NEUN - THIS ISN’T A GAME ANYMORE
Dale stomped out of his room, ears low, tail stiff, and fur bristling, apparently quite upset. He was stomping back to the living room, but he was intercepted in the hall by the other Rangers, who were looking/echosounding at him *quite* angrily. All ears and tails were stiffly laid back, and all back fur was bristling where applicable.
“Hey, why did you guys put *another* Jacuzzi in our bathroom? You didn’t need to, you know—” It was then that he noticed their irate features and expressions. “What?” he asked suspiciously. The Detective’s left paw trembled into a fist and—
**BONK!!!!!!**
The Comedian reeled for a moment, holding his head tight. Glaring back at his best friend, he demanded, “WHAT???!!!” Normally, Chip would start grilling him and demand answers, but this time, he knew that any questions would be of a very intimate nature. But how could he set his friend straight without prodding too deeply into his intimate life?
“Dale,” he began, in a paused manner, trying not to chatter or hiss, but without much luck. “What—happened—this—weekend?” Dale glared back at him for a moment and replied, trying not to growl himself,
“I *told* you what happened. We had fun, we won prizes, we came back. Didn’t you like your prize?” Chip’s eyes flashed red and he brought his trembling fists up, but he took a deep breath and growled back,
“You made reservations for a suite?” The Comedian looked at the Detective. His gaze shifted a trifle and his ears softened, because he knew that the prodding had begun. Quickly, he gave an evasive answer,
“I called and made the reservations.”
“For a *suite*?” pressed Chip. Evasive answers never got past him. And because he knew that, Dale began to sweat.
“Uhhh—why?” Finally, Chip growled,
“You didn’t tell us that the reservation was ‘denied’ at the last moment, because the hotel staff ‘goofed’ and booked you a suite when they were all already ‘taken’, so when you arrived you two had ‘no other choice’ but to be placed in two single rooms on OPPOSITE sides of the hotel!!!” Dale suddenly turned to his wife and stuttered, panickly flailing his paws about,
“W-why did you tell him that? It wasn’t *my* fault that—that the hotel—and there were only single beds—single rooms—and—I let you choose—the room—you wanted————” His evasiveness was rapidly collapsing at the same rate his voice trailed off. Gadget spoke,
“Dale, we just called the hotel. They had *three* empty suites this weekend.” She, too, felt like crying, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of grief, or anger, or both. “Why—” her voice cracked. “Why did you make reservations for two single rooms?” The Comedian was sweating buckets.
“Well—I—um—”
“And ruin the Jacuzzi?” asked Monterey.
“And your dinner?” asked Zipper.
“I—I—it’s—well—uhhhhhhhh—“
“Dale,” said Chip, after a deep breath. “Are—are you okay?” For a long moment, Dale didn’t answer. Slowly, he turned to the wall, put a tired paw on it, looked down, and replied,
“I—I’m—fine, Chip.” Foxglove turned away from her husband.
“Really?” asked the Detective, not buying that one bit.
“Yes.” Dale wouldn’t look at anyone.
“No problems at all?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” Chip thought for a moment.
“Are you hungry?” Dale suddenly turned to him and raised an eyebrow, a trifle stunned at the sudden change of topic, but after another moment, he replied,
“Kinda, sure.” The Detective nodded slightly, turned to the mouse and fly and said,
“Can you get the bottle, please?” With irate faces, ears, and fists as responses, Monterey and Zipper padded/flew to the kitchen. Dale didn’t like what was happening.
“Chip, what’s goin’ on?” The chipmunk, the bat lady, and the mousemaid began padding forward, making the other chipmunk pad backward, toward the bedroom.
“Dale, please know that we care about you, about you *both*. And it really pains us to know that you and Foxy haven’t been able to find some quiet time for yourselves.” Chip’s voice, though high-pitched, was flat and business-like. Dale stuttered,
“Y-yeah, well, it’s not as if we just wanna cut ourselves off from the team, you know, uhhh—”
“That’s why I’m giving you more time off. Take all the time you need to get back on track.” They were at the door now. “Go ahead and enjoy yourselves. It’s good for you, you know.” Panicking, Dale glanced wildly about and protested,
“B-but Chip, we already took a weekend off! Didn’t you guys have a lot of work pile up all this time?” Chip shook his head.
