Author's note: In an effort to provide a little activity I've decided to post some of my non-smutty fanfics. This was the first and was written a long, long time ago. I can still remember how that music used to make me... wait... sorry, lapsed into American Pie there. Anyhow, as this was originally intended for a site with a G to PG rating, it's rather tame.
Reservation Dogs
Chapter One
It had been a fairly slow day. No new cases to solve, no unusual incidents to investigate, not much of anything, really. The Rangers were all engrossed in their own efforts to stave off boredom; Dale glued to the television watching a monster movie marathon, Monterey Jack in the kitchen experimenting with a new recipe, Chip and Zipper playing chess, and Gadget working on an invention (which had no particular purpose other than keeping her busy) in her workshop.
Outside, the sun had nearly set, the shadows in the park growing ever longer. A mouse in a fine suit hesitantly approached the door of the Rangers’ headquarters, trying to convince himself that he had no other choice, that there was really nothing else that he himself could do. He nervously knocked on the door, but received no response. You’re going to have to knock harder than that, he thought to himself, so he tried again. Again no response. Maybe they’re out... but the lights are on. He tried once more, knocking with more earnest effort. Still no response.
Inside, Gadget struggled to pop a gear into place. After numerous failed attempts to wrestle it into position with her hands she decides to resort to an old, yet still reliable, method. Grabbing the nearest mallet she gave the troublesome piece a few hearty whacks. “It’s in,” she proclaims to herself, “OK, what’s next.” However, before she can determine what her next step should be, that same defiant gear began to wiggle itself out of place. With a loud ‘sproing’ it went flying across the workshop, ricocheting off the opposite wall, and right out the door.
“Heads up, everyone!” Gadget shouted, “Waitaminute, maybe you should put your heads down, keeping your heads up when there’s something flying around really isn’t such a good idea.”
The others had become uncomfortably familiar with the potential dangers of Gadget with time on her hands, and despite their own involvements had, unconsciously, been awaiting the inevitable warning. They all dove for cover as the wayward gear made a quick tour of the living area...
The mouse in the fine suit had decided to poke his head though the door to see if there was, in fact, anyone home to hear his knocking... and received an impromptu haircut as the gear finally came to a stop, lodging itself in the wood above his head. “Perhaps I’ll come back tomorrow,” he yelped, and promptly backed out of the doorway.
“Wait!” Chip shouted as he climbed out from under the table and rushed to the door. As there was no immediate danger to life and limb, the others emerged form their hiding places and converged on the front door.
“Gadget, luv,” Monterey started, “do you think you could keep your door closed the next time you’re working on something?”
“Gosh, I thought I had,” she said while retrieving the gear, “Oh well, no harm done.”
“Yet,” Dale and Monterey said in unison.
Chip managed to catch their guest before he’d gotten too far and brought him inside. Zipper went to fetch a thimble of water as the still nervous mouse took a seat and prepared to explain his problem.
Before he could start, though, Gadget felt compelled to apologize, “Sorry about the incident with the gear, it kind of got away from me.”
Still somewhat shaken, the nervous mouse accepted, “That’s OK, my... my wife’s been after me to get a trim anyway.”
“Well, I mean,” she continued, “another three quarters of an inch and you would have been decapitated...,”
“Gadget...,” Chip interrupted.
“Sorry.”
Changing the subject to more relevant matters, Chip addressed their guest, “Is there something we can help you with?”
“I hope so, I... I’m not sure what to do,” he responded, “My name’s Walter by the way. I’m here because I think something terrible might have happened to my cousin, but I’m not sure... I guess I’d better start at the beginning.” Taking a deep breath he continued, “I sell wine, along with other beverages, but I get the wine from my cousin. You see, he distributes it, he gets it from vineyards in the Finger Lakes and distributes it to retailers like me, and I get a great deal out of it because I’m family. Anyhow, the prices started to go through the roof, and I wrote him to ask what it was about. When he finally did respond he talked about a gang moving into his area, that they were putting pressure on him. Here, I have the letter with me.” He reached into his coat and removed a folded letter and handed it to Chip.
As Chip and the other Rangers took a look at it, Walter continued, “I wrote back and asked if there was anything I could do, and this time got a much faster response. It was short, and just said that everything was fine and it was all just a misunderstanding he had with his new business partners. But this is where I’m concerned most,” Walter once again reached into his coat and produced another letter, “This isn’t his handwriting.” Placing the two letters side by side illustrated the obvious difference. “I didn’t know what to do, and I’m afraid my asking to help may have made things worse. I’m worried sick about this... I need help.”
“Well, you came to the right place,” declared Monterey Jack, “We’ll figure out what happened to your cousin, so there’s no need to worry!”
Walter was clearly relieved, “Oh... you, you’ll all have my eternal thanks for this! I just hope he’s all right!”
“So, where does your cousin live?” queried Dale.
