda wonder."

Janken asked, "Does it matter?"

Scooter shook his head. "I guess not. It surprised the heck out of us when he turned out to be an alien, but now... well, he's still Gonzo."

Janken paused, tweaking a camera control. Scooter, standing with his back to the stage so nobody else would see the gesture, put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Janken, I never wondered about where you come from. But after what you said today..."

"You got curious?"

"Yeah. I hope that's all right."

Janken turned sideways in his chair to face Scooter. "Sure. I'll tell you all about it, but this isn't the time or place. It's kind of a lot to tell. Would you come stay with me tonight?"

Uneasily Scooter said, "Um, I don't know..."

Janken held up a hand. "I didn't mean it that way, Scooter. I just mean, so we can talk alone, without interruptions and stuff. That's all."

"I don't know. Let me think about it, okay?"

Janken laid his hand gently on Scooter's. "Sure. But, Scoot—I like you way too much to try to hurry you into anything. I'm not in any rush," he said softly.

After a quiet pause, Scooter said, "I believe you. I'll come."

"Cool." Janken patted his hand.

*****

All characters except Janken and Cathy Monster are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken, Cathy Monster, and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.

 

[Slackbot]

Move along, nothing interesting to see here, only another chapter of

Masks, Part 11:
Inner Space
by Kim McFarland
​

*****

"You got to have a dream,
If you don't have a dream
How you gonna have a dream come true?"

-- Happy Talk from South Pacific

*****

Somewhere in the world it was a dark and stormy night. But not here; it was a warm, calm evening, in contrast to the chaotic day of rehearsal at the Muppet Theater. It was the first day of rehearsals, and they had found and worked out the worst of the bugs, and kept the ones that looked entertaining and wouldn't cause too much damage.

A door creaked open on a basement apartment. Janken and Scooter entered, and Janken flipped on the light. It was a one-room affair, with support pillars bisecting the room and exposed water pipes along one wall. There was a sofa, a small refrigerator, a hot plate, and a sink, and not much else in the way of amenities. Several boxes along the wall contained clothing and a few other possessions.

Janken remarked, "Kind of cavelike, I suppose."

"Spartan, maybe," Scooter replied.

Janken nodded. "I hadn't thought of it like that, but yeah. Actually, I like it. Anyway, I don't spend a lot of time here because it's so quiet. I'd rather be around people. But it's great when I have to study."

Janken was chattering nervously, as if he had to apologize for this place to Scooter. "It's fine, really. If I had to, I'd rather stay in a place like this than a dorm."

"Yeah. Tea?"

"Sure."

Janken said as he filled a pot and set it on the hot plate, "I've never had visitors, so I don't have any coffee. I can't drink that stuff. I don't like the taste and it makes me jittery."

"Have you already had some? You seem kind of jittery now."

Janken looked sheepish. "Sorry, I guess I am. Wasn't I the one telling you not to worry?"

Somehow, seeing Janken flustered made scooter feel a little better. "Yeah. It's OK."

"Yeah." Janken looked at Scooter for a few moments, then turned away and went to a box. He pulled out some short, clear rods that looked like glue sticks and said, "Have you had these before?"

Scooter took one and looked at it. "What is it?"

"It's snack food from where I come from." He bit into it.

Scooter tried his. It had a strange, peppery flavor, startling at first but not unpleasant, and a crunchy texture. "Huh! I know I've never had these, but I think I've tasted something like this before."

"You probably have." Janken tapped some powder out of a packet of folded paper into a pair of earthenware cups, then poured hot water in. After stirring them, Janken offered one to Scooter.

It was sweet and pleasant, again with a flavor Scooter could not name. "This came from your home too?" he guessed.

"Yeah. It relaxes me whenever I feel nervous. Kind of like anti-caffiene. This and these sticks are my comfort food," Janken told him. "I've got quite a tea collection. One of my fathers makes them, and he always gives me a bunch whenever I come and visit, especially medicinal ones. He worries I'm going to get sick and die out here. Heh."

