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) Alternate Universe

choc·o·ci·ol·o·gy n. 1. The study of human chocolate behavior, especially the study of the origins, organization, institutions, and development of chocolate society. 2. Analysis of a chocolate institution or chocolietal segment as a self-contained entity or in relation to chocolate as a whole. o. from choco(late)- (Spanish, from Nahuatl xocolatl : xococ, bitter + atl, water.) + logy, study (Greek "logi" see "logy") adapted from sociology by C. Bucket (see sociology)

Chapter 35 - New Knowledge

Willy was deep into his work. There were just a few more reviews to go and yet the last ones always seemed the hardest. Deciding to get more comfortable, Willy toed his boots off. He didn't think anything of it. He'd done it many times before while working in his office. He absentmindedly picked up a pen and twirled it around in his fingers as he tried to think of something new to say on his current review. He hated sounding repetitious! Just then something sharp sank into his left foot. "Ow!" Willy jumped in surprise, pulling his feet up under him, and peered under his computer desk. What was that?

Charlie jumped at Willy's exclamation. "Are you all right?" He hopped to his feet, setting the photo album aside, prepared to help his friend. He wondered if Willy's wrist was bothering him. He'd been working steadily through the morning.

With a frown, Willy reached under his desk and grabbed an unrepentant kitten by the back of her neck. He pulled her out and held her by the scruff of her neck, dangling limply in front of him. "What did you do that for, Oriana?"

"What did she do?"

"She attacked my foot!" Willy frowned again as she hung there and mewed once at him.

"Why would Oriana do that?" Charlie asked in puzzlement as he stepped over to stand beside the candy maker.

"The only thing I can guess is she was hunting or pretending to hunt," Willy responded. "My feet are not prey, young lady!" He shook a finger on his other hand at her, only to jerk it back just in time when she batted at it with her paws. Those were sharp little claws! She mewed again. The frown turned into a sly smile. Willy hissed at her, sounding very much like an irritated adult cat.

The kitten made a startled sound. This was something new and most unexpected. She mewed softly in a plea. Willy smiled and mewed back, somehow sounding firm as if laying down the law. Oriana's beautifully shaped ears drooped. As Charlie watched and listened in fascination, the candy maker mewed again and began a low hum in the back of his throat. One of the kitten's ears came up, shortly followed by the other. She began to purr back. With a slight grin, Willy placed her on the floor.

"Should I put her back in her playpen?" Charlie asked, watching the kitten as she patted at Willy's foot with one paw. She leaped backwards when it moved, her tail sticking straight up. She side hopped around it, mouth open in a silent hiss.

Willy giggled at the kitten's silly antics. "No, I think it'll be okay. She shouldn't scratch anybody again, at least not deliberately." He rubbed his tired eyes. "What time is it?" He pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it. "Almost ten o'clock. I think it's time for a break."

Charlie nodded, happy to do whatever his friend wanted. He followed him, surprisingly still in stocking feet, to the hidden door to his quarters, the kitten weaving in and out between their legs. He trailed behind Willy to his kitchen area and slipped on to a bar stool.

"What would you like? A drink? Something to eat?" Willy inquired as he rummaged around in his refrigerator.

Charlie thought for a moment. It was so odd having choices! "Chocolate milk?"

"Okie doke!" Willy responded with a warm smile as he filled two large glasses from the refrigerator with the requested drink.

Willy kept glasses in his fridge? How odd!

"With a scoop of ice cream?"

Oh! That sounded wonderful. Charlie nodded enthusiastically. "Yes please."

"What flavor?" the candy maker asked as he opened the freezer section.

"What . . .," Charlie stumbled slightly over his words. He cleared his throat. "Whatever you're having," he replied as the man turned to look at him over his shoulder.

Willy nodded and pulled out a carton of Wonka's Extra Rich Chocolate. He got an ice scream scoop from a drawer and plopped perfect scoops in each of the glasses of chocolate milk. He grabbed two spoons and joined Charlie at the bar with a huge smile. He offered one of the spoons to Charlie. "Dig in!"

Charlie ate the treat slowly, savoring the delectable chocolate on chocolate flavor. It was heavenly! He licked his spoon and turned to thank his friend, only to halt as he observed the chocolatier. The man's eyes were closed and the expression on his face was as close to ecstasy as he had ever seen. He watched as Willy delicately consumed his ice cream, each bite fully appreciated, before the next was taken. The oddity struck the boy once more. Willy owned the world's largest chocolate factory and acted as if he rarely tasted the treat or, perhaps, had never had it before. It was a dichotomy that Charlie found impossible to reconcile and absolutely fascinating. "What was your first candy?" His eyes widened slightly. Where had that come from? He hadn't meant to ask anything!

