A/N: So I asked IcyJade a while ago about her question fic, and I was saying about how I wanted to write a question fic... but different from the way she did it. This story is very, well, structured, and I guess there are slightly more rules than Jade's.
So let's start off with those rules:
The story's called 20 questions for a reason. I'm trying to plan for only twenty questions, with 7 for Young Oncie, 7 for Greed, and 6 for Once-ler Sr. These three Once-lers will be subdidvided into the following categories: Before Thneed Sales (BTS), After Thneed Sales but before Greed (ATSBG), During Greed (DG), After last Truffula (ALT), Senior Before Ted (SBT), and After Ted . I'm sorry if this is confusing! However, (as I kind of hope we we will), if we go over 20, that'll be fine. :)
Also, since this will be progressing in a timeline-like fashion as an actual story, all question-submitters will be recognized at the end. Let's try to keep the questions to a PG level, as I'd really like all ages to be able to read this. Questions should be submitted through reviews, and if you can't review, then PMs are welcome as well.
Lastly, have fun, and be creative with your questions! I'm sure Once will be able to come up with an answer!
Gosh, I feel like I'm sounding really mean. I'm not trying to be!
After hearing me blab on like this, here's the introduction.
:D
~OS
20 Questions
It was a rather dark night, cumulonimbus clouds overcasting the sky and threatening to spill their contents onto the little town they hovered over. The wind was howling its protest, and the frost was nipping at the few people that dared to walk the streets, sign of the coming winter. Walking alone in these terrible conditions with a mule by his side, was a boy of about sixteen with a tall and skinny frame. His blue eyes were turned towards the ground and he drew the hood of his thin coat over his black, slightly messy hair, shivering ever so slightly as he did so. He picked up the pace, briskly picking up one foot and setting down the other in a continuous cycle. The mule, Melvin, was slightly on the skinny side as well, though not as much as his owner. His gray hide was speckled with dots of white and lighter gray, and he carried a bag of groceries on his back. They weren't especially heavy however, the boy himself was carrying as much as he could.
The first drops of rain started to fall, and the boy stopped, looked up, and sighed, blowing a stray strand of hair away from his face in the process. Without looking down again, he continued walking, only to nearly trip over something in his path.
Cursing, he looked down, expecting a rock, or something else he could kick to show his frustration. Instead, as the rain spattered down on his head and he looked down, he saw a small parcel of some sort, a bundle wrapped heavily in thick off-white cloth and tied tightly with rope. Curiosity getting the better of him, he picked it up off of the ground and gave it a shake. No sound was produced, and so he started to untie the rope. After several tugs, a fall, and twice getting Melvin to try and bite through it, the rope came undone. His interest piqued, his brain wondering what object could be so important as for somebody to take such care to package, but then leave off in the middle of the street. It occured to him that someone might have dropped it. Looking around, he saw not a single other soul, and so he continued with his dissecting of the package. Tearing the cloth off, he found a rather appealing purple velvet box, which looked watertight.
Sense getting the better of him, he tucked the box under his arm and carried on his way, signalling to Melvin to follow while he thought of ways to get the box past his mother.
Entering the small simple farmhouse was much more complicated than it sounded. First, he had to get past his aunt, who was almost always laying back on the couch watching television and eating, next he had to avoid being the target of his older twin brothers', Brett and Chett, latest pranks and insults. Finally, he would have to sneak up to his room without his mother noticing. And this was always the hardest part of all.
Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle on the door. Aunt Grizelda, he was pleased to notice, had fallen fast asleep on the sofa- which meant no hassle for him. Then, he remembered that Brett and Chett had gone away to a soccer camp over the long weekend. This couldn't be better!
Tiptoeing past his snoring aunt, he made it all the way into the kitchen, where the sound of his mother's voice made him freeze.
"And Ubb, you know very well what I told you yesterday about the rest of those nasty animals we still have sitting around. Get RID of them!"
"Yes Isabella," came the dutiful answer.
Relieving himself of the heavy grocery bags, the boy started to head for the staircase. He had gotten up one step, two, three, when-
"Oncie? Is that you?"
He froze again, not daring to breathe in case the sound of it alerted his mother he was here. He pressed his arm against his side harder, confirming the box hadn't fallen out of his grasp.
"Oncie? Oncie."
This time, the voice wasn't searching. He knew she had seen him. Ever so slowly, he turned around, like a thief caught red-handed.
His mother stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips, stern expression on her face. Her blonde poufed hair was immaculate, as it always was, and the purple glasses on her face only made her all the more scary.
