Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters which belong to Roald Dahl, Warner Bros. Pictures and Tim Burton. There is no intent to gain anything or anyone.
CatCF (movie)
A.N. Since Chocociology is nowhere near ready to be Christmas (And I refuse to force it there), I decided to write a little 'nip for the season.
Christmas Lights
Charlie's head tilted to the left as he examined the Christmas tree. His head tilted right. He frowned deeply and scratched his head in bewilderment. He'd helped Willy Wonka and the Oompa-Loompas decorate the large, beautiful candy evergreen, but he didn't see what he was trying to find. He and the workers had hung the ornaments (edible or eatable as Mr. Wonka would say) and the tinsel (which might or might not be eatable, edible, since Mr. Wonka hadn't clarified either way about it). Mr. Wonka himself had done the lights and that was what was puzzling Charlie so much. He walked around the tree, trying to see if he had just missed it the first time around. He sighed deeply and shook his head. Giving up, he looked around for someone to ask. Spotting an Oompa-Loompa who worked in the Inventing Room, he waved him over. He knew he was from the Inventing Room because his jumpsuit was black. You could tell where an Oompa-Loompa worked by the color of their jumpsuit, though he wasn't sure how Willy had found that many colors to use. He still hadn't been to all of the work areas in the factory, but there were a LOT of them! He thought the worker might be Hank, but he wasn't sure enough to risk using the name. Charlie pointed at the tree's lights. "How does Mr. Wonka do it?"
The Oompa-Loompa looked the tree up and down, from the red and green skirt wrapped around the bottom and the little train chugging in intricate circles around it, all the way to the star twinkling merrily in different colors and patterns at the top. He shrugged and held his hands upraised, indicating quite clearly that he didn't know.
"Thanks anyway," Charlie said politely and then returned the Oompa-Loompas' universal crossed arms sign, in this case meaning thank you, and bowed to the little man. He needed to find Willy and just ask him. The boy checked his pocket watch for the time and thought about his mentor's schedule. Normally on Wednesday, on any other week of the year, the chocolatier would be in the packaging room, making sure his candy was being boxed and labeled correctly at this time of day. However, this was not any other time of the year. It was the week before Christmas and that probably meant Mr. Wonka was in his office doing the end of year paperwork, getting ready to pay his taxes and generate W2s and 1099s and all the other paperwork and electronic forms that the government required from a business (especially from a successful business owner). This would have the discouraging effect of making Mr. Wonka actually grumpy and a grumpy Wonka was a thing to be avoided at all costs. Even Doris, Willy's favorite personal assistant, avoided her boss assiduously when he did the year-end paperwork.
Resigned, Charlie made his way through the maze of hallways toward the great man's office. He could get there faster by taking the elevator, but wanted to delay his arrival by walking. He knew he could just not look for Wonka and avoid the whole ill-tempered mess, but Charlie was burning for an answer to his question. He ran a finger along a line on the wall and thought about it. This was his third Christmas in the huge chocolate factory, so why hadn't he noticed it before? To be fair, he hadn't helped decorate the Christmas tree that first year. An eight foot fir-mint tree had just sort of magically appeared, fully decorated, and he'd been too awed and delighted to really be aware of the little atypical details or to think about it. A justifiable response, Charlie thought, to your very first Christmas tree. Still, Charlie hadn't noticed anything particularly unusual about that first Christmas tree aside from the scent of mint and the fact it was edible and especially delicious.
The second Christmas in the factory, Charlie had actually been allowed to aid in decorating the lovely tree. Still, he had seen nothing odd about it and almost found its edible nature normal. Almost normal, but still most puzzling as it seemed Mr. Wonka actually managed to grow the candy trees rather than making them the way most people made candy. He was not at all sure how one managed to develop candy plants which actually grew, but Mr. Wonka frequently had a way of doing things that seemed magical and unusually irregular. Charlie had even assisted Willy with fertilizing them with ground mint chocolate and watering them with chocolate from the chocolate river. (Mr. Wonka was most particular about his Christmas trees and would not let just anyone help take care of them. The Oompa-Loompas had assured Charlie it was a great honor to assist the chocolatier with them and they vied with each other all the time to earn the right to that grand assignment.) Some of the candy plants grew more slowly than others. The fir-mint trees were one of the slowest growers and there was a row of varying size trees in the greenhouse. The oldest (and biggest) tree was usually cut down for Christmas, decorated and later, after Christmas was over, was enjoyed all over again by being eaten by the factory inhabitants.
Neither the first tree nor the second had possessed tinsel. That was a new development for this year. Perhaps it was the tinsel that had attracted Charlie's notice to the curiously strange nature of the lights. Well, being able to eat the lights was unusual enough, but still, that didn't explain it. How did they light? They didn't glow like the illuminating lollipops, they lit the way Christmas lights were supposed to do, blinking on and off, twinkling and doing that funny chasing light pattern, frequently in time to music, even if the music wasn't always audible to the observer. As far as Charlie knew in order for a light to, well, light, it required electricity… or a match, but light bulbs required electricity to work. Only, the lights on their Christmas tree did not have a plug. So where was the power coming from? There wasn't a trace of anything like a battery pack. Everything else that he had seen in the factory that needed electricity got it in the normal way, which is to say from an electrical socket through a plug and a cord. Mind, he didn't think the factory itself got its electricity from the power company. It seemed to come from somewhere else, somewhere internal or peculiar to the immense complex. It certainly didn't lose power when the surrounding neighborhoods did. So where were the Christmas tree lights getting their power from?