"One of your fathers?"

Janken paused, then said, "Technically he'd be my uncle. By our standards, anyway. Out here I don't know what I'd call him."

"That sounds complicated," Scooter said. 'Father' and 'uncle' were pretty clear concepts; how could you confuse one for the other?

Janken said, "Actually, it's simple. It'd be easier to show you than to tell you."

"How'd you do that?" Scooter asked. Janken had relaxed, he noticed.

"We'd have to be asleep together." At Scooter's startled expression he quickly added, "As in, to sleep, perchance to dream. Not as in an euphemism for anything else."

Looking into his teacup, which sat warm and heavy in his hands, Scooter said, "Janken, I trust you... but it'd be a lot easier if you'd just tell me what you have in mind instead of what you don't!"

"I know, I know," Janken said. "But if I do, well, it'll sound flaky. Look, all you have to do is go to sleep with your head touching mine. I'll do the rest. If it works you'll know, and if it doesn't, you'll just sleep, and I promise I'll tell you anything you want to know in the morning."

"This still sounds strange."

"Stranger than what you see in the theater every week?"

"Or at the house," Scooter responded with a wry smile. "You got me there. Okay, I'll give it a try."

"Thanks," Janken said. He drank the rest of his tea, put the cup down, then told him, "Like I told you before, Scoot, I won't ever try to push you into something you don't want to do. Or, well, that I'm not ready for either."

Scooter nodded, not knowing what to say.

Janken continued, "You know what first attracted me to you?"

"Don't say my eyes."

Janken chuckled. "No, your smile. You've got a grin like everything's going great. I like the way you look anyway, but when you smile like that, wow. I hope I'll always be able to see that smile."

Scooter felt his face warm, and knew he was blushing. "Thanks."

Janken wanted to take Scooter's hands, but they were still occupied by the teacup. So he said, "Maybe I should just shut up now so we can try this."

Scooter nodded and drank the rest of the tea now that it was merely warm. It tasted better that way. "That's good."

"I have plenty." He rinsed the cups out and set them upside down to dry, then turned off the hot plate. "We can sleep head to head on the couch. It's big enough, and comfortable. I usually sleep there anyway."

The couch was built to human scale, so it could easily accommodate them. They got onto it, and Janken reached out and flipped the light switch with his tail. Then he said softly, "Dream a dream and see what a dream can be."

Scooter wanted to say This is weird, but he didn't. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

**

Scooter found himself inside a cave. The air was fresh and cool, and though there were no lights, he could see quite easily. Janken met him. "There you are. I've been waiting."

"Where are we?" Scooter asked.

"In my dream, remember? It must have taken you a little while to fall asleep. I'm out as soon as I turn off the light." Janken beckoned. "Follow me, I know the way."

Scooter thought, Of course he would. It's his dream. And I can't believe I just thought that.

Janken said, "I wasn't sure this was going to work. But I had a feeling it just might, with you."

"I might just be dreaming this, though," Scooter replied.

Janken turned to him. "You aren't, but it's okay if you don't believe me yet. Just come with me for now. You'll see." He beckoned. "C'mon, this way!" Janken turned and ran down the tunnel.

Scooter ran after him. Janken's tail, a barometer for his mood, waved like a flag as he raced through the caves, past rushing streams and through large, open galleries. He jumped up to a shelf, then skimmed up a ramp of gours like stacked coins. Scooter was surprised that he had no problem following him—but, he reminded himself, this was a dream.

After a while Janken stopped, barely breathing hard, his tail quivering with excitement. "Do you hear that?"

Scooter listened. "Other people."

"My home." Janken nodded toward the end of the tunnel.

They went to the end of the tunnel and looked in on a large gallery. The walls were decorated with flowers and small paintings. A horn like a giant stone bugle was mounted on one side. In the center was a clear pool of water. Smaller rooms and other passages branched off on every side, and a chimney let a spotlight of sun shine into the pool. The rock floor was uneven, but worn smooth by the passage of countless feet. Scooter could still hear the voices close by, though they were alone, and even the splashing of the water though it was still.

