Wearin' O the Green (For St. Patrick's Day)

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 3: Many Feathers Make Light Work

“What do you mean, am I sure? Of course I’m sure this is safe,” Dr. Bunsen Honeydew wheedled. “Now just climb the ladder like a good boy, Beakie, and let me know if you can see the bottle from up there.”
“Mee meep meee!” Beaker protested, but feebly. When the doctor continued to beam at him benevolently, he sighed and started climbing. He wasn’t particularly scared of heights, but he wasn’t all that wild about jumping from them.

“—going fine so far,” said Scooter with his usual unflappable air. “Everyone’s reported for duty—wait, no. We may not have a story-telling area today, Kermit, but that’s the only cancellation I had.” He held up the calico dress and be-ribboned mopcap. The accompanying apron was ruffled, but Scooter was not. “Catherine said she’d sub once her class is over, but I told her not to sweat it.”
“Fine, fine. What happened to Hilda?” Kermit asked, concerned. “She’s not sick, is she?”
“No—nothing like that,” said Scooter. “She’s just not going to be able to get here in time to make the first few sets. By that time, I figure it will be too late to put out the signs. Best just to let it go.” He looked at Kermit speculatively and grinned. “You might look good in a mop-cap,” he began, but Kermit held up his hands to ward off any ideas.
“No way,” he said dryly. “But you could check with Piggy. She’s not too wild about aprons, but—boy!—does she like hats!”
Scooter looked uncomfortable, consulting his clipboard while a telling blush crept up his cheeks.
“Oh, um, Miss Piggy,” he said nervously. “I—I think she’s already got something going today.”
“And what would that be?” Kermit asked. The guilty and nervous reactions of more than a handful of the fair participants had convinced him that there was something he didn’t know that they did. He didn’t know what he didn’t know, but he did know two things—(1) it involved whatever Piggy was selling at her booth, and (2) he wasn’t going to like it when he found out. He sighed and hoped it wasn’t the sort of thing that would involve bloodshed or a lawsuit.
“Gosh, Boss—lots to do!” cried Scooter and, showing his unswerving instinct for self-preservation, sprinted away. Once again, Kermit frowned—and moved on.

