TMS fic: Growing Together

[Slackbot]

*chuckles* I'm glad you liked, or at least didn't hate, Piggy and Al's scene. I was worried you were gonna E-mail me a karate chop.

Janken didn't stand up for himself because, well, it's not his nature. He is a wimp in certain respects, and he'd rather fold like a busted flush than be on the outs with someone he loves and needs. He's his father's son.

 

[Slackbot]

Growing Together
Part 7: The Media
by Kim McFarland​

*****

It was a quiet morning at the Muppet boarding house. Everyone was sleeping in. Almost everyone; Scooter had stuck in some earplugs and gone to bed as soon as he had gotten home rather than joining in the usual post-show revelry so he could get up early and have a few quiet hours to himself.

He went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Of the food at the front, milk and fruit was the most breakfasty. He didn't feel brave enough to explore further back. He took those to the table, then got some cereal. He assembled his breakfast and began eating with a textbook open in front of himself.

Minutes later he looked up, startled by the sound of a knock at the door. Nobody came here this early on the morning after a show. He went over and opened the door. It was a courier. She said, "I have a package for The Muppets, care of Scooter Grosse."

"That's me," he told her.

She pressed some buttons on a pad, then handed it and a stylus down to him. "Sign here, please."

He signed his name on the screen. Not that his signature was legible; those machines made any signature look like a tangle of wire. He handed it back up, and she gave him a box big enough to hold an unabridged hardback dictionary. "Have a good day."

"You too," Scooter said. He shouldered the door closed, and, wondering what this was about, carried the box over to the living room coffee table. He opened it, and found a note from Yvonne Renee thanking him for his time. Oh, now he remembered; she was the one who'd called some of the Muppets to verify biographical information. Under the note was a bundle of magazines. The cover was a collage of photos of the Muppets. Press kit photos, he noted in the back of his mind. He took one out, brought it to the dining room table, and put it on top of the textbook to read while eating his cereal.

The table of contents was a list of the major players of the Muppet troupe, plus a section for less prominent players, and then the history of the troupe as a whole. He turned to Miss Piggy's page first. When it came to the press she was the miner's canary; if they treated her well, then they'd be decent to the Muppets as a whole. If not, there'd be fires to put out. He saw that she had eight pages with lots of photos, many of them from press kits, but some were stills and photos from earlier sources. There were a pictures of her modeling career before she joined The Muppets, and some of her as a child. He went back to the first page and began reading.

The article was thorough and factual. Most articles about Piggy contained speculation, information that she had planted, et cetera, but this stuck to the facts for the most part, and was flattering without gushing. When he got to the last page and read about her effect on the media, and how she had defined her own standard of beauty and success on her own terms, he smiled. She'd be pleased. She'd even tolerate the quote from Annie Sue Pig, who stated that Miss Piggy had been her inspiration.

He flipped pages, reading what it had to say about the various people he shared the house with. As he did he got the impression that it was essentially a very professional fanzine. He had two pages, with a fairly straightforward bio, some photos—those shots of him playing frisbee really got around—and an account of his progress from management-inflicted gofer to stage manager and a mention of his academic status. Nothing about his personal life, whew.

He flipped some more pages, looking at photos. He started to go past the Electric Mayhem when he realized what he had seen. He turned back and stared for half a minute in disbelief, his cereal forgotten. Then he grinned widely. Who'd have guessed?

*

He was still reading the magazine when the place began to come to life. Alarm clocks began to chime, play music, buzz, and in one case gurgle. Scooter counted just short of half a minute before the chorus was drowned out by the rumbling stampede for the bathroom. Scooter took his cereal bowl back to the kitchen, then went upstairs. He passed Kermit, who was waiting in line to brush his teeth, and said, "Boss, there's a box on the living room table. Take a look."

"What is it?" the frog asked.

Scooter showed him the copy he had been reading. "I've been reading it. It looks pretty good. Should be worth some publicity."

"Oh, good. Can I read this?"

"Sure. There's more in the box downstairs. They're for all of us."

"Thanks," Kermit said, and opened the magazine.