"Oncie. Why aren't you answering me?" she accused.
He looked at the ground and mumbled something about not hearing her.
"Excuses, excuses. They'll get you nowhere in life. Come on Oncie, at least try to make your mama proud!"
His mind flashed back to all those times when he had presented her with breakfast in bed, songs he composed himself, inventions built from scratch. He thought about how every time he had been shot down, but he held his tongue.
She was scrutinizing him sharply with a look of disapproval. Then her eyes fell upon the box tucked under his arm.
"What's that you've got there? Hand it over."
In a rare moment of defiance, he clutched the object closer to his chest.
His mother's face had a slight expression of shock, but only for a fleeting moment; a second later it was back to its original cold self.
"Oncie. Now."
Reluctantly, he passed it to her.
"That's right. Now go put those groceries away, and when you're done, do that pile of laundry that's just sitting in your brother's room."
Sighing, he turned around and trudged to the big sacks he had just dropped. From the outside, it looked like he was doing what he was told. But on the inside, he was formulating a way to get his box back.
The whole day, he kept an unnoticed eye on his mother, trying to see where she would put his box. She had tried to open it a few hours earlier, but had failed. Now, as he was getting ready for bed, he knew that it was in her drawer downstairs- the one no one else in the household ever dared to touch.
That night, he snuck out in his pajamas (Yes, the bunny ones. Got a problem with that?) and started to creep past the other rooms. Fortunately, his aunt and uncle were heavy sleepers. The only problem was, yet again, his mother. Oh, and the creaky floorboards which happened to be right outside her room. Slowly, easing out one bare foot at a time, he snuck out to the stairs. Just as he was outside his mother's room, he stepped on a loose board, producing a loud creeeeeeeeack. He whipped his foot off of the board in an instant. Heart pounding, he waited. And waited. And waited some more, listening for the slightest noise that would signal his mother's awakeness.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, he proceeded, letting himself suck in great gulps of sweet cold air. He made it all the way down the stairs before he reached the next problem:
Finding his way around in the dark. He didn't dare turn on any lights. Stretching his arms out, one in front and one on his side, he reached the kitchen. Letting his fingertips brush against the cool wood, he slowly counted off the first four draws. Hooking his fingers around the corners of the fifth, he slowly, painfully slowly, opened the draw, at a speed of one millimeter per second. Touching the soft material of the box, he withdrew his arm and with the same speed as before, closed the drawer. Sneaking back upstairs, this time with no problems from the squeaky board, he held his breath until he was safely in his room, where he locked and bolted the door.
Now, he was safe. Turning his bedside lamp on, he sat down in the only chair in the room- a black plastic model they had gotten for free, and he set the box on one of the spare boxes that were stored in his room, which doubled as the attic. He tried once to tug it open, to see if his mother had just been lacking in strength. No result. Walking over to another box (he had a system figured out), he pulled out a slightly rusted old knife which he used for his many inventions. Inserting it into the edge of the box, he clamped the box to the surface with one hand while forcing it open with the other.
After half an hour and a lot of effort, the box was open, and the boy was eagerly awaiting the inside. It could be anything. Gold, or diamonds, or-
All that was inside was a rolled up piece of notebook paper. He would have dismissed it quickly, if the notion of a pirate's map, or directions to a hidden treasure had not entered his mind. Figuring it wouldn't take up too much of his time, he unfurled the paper and started to scan it.
It read:
Dear Once-ler,
Yes, I know who you are. I planted this specifically so that you would find it, making sure that you, and only you would be able to open it and read this message. No, that part of it isn't magic. It is simply common sense, paired with some research and... other things.
Let's get to the point.
Starting from before the moment you picked this up from the ground, I have been watching you. Perhaps not every moment of every day, but enough to know a lot about you and the kind of person you are. Throughout your life, you will be recieving many mysterious notes like this one. They will contain questions about you, and your life in general. They will not come all at the same time, and I can make no guarantees as to the timing and how it affects your real life, though we will try to make it as convienient as possible. I want you, as you recieve these questions, to make a documentary answering each one, and I want you to tape it on a camera or video recorder that you know will not be found or used by anyone else. You will leave these tapes at the location specified in each note. They may vary. These questions WILL vary over the years, and they WILL keep coming all the way over your lifespan. We have our ways of knowing what's going on.
Once, after the very last question has been addressed and answered, then, and ONLY THEN, will I reveal myself and my identity.
~OS