Scooter asked, "Aren't there others like you?"

"Lots of them. We call ourselves Fraggles," Janken answered. "This is the tough part... I can show them to you, but you can't meet them. This is a dream, so it wouldn't be for real."

"Go ahead. Just hearing them without seeing them is spooky."

"Okay. Give me a moment." Janken gazed at the pool. Several creatures appeared in it, splashing as energetically as if they had been there all along. Another few appeared by the side. Scooter watched as Janken glanced around the room, populating it a few at a time.

They walked in. The Fraggle images talked and swam and played and goofed around, but did not react to Scooter and Janken. They were all similar to Janken, though they were different sizes and colors. Some wore clothing, and when Scooter looked closer he could see individual differences in their faces. He said, "Wow. This is like watching a movie from inside."

"It is, isn't it? I'll have to remember that." Janken leaned against a rock wall. "I never thought of showing you this place before, but after seeing where you live, I thought you might understand."

Scooter did not answer immediately. He realized that the eerie sensation of being in another's dream had faded. In its place he felt warmth and joy as if it was in the air. He looked at Janken, and saw its mirror in his expression. Scooter said softly, "It's kind of like the boarding house, isn't it? Crazy and noisy and full of the people you love."

Janken nodded, smiling widely. "You do understand."

They watched the scene for a little longer. Then Janken pointed at the group at and in the pool. "Those seven at the pool, those are my family."

They walked closer. Two adults, a yellow and a green one, were swimming, with two children, one brown and the other green. The ones outside the pool were pink, green, and orange. Scooter noticed that the tallest one looked like Janken. He was not sure of the gender at first, but then she spoke in a light soprano. "Is she your mother?"

"That's right. As for my father, heh, that's kind of a funny story. When I was born I looked like my mother, and they couldn't tell which one was my father for years. That's why I call them all my fathers. When we finally figured out who my sire was, I didn't feel like demoting the other two to 'uncle'."

"Which one is your father?"

"Go on, guess."

Scooter looked at the three who spoke with male voices. "I can't tell."

Janken tapped his nose. Scooter looked at the others for a moment before the green one in the pool turned his head, and Scooter saw his profile. "Him?"

"Yep. When I was little, I looked like a generic Fraggle kid. When I grew and got this nose, well, mystery solved. In fact, that's how I was named. In our ancient language, 'Janken' means 'stone, water, wind.' It's a game. Like rock, paper, scissors for cave dwellers. Stone diverts wind, wind evaporates water, water wears down rock. It's something you do when you just can't decide, get it?"

"Yeah," Scooter said. "Um, how does it work? Your family?"

Janken replied soberly, "That's hard to explain. Not because it's complicated, but because it's so simple. We're a small... tribe, or village, or whatever, by your standards. We don't have much in the way of rules about families. Some people pair off, some stay alone, some gather in larger groups. The custom we follow is basically 'whatever works.' In my family's case, they had grown together for so long they weren't just friends, they were more like family. So when it came time to play 'pass it on' with their genes, they kept the status quo. After all, if it's not broken, why fix it?" He smiled. "I had a very eventful, happy childhood, surrounded by people who loved me, and I inherited something from each of them, genes or no."

They stood and watched the images of Janken's family. The ones in the pool were teaching the youngsters—Scooter guessed that they were about nine and four years old—some swimming strokes. The older one was copying the yellow one, and the younger one was dog-paddling valiantly, watched over by the green one.

After a while Janken sighed. "Seeing this cave, even only in a dream, makes me homesick. I visit a few times a year, and I write home all the time. The next time I come home will be in winter, for the solstice." He looked at Scooter. "I'd invite you to come along, but it gets really cold. Even with our fur we have a hard time of it. You'd freeze."

"Do you think they'd mind?"

