Wonka, who seemed to be attempting to hold back a giggle or two himself, looked from the worker who was no taller than his socks, to the girl sitting beside him. "Well, what do you think? He isn't at all used to seeing people like us, and especially not young girls. Perhaps he is a bit impolite to laugh so, but you cannot blame him for finding your alien appearance amusing."
"He thinks I look funny?" Nicole asked with a tone of incredulity, and this prompted another bout of mirth from the Oompa Loompa. As a matter of fact, she was certain he'd do himself an injury if he laughed much harder. "Well, I think he looks rather strange, as well, if we're going to be talking about appearance."
The laughter stopped immediately. The Oompa's smile disappeared and his mouth straightened. He folded his arms over his tiny, deerskin-clad chest, pouting.
"My dear girl, I do believe you've offended him," Wonka pointed out, helpfully.
"Offended him!" Nicole cried, "Well, he offended me, first! I'm not funny-looking!"
"Now, don't let's have a row over a bit of good-natured laughter," Wonka insisted, holding up his hands placatingly, "You're as normal-looking as any young girl should be. Actually, I think you're kind of pretty." The words were out before anyone was quite aware of their meaning. Nicole turned pink. The Oompa smiled gleefully. Wonka tried to stare in angry consternation at his own mouth.
"Right. Anyway," Wonka said, shattering the silence and regaining the flow of things, "And he is as normal-looking as any handsome young Oompa Loompa fellow could hope to be, am I right? You see, it's little more than a cultural misunderstanding. Now, were I to make this face," Wonka contorted his face with the help of his hands, so that he resembled a wild-eyed pig, "You would think I was funny-looking, would you not?"
Both Nicole and the Oompa Loompa burst immediately into laughter, as people are wont to do when tension has just been running high.
"Yes," Nicole said, between chuckles, "I suppose I would."
"Of course," Wonka had not stopped making the face, and Nicole couldn't hold back her giggling, "But a female warthog might find me particularly attractive, and ask me to marry her. And I assure you, my dear girl, it would not be the first time such a creature has made me that offer." He let go of his face, allowing it to resume its normal, somewhat handsome proportions. His hands fell into his lap, and grasped his cocoa, which had been balancing perfectly still and even on the tip of his left knee.
"I believe I understand," Nicole chuckled. She faced the Oompa Loompa. "I'm sorry, little friend. I didn't mean to offend you. Of course you're quite handsome."
The Oompa Loompa bowed, his face slightly flushed with flattery, and he turned to go. On his way out, Nicole could hear him begin to sing; though she could not quite catch the words, she was certain she heard her name, and possibly Mr. Wonka's...and perhaps something to do with a tree...? Wonka chuckled, obscuring the rest of the fading lyrics. "I'm afraid I can't stop them singing. They're just so happy..." he waved his hands in a fleeting motion.
After Nicole had taken a few tiny sips of the steaming beverage in front of her, she became slightly more adventurous and took larger tastes. It was without doubt the best hot chocolate she had ever had the priviledge of ingesting. She said as much, and Wonka smiled at her and winked.
"Secret recipe, you know. So terribly secret, in fact, that I myself have forgotten it. Only a few priviledged Oompa Loompas in charge of the Hot Chocolate Kitchen remember it, now. May God forgive them if they forget it, and the recipe is lost forever. Perhaps I should write it down, sometime. I keep meaning to, but I always forget. My memory can be terribly addled at times. It's my old age, you know."
"How old are you, anyway?" Nicole asked, looking up from her hot chocolate with interest.
"I'm sorry, I'm a trifle deaf in this ear," he indicated the ear opposite Nicole, "You shall have to speak up next time. Oh, now what was I saying? Oh, yes. What, precisely, caused you to come to my factory, anyway?"
Nicole was beginning to get used to Mr. Wonka's strange way of speaking...he was a lover of non-sequitor and silly rants and raving...it was quite amusing. But to the question at hand, Nicole could not find a suitable answer. Somehow it didn't seem right to say that she was dared to do it.
"Well, I - " Nicole began, timidly, "I...er..." her mind raced, trying to find a suitable excuse. While it didn't seem right to say that she'd been dared, it would seem terribly audacious of her to say that she simply wished to gain entry, on a whim. It might imply that she thought that she had the right to just waltz into any old where, regardless of the occupants or Hobblerabbits. Eventually, her mouth provided an answer that her mind had not approved. "I ran away from home."