“Um, Bobo—I don’t mean to criticize, but why are you blowing up the balloons yourself? We bought a big helium tank. Didn’t you know?”
The big bear made a face at Kermit and finished blowing up a mylar balloon shaped like a shamrock. To Kermit’s surprise, it floated toward the sky on a bright silver string.
“What the hey?” Kermit muttered, watching its ascent.
“Got the tank right here,” said an unfamiliar voice. Kermit looked around in surprise and Robin started to giggle.
“Who said that?” asked Kermit. There was no one but the three of them.
“It’s Bobo, Uncle Kermit,” said Robin. “He’s talking funny!”
Bobo was indeed talking funny, and the mystery of the unused helium tank and the floating balloon were dissolved in an instant. While the two amphibians watched, Bobo took a big pull on the helium tank, then proceeded to blast the lighter-than-air out of his lungs into a balloon shaped like a pot full of gold coins. Bobo tied the balloon off and handed it to Robin.
“Here you go, little fellow!” he said fondly. “Ready to march in the parade?”
“I sure am,” said Robin enthusiastically. “Uncle Kermit’s letting me help him until it’s time to step off.”
Helping so far had consisted of following his Uncle around the fair site while the various booths were examined with varying degrees of dubiousness and alarm. The Swedish Chef’s green pancakes had been surprisingly palatable, and Kermit withdrew his earlier misgivings. The green syrup, however, had proven too much for his sensibilities, and he had simply handed the warm, flat bread to Robin plain. They munched as they headed toward the bazaar.
The Bizarre Bazaar—as the sign announced—was an interesting conglomeration of the sublime to the outright weird. Citizens of Hensonville had been urged with great energy to part with any knick-knacks or gew-gaws that might be of interest to anyone besides the trash collectors, and the resulting array of flotsam and jetsam was as fascinating as it was diverse. On the long front table, items that would be available only during the afternoon auction were displayed, giving bidders a chance to examine the wares close-on. Several ladies from town were arranging everything from clothes to toys to books on the many long tables set up along the edges of the pavilion. Although the entire fair was indoors (due to the unpredictability of the weather), different stations had used streamers, ropes, tents and tables to stake individual claim to each different area.
Looking around, Kermit was pleased.
“This is looking really good,” he said happily.
“Yeah,” agreed Robin. “I can’t wait until all the people come in after the parade! Oh! Oh, look! There’s my troop’s booth!”
Robin shot off toward where the Frog Scouts Banner was being hung with great precision by Robin’s Scout leader, Mr. Rana and Sam the American Eagle.
“Hi Scoutmaster Rana! Can I help? Is there anything I can do?”
“Always,” said the older frog, smiling broadly. “Hello, Kermit,” he said warmly. “I’d shake your hand, but…”
Kermit chuckled and reached to help. It took all four of them to hang the banner, the Frog Scout Flag and the American Flag to the satisfaction of Sam the Eagle. Kermit managed to talk him out of pulling out his level for a third time, and breathed a sigh of relief when Sam subsided.
“There now,” said Scoutmaster Rana. “Our booth will be all ready when the parade is over. Good job, Frogscout Robin!” Robin saluted smartly, all but vibrating with pleasure. “And thank you gentlemen, too,” said the dark-skinned frog graciously. “I think this is going to be a wonderful festival—and the Frog Scouts can earn their citizenship badges and their environmental badges today just by manning the booth.”
“Don’t forget our parade badges!” Robin said worriedly. “We’ll hike over five miles today!”
“Not to worry, Frogscout Robin!” said the leader solemnly. “I’ve already got them ordered.”
This news was met with considerable relief by Robin, and amusement by the older males. Mr. Rana pointed to some boxes in the back of their booth.
“Help me stock the booth with family conservation kits, won’t you, Robin?” he said. Robin hopped to it, leaving the adults alone.
“Everything in order?” asked the Scoutmaster.
Kermit gave a half-shrug, half-nod. “If this were a dress rehearsal, I’d say we were good to go.”
“Sure smells good!” the older frog said. All three of them took in a deep and deeply satisfying quaff of pungent air. The smell of hot bread from the pancake stand, the sweet, fruity scent of baked apples, the fair smells of popcorn and cotton candy and cinnamon-sugar elephant ears were making everyone’s mouth water, and told of a brisk business once the parade deposited it personnel and audience at the door of the warehouse.
“It does!” agreed Kermit.
“Yes. Very nice,” said Sam formally, sniffing the air again.
“All the areas staffed?”
“All but one,” Kermit admitted.
Sam the Eagle grabbed him by the shoulders, looking shocked.
“Oh no!” he cried. “How could this have happened!”
Kermit gave a half-smile and attempted to disentangle himself from Sam’s feathery grip.
“Well, you know, Sam. And it’s only one booth. I think we’ll survive.”
“But—but—which area?”
“Um, the children’s storytelling area,” said Kermit. “You know, for the younger children.”
Sam slapped a hand over his forehead dramatically, and Kermit found he could no longer make eye contact with Scoutmaster Rana without the fear of bursting out laughing. He looked away hastily, but a wicked thought was occurring to him. He clasped Sam’s arms firmly and looked as serious as he was able.
“Well, Sam,” he said solemnly. “If you know someone who could help us out…”
Sam’s eyes brightened and he took on the saving-the-world-one-crisis-at-a-time look.
“I’ll do it!”
“Gee, Sam. Are you sure?” Kermit asked. Scoutmaster Rana had one webbed hand over his mouth, pretending to cough, but his eyes were twinkling with shared mischief. Kermit dared not look his way.
“Absolutely! Positively! Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it!”
Kermit looked skeptical—or, at least, he tried, but eventually he allowed himself to be persuaded and sent Sam looking for Scooter’s carrot-top head.
“He’ll have your, um, props and things,” called Kermit after him.
Sam stopped and saluted smartly, much as Robin had done.
“You can count on me, sir!” he said, and strode purposefully off.
After he went, Kermit turned to find the elder frog looking at him with respect and bemusement.
“Well-handled, young sir,” said the Scoutmaster. “And where—exactly—can we expect to see Sam this afternoon.”
Kermit smiled and looked serene. “Um, dressed as Mother Goose and surrounded by small children.”
The Scoutmaster laughed heartily—so heartily, in fact, that Robin came up to see what was the matter.
“What’s so funny?” asked Robin, eyes wide.
“Oh, um, Sam’s going to help out by working in the storytelling area.”
“Wow! That’s nice of Mr. Sam,” said Robin. “What’s he going to do?”
Kermit put his arm around Robin’s shoulder and steered him toward the parade route. They should leave now if they were going to get there in plenty of time.
“Sam has a very important job. He’s going to be Mother Goose.”

 

[The Count]

Loved it as always. Typos aside, it was a great installment.
Scoutmaster Rana huh? Guess Mrs. Appleby couldn't lead the troop this time. Oh well. More please!
*Sprints off to finish segment for own story.

 

[minor muppetz]

This has been a good story.

 

[The Count]

*Sigh... Just wondering if an update'll get posted while pondering what/where to go next. Feeling those blahs again, maybe I'll just concentrate on that Hensonville story as my own efforts are frustrating me to no end.

Sorry, didn't mean to vent here Catherine, your stories are too good for any of that. So... Um... More story please?

 

[The Count]

... I'll sing you 1o.
Green go the rushes grow.

Or would you prefer a piping hot bowl of goulash Cath? LMK and I'll get the gang to prep the recipe, so long as you treat us to some more story first of course.

