I don't own Willy Wonka, or anything else from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. All credit for character creation goes toward Roald Dahl. I don't own the Food Network either - all rights and distribution belong to them. Alton Brown belongs to himself, his parents and his wife and kids.

The reading of this story may have the following side effects: laughing out loud, strange looks from passer-byers, shooting of liquids out the nostrils, uncontrollable snacking and a strange ambivalence toward bananas. - Stealth Phoenix

Bittersweet Symphony

Chapter 1

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Food Network Confectionary Challenge, I'm your host, Alton Brown."

The camera moves over the multi-colored lights and eccentric architecture of downtown Las Vegas. A slow zoom into the entrance of the MGM Grand Hotel focuses in on a figure in dark brown, wire-rimmed glasses glint in the spotlight.

" We have quite the lineup tonight with world's best confectionary artist in teams from six countries competing here in magical Las Vegas, Nevada. The challenge – create a spun sugar sculpture and three confectionary creations in the eight hours allotted for the competition."

There are multiple shots of past competitions, figures in white moving like dancers to bend light and color in magical ways and lingering shots of the fantastical creations they spawn.

"The sculpture has to be at least 5 feet high and able to be transported to the judgment table without breaking."

Foostage of mythical creatures and abstract sculptures breaking and shattering at the feet of kitchen workers fill the multiple screens behind the competition area.

"The confectionary creations – one chocolate, one fruit, and one original creation, has to be delivered to the judges at 2 hour intervals. Some of the best and the brightest are represented here tonight so let's meet the teams!"

"Team France – Jacques LeBeau and his team have competed in the past three competitions winning two golds and a silver respectively…"

Veronica rubbed her hands together nervously; flop sweat was making her hands slippery. She swallowed the dry lump in her throat with effort and tried center her thoughts and focus on the upcoming work. Victor shot her an impatient glance, "Just focus on the prep work. Stay out from under my feet and we'll get along fine."

Victor Brahm, head of Team UK allowed Veronica there on sufferance alone – her work with spun sugar was without peer and he wanted to win. He wanted the limelight, the fame and the recognition that came with winning such a prestigious event. Never mind that his ambitions outreached his talent – he'd surround himself with those who could garner him the recognition he felt he so richly deserved.

The countdown was in seconds now and Veronica tensed at her station, she then forced herself to try and relax – this was an endurance race, like a marathon. It would do no good to start out like a shot only to peter out after a few hours. The buzzer sounded and suddenly the cool mantle of competence dropped over her shoulders – she grabbed the 5 lb bag of sugar and dumped it into the pot. She quickly calculated the right amount of water to the mixture and slid it onto the stove. Without pausing she turned and began to prepare the forms needed to mold the molten sugar into art.

The noise from the competition faded, as did her awareness from the two others bustling around her. Veronica was in her zone – her art. Victor and his assistant knew where her gifts lay and left her to it. They concentrated on making the confectionary chocolate and fruit creations to be judged in little less than 2 hours.

In a darkened room, hundreds of miles from the bright glitter of Las Vegas, a dark figure watched Food Network. It was late at night and he was the only one around – just as he'd planned. The long lanky body was curled into itself cushioned by the white beanbag chair in front to the large flat screen mounted at eye-level on the wall. His violet eyes followed the action, not just watching the ones talking on camera, but the workers scurrying in the background as well. It was his experience that the heads doing the talking were far less talented than the hands actually doing the work. It was one of these silent minority that he was searching for.

The rest of the day had been rough – high humidity and a heat wave had moved through the area and caused problems for the competition. The candy confections were finished, although Veronica had to bite her tongue until it bled as Victor continually minced through her work area, rearranged her pots and equipment and - the greatest blasphemy- diddled with the temperature of her molten candy.

He was flirting with the camera – as soon as the camera crews turned in their direction he'd shove her to another part of the small competition kitchen, or snarl for her to get supplies in the back area - anything to get her out the spotlight. Victor would then turn to the camera with a grin and playful banter. God, she was beginning to despise the man even more than she'd ever thought.