"Hm?" Willy's violet eyes blinked open and focused on his young friend. He frowned slightly as he thought about the question. "I don't remember," he lied carefully, not wanting to admit the truth about it. For Willy remembered his first candy most vividly. He had been a young boy, not much younger than Charlie was now and not once had he tasted candy, though he had pled mightily with his dad for a tiny bit of the thing his contemporaries enjoyed so much. Halloween came and with it, his greatest temptation and shame - trick or treat. His papa sent him around the neighborhood to collect the candies handed out each year. And each year, it ended the same way. He gave the bag or plastic jack o' lantern full of denied treats to the dentist to sort through, so he would have an idea of what his patients, child and adult, had eaten this time. Every year he begged for just one piece, preferably of chocolate, and every year Dr. Wilbur Wonka sternly said no.

That year, his father had informed him with great pleasure that some children were allergic to chocolate and it made their noses itch. As always, young Willy watched with sad eyes as the theoretically delicious morsels were tossed into the fire to burn away to ashes along with his dreams. The next day, as he'd done his chores and cleaned out the fireplace, he'd found one, a single piece of candy that had not been destroyed by the fire. Carefully checking around and with great daring, he removed the wrapper from it and placed the chocolate in his mouth. His eyes closed as he enjoyed the single most marvelous taste he'd ever experienced. It was exquisite! Never had he imagined such flavor existed! It was even better than he had dreamed possible!

Afterwards, Willy Wonka had gone more than a little mad as he clandestinely tried every piece of candy he could lay his hands on without his father discovering his guilty secret. Each taste drove him further into his new passion. He carefully wrote his reactions to their flavors and what might improve them. A new, driving desire filled his mind and life. He dreamed of making chocolate and candies. It was imperative that he be a chocolatier!

In retrospect, Willy now knew it hadn't even been a piece of moderately good chocolate. Ironically, it was a piece of the cheapest Halloween candy made by Slugworth in his first year of production. That candy maker would be incensed beyond reason if he ever discovered that he was actually responsible for the formation of his greatest rival.

Charlie wondered at the distant look on Willy's face as he sipped his chocolate milk. He remembered his first piece of chocolate clearly. It had been a Wonka Whipple Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight. After that, all he had ever wanted for his birthday, the only time his family allowed themselves to indulge in something other than necessities, was a Wonka bar. Only once had he tasted any other maker's candy. A little girl, new to the city and school, had shyly offered him a small piece of Halloween chocolate. It had not, he remembered, been even remotely as fine as Wonka's. The flavor and texture had been truly horrible. Before then, he would not have believed that candy could be nasty. But there it was. Of course, he hadn't told the girl what he thought. That would have been mean for she truly hadn't known any better. A few months later, she was gone, having moved yet again to another new city. However, before she had left, he had given her a single square of chocolate, carefully saved from his birthday bar. The astonished look of delight on her face as that precious morsel melted in her mouth had been reward enough for his sacrifice. Charlie was positive she was now as big a fan of Wonka's chocolate as he was.

Willy managed to smile as he swallowed some of his milk. He rolled it gently around his mouth, testing, always testing. His smile became more genuine as he thought of his chocolate cows. They did produce such fine, high quality chocolate milk! His smile turned to a grin. "You have a chocolate mustache," he informed Charlie thoughtfully.

Charlie blushed faintly and licked his lips, only to laugh as he realized something. "So do you!"

"Of course!" Willy laughed and licked his own rosy lips. He stiffened and looked down to find a kitten hanging off of one foot perched on the stool. She scrambled with her hind legs, obviously intent on climbing Mount Willy. He tilted his head to one side. Or maybe that would be a Willy tree?

"What?" Charlie asked, curious about Willy's reaction.

"Oriana is trying to climb me." Willy smirked slightly, wondering if this was a direct result of putting her on his shoulder the evening before. He'd given her an experience with height and she now wanted more. Or maybe she wanted to get at his hair again. He decided to leave her to her adventure and perched his elbows on table, holding his head up with his hands. "What should we make for your mom and dad for lunch?"

The boy shook his head. "Sandwiches?" That would be easy and quick to make.

Willy considered it. "They'll be cold." He frowned for a second, only to brighten with a new thought. "I know! How about tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?" That was comfort food and surely the older Buckets would need the comfort and warmth, because searching through the rubble of your home was a sad and depressing business. Even better it included Charlie's idea as well.

"That sounds great, Willy!" Charlie contemplated his glass. "Do you think they'll find anything?"

"I," Willy paused, his expressive face full of uncertainty. "I don't know Charlie." Truthfully, he hadn't been able to bring himself to look out at where the Bucket's home had been when it had cleared enough to see. He just couldn't! His eyes turned soft as velvet and sad as he reached down to gently dislodge the kitten. He stood and walked around to stand beside his young friend. Tentatively, shyly, uncertain of how or why, Willy wrapped a slender arm around the boy's narrow shoulders. "I'm so sorry about your home, Charlie."

