Black Valentine

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Chapter 3: Letter Exchange

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Ralph wondered if he'd ever hear back from his secret admirer. Vanellope could be right. Perhaps she'd be angry at him for capturing her bat. Or perhaps writing back in itself would make her nervous and this eighth valentine would be the last.

But then again, perhaps she'd be impressed and would take some initiative toward meeting him. Or perhaps the shy girl would write back and thank him. Perhaps she would show up herself.

And coming home after work one night he spotted a bat hanging upside down from his mailbox. As he approached it fluttered up into the nearest tree, but inside the box an envelope. Forgetting all about meeting Vanellope that night, he rushed inside and tore open the envelope.

A letter, written in the same flowery hand, had come in response.

My dearest Ralph,

I am torn by your desire to meet me, for I myself would love nothing more than to see you in person, to see you there having come for me, to hold you and whisper these feelings into your ears. I think my aching heart would burst into flame—not those of consuming fire, but the pink and violet flames of love. But alas, this cannot be. Our lonely paths shall always be separate for what we are. Please forgive me for not wishing to change what we have. Why risk losing this innocent flower when reality could crush it so easily? Yours faithfully and forever...

Ralph sighed. Her timidity had again won out.

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He showed the letter to Vanellope, who read it thrice. "And I thought she used that kinda language only for her poems to you," replied the girl. And then she noticed the dejected look in Ralph's eyes. "Hey, buck up. There are other girls out there, right?"

"I suppose," he said softly. "I guess I kinda have feelings for her since she's cared about me for so long. Longer than anyone else has ever cared about me."

Vanellope glitched up onto his shoulder and rumpled his hair. "Hey, you know how women are. You gotta play by their rules."

This wasn't encouraging and he sighed again.

"Hey, c'mon. Let's go to the playground in Niceland and we can spin each other on the merry-go-round and see who throws up first."

Ralph chuckled. "All right, President Penguinpudge. We should get some of the other racers to come with us, because you know they'll get sick first."

"Oooh! Let's get Sour Bill to come and see how much he can take."

They laughed like chattering squirrels at the thought of a nauseated Sour Bill rolling about the sand fighting not to puke.

And several hours later the contingent from Sugar Rush staggered home, still dizzy from far too much fun on the playground. Rancis could barely walk and had to be supported by Candlehead and Swizzle. Ralph walked back to his house, having said his goodbyes to Vanellope.

And on reaching his front door, he turned and realized that the bat was hanging from his mailbox again. "What are you doing still here?" he asked it. "Shoo!"

The bat simply shuffled its footing on the underside of the box.

And when he took the trash out later, the thing was still hanging there.

"What? Was I supposed to write back?"

The bat flapped his wings and squeaked loudly.

"Well fine. I'll write back. What am I supposed to say though?" He turned to go inside, and the moment he opened the door the bat flew into the house. It fluttered about the ceiling for a bit, but then found a perch to hang from beneath the desk shelf.

Ralph sat down and placed a piece of paper in front of him. The bat flapped its wings again and settled contentedly.

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The bat continued to appear, bringing letters for him, written by his lonely secret admirer. And the dutiful bat would hang around until Ralph produced a letter for it to return. Sometimes it would hang from the underside of the shelf above his desk. Sometimes it would hang from the ceiling lamp fixture. Sometimes it would hang from the mailbox. And even if he went a week without writing the bat would linger faithfully, waiting for a missive to its mistress.

Ralph found it difficult at first to profess any affection for the unseen, unknown woman, but over time and the more he 'conversed' with her through ink and paper, the easier it became. And in time he realized he too had real feelings for her as well, something more than the general fondness he had carried once he had decided the Valentines were genuine.

Vanellope was most curious about the romantic affair, and she eagerly read their letters and suggested things he should write back. And it wasn't just silly childish things either. Somewhere deep inside there was a real knack for matters of the heart.

At first he didn't ask again for a meeting, but after ten letters had passed into the care of the bat, his next letter insisted on taking this relationship to the next step. "Maybe I'm not as patient or accepting as you are, but I have to meet you. I can't keep writing to someone I don't know," he pleaded with the purple ink pen Vanellope had gifted him with. "I'm a physical person, and I have to know that you are as well. I know I sound silly for this, and maybe I am just a big dumb galoot, but I want to have something real."

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She did not respond within the usual three or four days as before, and Ralph wondered if perhaps his insistence had scared her away. At first he felt sad to have lost her. And then he tried to console himself with the fact that there hadn't been much to the relationship in the first place. Romantic cards sent to him over the years, and then a handful of letters exchanged. What kind of a love affair was that? And then he went back to regretting what he had said, for the something they had was better than nothing at all.

But then it was so wonderful just to have those heartfelt missives. Those days before he'd gone Turbo, he could at least come home after a particularly miserable day, get out the box of cards and read the poems to himself. And with the renewal of the passionate words of care and yearning, he'd feel better inside. Someone out there wanted him.

And two weeks after his imploring note, her response came.

Ralph read it again and again. And then he put the letter into his pocket and headed for Sugar Rush.

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Black Valentine continues in Chapter 4: "A Strange Twist"

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Wreck-It Ralph and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of Walt Disney Pictures. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.