“Nothing we couldn’t handle. But even if we had something big come along, we’d just divide it equally and let you guys have time off. From what Foxy told us, it looks like you *really* need it.”
“B-b-b-b-but, Chip, I-I-I-I don’t think this is such a g-g-g-g-good idea!” Monterey and Zipper came back, carrying a bottle of Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup. They gave it to Foxglove, who took it and angrily padded into the bedroom. Dale’s anxiety attack was practically on him now,
“Huh? Foxy, what are you doin’ with that—HEY!!” Chip suddenly shoved his best friend inside and slammed the door shut. As Gadget tinkered with the lock to make sure the door opened only from the outside, Chip chattered,
“You’renotcomingoutofthatroomuntilFoxysaysyoucan!!” He then turned to the other Rangers and said, “I think we should bring Pierre and Dalee here. NOW.” The mousemaid, having finished her work with the lock, straightened up,
“I think we should. Come on, guys, we’d better send them an e-mail quick.”
“Roight! Me and Zip’ll prepare the Ranger Wing!”
“Then we’ll give those two some time alone. We’ll head to the police station after we see you off!”
With stiff ears and tail, and bristling fur, Dale pounded at the suddenly barricaded door of his cell—er—bedroom, chattering, “HEYOPENUPIHAVEN’THADBREAKFASTYETHOWAMISUPPOSEDTOGETTHROUGHTHEDAYWITHOUTADECENTBREAKFASTIT’STHEMOSTIMPORTANTMEALOFTHEDAYYOUKNOW!!”
“Dale, we had breakfast at the hotel before we left,” sighed his wife, not looking/echosounding at him, but instead, she was just looking/echosounding at the floor next to the bed.
“We did?” he asked, turning to look at her, raising one eyebrow again. “Oh, I forgot. But still, they shouldn’t be messin’ with our private lives! I mean, this is none of their business! What gives them the right to interfere with—”
“I asked them to, Dale,” she quivered with fright at his behaviour and tone of voice. “I told them the whole thing. How we can’t get any time to ourselves, and when we do, you just don’t—don’t—*want*—don’t want—to—get affectionate—or close—” she began sniffling, still not looking/echosounding at him, “or—intimate—anymore—” For the first time ever, the rodent actually got really ticked off at his mate’s behaviour,
“WHAT???!!!Whyonearthdidyoutellthemthatfor??!!Wehaveourprivacyyouknow!!!Ordoyouthinkit’sagoodideatotelleveryonewhatwedoinhereorhaveourromanticmomentswhereeveryonecanseeandhearlikeyoualmostdidthatothernight?” With each word, her heart grew more and more pained, ready to shatter,
“What *we* almost did,” the pipistrell tried not to sob, “And it was—two weeks ago—” The tamias padded behind her and chattered, flailing his paws again,
“It was? WellI’mgladONEOFUShasdecidedtokeepsomesenseofdecencyandmodestyaroundhere!Ormaybeyouthinkweshouldleteveryone—myPARENTSeven—haveourmomentsdescribedtotheminmedicaldetail???!!!Heylookaslongaswe’reonarollwhydon’twejustbringeveryoneinhereandyoujusttellthemEVERYlittlepartofourlastsession!Itshouldn’tbeTHATdifficulttorememberafterallitwasonly—only—”
“*Three* weeks ago,” she finished, with her eyes now like fountains.
“RIGHT!!!” he yelled. “THREE——!!!!——weeks—————ago…” His chattering trailed off when he realised just how long he had been denying her, and his fur settled down. Looking at his wife, he saw that her shoulders were trembling. Suddenly ashamed once more, as his ears and tail showed, he turned, and padded toward the drawer, placing both paws on it and looking down, not wanting to see his own face in the mirror. “Uh—zowie—I—I didn’t know it had been that long—really. I—didn’t know—I mean—all this time—I—I knew you wanted to—but—but then—it seemed you could hold out—for a little bit—more—” The chiropterid didn’t reply. She just stood there, waiting for her heart to break, waiting for him to say he didn’t love her anymore and didn’t want any more intimacy either—
Waiting for the end.
