We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;-
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
-Ode, by O'Shaughnessy
.:|:.
They were starving. Starving, and sick. Charles could practically smell the fear in the air.
"Who can take a sunrise? Sprinkle it with dew?"
Charles shifted the bag strapped to his shoulders to a more comfortable position, trudging past them through the wide corridors of the Main Paths, not looking at them. He'd passed by them enough times to know what they looked like without actually having to turn around and look.
They would all be clustered frantically around the man, one of the few not dressed in rags and patches, as he smiled hollowly at them and held up cases of syringes, bags of tourniquets. The small crowd would jostle and struggle with each other, thrusting their credits at the man as quickly as they could, in hopes they would manage it before his supply for the day ran out. Yells and orders came from the group, while a few, having already injected themselves, were already walking away, vacant, dream-like smiles on their face.
"The candy man can, because he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good." The song was coming from a rather ragged-looking fellow, huddled in a corner, very clearly already in the full grip of the "medicine" that made life seem wonderful, no matter what was happening. "Who can take a rainbow…"
Charles shifted the bag higher up his back once again, and moved on. Electronic and mechanical odds and ends clinked against each other inside of it as they settled again. He was just one of the many in his job, going routinely wherever the Will alerted him there was a problem. A broken part, a dead battery to be replaced, a lightbulb to screw in. He picked up the new parts, went wherever the AI ordered him to, and fixed it. The broken parts went in his bag, and then, according to orders, into the disposal chute.
Except, he saw to it that they never made it to the disposal chute until his mother had gotten a chance to pick through them.
He turned the corner, heading down another corridor. For a moment, he glanced up at the ceiling of the Wonka facility, noting a flickering bulb. He would have to fix that tomorrow. He hated that; he hated heights.
The faint sounds of the man's singing followed him all the way down the dark, unlit hallway. "And the world tastes good because the candy man THINKS it should!"
.:.
"So. What are you studying?"
The girl's marred face lit up in a light blush, and she ducked her head deeper into the book. "Um… The Maasai. Of Africa."
The tall, late-teen standing over her chuckled, peering over her shoulder, hands gripping the back of her chair. "Africa? What's that?"
"One of the seven continents. You know… From outside." Hands covered in scaly, dust-colored blemishes lifted the book higher to cover her face in embarrassment. "They're very… interesting. Their clothing is colorful, and even though they're not rich like some of the other societies, they look so… so…"
She let loose a startled eep as the book was suddenly pulled from her hands. "Mike!"
"True Victory," he remarked absently, turning the object over. "Not a lot of people use old books like this. Heck, I don't even know where to find physical books like this." He glanced at her, looking away from a picture of smiling children in traditional dress. "Don't you have a document reader? I could have sworn I've seen you carrying one or five around."
She shifted, looking down meekly at her knees. "Y-yes, but, the truth is… I like the physical copies. They don't make much sense, and they take up a lot of space, and you can't back them up. But, sometimes… When you're flipping through them, you just-"
"Hey! T.V.! You're not picking on her again, are you?"
The boy startled, looking aghast at the person walking through the door. "I wasn't! We were just having a conversation-"
"A conversation where you take her book from her and then force her to talk to you instead of letting her read." The girl grinned, tying her long, red hair up behind her head as she strolled through the open doorway. "Don't worry about him, Verruca. T.V. wouldn't know a book if it hit him in that lump of muscle he calls a head."
"Yeah? Well Violet here wouldn't know friendly conversation if… If…" Drat. Why couldn't he ever think of a snappy comeback when he needed one? He shot her a look as she pushed him playfully, walking past them towards the console he had been sitting on a few minutes before. "What are you in here for, anyways? This is Ver's console room, not yours."
"It… It's really alright," Verruca protested feebly as she took her book back. "It's fine…"
"I could ask you that too, you know," Violet replied, crouching down to boot up the system. "And I'll only be in here for a minute. I'm actually just looking for Miranda." She glanced over her shoulder, watching them through clear, bright hazel eyes. "You guys haven't heard from her, have you? She seems to have vanished. We've been looking all over for her for the past hour."
T.V. and Verruca looked at each other, both at a loss.
.:.
Slim, pale fingers slipped around the crack in the doorway, opening it just a little further. One eye moved into the slim opening, scanning through a pair of glasses into the dark room beyond. Convinced the room was empty, she stepped into the room, glancing behind her. A hand flicked up to turn on the light, the door swung shut, and she rushed towards the desk against the far wall.