"No problem. I'm going to be out. If you need me I've got my cell."

*

Scooter went to his bedroom and picked up his backpack. He went back downstairs, collected the textbook he hadn't been reading, then put on the backpack. He wanted to take another of the magazines, but if he did he'd be reading that instead of studying, which was what he needed to be doing in the time before the show.

*

Scooter rode his bicycle to the theater, intending to commandeer Kermit's office for the afternoon. When he entered the theater some of the lights were on. A moment later he heard a thread of soft flute music. More curious than worried, he followed the sound, and saw that it came from the stage. Only a few of the footlights were on, giving it a dim, moody look. Janken was sitting on one of the hay bales from the jug band number and playing his ceramic ocarina. The tune was slow and reflective, a song that Scooter recognized. He sang softly, "How much alike we are; perhaps we're long lost brothers."

Janken looked over, surprised. Hands in his jacket pockets, Scooter walked toward him. Janken played the next line, and after that Scooter sang, "We even think the same; you know there may be others."

Janken smiled, put down the ocarina, and sang,

"Our world says, 'Welcome, stranger,' everybody's a friend."​

Scooter harmonized,

"We can always use a friend."​

Janken continued,

"Favorite stories don't end,"​

Scooter sang,

"Welcome, brother."​

Together they sang the last line of the verse,

"In our world."​

Janken said, "That's a beautiful song. I heard it for the first time a few days ago, and I can't get it out of my mind."

"Yeah." Scooter sat on the bale beside him and set his backpack on the floor. "What're you doing here?"

"I wanted to try to get used to the stage. I thought that if I try it when the theater's empty, maybe it'll be a little less scary during the show."

"Baby steps."

"Yeah."

Scooter said, "Some people handle stage fright by imagining the audience is naked. Can't be intimidated by people without clothes."

Janken laughed. "Scooter, I'm a Fraggle. We're a clothing-optional species."

They grinned at each other. Scooter put an arm around Janken's shoulders. "You gonna be all right?"

"Yeah." Janken paused, then said, "Scooter, you've probably already figured this out about me, but I'm kind of a wimp."

"No, you're not."

"When it comes to making decisions, big ones, I am. If I hadn't been following someone around because I had a big crush on him, I'd never have left Fraggle Rock. If I hadn't been trapped on the surface by a rockslide I'd never have come to live in outer space. If I hadn't landed right in the hands on the TMI I wouldn't have gone to college, and if I hadn't met you in college I wouldn't be working here. You see, all my big decisions have been made for me; I'd never have taken those chances by myself."

"You had to decide to take those chances," Scooter pointed out.

"Well, yeah, but still, I was led every time. Either I had no choice or someone else showed me where to go."

"You've done all right."

"Yeah. I did because, well, what's the alternative?" He shook his head, smiling wryly. "I'm not saying this very well. I'm not beating myself up. I'm just a, well, a follower. That's fine, because if you have leaders you have to have followers, right? What I'm trying to say is, I can handle this. It's scary, but I can do it, because I can do things that scare me when I have to. Don't worry about me, 'kay?"

"I believe you," Scooter said, patting Janken's shoulder.

"So what're you doing here?"

"I came here to study. The house isn't gonna be quiet today, but the theater will be. For the afternoon, at least."

Janken said, "I know you. You're going to get distracted here, with all this theater stuff around. Why don't you come home with me? It's quiet there. I'll leave you alone to study. I'll make lunch too."

Scooter said, "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Good. Let me put this hay back in place."

They got up, and Janken lugged the hay bale back to the other jug band props. As they left the theater Janken said,"I watched the footage from last night."

"Yeah. And?"

"I guess my tail was kind of funny. Should I do that again?"

Scooter grinned. "Yeah."

*

Janken's apartment was the basement of a family home. The family was a quiet one, and Janken was a quiet, undemanding tenant who paid the rent on time, so they got along well. Janken turned on the lights. "Grab a chunk of couch. Want tea?"

"How about some water?"

"Sure."

Janken got a glass of water while Scooter took off his shoes, claimed one side of the couch, and got one of the books out of his backpack. He brought the water over and handed it to Scooter. "Is there anything I can do to help, or should I just leave you alone?"

