Visions 2: So We've Been Told

[Java]

Hey, Beau, when do we get the next chapter? Ed's threatening not to post his Sesame Street signatures until we get it!

 

[The Count]

Yeah... What she said. Post more!

 

[The Count]

Hmmm... Now what sig did I use for the letters K and J...
Oh well, guess I'll never remember what they were... Seeing as how that guy named Beauregard or something like that won't post more story. Such a shame, this had so much promise...

 

[Beauregard]

Coooooooooount! I need those signatures! I adore those signatures! I would die for those signit-wait...I'd negotiate strenuously...

But I havn't written any more story yet...well, I have written half a scene...but I need to do some research and watch the scene with *omitted* and *omitted* from near *omitted* before I can write how *omitted* reacts to *omitted* and meets *omitted*!!!

 

[The Count]

Right! And that's why you're not getting any siggy pudding. Not till that scene gets posted. Unless you could see your way to posting a whole chapter. That is, if you have it in you old Beau.
No, not another siggy more till then.

*Heads back to watch the new applicant's moose-shrieks' scoring results.

 

[Beauregard]

It's been a long while since we left Gonzo taking care of Piggy, and Fozzie outside of Club Dot...but here they are, moving on...look out for four Muppets (besides Fozzie) to appear in this chapter! Though three of them did appear briefly in Visions 1, this is the first time we get close to them. Also, if you look really, really closely, you'll pick out just a tiny bit of another Muppet's feet...

Chapter 3

The queue, if the mass of bodies crowding at the entrance to Club Dot could be called a queue, smelt of cheap perfume, bodyspray, and aftershave. Goth chicks' eyes were lined with thick black eyeliner and gothic guys chewed on black painted fingernails. A tall, strong woman in eight-inch boots leant towards the man at the door and fluttered dusty green eye-shadowed eyelids at him. "Give us a break, Bunssy," she said. "Let us in would ya?"

The man lifted a pair of dark glasses up his face to the top of a round, prematurely bald, yellow head and gave her a look. "I just cannot do that, man," he drawled. An ear-phone was clipped over his head, with the mic a short distance from his mouth.

"Woman," the woman corrected harshly.

"I just cannot do that, woman," he drawled. "Get back in the line please."

She folded her arms, fists clenched. "Who's gunna make me, Bunssy?"

The man known as Bunssy hit a switch in his mic. "Beaks, we have a problem out front."

A faint "Meeping" sound came through the headset and the man twiddled with the wire that ran across his desk.

"Excuse me?" The voice that voiced the interjection was quiet, yet strong, if this is possible. It was the kind of voice that can speak in a crowded hall and be caught by those straining to hear, yet drowned out by those hurling insults and apple-cores. The voice caught near the back of the throat, and yet made it out into the open before the owner of the voice could turn and run away.

The man at the desk flicked his glasses back down and swivelled to view the voice-owner. "Yes?"

The newcomer to the queue tugged his orange hands together, and then twisted at a black scarf he wore all year round. "I, was wondering if you would let me inside?"

"You and who's army? Exactly who?"

"I…" The orange bear pulled a black cap off and turned it over and over between his hands. "I'm Fozzie Bear," he said.

"And I'm DBH, Doc Bunsen Honeydew, and this is my assistant Beaker." He waved a ring-filled finger at a tall, tough, muscled figure who hulked in the doorway of Club Dot. The creature had a thick neck, but a pointed head with tufts of greasy hair. He was also pink. "Beaker's well trained in removing pests."

"Meh, meh, meeh!" Beaks peeped in deep meeps. He stomped past the un-receptive reception desk and folded his arms. "Meeh, muh."

Bunsen poked Beaker in the back. "Get these peeps out of here Beaks."

The hulk of pink bulk began walking at the crowd, pushing folk away if they didn't move fast enough. After the crowd had dispersed fully, he returned to Bunsen's side.

"Good work, Beaker. Remind me to buy you a Popsicle on the way home tonight."

"Meh meh MEH!" Beaker muttered, shaking his head.

"Excuse me?" Fozzie said, appearing beside the desk once more.

"What? Are you still here?"

"I think so." Fozzie pressed his paws together. "Feels like it."

"Is he mocking us?" Bunsen muttered.

"Meh muue."

"I figured. I suggest you give him a little something to remember us by, Beaker."

Beaker advanced on the bear, fists clenched and leather boots stomping. He grabbed Fozzie's chin in on hand and lifted him off the ground. "Wait!" Fozzie cried. "Oh, I just remembered." Beaker dropped Fozzie and he stumbled against him. "Look. Here. A staff card pass." Fozzie slapped a small pass-card on Bunsen's desk. The card identified the owner as a member of staff and thus gave them full entry privileges.

Bunsen pressed a button and the doors of club dot unlocked. "Sorry to bother you, bear."

Fozzie smiled at him and pressed on past, walking inside. A pang of guilt left him wondering if Gonzo would have been ashamed at his old friend pick-pocketing a pass-card from a bouncer. Would he be ashamed, or proud? After all, it was for a good cause. He was going to make their dream work. He was going to prove that visions weren’t illusions. They weren’t. They existed in their hearts, and in real life.

*****​

Black keys scraped against white on the ancient piano, pressed down by fingers of brown fur. Tunes, or more like, out-of-tunes drifted from the upright piano pushed against a far wall of Club Dot. Dark brown foot paws pressed pedals, elongating the drifty nature of the notes that were tenderly trilling from the abandoned mother of music, the piano. Too bad nobody could hear them.