The images of the other Fraggles blurred, like a film going out of focus, and the sounds faded. Janken started walking toward the exit. "We don't get a lot of surface dwellers down here, but it's happened before. It'd be okay."

"No, I mean, because we're..."

Janken looked at him. "What? Oh, nah, they know about me, and it's not such a big deal anyway. They'd be surprised that I've taken up with a surface dweller, but they'd get to like you. I know they would, because I couldn't love a creep."

Wryly Scooter replied, "Gee, thanks, I think."

"Oh, you know what I mean. There's a lot more I could show you, but this is enough for one day."

Together they walked back to the place where they started, and the dream ended.

**

Scooter's eyes opened. He felt Janken move. "Janken?" he whispered.

"Yes?" was the soft reply.

"Did you just have a dream...?"

"Rock, paper, scissors..."

"Stone, water, wind?"

"Yes."

"How did you do that?"

"It's something my kind can all do. But it's never been done with anyone not of our kind. I wasn't sure it was possible."

"Wow," Scooter murmured.

"Yeah."

Scooter felt Janken move. The Fraggle kissed him lightly on the forehead, then lay back down, his head no longer touching Scooter's "Good night."

"Good night."

They closed their eyes, and within minutes were asleep again, separately and together.

*****

All characters except Janken and Catherine Monster are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. Fraggle Rock is copyright © The Jim Henson Company. Happy Talk is by Rodgers and Hammerstein. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.

 

[Slackbot]

For a while I put this story aside, as "Trials and Tintinnabulations" took over my fic-writing energy and, well, there doesn't seem to be much interest in this tale. But, what the heck, I like this story, and I'm allergic to leaving things unfinished. So, here we go, starting with a quiet moment between a frog and a bear.

For trivia's sake, the music the Electric Mayhem is playing might just sound like Max 300. "The drummer carries the melody!"

 

[Slackbot]

Masks, Part 12:
The Observatory
by Kim McFarland​

*****

Kermit the Frog entered the Muppet Theater. Pops, the doorman, glanced up from his newspaper, then absently waved him through.

It was a Monday afternoon, and the Muppets were rehearsing, setting up props and costumes, and otherwise preparing for their next weekend's show. Kermit heard a spirited drumming; the Electric Mayhem was onstage. On Kermit's desk there was a list of the acts that were to be rehearsed and who was in each one, and some other notes in Scooter's handwriting. Out of habit Kermit glanced across to backstage right. Scooter could often be found at the camera console with Janken, but neither was there at the moment.

Kermit stood in the wings and listened to the Electric Mayhem. Animal was drumming for all he was worth, and the rest of the band was following along. The music was fast; he guessed that it was around 300 BPM. The effect was…interesting, Kermit thought, and when fully amped up would be fearsome for the front rows.

"Hey, Kermit!"

Kermit turned around, then startled when he saw Fozzie Bear wearing a colorful, floppy, feather-decked hat and ridiculously oversized glasses. "What'cha think?"

"I think it's a good start if you want to be a circus clown."

Fozzie took off the glasses. "Oh well," he said, only a little dismayed.

Fozzie had been going through old costumes for inspiration, Kermit could see. "Keep trying."

"I don't know, I'm getting nothing. Maybe I'm trying too hard." He looked at Kermit as if seeking approval.

Kermit nodded. "Yeah. Don't force it. My best ideas have come when I wasn't looking for them."

"Really?" Fozzie asked hopefully.

"Well… sometimes." Seeing Fozzie's disappointment, he continued, "You don't have a monologue this week, so don't worry about it."

"Yeah…" The bear took off the silly hat—his fedora was underneath—and put it and the glasses back in a trunk marked "Corny Accessories."

"Got something on your mind?"

"No, not really. I just felt like coming in and, you know, seeing what I could find."

"Everyone gets writer's block every so often."

"Yeah, I guess that's it," Fozzie said sheepishly. Then he perked up again. "Oh well, something'll come to me. Say, when do you rehearse?"