"Actually, there is something," Scooter said. He reached into the backpack and drew out a tablet. "I brought this along. For study breaks."

"Uh huh," Janken said with a grin.

"Don't smirk at me like that. I lurk on a few message boards to see what the fans are saying. Could you check them out for me, see if there's anything about last night's show?"

"Okay." Janken didn't have a lot of experience with message boards, but he did understand lurking. "Which boards?"

"Wait, let it come up... okay." Scooter opened a browser, then handed it to Janken. "They're in my 'fan sites' bookmarks. When you go to them you'll automatically be logged in as me."

It took Janken a few tries; he was not terribly experienced using touch screens. "I'm into the first one." He paused, then looked at Scooter. "Your username's 'Roughy'?"

"It's a kind of fish. I wanted something I could remember but wouldn't be obvious."

Janken grinned. "I get it. Orange roughy. Okay, what should I look for?"

"There are some threads I watch. There'll be alerts on the upper right about those. If you see anything you think I ought to look at, bookmark it. After that, well, just look around. You might find some fun stuff. Just don't take anything too seriously, especially if it annoys you."

"Gotcha," Janken said.

*

A few hours later Scooter put down the book he had been staring at and announced. "My brain's full."

"How about your stomach?" Janken asked.

"Not full."

"How about a stir-fry? I just got an electric wok."

"Sounds good."

Pleased, Janken plugged in the device. The apartment did not have a kitchen, but it did have a small refrigerator, and Janken, being used to simple, often raw food, didn't miss having a stove or oven. However, he had been teaching himself to cook using a hot plate and, just recently, a wok. He took some vegetables out of the refrigerator and began cutting them up. Scooter said, "Read anything interesting?"

"Yeah. Some people saw last night's show. They liked it, and they said that it's about time Weird Al was on the show, but they thought his and Piggy's number was kinda slow for the final act. Not a lot of punch."

"So to speak."

"There was a lot of chitchat and arguing that I just skimmed. And some people said they wish they could see the backstage stuff like on TV."

Scooter nodded. "I know. That'd be fun, but we can't exactly put the backstage onstage."

"Some of them agree, and some want backstage sets to make that part of the show. I don't know—it sounds like a logistical nightmare."

"It would be," Scooter said.

"Oh, and there's a thread I thought you ought to see..." Janken oiled the wok, then put some of the vegetables into it and began stirring them with a pair of oversized chopsticks.

Janken was grinning. Scooter picked up the tablet and looked at the bookmarks. Janken saw the look of embarrassment on his face when he came to the thread's title. "You've got fans," the Fraggle teased.

"Shaddap and cook," Scooter replied, grinning.

"Yessir." He continued stirring. Then, softly, he sang,

"Some say our world is getting too small,"​

Scooter took the next line,

"So many things to learn, but we'll enjoy each lesson."​

They continued the song together, alternating lines.

"I say with kindness there's room for us all.​

Problems don't worry us when half the fun is guessin'.​

Our world is always changing, everyday's a surprise.​

Live a lifetime of surprise.​

Love can open your eyes—​

Brother, look around—​

In our world."​

*****

All characters except Janken and Weird Al Yankovic are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. Our World is copyright © Jim Henson Productions. and Weird Al Yankovic is, of course, copyright © himself. All copyrighted characters and people are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken is copyright © Kim McFarland negaduck9@aol.com), as is the overall story. Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.

 

[The Count]

Gee Kim, that sounded fine.
Yep, it sure did.

Emmet Otter is such an engrained Henson classic, I'm glad you got to watch it.
Seems like the magazine was on the professional side of fandom, good, makes it one other person to respect/trust.
at the fansite mention and that thread in particular, yes, I know the one. Although there's also the club for him and all the others performed by that one guy...
The stuff with Janken's home life is interesting to me because it kind of depicts the traditional college lifestyle from the US I've heard of but never really known, what with the hotplate and renting a basement apartment.

This fic got real nice and homey. Please continue.