“Really, Foxy, you—you’ve shown that you can be pretty strong! I mean if—if you’ve handled it before, there’s—no—no reason why you can’t handle it now!”
“Why?” she asked coldly.
“Huh? Why what?” The rodent turned slightly toward her.
“Why should I handle it now and hold out any longer?” her voice was filled with tension and anger. “Why should I not enjoy marital bliss with my husband when he’s right next to me? Why should I deny myself to him—the same way he’s—*denying*—himself—to me?” The chipmunk froze. “Why—why—are—you—doing this—to me—Dale? Or better yet—why are you *not* doing this to me—when—it—hurts—*hurts*—so———*bad*??” The bat lady had now asked for an official explanation for his behaviour. And now, no clumsiness would cover up his present denial any more. The sciurid turned back to the drawer.
“Wh—why? Well—” But what could he tell her, if he didn’t know for sure himself! “I—er—well—um—there’s—” Randomness kicked in again, but would it be enough? “There’s—the matter of privacy!” his ears perked up, but he still didn’t turn around. “Right after our—our—last time—Chip told me—I—um—we—woke him up—because—of all the—um—noise we did! I mean—I can’t imagine the complaints we would have got if that had happened at the hotel!” Keeping his paws on the drawer, he turned to look at her, “And besides, I *really* think this whole thing is being WAY overrated! I mean, from all I’ve heard and read, isn’t it true that females would rather just cuddle—?” His argument was interrupted when he finally heard her crying.
“Dale—” she sobbed, “Dale—I—I need you—” He, on the other paw, just turned again to look at his pathetic reflection in the mirror. “Dale, please,” she sobbed again, “____ ____ ____ ____.”
There. She had made an official request. Would he dare continue denying himself to his mate?
Finally, he decided to stop being an idiot. He turned around, padded resolutely toward the verspetilionid, grabbed her shoulders, whirled her around, and prepared to give her a kiss she would not soon forget—
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!” he screamed, pushing themselves apart and staggering back from her.
There it was again.
That FACE.
That *HORRIBLE* FACE.
The pipistrell’s fright increased ten-fold. She covered her muzzle with her wings in terror. There was no mistaking it now:
He was scared to death of her!
But why?
“Honey?” she shivered, as her married life crumbled before her eyes and ears. “Why—why are you so afraid of me? You know I’d never hurt you!!” The tamias continued to stagger back, trying not to trip on his own foot-paws.
“I—I—don’t know!! Foxy—please—don’t get me wrong—I really *do* want to—but—but—” The bat lady had enough. She padded to the bottle, removed the cap, picked up the bottle, held it upside down over her head, and squeezed with all her might. In seconds, she was covered from her ear tips to her toe claws with chocolate. And slowly, she began padding toward him.
One part of his brain was about to go into chocolate attack mode, but another wanted to escape this slimy monster in front of him.
“Dale, please,” she sobbed. The chipmunk’s eyes didn’t know whether to glaze over or dilate in fright. Confusion filled his mind like never before. He knew that part of his brain wanted to let go and give in right here and now, but another part was telling him to run, and yet another part was telling him to immerse himself in the chocolate. Suddenly, he tripped and fell on his back.
The monster loomed in front of him, and spoke,
“Cute Stuff—could you at least——hug me?” The rodent couldn’t speak. The chiropterid, on the other paw, had only one more explanation for her mate’s behaviour. “Dale—is—is—there—someone else—?” Finally, something within him broke.
“NO!” he chattered, scrambling to his foot-paws. “There never was, and never will be! Foxy! I’m sorry, but I can’t!!!” He suddenly turned and tried to open the door, but it was barricaded. Glancing wildly all over the place, he dashed toward a window, and began scrambling though it. “I’m sorry, Foxy!” his voice strained as he squeezed himself through the opening and scurried off. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
His apologies echoed all through her mind and her heart, which had now been effectively shattered, as he disappeared from her sight and sonar.
She just stood there, dripping with chocolate.
She couldn’t entice him anymore.
She couldn’t figure him out anymore.
She couldn’t do anything to him anymore.
She couldn’t cry anymore.
Why, Dale? Why can’t you?
Why?