One drawer was jerked out, then another. Digital paper and appliances were shoved aside. A cup full of styluses crashed to the ground. Eagerly, she searched through the desk, seeking out every hidden corner where it might be hiding. Her eyes caught on a small lanyard, and her hand darted out to grab it-
"You won't find it in there. Miranda."
The voice was youthful, but cold. The young boy, no older than seven or eight, stepped out from behind the stack of shelves he had been organizing, messy dark brown hair falling into his face, but doing nothing to hide his stormy expression. He patted his shirt just above his collarbone. "I keep it on me at all times. Do you think I'm stupid, that I just leave the things I work on for months lying out where anyone can steal them? Or do you think I'm just such a dumb little kid that I'd forget?"
Miranda gasped, staring at him. "August! I'm so sorry- you startled me!" Her eyes flickered towards the spot he'd patted on his chest, then back up to the kid's face. Her lips curved upwards in a smile. "You've got me all wrong, kiddo. Sorry, I should have knocked, but I was just coming in to borrow a cable- one of those rare Q-34s they use to repair some of the older appliances, you know? I figured you'd have a spare in your desk, and… Look, I'll clean up the mess, alright?" She reached down to grab the cup of styluses.
"You will touch none of my things!"
KRrrrrrrrrrk. Miranda's eyes jerked towards the slowly-opening door. It paused, half-way open, and she looked into the foreboding eyes of a middle-aged man with graying hair. She straightened, smile brightening. "Good! You're just in time. August is confused- he seems to think I was in here trying to steal something, and-"
"We know about you, now," the man said quietly.
She paused, looking at him, scanning his face. "What?"
The man looked down at her sadly. "We know that you aren't truly with us, dear Miranda. You've been having regular conversations with the Will for several weeks now, haven't you? August picked up the traces this morning. He asked me to keep it quiet until I was certain, but now… I'm afraid I am certain. You have betrayed us, my dear."
"Wh…What? I n-never…"
"Is that… Is that true?"
The man looked over his shoulder, then nudged the door all the way open. Just behind it, Violet, T.V., and Verruca stood, watching her in varying degrees of shock. Verruca looked especially hurt. "You've been… telling the Will… our secrets? All along? Even knowing what it would do if it found out about us…"
Miranda stared at her, then looked around the group, standing around her, blocking off all of her exits. No… No, this wasn't supposed to happen! She wasn't supposed to get caught! They weren't supposed to find out!
"Well… What else was I supposed to do?" she said, seeing that she was caught. She raised her voice, angry. "You fools. You can't beat it, you know! The Will is everywhere- this is his factory! It runs everything, everything! You guys are all going to get yourselves killed, trying to escape, you know. You want to drag me down with you?"
Violet shook her head, gaze hardening. "That's your excuse? You sold us out- we would have died if you handed us over to the Will. You know that, right?" Her voice dropped in disgust. "And you would have let it happen."
This was all some sort of mistake, or… Or maybe she had messed up somehow. Her eyes flicked towards the boy, towards the very slight bulge over his collar bone that she'd never noticed before, then back to the condemning, sad stare of the man with the graying hair. That was it… This was because she had failed, because she hadn't managed to steal it. So if she just grabbed it now…
Frantic, fanatical, she turned without warning, suddenly darting towards the little boy standing by the shelves. A wild sound, half laugh and half sob, tore from her throat as she pounced towards him, hands outstretched to rip it from his neck-
Violet didn't hesitate. She lifted the illegal weapon that had been hanging from her thigh, aimed, and fired.
.:|:.
AN: So, this isn't Avatar like the rest of my stuff. This is a little different. A little different, and a lot weird. I can only blame insomnia and the weird things it does to my brain.
As mentioned in the summary tags, this will be an AU (and somewhat crack-tastic) take on Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (especially the film from the 70's), in which the kids are trying to escape from a factory/facility type thing, and Willy Wonka- or at least, this universe's version of him- is the bad guy. It's rather darker than the source material. And more insane.
I hate songfics as much as the next person, but bear with me- it actually has a point in this fic. Half the time, the songs will be sung by the characters anyways, or at least thought out, and the songs are kind of integral to this all.
I have a little more free time what with summer break and all, though, so I think I'll tackle a few more chapters on "After the Comet", in addition to hopefully continuing this a little. And now this Author's Note has gone on too long. More to come soon.
-roflZuko