 

[Slackbot]

*chuckles* I was hoping someone would recognize the thread Jan bookmarked. Scooter's noticed it before, but he doesn't pursue it. Well, maybe he reads it when he needs a little ego-boo. Everyone needs some o' that once in a while.

Big Muppet fans can make movies, and they can also make 'zines. It annoys the bejeezus outta me when writers rely on Wikipedia for their info; you can find some huge errors (and plain disinformation) there. "Lorelei" Piggy, Boober "Beef" Fraggle, Gonzo's foul language, over 70 episode titles for the animated Fraggle Rock. Besides, if you go straight to the source, you might learn things you wouldn't have found elsewhere.

My college experience (UGA class of '90, woof woof woof) was living two-to-a-tiny-room in Creswell Hall, which was a very loud dormitory with no air conditioning. They kept saying they were going to put it cable, but that never happened while I was there, and the walls blocked TV signals very effectively. I didn't have a wok or a hot plate; I had a heating pitcher and a stack of Ramen Noodle packs. Jan's pad is possibly a little wishful thinking on my part, as I would have given anything for a quiet space of my own within walking distance of a fresh produce stand.

 

[Ruahnna]

When I was in my last year of college (as a married student) we lived in the college "married-student" housing--a series of eight tiny apartments who had been donated by a Mr. and Mrs. Foster and were known as--you guessed--the Foster Homes.

The kitchen was reminiscent of the one from Green Acres--only so much current at one time--and you had to cook with one hand on the kettle and one hand on the fuse box. We did not have a working stove, and the "freezer" part of the tiny refrigerator was just a shelf at the top near the cooling unit. We spent a year without the second greatest gift you can give.

Aside from the bathroom, it was one big open area. All the furniture touched each other--the bed touched the nightstand, the nightstand touched the couch, the couch touched the sewing machine, the back of the sewing machine chair touched the back of one of the kitchen table chairs--you get the drift. Our first furniture purchase--a particle-board coffee table--was a source of great pride, but the edge of it touched the bentwood rocker. And yet, the backyard was enormous and we grew a huge garden, which all of our friends envied. Unlike our friends in the girl's dorm and the boy's dorm (times were different and this was a small, conservative school) we could actually have people of both genders in our house! And a cat! It was grand.

 

[Slackbot]

Whew! You didn't have a lot of square feet, but having some space to yourself is STILL wonderful. I'd have taken that in a hot second over having to use a communal bathroom with little water pressure in the showers and scalding spells when anyone flushed the toilet, and pain-in-the-neck roommates, and sleeping with earplugs because some of my hallmates didn't seem to understand that most people are diurnal. But most of all I envy the garden! I live in a condo now, and it's just right for me, but I have nowhere to grow anything. I've tried growing tomatoes in big pots on the porch, but they don't get enough sun due to the high porch wall.

 

[KarinTeeth]

Over all?

WIN.

 

[Slackbot]

Thank you.

Just for trivia's sake, some of these scenes happened between my hands and the keyboard, the characters coming to life and doing as they please. The song happened that way; I'd just seen Emmett Otter's Jugband Christmas and, apparently, Jan was watching over my shoulder and picked up on the song. Other scenes have been in my mind for a long time, such as this illustration of the "Study Date" drawn back in September:

And I had Scooter kicking Janken onto the stage planned out back in August:

 

[Slackbot]

I'm a fic-posting maniac!​

*****​

​

Growing Together​

Part 8: Dear John​

by Kim McFarland​

*****

It was another morning in the Muppets' boarding house. Kermit was waiting in line for the bathroom among several dozen of his costars/housemates. Scooter—who, surprisingly, was already dressed—walked into the hall from the living room and said, "Boss, there's a box on the living room table. Take a look."

"What is it?" Kermit asked.

Scooter showed him a magazine titled Muppet Showbiz. "I've been reading it. It looks pretty good. Should be worth some publicity."

"Oh, good. Can I read this?"

Scooter handed it to him, saying, "Sure. There's more in the box downstairs. They're for all of us."

"Thanks," Kermit said, and opened the magazine.

"No problem. I'm going to be out. If you need me I've got my cell." Scooter continued down the hall.

