Nightly Noises
Summary: Monty settles a late night argument… Rated for what I suppose could be called cussing if you tilt your head and squint.
A/N: I've been a fan of Chip 'n' Dale since I was about two, but recently rediscovered the show. It's amazing how many jokes I get now… Anyway, please enjoy, read and review :)
Nightly Noises
On the other side of the park, the clock tower chimed; one in the morning. A cool winter breeze blew, soft moonlight filtering down through the gently ruffling leaves of the Ranger's tree. Ordinarily the occupants of the treehouse would have been sound asleep, nestled contentedly beneath warm blankets, blissfully silent.
An ongoing shrill, inarticulate wail, however, interfered with the typical peace.
"It's your fault, Dale!"
"It most certainly is not!"
"You tipped over the box, you-"
"Because you pushed me!"
"What? Why would I do that?"
Dale paused for breath, smirking.
"Who knows. Maybe you're getting a little blind in your old age."
"What!"
"Hey! That hurt!"
"You deserved it."
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
"Did too-"
"Did-" The words died in his throat when Chip suddenly felt two large hands grasp him firmly around the waist, and he was lifted bodily into the air. Pausing from their quarrel briefly, both Chip and Dale turned to stare at a sleepy, irritable looking Monterey Jack, frustration practically vibrating from his whiskers.
"What the flamin' devil is going on out here?" he demanded, growling. The chipmunks launched into a high pitched, unintelligable barrage of accusations and explanations which made the weary mouse's head spin.
"Alright, alright!" he bellowed, halting the argument once more. "Ordinarily I couldn't care less what you two fight over in your spare time, or how loud you do it, but it's tha middle of the bleedin' night! You'd think Gadget would've heard ya."
"She wears earplugs," shrugged Dale helpfully.
"Good for her," returned Monty dryly. "Now, can we get to tha bottom of this," he enquired, Chip still clenched firmly by the collar, feet dangling beneath him.
"Chip started it," sulked Dale.
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"If either one of you says 'did not' or 'did too' one more time, so help me…" muttered Monterey darkly. They changed tactic quickly.
"We were hungry and got up to fix something, but-"
"Dale dropped the flour box-"
"Chip whacked me with the broom and-"
"He pushed me into the flour, and then-"
"I did not!"
"And then he insulted your cooking, Monty!"
Dale gasped loudly in outrage.
"I did what?"
"Enough!" snapped Monty, breathing deeply and struggling to stave off the headache he could feel coming… Heck, the headache he could feel stomping thoughtlessly all over the interior of his poor head. "What does any of this have to do with keepin' me awake at night?"
"Well we couldn't decide on who would make the food after that," put in Chip solemnly. "I just couldn't let Dale cook after that unprovoked attack on your excellent cheese chowder, Monty."
"Liar!"
"And I was explaining that to him, when he threatened to stuff my hat into the shredder at the police station," concluded Chip, pointing sadly at his fedora, lying discarded on the floor by the window.
"Oh, for Pete's sake," muttered Monty.
"But Chip called me a terrible cook!" cried Dale, apparently much aggreived by his friend's insinuation.
"It was that mild case of food poisoning I had last time you cooked that tipped me off," smirked Chip, hanging rather helplessly from Monterey's grip. Dale scowled and pushed back his shirt sleeves tensely, eyes narrowing.
"You take it back," he howled, rushing forwards and leaping, paws extended, prompting Monty to hurriedly raise Chip above his head with one arm, and hold Dale back with the other.
Actually concerned (not for Chip so much as for his constitution if forced to mop up a puddle of blood and fur), Monty edged back and used the momentum to grap Dale by the back of the neck; effectively stilling him with a pinch.
"What's it gonna take to get you two to hush up," he growled. Nodding to himself, he tightened his grip on Dale, and made sure he had their undivided attention. "If I go in there and make you both some'at to eat, will ya promise not to speak for tha rest of the night? And far into the morning?" Chip and Dale glanced at each other.
"Sure Monty," they chimed, smiling cheerily.
Monterey sighed, releasing Dale briefly to rub at his head. He set Chip down and held the two at arms length from each other for a moment, glaring down at the both of them in turn, before whirling and stalking into the kitchen. The chipmunks watched him until he disappeared into the adjacent room, before they slowly straightened, glancing at one another with amused smirks and twin winks. Chip held out a hand and Dale slapped it enthusiastically.
"Good job Dale."
"Not bad yourself, Chip."