Charlie paused outside of Mr. Wonka's office door and took a deep breath, trying to collect his courage. He felt rather like he was about to confront a dragon. He immediately flushed with shame. Mr. Wonka had never done anything to deliberately scare him. He had shown the utmost patience in answering his questions, even when he ignored the questions he didn't want to answer. He always made Charlie feel welcome and let him know that he was never an intrusion. Just because the year-end paperwork made him grumpy, it didn't change the fact that Mr. Wonka always smiled when he saw Charlie. With that thought foremost in his mind, Charlie quietly pushed open one of the large oak doors and peeked inside.
As expected, Willy Wonka sat at his great oak desk. Charlie loved that desk with its gracefully curved legs and the rows of carved oak leaves and acorns that trimmed the edges. It was a grand desk with lots of drawers, big and small, in its fat body. The handles and knobs on the drawers were also carved with oak leaves and acorns. The matching wheeled chair followed the same theme and was padded most comfortably in a rich plum red velvet fabric. All of the furniture in Wonka's office, even the computer desk, was made from oak and had the same pattern carved on each piece. The chocolatier was currently leaning on an elbow on his desk, his hand holding up his head, his normally immaculate hair mussed in different directions. He was chewing thoughtfully at his chocolate flavored ink pen.
As always, when he was in his office working, Mr. Wonka was not wearing his top hat. It was neatly hung on the coat stand near the door. Every time Charlie saw Mr. Wonka without a hat, he wanted to laugh because the man did have a most unusual hair cut. His mother told him it was called a bob, but Charlie knew that was for women. He didn't know what it was called on a man, but he had found pictures of others with the same style cut, usually in fantasy books set in medieval times or around the period of King Arthur. However, that wasn't what made him want to laugh. It was Mr. Wonka's bangs that almost always did him in. You didn't see his bangs when he was wearing his hat so they were constantly a surprise when you saw Willy Wonka without his hat. They were much too short and, if Charlie had his way, he would convince Mr. Wonka's Oompa-Loompa barber to let them grow out to a longer length. He'd been working on that goal for a year and felt he was close to a breakthrough. Of course, the change was also dependent on Mr. Wonka not saying anything against it.
Charlie gave himself a shake and took a deep breath, before rather timidly knocking on the open door.
Mr. Wonka jerked upright and tried to look more focused on his work. He glanced over at the doors and seeing Charlie, smiled warmly. "Good afternoon, Charlie. Come in!" He waved the boy forward.
Charlie Bucket, grateful not to be snapped at, entered fully, stepping over to Mr. Wonka's desk. He immediately noted the line between the man's eyes and knew he must be fighting a headache. "Mr. Wonka," he started uncertainly.
"Willy," the candy maker interrupted, "I've told you before to call me Willy."
"Willy," Charlie smiled, "I was wondering…"
"What is it, dear boy?" Willy sat up, resting his purple gloved hands together with the fingertips meeting, his head tilting in a questioning, listening pose.
Slightly embarrassed about interrupting the busy man with something so trivial, the young teenager dragged his foot back and forth. "I was wondering… How do the lights on the Christmas tree work?"
Slowly, the smile on Wonka's face widened. A mischievous twinkle filled his iolite eyes. Charlie realized immediately that he was not going to get a straight answer. "By giving light, of course," Willy finally responded.
"Of course," Charlie bit back a sigh of frustration, "I'm sorry to have bothered you. Will you be joining us for dinner?"
"I'll try, Charlie, honestly I will, but I don't know." Willy examined his paper covered desk ruefully. "I swear they're multiplying every time I turn my back," he finished in a loud whisper.
Charlie giggled. He couldn't help it. "If you don't come, Mom will send a meal and you better eat it!" Willy nodded violently in agreement as if totally terrified of what would happen if he didn't eat Mrs. Bucket's food. With a smile and a tiny wave, Charlie left Mr. Wonka to his paperwork, quietly closing the door behind him. As he did, it dawned on Charlie that Willy may have actually been grateful for the minor interruption and distraction. He would have to find a reason for another one tomorrow.
Willy waited a moment to be absolutely certain that his apprentice was gone. His smile softened and he stood up, stretching like a cat. The chocolatier slowly walked over to a small, potted fir-mint sitting on a table beside his window seat. He looked around carefully to verify he was alone and then slipped a purple glove off his hand. A single pale fingertip touched one end of the small, sealed strand of lights on the tree. There was an infinitesimal blue spark and the tiny multicolored lights began to twinkle merrily to the tune of unheard music.