The sweat made her hair stick uncomfortably to the back of her neck and face, she had to ignore it though. Her extensive training prevented her from reaching to wipe it away and contaminate her hands or tools with human perspiration. It was the same discipline that helped her ignore the blistering heat and flesh-warping burns to craft the swoops and swirls of her project - Icarus in Flight. The monolith of sugar was a humaoid figure of white with silver wings reaching for the large globe of gold that reached the final five feet.

She was concerned about her material – the temperature fluctuations due to Victor's meddling and the additional humidity significantly destabilized the spun sugar. The material was not as strong as it could have been making the higher additions even more fragile. She was afraid that the whole thing could go at any time - and it was the same all through the hall.

Veronica was rightfully worried it turned out. She heard the gasp and crash from the booth next door. Their sculpture – of a Jackson Pollock-like figure in a swirl of colors, had broken under the strain and was even now under assault of the three sugar-spinners next door in the frantic attempts to salvage something for judgment.

Victor chuckled with malicious glee at the misfortune of the team next door. Veronica murmured to him "Don't get too cocky – we could be next." Victor whirled on her with fury, "Get back to work – we've 10 minutes to judgment and you're lagging." The sculpture was almost complete, but there was a major problem, any more weight or unnecessary heat and her work would be joining the three others that had shattered.

No stranger to this threat, she calmly took the fragile foam curl of the glassine waters to finish and with the steady hands of a surgeon leaned in with the blowtorch to fasten the last of the ornamentation. Suddenly there was a bump to her side and Victor was there grabbing the torch and the forceps from her hand and turning to smile at the camera crew that was coming toward them.

Veronica snapped, "Damn it Victor – not now…" But Victor was already in motion – his movements too quick and jerky for the delicate work. He was too busy hamming it up for the camera and speaking with Alton Brown.

"Just a minor touch-up and we're…" Victor grinned and applied the torch at a critical weight support point.

"Victor wait!" her eyes widened in fury and horror.

The piece snapped in his hand, and in slow motion she could see the crumbling of hours of hard labor. The gasp of the crowd and the almost musical chiming of crumbling sugar almost drowned out the flood of blood through her ears. She could only stand in horror beside the colorful shard mountain. The camera crew, having recorded the reactions of team UK moved on and Victor stared at the mess for a moment.

His dreams of winning the competition were shattered like the sculpture before him. His dreams of rubbing elbows with celebrities, of his own TV show, of groupies reaching to grab his hands for blessings swirled through his mind, only to vanish like the dreams they were. His rage, rising like the tide dimmed his eyesight in a blood-tinged haze as he turned to face the source of his humiliation.

"You are fired. No not just fired - banished! You will never work in this industry again – I'll see to it personally that you never find a job except as a fast-food fry cook. Get the hell out of my kitchen. I never want to see you again!"

Veronica stared at the man before her – her own blood thundering through her veins, face flushed with heat and humiliation. Tears threatened to rise, but she'd be damned if she'd give this bastard the satisfaction. She quickly whipped off the team jacket, leaving her in cargo pants and olive tee-shirt and threw it at his head. "Reap what you sow, asshole!" She turned to grab her bag and quickly slipped out of the room as the buzzer sounded. The competition was over.

"Interesting," said the man watching the slow crumble of the sculpture. Unknown to the Team Leader Victor Brahm, the camera had recorded his little temper tantrum. His eyes followed the exiled figure as it slipped out of the competition hall. He'd been watching her – her movements smooth and fluid, no hesitation. She'd made the correct adjustments for the environment and he had noted the only moments of discord had been when the Victor had interfered. It was the few moments of true innovation that really caught his eye – bending and twisting the hot liquid sugar more like making elaborate glassworkthan candy. Too bad the camera missed most of her work – bouncing from team to team didn't really give him a feel for what she was doing.

Using the remote control he rewound the video until he found a clear view of her face – the moment when the sculpture shattered. She was very pale –gray almost, hair somewhere between light brown and red, hazel eyes burning – all clashing with the horrible pink of the team uniform. Her lips were pinched, but anger, not horror, was the prominent expression. So, she'd know what Victor's bungling was about to bring - she was knowledgeable.

The man with the violet eyes nodded – a strong contender. With some background checks, he may have to track this one down.