Kermit glanced at the schedule again. "Not 'til later this afternoon. Why?"

"Why don't we go get some coffee?"

"Sure."

**

The two went down into the canteen. The grill was closed, but coffee, cold drinks, sandwiches, and the like were always available. They got their coffees. Fozzie was going to claim a table, but Kermit beckoned toward the door and said, "Come with me."

"Okay."

Fozzie followed Kermit up into the balcony facing the stage. The Electric Mayhem was still playing, but at this distance and without amplification it was surprisingly non-loud. They sat in the comfortable seats in the back row. Kermit put his feet up on the back of the chair in front of himself and sipped his coffee. Fozzie leaned back and looked at the ceiling. They did not speak for a while, comfortable just to be quiet.

When Fozzie spoke he said, "Y'know, Kermit, I really love the show, but I kinda missed this."

"Me too." Before they revived The Muppet Show, Kermit and Fozzie used to hang out together every Friday. It didn't matter where they were or what they were doing, or even what they talked about, they enjoyed simply spending time together. When things had gotten busy the old habit had fallen by the wayside. Kermit hadn't thought about it lately—he had had so many other things on his mind now—but now he realized that he really had missed hanging around with the bear. "Sorry, things have been so crazy lately."

Fozzie patted his arm. "It's all right."

Kermit nodded and took another sip of his coffee. Then he asked, "So, what do you think?"

"About what?"

"Anything."

"Well, there's Velcro. How does it work?"

Kermit looked at Fozzie. The bear grinned at him. "I don't know. But it somehow does," Kermit said. "Doesn't it get caught in your fur?"

"A little. That's why I told Wardrobe not to use it in my costumes. I said, 'Leave Vel-cro enough alone!'"

Kermit shook his head and said, "Sheesh." Fozzie laughed to himself. It was a bad joke, but it was a good bad joke.

They lapsed into silence again. After a while Kermit said, "There's nothing I'd rather be doing now than this show. I guess that's why I let it take up all my time and drive me up the wall sometimes. Sounds kinda crazy, doesn't it?"

"Nah. We all feel that way."

"Not quite as much." Kermit swirled his coffee. "I don't mean that people aren't taking it seriously, giving it their all, but they're making time for themselves too. Like Gonzo and Camilla. You know, for a while I thought they might leave the show."

Surprised, Fozzie said, "Really?"

"Yes. If they had, well, I'd wish 'em well, and I'd miss them after they left. But they didn't. Gonzo's as gung-ho as ever, but it's not the only thing in his life anymore."

"Yeah. He and Camilla are so happy now. They really belong together. And he really loves being a father."

"Who'd have thought that they'd be the first to settle down and start a family?" He paused, then said, "In a way, I kind of envy them."

"Yeah. Fresh eggs every day…"

Kermit nudged Fozzie with his elbow. "I'm serious. I mean, sometimes, well, I wonder what that would be like."

"With Miss Piggy?" Fozzie asked.

"Er, in general."

"Oh."

Neither spoke for a little while. Then Kermit said, "I really do like Miss Piggy. Underneath that diva act she puts on, she really can be a nice person."

"Um," Fozzie said. He did not actually disagree with Kermit, but lately Miss Piggy had been on edge, making it a little less easy than usual to like her.

"I think that most of the time she's putting on an act to prove that she's a big star and make her place in the world. And it's a good act—so good that she's got herself fooled too. But sometimes she does relax, and that's the Miss Piggy I like. The Piggy who can laugh and tell terrible jokes during a Veterinarian's Hospital sketch. I wish I saw that Piggy more often."

Quietly Fozzie said, "I never thought about her like that, but… yeah. You're right. Why do you think she's always pretending? It seems like so much work."

Kermit had his suspicions; the article about her pageant-child past had made him think. But it didn't seem right to take her apart behind her back, and in any case he was not sure, so it wasn't a lie when he said "I don't know. But sometimes I feel sorry for her. I can't imagine keeping up a façade like that all my life."