“Um... Salamanca, it’s south of Buffalo in New York State. Not a very large place.”
“We’ll get right on it,” said Chip.
-to be continued...
Reservation Dogs
Chapter One
It had been a fairly slow day. No new cases to solve, no unusual incidents to investigate, not much of anything, really. The Rangers were all engrossed in their own efforts to stave off boredom; Dale glued to the television watching a monster movie marathon, Monterey Jack in the kitchen experimenting with a new recipe, Chip and Zipper playing chess, and Gadget working on an invention (which had no particular purpose other than keeping her busy) in her workshop.
Outside, the sun had nearly set, the shadows in the park growing ever longer. A mouse in a fine suit hesitantly approached the door of the Rangers’ headquarters, trying to convince himself that he had no other choice, that there was really nothing else that he himself could do. He nervously knocked on the door, but received no response. You’re going to have to knock harder than that, he thought to himself, so he tried again. Again no response. Maybe they’re out... but the lights are on. He tried once more, knocking with more earnest effort. Still no response.
Inside, Gadget struggled to pop a gear into place. After numerous failed attempts to wrestle it into position with her hands she decides to resort to an old, yet still reliable, method. Grabbing the nearest mallet she gave the troublesome piece a few hearty whacks. “It’s in,” she proclaims to herself, “OK, what’s next.” However, before she can determine what her next step should be, that same defiant gear began to wiggle itself out of place. With a loud ‘sproing’ it went flying across the workshop, ricocheting off the opposite wall, and right out the door.
“Heads up, everyone!” Gadget shouted, “Waitaminute, maybe you should put your heads down, keeping your heads up when there’s something flying around really isn’t such a good idea.”
The others had become uncomfortably familiar with the potential dangers of Gadget with time on her hands, and despite their own involvements had, unconsciously, been awaiting the inevitable warning. They all dove for cover as the wayward gear made a quick tour of the living area...
The mouse in the fine suit had decided to poke his head though the door to see if there was, in fact, anyone home to hear his knocking... and received an impromptu haircut as the gear finally came to a stop, lodging itself in the wood above his head. “Perhaps I’ll come back tomorrow,” he yelped, and promptly backed out of the doorway.
“Wait!” Chip shouted as he climbed out from under the table and rushed to the door. As there was no immediate danger to life and limb, the others emerged form their hiding places and converged on the front door.
“Gadget, luv,” Monterey started, “do you think you could keep your door closed the next time you’re working on something?”
“Gosh, I thought I had,” she said while retrieving the gear, “Oh well, no harm done.”
“Yet,” Dale and Monterey said in unison.
Chip managed to catch their guest before he’d gotten too far and brought him inside. Zipper went to fetch a thimble of water as the still nervous mouse took a seat and prepared to explain his problem.
Before he could start, though, Gadget felt compelled to apologize, “Sorry about the incident with the gear, it kind of got away from me.”
Still somewhat shaken, the nervous mouse accepted, “That’s OK, my... my wife’s been after me to get a trim anyway.”
“Well, I mean,” she continued, “another three quarters of an inch and you would have been decapitated...,”
“Gadget...,” Chip interrupted.
“Sorry.”
Changing the subject to more relevant matters, Chip addressed their guest, “Is there something we can help you with?”
“I hope so, I... I’m not sure what to do,” he responded, “My name’s Walter by the way. I’m here because I think something terrible might have happened to my cousin, but I’m not sure... I guess I’d better start at the beginning.” Taking a deep breath he continued, “I sell wine, along with other beverages, but I get the wine from my cousin. You see, he distributes it, he gets it from vineyards in the Finger Lakes and distributes it to retailers like me, and I get a great deal out of it because I’m family. Anyhow, the prices started to go through the roof, and I wrote him to ask what it was about. When he finally did respond he talked about a gang moving into his area, that they were putting pressure on him. Here, I have the letter with me.” He reached into his coat and removed a folded letter and handed it to Chip.
As Chip and the other Rangers took a look at it, Walter continued, “I wrote back and asked if there was anything I could do, and this time got a much faster response. It was short, and just said that everything was fine and it was all just a misunderstanding he had with his new business partners. But this is where I’m concerned most,” Walter once again reached into his coat and produced another letter, “This isn’t his handwriting.” Placing the two letters side by side illustrated the obvious difference. “I didn’t know what to do, and I’m afraid my asking to help may have made things worse. I’m worried sick about this... I need help.”
“Well, you came to the right place,” declared Monterey Jack, “We’ll figure out what happened to your cousin, so there’s no need to worry!”
Walter was clearly relieved, “Oh... you, you’ll all have my eternal thanks for this! I just hope he’s all right!”
“So, where does your cousin live?” queried Dale.
“Um... Salamanca, it’s south of Buffalo in New York State. Not a very large place.”
“We’ll get right on it,” said Chip.
-to be continued...
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