Speakers pumped noise into the mosh-pits, and spinning disco laser-balls spewed red, green, and blue lights that shot out through the grating crowd that called themselves modern man. Thick high-heeled boots stomped on dropped crisps, and crushed out smouldering cigarettes on the hard wood floor. Arms thrashed and bodies bumped.

Fozzie pressed his way through the double doors and stumbled into the mess of 'music' as the doors slammed closed and clicked themselves locked behind him.

A yellowy green bar-tender laughed, pulling red liquid from a bottle into glasses. "On de house, on de house," he was saying. "No, I'm kidding. Pay up, or get out."

Two old men tumbled from barstools and began a weaving, wobbly walk for the exit, arms over one another's shoulders to keep each other upright. One paused to watch the dancers and a gloved fist came darting from the dance-mats. It was possibly a dance move, but the yellow gloved punch sent the old man rolling.

Fozzie ducked a punch himself and tried to reach the bar without seeing a thing. He shut one eye and put a hand over the other, peeking out past a blur of orange fur which covered the scantily-glad dancers.

A woman in leather leered towards him and he backed away quickly, tripping over his clumsy feet in his hurry to escape the blue lip-sticked lips. Falling onto his side he crawled past feet and reached a wall. "Oh this is not good," he moaned, pulling himself up to a shaky standing position.

Behind him, plastic heels on yellow feet stomped inside a cage, but he covered his ears, shut his eyes to almost closed, and ran helter-skelter for the bar.

Taking big breathes, he held onto the bar to steady himself as the yellow-green bar tender raised caterpillar eyebrows at him. "What can I get ya?"

"Do you have hot milk with honey?" he ventured, already knowing the answer. "Just bottled water then." He gulped air and the bar tender glared, upturned two glasses and poured two drinks of water from a pre-opened bottle.

"Rules of the club," he said. "Buy a drink, share a drink. That'll be five dollars."

"Ahhhaaa…" Fozzie squirmed.

"Tell me you have money, because it's a strictly pay before serving situation here, and I already poured your drinks, bear."

"Well, I…" he stammered.

"Allow me," a deep voice said, stepping up behind the bear at the bar. A ten dollar bill hit the scrubbed surface with a round brown paw resting on it. The bar tender reached forward for the money, and the paw pulled it equally far back. "Johnny, you know the rules of service. No change for cash. So let's make the bill up to my ten dollars, shall we?"

The bar tender, Johnny, bent his brows in a furrow of annoyance. "Now that makes no sense," he said. "Buying just for the sake of money? No sense."

The voice was steady and dry as it replied. "Why make sense when it's more profitable to make dollars?"

*****​

Fozzie followed his new companion to a table squashed into an unlit corner of the club where the noise was less and they ran a much lower risk of getting knocked out, kicked, or otherwise mutilated.

Metal chair-legs scraped against the floor as Fozzie swung a char out from the table and sat down. The stranger placed two glasses of water before the bear, and seated himself on the other side of the table, tipping his chair back and propping his head on one paw as he sipped beer-froth from his mug.

"Now you," he said. "You look like you are in the wrong place."

Fozzie's eyes slid sideways as he searched for another position, chair or table he should be sat at. "Where should I be?" he asked, worriedly.

"At home, maybe?" the stranger suggested. "Except-"

"I don't-" Fozzie started.

"-you don't really have a home, do you?"

Fozzie nodded, then shook his head. "Yes, no, I don't…not really."

"Ahh." Another sip of beer.

Fozzie wrapped his hand around one of the glasses and stared at the water. Tiny bits of something floated there.

"The name's Rowlf," the stranger said, reaching a paw across the table to the bear. "Rowlf the Dog."

Fozzie grasped his hand tightly. "I'm Fozzie." He looked up into the brown, fur-lined dog face, noting the black nose and wide smile. He looked past those into dark rusty brown eyes, where, he was surprised to see something he had once seen in Gonzo's eyes.

The dog looked back, taking in the orange fur and comical combination of pink nose and close eyes. He looked deeper into those eyes and felt something he hadn't felt for a long time. He saw something there. Fozzie believed in himself, and as a result, Rowlf believed in him too. "Nice to meet you," Rowlf said.

Fozzie glowed.

To be continued...

Coming up next...Miss Bitterman, a gun, black-boots, and a man from The Muppet's Take Manhatten...

 

[TogetherAgain]

Gah, Beau, I only have time for one peculiar sound!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

MORE PLEASE!

Oh this so rocks...

 

[theprawncracker]

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-HOOOO-HOOOO-HOOOOOO!!!

Beau that was PHENOMINAL!! Rowlf is SO awesome!! And poor poor Fozzie, resorting back to pick-pocketing...But he pick-pocketed Beaker which was great!

And then this!

The voice was steady and dry as it replied. "Why make sense when it's more profitable to make dollars?"

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPIE!!! It's just SO awesome!!

And as alwyas, MORE PLEASE!!!

 

[ReneeLouvier]

And Beau, I must also join in with their squeeing. As this is a wonderful return to the story!

And...thank you for not putting Scooter in there. *smiles broadly* That always creeped me out. But then again, I guess they haven't left yet, huh?

 

[christyb]

Annnndddd to think you wrote this while half asleep and on MSN with me. I hate to see what you can do while fully awake and paying attention! It's great. I loved how you pulled all the teaser lines together. I can't wait to find out what happens although I know more chapters will be sporadic in posting. Now if you'll excuse me...I need to get back to doing my schoolwork...like I'm supposed to be doing. My professor is starting to wonder at my smiling.