"Speak up, dear girl! I can barely hear you!"
"I ran away from home!" Nicole said, raising her voice above her lowly whisper, but her heart sinking in proportion. It was not precisely untrue, but it was not precisely true, either.
"Now, why ever would you do that? Home is a lovely place, or at least mine is. Home is where the hat is. Home is where you hang your heart. Why would you leave?"
"Er...My...My father," she blurted, unable to stop, "He...er...he...beat me," she lied, and inwardly winced at the bold-faced lie she'd told about her dear, gentle father. Her breath caught in her throat in anger and shame, but she tried to hide it. My goodness, she thought to herself, I'm a terrible fibber...
"Did he, now." It was clear from the stern look in Wonka's eyes that he knew Nicole was lying. It wasn't as if it were anything less than obvious, after all, and Nicole's face burned red with the shame. She hadn't meant to lie, but somehow she had...She cast her eyes into her half-full mug of chocolate, and she shook her head slowly, willing tears not to form behind her shut eyelids.
"My...My friends dared me to," she admitted quietly. Despite the tightness in her chest, it felt good to get the truth out quickly; like a band-aid ripped off a wound.
"I see. And these," Wonka continued, and his tone was slightly steely around the edges but patient nonetheless, like a disappointed parent. He extracted the gloves coolly from her sweater pocket, "Were these part of that dare?"
At this Nicole was certain her tear glands were threatening to overflow. She'd always been tagged a crybaby when she was younger, and was finding that hard to overcome. But even if she hadn't had the predisposition toward shedding tears, she might have done anyway. For here was this dear man, being so kind by offering her chocolate and a place to stay the night, and she'd caused so much trouble all ready, and topped off the unpleasant sundae by trying to steal from him.
"I do wish you would pick a different pair," he said, when Nicole did not respond, "These happen to be my favourites."
By trying to steal his favourite pair of gloves. Nicole's heart dropped to her stomach. Sneaking, lying, stealing? What had come over her? Her head fell the same direction of her heart, but having been tightly tethered by her neck, merely hung there in dejection. Her shoulders shook slightly as she attempted to fight off the sobs that threatened to wrack her. Nicole didn't see it, but Wonka's stern expression slowly softened into one of concern at her sudden childish tears.
"Oh," Wonka cooed, softly, "No, no, no...there, there." He patted her gently on the shoulder, "You mustn't cry, dear girl, no harm was done...Go on, have another sip of cocoa."
She did, and it seemed to warm her into a sort of cheer. She coughed, and when she did, a smile erupted from her mouth onto her face. It was a most strange feeling, but hardly unpleasant. It was interrupted, however, when another flash of lightning and crash of thunder sent Nicole rocketing under Wonka's arm in fear. Unfortunately, her hot chocolate seemed equally afraid of the sudden noise, and sought refuge in her benefactor's lap and under his bedsheets. Wonka squeaked.
"Aargh! My bedsheets! My beautiful bedsheets! Well, don't dawdle, my dear girl, don't dilly and dally, dally and dilly, get up! Up, I say! Oh, and I just changed my bedclothing, as well. Trouble, trouble, trouble. Young lady, you really are - "
Tears were welling again, but Wonka caught himself before they had a chance to fall. He offered her a prim smile.
"But...no use crying over spilled chocolate, I always say. Step away from the bed, please," Wonka instructed. Nicole obeyed, and he reached up to pull a tethercord hanging from the ceiling. Just like magic, the section of his room containing his bed, nightstand, and lamp swung up and into the wall, replaced by another set of furniture of a different model and colour.
"Wow," Nicole breathed in awe, "I wish making my bed was that easy."
"Don't we all! I have tried exporting it for worldwide implementation, but unfortunately not everyone has Oompa Loompas on the next floor down to strip the bedclothing off and launder it, to polish the wooden headboard and replace the lightbulbs when needed."
"No, I suppose they wouldn't," Nicole admitted with half a smile. Wonka stepped forward and flopped himself onto the bed with his feet on the pillow, his head by the footboard.
"Well, are you going to stand there all day, gawking like a Guzzlefish?"
"Oh. No." Nicole perched herself on the edge of the bed, still clutching at her empty cocoa mug. She tried to suckle the last remaining droplets from it, but failed, and thus gave up and set it down.