The Hershey Conspiracy
Chapter 1: Semi-Sweet Departure
In which Mike gets told off for hinting at his old jerky self; we have our first official semi-random dream sequence; and Violet shows her true colors as a fourteen-year-old girl.
A/N: Boy it's amazing how fast I can write when I've got an elephant-sized Plot Bunny on my tail. It's now glowing hot pink. My little muse Rabid Fangirl (yes that's her name) has been feeding it cotton candy. No wonder this chapter is so gosh darned fluffy! My fellow Mike/Violet fans, this one's for you.
Falconess wanted to know how much time has passed since the Tour. Four years, and this makes these kids teenagers. And we all know how moody teenagers can be. Their lives are like little soap operas. I know because I was one not too long ago and there was drama every single day. Anyway, that's my excuse for any random fluff and/or sudden and severe mood swings that may occur. In my experience that's just how teenagers are.
Okay, so Mike is the oldest, having just had his sixteenth birthday (he's a Leo). The official CatCF 2005 movie website said he was thirteen, but for the purposes of this fic I made him slightly younger. Violet, on the other hand is the baby of the bunch, having not yet had her fifteenth birthday. Veruca, Augustus, and Charlie are all solidly fifteen, with Charlie being the oldest of the three.
No more letter format! I'm kind of sad to see it go, especially because people liked it so much. I hope this still pleases you all. Special thanks to VeganHippie for being a repeat reviewer, but also thanks to all who take the time to review. It means a lot to me.
The next chapter is a bit sketchy in my mind still so I don't know how long it will take me to write. For the curious, Stetson!Mike was inspired by what I remember of the old movie Mike. He had a cowboy hat, didn't he? Or am I crazy? I can't remember too well, having blocked that movie from my mind and all. One of these days, I will get off my lazy butt and draw some fanart for it. Oh, and all those therapist sessions paid off, so now he doesn't need to wear sunglasses indoors anymore. He's still afraid of bright lights, though. Apologies for any OOC-ness on his part; I have trouble writing for him.
Now, enough chat. Onward!
Mike Teavée stepped off the ramp and placed a battered Stetson atop his spiky hair. He flung his duffle bag –his only piece of luggage- over one shoulder and stepped into the lobby of the Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. A loud squeal of excitement was his only warning before he was tackled by a petite girl with a strangely blue complexion. He staggered back slightly but managed to keep on his feet as he hugged the girl. "Don't sneak up on a guy like that, Violet!"
"Sorry," she said, her voice muffled by his Witch Hunter Robin shirt. She didn't sound too apologetic at all and that made him smile. "It's just so good to see you again!"
"It's good to see you too, Vi." The smirk slid right off his face as Mrs. Beauregard approached. That woman could seriously scare the grin off a hyena if she felt like it. Hastily letting go of her daughter, he held out a hand for her to shake. "Hello again, Mrs. Beauregard, I'm not sure you remember me. I'm Mike Teavée; we met on the tour of Mr. Wonka's factory."
"Of course I remember you; you were the kid who hacked into contest database. That took a lot of guts." He squirmed slightly under her burning gaze (wanting badly to correct her: he hadn't cheated!), but was determined not to break eye contact with her. Like a wild animal, he feared it might have provoked her into attacking. After a long, tense moment of scrutiny, she took his hand and gave it a firm, hard shake.
Violet looked from her mother to the clearly sweating, nervous boy and knew she had to do something to take the pressure off of him. "Have you been to the gift shop yet, Mike?" Her mother shot her a venomous look, but she ignored it and took his arm.
"No, actually I haven't… Why don't you show me?" He threw another glance at the fuming woman and whispered, "What is wrong with her?"
Violet scoffed as they entered the shop. "Absolutely nothing, she's always like that. Just be glad she had a business trip during the spelling competition or you'd be having nightmares about her coming after you in your sleep."
"I think I'll have nightmares now."
They pretended to be interested in the sort useless trinkets only stereotypical tourists buy, each and every one blazing with the Georgia logo surrounded by fat cartoon peaches. Violet's mother entered and did likewise, a large rolling suitcase trailing behind her, and they engaged in a silent battle of wills for a good thirty minutes. The kids were half way through choosing which gaudy keychain to give to Veruca when Mrs. Beauregard broke the uneasy truce. Violet was surprised to see her eyes were slightly red. "You two should get to the gate soon. Don't want to miss your flight."
Violet hesitated only briefly before engulfing her mother in a bear hug. "I'll miss you, Mama."
Mike shoved his hands in his pockets and took an awful lot of interest in a near by shimmering snow globe. His cheeks reddened considerably at the scene, slightly embarrassed by the intense display of female affection. His own mother had cried a lot and his dad was reserved but somber. He would never admit it, but he missed his parents already.
Violet's mother awkwardly returned the hug. Tears glistened in her eyes, but they didn't spill over. "I'll miss you too, Violet. Take care of yourself, alright?"