"Me neither," Fozzie said, shaking his head.

"I guess that, if she does ever open up to anyone, it'll have to be on her own terms. Until then… I'll just accept her as she is. She may not be the most beautiful star, or the best singer, but she'd the best darn Miss Piggy out there."

"Yeah," Fozzie agreed wholeheartedly.

"If she ever heard me talk about her like this… I don't know what she'd do, and I don't want to find out," Kermit said, and forced a little laugh. "Lately I've been wondering about Scooter too."

"What about Scooter?"

"I didn't expect him to go to college. Don't get me wrong, I think it's a good idea, him doing something on his own, even if after working for us for so long he sure doesn't need it on his resume. But he's taking on a whole lot now, both the theater and school, and I don't think most people realize how much he does for the show. I wonder if he's spreading himself too thin."

"I never thought about that," Fozzie mused. "He always looks happy to me."

"That's just how he is. But it seems like he's been quiet lately." He sipped his coffee. "I don't know, it's probably nothing. But I'd hate it if he burned out. Who else could stage manage this mob?"

Fozzie said, "I think he's like the rest of us. He's here because this is what he wants to do. Even when it's tough, when the acts are messed up or the sets fall over or the audience is booing, this is what we all love."

Kermit raised his coffee cup. Fozzie tapped his against Kermit's, and they both took a drink. Kermit said, "Even with theater remodeling costs and tabloid hassles and all of us living in a crowded nuthouse, I wouldn't trade this life for any other."

"Yeah," Fozzie said with a sincere grin.

The Electric Mayhem had stopped playing sometime during the conversation; now another set of characters were onstage, working out the blocking for a comedy skit. Fozzie and Kermit watched without speaking, their minds elsewhere.

After a while Kermit said, "Thanks, Fozzie. I didn't realize it, but I missed hanging out together. We'll have to get back in the practice."

"Sure," Fozzie said, pleased. "But not Fridays."

"Yeah. Too busy. Well, we'll make time during the week."

"Yeah."

Neither of them felt the urge to be anywhere else than exactly where they were. They sat back, content to watch the others scurry around on the stage.

*****

All characters are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC and are used without permission but with much respect and affection. The overall story is copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.

 

[The Count]

Now that was a rully nice chapter. Just the frog and the bear, sitting on the sidelines, musing over their friendships and lives and whatever else.
You called?
No, go back to your chicky.

Hope more gets posted soonish, thanks for updating.

 

[Slackbot]

Thanks. Sometimes it feels good to take a break from the drama and let the characters relax. Next chapter, titled "Outreach," coming soonish indeed.

(Note to self: write some comedy for a change!)

 

[Muppetfan44]

Very nice.

I have to say, I think that last chapter is your best one yet; you script the characters very well and pulled everyone into the story along with it.

Keep up the good work!

 

[Slackbot]

*laughs* Thank you! Heh, I never can anticipate the reactions on this board. I almost cut this chapter from the outline because I thought it broke the pace just so I could point out the threads in the story to the reader. However, I decided to keep it because, well, tension-breakers can be good, and I like writing Fozzie & Kermit. I wish I had a thread for them, but considering the theme of this story, it's probably better that they don't have starring roles this time around.

 

[Muppetfan44]

Originally Posted by Slackbot
I almost cut this chapter from the outline because I thought it broke the pace just so I could point out the threads in the story to the reader. However, I decided to keep it because, well, tension-breakers can be good, and I like writing Fozzie & Kermit. I wish I had a thread for them, but considering the theme of this story, it's probably better that they don't have starring roles this time around

Well I'm very glad that you kept it in. I love the dynamic in this story between Gonzo & Camilla, Janken and Scooter and Kermit and Piggy. I'm really interested to see where Miss Piggy's childhood pageant stuff goes. Keep it up!

 

[ilovemusic]

I must say, I like most of the fanfics, slackbot, but yours is one of the ncest because you're making pictures and stuff.
And your pictures are amazing, oh yeah.