The boy looked faintly startled, before leaning into the warm hold. "It's not your fault." He wondered what to say. He knew, even if Willy didn't, that their little home had been doomed for quite some time. It was a miracle that it had held on as long as it had. Of course, the repairs might have delayed that inevitable demise until Charlie was grown, but it probably would have been a near thing. He vaguely wondered how frequently Willy Wonka would have snuck down into their little house to fight the wear of time if it hadn't been for that tornado. He looked up into Willy's distressed face, his blue eyes clear and true. "You saved our lives and took us into your home. We couldn't ask for anything more, Willy." He reached up and wrapped his thin arms tightly around his friend's chest, hugging him in genuine gratitude. "I like it here." He smiled faintly at his daring words, hoping he didn't sound too bold or something.

"I like having you here," Willy admitted truthfully. The friends separated with a laugh as they saw Oriana try to leap on to the seat of a nearby chair. Not being big enough to manage the distance yet, she plopped back on to the floor. She shook her head with apparent disgust and mewed loudly in complaint.

Charlie shook his own head at the little kitten's antics. His eyes absently scanned the room and he ended up looking outside. "What causes tornadoes?" Charlie wondered, starting when Willy gasped, only then aware he had asked the question aloud. He turned with genuine curiosity to the chocolatier. "Do you know?"

"Uh, well, you need moisture." Willy nodded. "Yeah, and a cold front or dry air over moist air or something else to trigger the winds to take the moist air up and usually you have a thunderstorm." He nodded again.

"We didn't have a thunderstorm yesterday," Charlie pointed out.

"I said usually," Willy responded. "But the winds have to start going clockwise." He twisted his left hand in that direction.

"I don't remember hearing about tornadoes around here. I thought they only happened where it's flat."

"Like Iowa, Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma and other Plain states of the Midwest," Willy nodded. "They're in what is called tornado alley, but really one can form almost anywhere in the world. Actually, there isn't just one tornado alley. There are a lot of little ones. Oddly enough England has the highest number of reported tornadoes per section of land in the world." He shrugged one shoulder at Charlie's startled look. "They're usually not as destructive as the ones in the United States though. Tornadoes normally travel short distances on the ground and frequently the funnel will lift up and skip over areas of land. You can have a row of houses destroyed and a single one in the middle will be totally untouched. Conversely, a row of houses could be untouched with just one or two damaged by it. They don't last very long either." He scratched his head thoughtfully. "If a tornado goes over water, it's called a waterspout. When it returns to land, it's a tornado again. Isn't that weird? Actually, it's all weird. If the funnel remains in the air, it's a funnel cloud. It's only a tornado if it touches land. If you're caught outside with a tornado coming and can't reach sturdy cover or a storm cellar, lie flat in a depression."

Charlie blinked at the string of facts. "How do you know all that?"

"I read a lot," Willy giggled, only to look upset. He started to slap himself for being rude and insensitive.

"Willy," Charlie stated, automatically putting a hand out to stop his friend, "if I have to write a report on it for school, you're helping me."

"Oh?" Distracted and interested by the statement, Willy's head cocked to one side. "'If you say so, Charlie," he answered obediently.

"I say so," Charlie smiled. He looked for something to distract both of them and found it in a large, curiously carved box. "What's that?" he asked, hoping he wasn't being overly nosy.

Willy's head swiveled to follow Charlie's finger. He smiled and walked over to lift the box down from its place on the shelves. He set it on a small table. "My chess set," he answered. "Do you play?"

Charlie shook his head as Willy opened the box, revealing intricately carved pieces. Each one was a delightfully detailed version of different mythical creatures. There were unicorns, dragons, gryphons, elves, trolls, imps, manticores, winged horses, minataurs and others. It was a gorgeous chess set and he could have spent hours just examining the various pieces.

"My papa taught me," Willy said. A faint blush touched his cheeks as he smiled warmly at an old memory. "He was so proud the first time I beat him in a game." His eyes widened as he comprehended how truly pleasant and happy the memory actually was. It was such a contrast to his normal memories of his childhood and dad! Joy filled his heart and flowed out, warming him all the way to his fingers and toes. Now that the memory was there, he recalled how frequently his dad had boasted of his son's victory to his patients for at least two weeks. Why couldn't things have stayed like that? Willy sighed and shook his head. "Do you want me to teach you?"

Charlie started. "Me?"

"I wasn't talking to Oriana!" Willy laughed. "Yes, you!"

"All right," Charlie watched carefully as Willy began to set out the pieces in their spots on a table with a checkerboard formed by the pattern of the wood. He slowly began to smile. This was going to be fun!