"I will, don't worry." She took the large suitcase from her mother and turned to Mike. She wiped away a lone tear from the corner of her eye and pointed to the object next to his ear. "Should I get that for Veruca? She's easily attracted to bright, shiny objects."
He shrugged and lifted the globe from the shelf. Their fingers brushed against each other, causing both teenagers to tense up visibly (something that didn't go unnoticed by Mrs. Beauregard). As he placed it in her hands his voice was unusually soft. "It's as good a gift as any, I suppose. I got her a post card."
Violet took it to the cash register to pay for it. After watching her go, her mother put a hand on Mike's shoulder and whispered into his ear, "Don't let her do anything stupid."
He tried not to roll his eyes, and failed pretty miserably. Luckily for him she didn't see it. "I promise."
Mrs. Beauregard held him at arm's length and smiled a genuine smile, not one that simply bared teeth. It truly did wonders for her face. "She thinks the world of you, Mike. Please take care of her for me." Before he could respond the blond woman turned on her heel and fled the shop.
He nodded curtly at her retreating form and picked up his duffle bag. "Yes, ma'am."
"Want some gum, Vi?"
Violet put down her magazine and stared at the pack, not really seeing it at all. Her heart was pounding a lot harder than it should have been at this simple question and it confused her. "No thanks, I swore off gum years ago."
"Suit yourself, then." Mike moved over slightly to put the pack back into his pocket, bumping her shoulder as he did so. Delicious warmth spread down her arm and up her neck at the contact, tingling like it had back at the gift shop, only this time much stronger. It was a sensation she had never experienced before, a sensation both pleasurable and mildly uncomfortable.
I do believe it sounds like you fancy Mike a bit. Violet could almost picture that smirk on Veruca's face. Damn that girl for putting the suggestion in her head!
But she'd liked other boys before, and never felt quite the way she felt at that very moment. She glanced sideways to see him staring back at her. His posture was aloof now; he leaned one elbow on the arm rest, and sat his chin in the palm of his hand. The corner of his mouth turned up just slightly in a lopsided grin and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow. She looked out the window.
She didn't remember feeling this way the last time they met.
After a terrible in flight movie they had enjoyed mocking loudly, the lights dimmed and the flight attendants came around with pillows and blankets. Violet could see her face in the reflection of her tiny window; the sky and water beyond the glass was obscured completely by inky blackness. The plane glided smoothly through the night with no turbulence whatsoever. All and all they were ideal sleeping conditions, but Mike didn't want to sleep. He wanted to discuss business. "Do you think we should notify Wonka?"
Violet stifled a yawn with the back of her hand and drew her pillow closer to her chest. "About what? We don't know anything yet. It might not involve him at all… It might be nothing."
"It's not nothing, Vi." He laced his fingers behind his head. "There are too many odd coincidences for it to be nothing."
She studied his profile; mesmerized by the single ray of dim cabin light that illuminated the ends of his eyelashes. "I'm sure you're right. You always are about these things."
"Thanks." He turned toward her. For a few moments they simply stared at each other, not saying a word. His fudge colored eyes betrayed a level of vulnerability she never expected from him. Her hand twitched; she wanted to reach out and touch his face. The gesture felt so right, but she had no idea how he would react to it and she didn't want to find out the hard way. He sighed and looked over her shoulder at the dark window. "I just hope it isn't only my imagination."
A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. She looked at her fingernails and said innocently, "But I thought you didn't have an imagination."
"Shut it!" He hit her with his pillow. "I am attempting to be serious here, Violet."
She sighed dramatically, but her eyes were hard. "You're always serious, Mike. I'm just trying to get you to lighten up a bit. You act like the whole weight of the world is on your shoulders and it's not." He frowned, his left eye twitching into a squint. He opened his mouth to retort, but she didn't let him get it out. "Can't we just enjoy our trip at least a little? Go to the Tate Modern and laugh at all the so-called 'art'? Spit from the top of the giant Ferris wheel? I mean, come on, all work and no fun makes Violet Beauregard a dull girl, after all. You can't truthfully say you're immune to it either."
His eyes flickered fiercely back and forth between her own in a look reminiscent of the old Mike, the Mike she remembered from the Tour. His nose scrunched up and she mentally braced for a scathing remark. None came. Instead she found herself staring at his back. "Fine, I guess we can do that too. Night, Violet."
She pulled the flimsy blanket up to her chin and turned toward the window. Anger boiled in her chest, demanding retaliation, but she refused to push the issue any farther. "Good night, Mike. Sleep tight." It didn't help that she could feel the heat from his back against hers even though they weren't touching, or that his pleading deep brown eyes were all she could see…
Violet squeezed her eyes shut. Yes, this had to be all Veruca's fault. Fancy him, indeed.