*

Kermit skimmed the magazine while waiting in line. When his turn came he brushed his teeth, or at least his tongue, took care of other necessities of life, then went down for breakfast. The Swedish Chef was already in the kitchen, doing his thing. How he got there ahead of the others was a mystery, one Kermit had stopped wondering about long ago. He collected some scrambled eggs and toast, sat down at the nearly-empty dining room table, and began reading.

The magazine's forward greeted the reader, congratulated them on their taste in entertainment, and lauded the Muppets for their timeless, sharp yet gentle brand of humor. It stated that the magazine was intended as a tribute to the Muppets, and written both for new fans and those who had loved and respected them through the years. It did not contain gossip, speculation, or unduly personal information, as the Muppets were, after all, people too, and deserved as much respect and discretion as anyone else. Interesting, Kermit thought. All too many publications loved to print any dirt they could get their hands on, and when they couldn't get any they'd make something up. Well, not so many, Kermit corrected himself. Only a few actually stooped so low. But they were the ones you remembered. It was nice to be reminded that most others were much kinder.

He turned the page, and saw pictures of himself. Some of them were press photos that had been around for years, and some were film and television stills. Those brought back memories. He smiled as he skimmed the text. His beginnings in the swamp, early television career, Sesame Street... all of this was common knowledge to dedicated fans, but the books that had gathered it all in one place were long out of print. It was flattering to see it in a current publication, evidence that they were once again in the media's eye.

After his section was Miss Piggy's, of course. It began with a page of current fashion photos on the left and the beginning of an article on the right. He read the article with more attention. Miss Piggy loved good publicity—and was very particular about what she considered good. The photo page was the right way to start, he thought.

The article also followed her career from her earliest days, which went back further than Kermit's. Since before she could talk she had been in pageants. There was a picture of her on her mother's lap, all blue eyes and curly, platinum-blonde hair in a ruffly white dress, holding a blue ribbon as if it was a doll. He smiled. She looked as if she had been born for the stage. The article went on to follow her career, through many years of pageants and modeling, taking humbler work such as waitressing or clerical jobs when needed to make ends meet, but always self-reliant. She had persevered and won a spot on The Muppet Show, and quickly worked her way from the back of the chorus to upstage center. In about fifteen seconds, Kermit thought as he recalled that scene. It went on to describe her other efforts, and sweetened the article liberally with plenty of photos. At the end it discussed her lasting impact. She had set a new standard of beauty based on strength and charisma and opened up the field for many others who would otherwise be judged by inappropriate, often unhealthy standards. There was a quote from Annie sue, lauding Miss Piggy as her idol and inspiration. Piggy might not love seeing a picture of Annie Sue in her section, and she didn't like her old pageant photos much, but he thought that overall she'd be very pleased.

Kermit flipped through more pages. Fozzie, Gonzo, Bunsen and Beaker, The Electric Mayhem, Rowlf...then he realized what he had seen, and backed up a few pages. Dr. Teeth? Not according to the caption. He began reading the article. Several minutes later he was grinning. He wasn't under the impression that he knew everything about everyone, but this was a real surprise.

Surrenly noticing the conversation around himself, he looked up. He'd been so engrossed in the magazine he hadn't noticed the table filling up. His breakfast was gone, but the plate was still there; judging from his lack of hunger, he must have eaten it while reading. Fozzie, at his side, asked "What'cha reading?"

"Remember the phone call you told me about a few days ago, when they checked out some information about your past? It was for this."

"Oh, can I see?" Fozzie asked, interested.

"Sure. Scooter said there was a box of them in the living room." He gave Fozzie the magazine and took his plate to the kitchen. Then he went back out to the living room and saw the box on the coffeetable. There looked to be over a dozen in there, with a thank-you note to Scooter from a Yvonne Renee. He took out a bunch and returned to the dining room.

*

Soon people were reading the magazines with interest. There wasn't much for them to learn in those pages, but everyone liked to see their press. There was much comparing of notes and general amusement, and, Kermit noted, more than a few startled expressions. He was willing to bet he knew why.