 

[Ruahnna]

Chapter 4: Making an Appearance

Saying that Piggy paid attention to how she looked was a little like saying that the sun is hot, and Antarctica is cold, but few could argue today with the fact that Piggy’s considerable efforts toward looking as fetching as it was possible to look had not been misspent. Her blonde curls were half-up, framing her prettily made-up face, and she was wearing a light green dress that showed off a great deal of her to advantage. A certain unnamed frog would find much to like in the color of her dress, and much to admire in the cut of it, but the overall effect—and the use she planned to make of it—were likely to be objectionable. Her gloves were lilac, like the first pair she had ever worn, and she hoped this touch of familiarity would soften some of the surprise. The gloves matched her sash, which tied in a poufy bow in the back. There was a wide-brimmed unpainted straw hat with a lilac ribbon around it and it shaded her face becomingly.
“Wow!” said Gonzo, stopping on his trot by to give Piggy an admiring once-over. “I’ll bet Kermit has a cow when he sees you!”
“Keep moving, beak-brain,” Piggy growled angrily, then attempted to recover some of her primness. “Kermit does not need a cow,” she said snippily. “He has a pig, and that should be quite enough.”
“Looks like it,” Gonzo muttered dreamily, and Piggy turned on him.
“What!?”
“Looks like I’ve got a chicken,” Gonzo said hastily. “That's plenty for me!”
“And more than you deserve!”
Gonzo just smiled. “Don’t I know it!” he smirked, and walked off smartly. Piggy watched him go, puzzled by the green, soggy footprints that he was leaving in the grass. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she smoothed her dress and looked around for Scooter or anyone who might help her find her station. She did not want to find fans waiting when she arrived—it was bad form, after all.
This was an important day, and it was an important day for Mon Capitan, she thought defensively. She wanted to do her share to help their community, and if Kermit didn’t like her method of fund-raising, well, that was not her fault! And that frog could be so unreasonable at times! Why, just the other day-- Piggy managed to reign herself back in by reminding herself that Kermit had not, after all, made any objections to her full participation in the accumulation of greenbacks for the city. Yet. She shook her head once again. I’ll think about that tomorrow, she told herself firmly, and that phrase brought back such cinematic grandeur that she had to laugh. And go looking for her own booth.

There was a veritable sea of bobbing frogs lined up at the start of the parade, and Kermit watched with some bemusement and no small amount of envy as Scoutmaster Rana’s requests for quiet and order were obeyed.
“That never works for me,” thought Kermit, sighing, but he did not seem genuinely morose. Satisfied that Robin was safely ensconced with his troop, he went to find his own place in the parade. Kermit had initially argued that he could not possibly be in the parade and supervise the activities at the end of it, but although it had at first seemed that he was prevailing in his opinion, Scooter’s usual talent for having things well in hand had caused him to relent and agree to walk in the parade.
“Walk!” Kermit was saying. “I said I’d walk in the parade. Whose idea was this?”
This was an obviously reluctant specimen of the equine species whose bad humor might have had something to do with the fact that his mane and tale had been temporarily dyed bright green and he was wearing a sash around his neck which said, “Kiss me, I’m Irish.” He looked at Kermit balefully from under a brilliant forelock.
“Wasn’t mine,” he said acerbically, and Kermit startled a little and drew back.
“Oh!” he said. “I—I didn’t mean to be rude. It's just that, um…. Look, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but I’m not much of a horseback rider,” Kermit stammered. “I would much rather walk.”
“Nobody’s stopping you,” said the horse irritably. “And I’m sure as heck not gonna argue for a chance to show off looking like this.”
Kermit looked at him thoughtfully. “You look—you look very festive,” said the kind-hearted amphibian, trying to be honest. “Very much in keeping with the theme of the day.”
“Hmph,” snorted the horse. “You can talk. At least your hair isn’t chartreuse.”
Kermit looked at him for a moment. “I don’t have any hair,” Kermit said at last, in the vain hope of making more pleasant conversation.
“Lucky you,” came the disinterested reply.
Kermit sighed inwardly. “Um, look, uh—“
“Blackstone,” came the grudging response. It fitted. The name fitted the horse well, even if his normally charcoal mane was bright green.
“Um, nice to meet you, Blackstone. I’m Kermit. The Frog. I didn’t mean to be, you know, rude or anything, but I’m not a very expert rider.”
Blackstone raised his head proudly. “I’ve never lost a rider in my entire career!” he said proudly. “A couple of shoes, a groom or two, and the love of my life--but never a rider. You can bet your backside on that.”
I will be, Kermit thought, but managed to refrain from saying so. He looked at Blackstone nervously, but something about the tilt of the horse’s proud neck told Kermit he might be giving more offense than he wished if he refused the offer of a ride completely. He took a deep breath. I can do this, he thought. I mean, I can ride a bicycle, right? How different can this be?
It was indeed different. But he was up, and Blackstone was as good as his word. Kermit bounced around a bit, but after a few tactful suggestions from his mount, found his seat by gripping more firmly with his strong legs. The reins he was allowed to hold in his hands on the condition that on no account would he try to steer. Kermit managed to loop them around the saddle thingy and began to actually relax, thinking this could be an adventure. This was good, because the parade was lining up.