The grass meadow looked brighter than she remembered; it was a toxic sort of green only to be found in road construction signs, so vivid it burned her eyes. It grew in thick clumps, wild and tangled in ragged patches and completely bare in others, exposing the cracked brown dirt beneath. All around the room lay signs of severe neglect; the candy striped trees were gnarled, their branches snatched out in places under a non-existent wind like little fingers. The river frothed in eddies, spewing foam in turrets around large chunks of dark chocolate rocks that certainly weren't there during her last visit. The noise was deafening.
A long banquet table lay amid the overgrown field, featuring a candelabra and gilded silverware. Seated around this were the children from the Tour save for Charlie Bucket, who was nowhere to be found. They looked exactly the same as they had all those years ago, as though no even a day had passed since their visit.
Mike and Veruca were engaged in a heated discussion; Veruca had her hand on top of his and was leaning very close to him with a hungry look on her face. He kept giving her that look –her look! - And pounding the table with his fist for emphasis to whatever he was saying. Across from them was Gloop, taking up as much space as the two of them combined. The fat boy ignored them; content to persist in shoveling down what Violet realized in horror was blueberry cobbler.
She stumbled backward, promptly tripping over a tree root. The tree overhead leaned forward, trapping her in his claw-like branches. She screamed and struggled, but her cries were drowned out by the sound of the roaring chocolate river.
Then, all noise ceased, as though someone had simply pushed the mute button on some master remote. The silence left in its wake stole her breath and left her weak beneath her candy cage. A sleek glass box passed overhead, as beautiful and mind boggling as it had been described to her. Inside she could barely make out the silhouettes of two passengers. The strange contraption hovered over the grass for a moment before touching down. Squinting, she realized the two people were none other than Mr. Wonka and Charlie Bucket.
The doors of the glass elevator opened with an audible whoosh and the candy maker stepped onto the grass. He removed those hideous goggles and smiled his dazzling smile at the children. "Sorry we're late, children, we had to find out how they wrap the cellophane around the tops of toothpicks. Does everyone have enough cobbler?"
With that, Violet's eyes snapped open. She didn't go back to sleep the rest of the night.
Amid the frenzy of passengers getting ready to leave the plane, one girl sat absolutely motionless. Her blanket was still draped across her shoulders, and her eyes never left the window. The meager breakfast lay uneaten on her tray. Violet Beauregard had had a bad night, not to mention her best friend –scratch that, she didn't know what he was- was now giving her the silent treatment. Her blue fingers wrung the edge of the blanket subconsciously as she stewed. She wanted to hit something. No, not something, someone. Someone named Mike Teavée.
Said boy was still quietly fuming over their petty disagreement. It wasn't personal; he just hated being told off by anyone, even by his best friend. Not even if she was right. He pulled his duffle bag from the overhead compartment and frowned at the girl. Her hair was a mess, her clothes rumpled and she looked royally pissed off. It appeared she really wasn't a morning person.
He scratched his nose and cast his gaze down the narrow isle to the back of the plane. "Look, Vi, I'm sorry I was short with you. Okay?" She glared at him, her dark blue eyes blazing the same way they had right before she blew up at him the night before. "What more do you want from me?"
"Nothing, I guess." She resumed staring out the window.
He snorted and plopped back into his chair as people pushed past him in their mad rush to the exit. "Don't do that! Talk to me, Violet. I don't even know what I did to make you so mad!"
He grabbed her arm and she whirled to face him. "You turned your back on me, that's what you did. I was trying to talk to you about something important and you just rolled right on over! Well I'm sorry but that friends don't do that to each other, Mike."
"Oh." His eyebrows shot up so high they disappeared under his hat. "I didn't realize-"
"Yes you did."
He grimaced and held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, so I did. I'm just not used to anyone contradicting me. My parents tend to stay out of my way, you know? But that doesn't excuse it, does it?" She shook her head, but began to fold up the blanket. It was a good sign, so he carried on. "If it were anyone else I don't think I'd be too sorry about it, but… I really am sorry, Vi. I don't want to be all alone in another country for a year, and I want to loose my best friend even less."
They sat in silence, motionless despite the commotion around them. Finally she ran a hand through her messy blue hair and sighed. "I don't want to loose you either, but I won't take that sort of crap from you. Okay?"
"I'll work on it, I swear." He put his Stetson on her head and winked. "For now, you take that. You look like you could use it."
She smacked him hard on the shoulder, and just like that their fight was over. Forgiven, but not forgotten. "Shut it, you! Let's go meet Veruca."
When his back was turned, she pulled the hat over her nose and took a deep, long breath. It smelled of leather and horses, of laundry and hair gel, and of that faint but heady scent that was completely, totally unique to Mike Teavée himself. Exhaling through her mouth, she imagined for just a moment that this must have been how he tasted. As they stepped out of the plane she smiled a guilty smile.
Perhaps she really did fancy Mike just a bit.
And he was never getting that hat back.