His suspicion was confirmed when the members of The Electric Mayhem wandered in from their quarters in the back. Animal led them, growling "Coffee!" and dragging Floyd, who was holding on with all of his strength to the other end of the chain. Janice walked after him, vocally hoping that there was still some organic juice left. Zoot and Lips ambled by wordlessly, and Dr. Teeth, his smile buffed to glowing brightness, brought up the rear. Many of the other Muppets looked up at him and grinned, which was not an unpleasant way to begin the day, but it wasn't exactly typical. "I'm glad to have brought such felicitation with the luminosity of my presence," he said.

Rowlf, chuckling, said, "It's not your presence, it's your past."

"Oh? Elucidate, my good dog."

Rowlf held up one of the magazines. "According to this, you used to be a concert pianist."

"Alas, my shameful past has finally come to torment me," Teeth said, sounding amused rather than tormented, and surprisingly unsurprised. He only glanced at the photograph Rowlf had pointed at, showing a much younger version of him sitting at a grand piano in front of an orchestra and wearing a plain tux. He was familiar with that picture. He had, after all, supplied it.

"And the stage name?"

Teeth looked at the caption, then said, "What about it?"

"You used to call yourself 'Doctor John Wogglebug'?"

"Well of course," Dr. Teeth replied. "Nobody'd believe me if I called myself Perfesser, and Dr. John was already taken." He grinned wider than usual; he was enjoying himself.

"Wow, Rowlf said. "You sure had me fooled. I would never have guessed."

"We all began somewhere. I was not born into the loving arms of rock. In the folly of my youth I was a concert pianist. I played the finest of Vivialdi, Beetohoven, and those other guys." He opened up the lid of the upright piano and began playing Vivaldi's Winter. At first he played it straight, but soon he began adding his own embellishments, giving the piece new energy and force. After a minute he finished that up and turned back around. "My life changed when I realized one great truth: you can't get your groove on if you're dragging around a bunch of oboes and violins. Mama Wogglebug didn't raise any dumb kids; I vowed to change my ways, got me some keyboards, and the rest is history."

Floyd said, "Hey, who cares what the man used to play? He's a god of rock now!"

"Fer sure."

"Rock and roll!" Animal exclaimed.

"What?" Zoot said, glancing up.

Animal explained, "Rock and roll."

"Oh." Zoot went back to his breakfast.

Lips, as was his wont, did not speak. Kermit said, Wow. I never knew."

Teeth grinned and laced his fingers together over his stomach. "You never asked."

*

Gonzo came downstairs with his daughter and a bevy of hens. They got their breakfasts. Most of the hens took theirs into the living room and claimed the couch. Billie was with them, enthusiastically pecking at her oatmeal just like the chickens.

Gonzo and Camilla went back up to their room. When he shut the door she asked, Now, what did you want to talk with me about?

He sat down on the futon their family slept on and put down the plates. Neither started eating. He said, "Brian called the other day. He said that their scientists had been... well, I don't know just what they've been doing, but they've been doing it with our genes. Yours, mine, and Billie's-"

Camilla squawked indignantly. He said, "No, no, I told you, this isn't bad! He told me that, well, it's not that likely that we'll have another..."

Camilla nodded. For years they had thought that because they were so different they'd never have offspring. Then Billie had come along. She had been a surprise, a wonderful one. Since then they hadn't tried to avoid having another. He candled every egg she laid. Each one had been blank. Billie had been a stroke of luck, and they couldn't expect that to happen again.

"He said that genes are like a puzzle, and they have people who can do those puzzles. They could do it for us," he said softly.

We could have another? Camilla asked.

"Yeah. But not the usual way. They'd need some samples, and they'd put things together up there, and give us the chick the next time the spaceship came by."

Camilla left her plate and sat by him, her feathers against his side. He put an arm around her. Looking up at his face, she said, No egg?

"There wouldn't be an egg for you to hatch," Gonzo replied softly.

She looked away. Gonzo said, "I know. It's not what I'd choose either. But it might be the only way."

