Information

Rowlf has a minion!

Kermit the Taddy

Rowlf
Legacy Name: Rowlf

The

Marsh Ruffie
Owner:

VeeJayHedgehog

Age: 8 years, 11 months, 3 weeks

Born: May 18th, 2015

Adopted: 8 years, 11 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: May 18th, 2015

Statistics

Level: 101
Strength: 100
Defense: 101
Speed: 100
Health: 85
HP: 85/85
Intelligence: 10
Books Read: 10
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Register Clerk

It went about as well as your little broken heart expected it to: dumped outside The Chez Rovere on the sidewalk in the middle of the pouring rain.

She told you she was over watching you drag yourself like a little lost Mallarchy after her heels, after delivering that blow to your already hurting ego. You found yourself watching her hail a cab and driving away into the darkness, the flowers you had intended just for her, the same ones that cost you half your paycheck and a generous donation to a charity hanging limply in your hand. It took several minutes more of getting drenched to the bottom layer of your fur before anger rose up in your throat and you stomped away in the opposite direction, intending to piss away the night somewhere else that didn't involve the glitz and glamour of uptown Centropolis.

You know it's wrong, and you know that drowning your sorrows in drink should be the very last resort you'd ever turn to, but she's no longer worth your damned time.

The Pride and Sundry Bar is notably empty when you enter, clutching that soggy bunch of roses in one hand and rubbing your forehead with the other. Your heart weighs heavy against you, dragging your mood down to the sour depths of failure. Sighing, you take a seat and order the strongest drink off the shelf, before your mind catches up with you and you rescind the order to something less intense. The bartender pours you a half shot of something that smells oddly of mangoes. You turn to face the room, tossing the roses down onto the bar with a grunt of annoyance and sip at your shot, wincing as the alcohol content makes contact with your throat.

The notes of a slightly bouncy tune reaches your ears, and turning, you spot a Marsh Ruffie playing the old piano in the corner like this bar is his home and you've just ambled on into his life. The Ruffie's ears perk up as you shuffle off the seat and walk over to him. As if he's been expecting you all his life, the tune he's playing on those ivories perks up a little more, and you find yourself bobbing your head along to the rhythm. It's as you set your glass on the piano's tattered top that he acknowledges your presence with a grin.

"Evenin'! I'm Rowlf, Rowlf the Ruffie! Sit'cher self down!" he invites.

You greet him in kind, introducing yourself as you pull a stool from the bar towards where he sits tickling the keys in fondness. He looks you up and down for a moment, before glancing back at your discarded bouquet of roses atop the bar. To soothe whatever ails you, he runs a quick, perky modulation across the keys.

"I'm no Hamelin, but I get by," he grins.

You nod, adding that it was pretty nice, and make an attempt to chuckle, but even he knows it's forced.

"Love troubles, uh?" he asks. You nod, suddenly tired of your many attempts to try and fix that gloriously sinking relationship you had with your beloved girlfriend. You find yourself talking about her, despite the fact all you wanted to do was drink, listen to this Ruffie's piano playing and forget about that damned broad.

Rowlf nods at your words, offering much in the way of sympathy, a nod here, a wince there, another acknowledgement that women are fickle creatures and for as long as he's played in this establishment, he's seen it all before; the vicious slap about the jowls delivered when a wife stumbled upon her husband's affair, a drunken debacle that ended in the young lady walking out, a broken-hearted young man left jilted at the dance as his older brother walked out with the girl of his dreams. His paws glide across the ivories as he explains those moments with a quick modulation from happy-go-lucky to dejected sadness, all across a few simple notes.

You mention your ladyfriend simply walked out on you, bored of your attempts to win her back after unceremoniously screwing up one too many times. Rowlf sighs, "Yeah, typical," he affirms, slipping back into a more lighthearted tune. "That's why I live alone."

Oh yeah, you ask, curiousity making your eyebrow raise as you reach back for your glass. A handsome Ruffie like Rowlf doesnt have someone on his arm? Perish the thought!

The Ruffie chuckles, "You bet. I finish work, I go home, read a book, have a couple of beers, take myself for a walk and go to bed."

Such an easy, simple life, you say, nursing your drink in both hands.

"Stay away from women, that's my motto," Rowlf continues, nodding his head along with the tune he's playing.

But I can't, you sigh, downing whatever remains of your glass. Rowlf gives you a grin of agreement. "Neither can I, that's my trouble!" He laughs, before launching into a little ditty:

"Ya can't live with 'em, ya can't live without 'em
There's something irresistable-ish about 'em
We grin and bear it 'cause the nights are long
I hope that somethin' better comes along!

Rowlf nods to you, and despite your mood, you end up joining in:

It's no good complainin' and pointless to holler
If she's a beauty she'll get under your collar
She made a monkey out of old King Kong,
I hope that somethin' better comes along!

Rowlf nods, his smile's as contagious as his song.

Still, it's fun when they're fetching,
And agree to see an etching
That you keep at your lily pad
There is no solution, it's part of evolution
The pitter patter of soles
The little feet of tadpoles!

You glance over to him before reminding the pup that tadpoles don't have feet!

"Oh. Sorry about that..." Rowlf corrects himself before continuing, "2, 3, 4!"

There's no limitation to mixin' and matchin'
Some get an itchin' for a critter they've been scratchin'
A skunk was badgered the results were strong
I hope that somethin' better,
I hope that somethin' better,
I hope that somethin' better comes along!

"Beep bop bidder da dum dum bum bum bum!" Rowlf skats as his song draws to a close. He glances up at you and holds out his paw, you take it and a firm handshake ensues. "Well, I'd like to hope that whoever she was, she realises what a good man she left behind. She'll be back. Yer too good a catch fer her to just walk away from."

You remark that this has been an interesting night, made all the more better by the Ruffie's counselling. Your jacket pocket starts vibrating. It's your cell phone. Taking it out and glancing at the number, you realise it's your Anyu buddy, Fozzie. You excuse yourself from Rowlf's presence and take the call.

Rowlf watches for a moment and then shakes his head, chuckling to himself. "I've never seen someone so green have the blues that bad..."

Fanpet dedicated to James Maury "Jim" Henson, September 24, 1936 - May 16, 1990