Scooter had checked on almost everyone, and he was almost satisfied. Despite his own dire predictions, Sam the Eagle had really accepted the only remaining job with excessive (and entirely superfluous) dignity, taking his, um, perch at the storyteller’s station with aplomb. The music was lining up—good, good, thought Scooter. The booths were all staffed. There was one booth that he had not checked on, and Scooter turned his sneakered feet toward it with equal parts eagerness and trepidation. Quite without realizing he did it, his hand sought the neat wad of currency clipped together in his pocket, but when he caught himself thinking about the things that he might ultimately spend it on at the fair, he blushed and withdrew his hand hastily. Plenty of time for fun at the fair, he thought, after all the booths were checked in. And he did have to check all the booths in, didn’t he? Well, didn’t he? Scooter lifted his chin defiantly. It was, after all, his job to check out that everything was running smoothly. How could he complain to Kermit if he shirked his responsibilities?
This did not actually satisfy his conscience, but it certainly stunned it into insensibility. Scooter made himself content with that, and went to check on Miss Piggy’s booth.

Robin was thrilled at the sight of his uncle astride a horse—a black and green horse, no less!—but then, Robin cheerfully hopped onto Sweetum’s shoulder at the slightest provocation. Kermit didn’t think he was the best judge of what made a suitable mount. Still, the little frog’s enthusiasm was catching, and Kermit felt very fine and proud indeed to be the center of envy and interest when Blackstone trod sedately past the frog scout troop to take his place in line.
The now-complacent amphibian was moving with the flowing motion of the horse and had ceased bouncing around like a ping-pong ball in the saddle. He reached forward and patted the dark horse awkwardly.
“You’re doing great, Blackstone,” he said. “I think I’m getting the hang of this. I feel much more comfortable than I did. Thanks for the ride.”
“Don’t mention it,” came the short reply, but Kermit was certain the horse was glad he had. It was funny, Kermit thought absently. Sometimes, all you had to do to reach a pleasant understanding was to talk about things. He couldn’t imagine why everyone didn’t try that approach first.
Before the day was over, he was going to figure it out.

 

[The Count]

Whoo-hoo! Oh Cath, there's so much here to love and rave at.

OK, so I have a faint idea of what Piggy's booth at the fair will feature as her attempt to contribute some greenbacks to the cause. But I'm willing to be surprised when we get to that part.
Scooter and Sam were perfectly in character as they check in with their own duties.
Scoutmaster Rana's in charge of the troop huh? Guess Mrs. Appleby decided to go on vacation back to her home for a scene of green.
Blackstone the charcoal maned horse... Oh Cath, you've done it again. Wanted to talk to you about Mabel when the time comes, but now I'll have to talk to you about this character as well. Rully love what's going on here with Kermit apprehensive about his first horseback ride, that brings back memories of family outings, the last one I remember in 92 or 95.
Please... Post more soonerishkibbible!

 

[Ruahnna]

Ooh! Sorry--I meant to comment on Scoutmaster Rana. I'm not familiar with Scoutmaster Appleby, so I made up my own!

Rana is latin word for a genus of frogs. So, in essence, it is Scoutmaster "Frog."

After I had decided on that name, I also checked it out online and discovered that "Rana" is an Arabic name for a girl from the verb "Arnoo", which means to look at someone or something with great love and admiration." Those sounded like good Scoutmaster qualifications to me! Hope that's less baffling!

 

[The Count]

Of course it is Ru, I love the explanations you give as to the method behind your madness, um writing style. Rana is also the general Spanish word for "frog", so it works out well in any case. Mrs. Appleby was Robin's scout's den mother, she and the troop appeared in the Debbie Harry TMS episode. That's one from Season 5 I don't have but will get when I can from my Canadian friend later on. It also has Mulch's pre-MT appearance singing what could be a gothic sonet to his gargoyle girlfriend, if it is his girlfriend, don't know since I haven't seen the episode.
Looking forward to more when you can post it Cath.

 

[Ruahnna]

Oooh! You mean I could get to see the little frog scouts in, um, amphibian? I must find a copy of this episode!
My oldest just had scout graduation ceremonies tonight, so I am a proud mom of my own little frog scout! Let's hear it for all the denleaders! Whoo hoo!
(I know what you're thinking--"Poor kid. Gee, and I thought MY parents were weird." My kids bear up under it bravely!)