She clucked, nodding. This was too strange for her to grasp at once. She understood the facts Gonzo had laid out: they could create a child made from her and Gonzo, then give it to them already hatched. Another chick would be good, very good, but the idea of someone else assembling your child like they were playing with a jigsaw puzzle... She shook her body, ruffling out her feathers. I don't know, she finally said.

"Me either," he replied in a whisper. "It'll be a little while before he gets here, so we've got time to think about it."

She nodded and pressed against him. He hugged her. "Remember the names we talked about?"

She smiled. As soon as he had candled Billie's egg and seen the proof that they had a chick on the way they had started talking about names, and hadn't stopped until she had hatched. She clucked an affirmative.

He said, "Well, if we do this, and if we get a boy, I'd like to name him James."

She looked up at him and clucked Why?

"'Cause whether he was hatched or not you'd be his mother, and that'd make him the son of a hen."

She groaned, then pecked him.

*

Fozzie put down the magazine. It was interesting, but he had something else on his mind. He had spent the last few minutes working up his nerve to speak. "Kermit?"

"Yeah, Fozzie?"

"About last night's show...well...it seemed like the last part was kinda slow. Really good! But...you know. Slow."

Kermit nodded. One More Minute had been funny, but they usually ended the show with more energy. Nobody had expected Piggy to restrain herself for so long. "And?"

Nervously Fozzie said, "Um...I thought maybe you could consider moving that act up and using a snappier song at the end?"

"What do you have in mind?" Kermit asked.

Fozzie's tension level lowered visibly. "Weird Al has so many great songs!"

Kermit said, "You know his music better than anyone here, I bet. Why don't you see what you can come up with this afternoon. Tell me when you've got an act worked out."

Fozzie stared. "You mean it?"

"Sure, Fozzie. Pick out something funny and energetic, come up with a plan, and get back to me. If it looks good we'll punch out a script and run it past Al."

Fozzie exclaimed, "Thank you! I'll start right now!" He hopped up and dashed up to his room, already mentally flipping through his CDs. He said "'Scuse me," as he passed Miss Piggy on her way downstairs. She wondered what he was in such a hurry for. Oh well, n'importe quoi.

A usual, Miss Piggy made her morning entrance later than the rest of the Muppets. She did not stint on her beauty sleep, and she certainly did not intend to get up early only to wait in line to crowd into the bathroom. She had taken her time over her toilette, and looked as lovely as ever.

Nobody glanced up when she came downstairs. All the chickens were on the couch, the hens reading a magazine and squawking their commentary. One clucked to Billie, who answered back in kind and turned the page for them. "Papa!" she said delightedly, pointing at a picture.

When she entered the dining room most of the Muppets were reading. She said, "Pardonne moi, I did not realize that we had a library."

Kermit looked up. "Hi, Piggy! They just printed a magazine about us. Want a look?"

She took the magazine Kermit offered. By some coincidence it was open to the last page of her article. She read about how she inspired others with her strength and determination. It was so very true. She had always known that, and it was nice to finally see it in print! She turned back to the beginning of the article.

Kermit saw the pleasure on Miss Piggy's face as she read about herself. Until she turned to the third page in the article. Then her expression froze. After a long pause she moved her hand to put her thumb over the offending photo and continued reading.

When she finished she handed it back to Kermit. "It's very nice. I'm so glad they have my best photos. A pity some people can't let go of the past, though." She gave a high, too-bright laugh and went into the kitchen to get her breakfast. When she came back and sat down next to Kermit—nobody had claimed the seat that Fozzie had vacated—she said, "Kermie, it's been forever since we had time to ourselves, just vous and moi."

"Well, yeah."

"Why don't we take an afternoon off together? Just get away from it all. Forget the theater for a little while and go out for brunch and a little show, hmm? Just the two of us."

"Well...sure," Kermit answered, momentarily surprised. "But today might be a problem..."

"Tomorrow, then?" she pressed.

"Sure. It's a date."

"Wonderful! Moi will make all the arrangements," she said, and kissed him on the cheek. Then she turned her attention to her breakfast.

*****

All characters are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. All copyrighted characters and people 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.

 

[KarinTeeth]

Wonderful chapter