My sincerest apologies about the long wait between chapters. School and other assorted nonsense has been taking up most of my time as of late, and unfortunately that seems to come first. However, here is another chapter - a bit shorter than the rest and much slower than I had intended, but I promise that what is missing from this one will be added to the next, and shall accrue interest. This chapter is mostly getting into Sydney's brain as well as setting up stuff for later, though it doesn't start out that way.

So, read this chapter, then visit my site - it's in my profile. :)

Much love from me.

Chapter Three - Thoughts Most Peculiar

While she was walking out the door, all her assorted legal papers in hand, she was rather bewildered.

He called that an interview? If they were only all like that.. she mused, turning and walking towards her apartment.

Willy was also bewildered, but for different reasons. He had been fiddling with the formula for a new type of hard candy since he had shooed Sydney out of the shop after the interview. For some reason, he could not keep the different fruit flavors from mixing together rather than stay perfectly apart.

He had shed his maroon coat and his hat, but the gloves stayed, as they always did.
Wonka stood and stared at the candy in a manner reminiscent to a parent staring at a misbehaving child. He made a mental note of its size (about the size of a dinner plate), relative shape (assymetrical, rather wonky looking), and how the different colors were melting together (something they ought not to be doing!).

He exhaled deeply and rubbed at his eyes. To anyone watching, he would have suddenly looked like your average sleep-deprived seventeen year old, despite the most unusual of settings. Wonka had relocated to his Inventing Room/Meeting Room after the most unusual of interviews. Glancing up at the clock, he did not even bother to stifle a yawn - it was nearly eleven o'clock.

Efficiently, he cleaned up the mess he had made whilst fiddling about with the recipe. Gathering up his coat and hat, he stepped out of the room and into the main manufacturing hall. The machines were still humming busily - it was the only way to satiate the whole world's craving for Wonka's famous chocolate.

Wonka gazed at them momentarily, filled with a sudden sense of pride. Everyone in the building had long gone, and yet the machines were still going, fully automated and capable of working on their own until morning came.

He yawned again, walking towards a door marked "Stairs." Shoving the door open, he trudged up the two flights of stairs, his boots clicking on the hard floor. He hummed quietly, making his way towards an unusually plain door.

"Ahh...home again," he said absently, as if he had been far and away for a very long while.

A gloved hand turned the dull brass handle and pushed. To anyone who knew Willy Wonka, this room would utterly shock them. Its walls were a drab beige. The flooring was hardwood and not the shiny lovely kind either. There was a bed in one corner, a work desk in another, and a bookshelf and chair in the last. A rather tacky painting of a pheasant hung above the bed. It was quite possibly one of the most boring rooms that anyone could possibly ever step into.

Willy gave a groan, gazing around the room in apparent disgust.

"What a horrid choice for today," he sighed, removing his hat and tossing it haphazardly on the chair.

---

Sydney sat in her favorite chair at home, snuggled up under a big warm comforter with her favorite book - The Hobbit. To anyone who knew Sydney Philips, this room would hardly be any surprise whatsoever. The walls were a drab beige, with the unlovely kind of hardwood. The room itself was very plainly decorated, with nothing but a bed and chair in one corner, a work desk in another, and a bookshelf in the last. The only thing that could be even remotely interesting to look at was the painting of a pheasant above the bed.

Sydney had been trying to read for a few hours, but found herself unable to focus her thoughts on the book. Her thoughts were too scattered on the events of the afternoon. It was most peculiar, she determined, that her preference of orange juice over apple juice should decide whether she was an able employee or not. Wonka had not even glanced at her credentials or references. He just told her that she would be making candy and then shooed her out the door.

Wonka himself was most peculiar, she also determined. His mannerisms and character seemed so far away from most boys his age. His actions made him seem older than his face would betray, but she knew that he could not be older than she was. At nineteen, she too looked and felt older than she was. She had been on her own since seventeen, and had always been able and determined. Sydney had only faltered once, when the fire at the bakery nearly put her out of work. Since then, she was more than capable of carrying on.

Sydney assumed that Wonka was similar to her in that sense, but the store on Cherry Street had been open for almost two years. The thought of it shocked her.

Wonka could not have been any older than sixteen years old then, she considered, rather taken aback by her discovery.

Sydney gave a deep sigh and closed her book on her lap. She ran a hand through her light red hair and glanced at the clock. She gave a quiet groan. Eleven o'clock at night was never her favorite time of evening. Too late to get a good thorough night's sleep, yet too early to be really tired.

She pulled the comforter off and tossed it to the bed, rising to return the worn book to its rightful location on the bookshelf. She paused at the shelves, running her fingers along the titles.

All the people in my books get to have great adventures, she pondered. Maybe it's my turn for an adventure.

---

"That's the only problem with Changing Rooms...occasionally they change to something you don't want," Willy muttered to no one but himself, still quite disgusted by the room's dullness. He had taken a shower, and was preparing his toothbrush.

The bathroom attached to the bedroom was equally as boring. The floor was a cream colored tile that climbed the walls halfway. The rest of the wall was painted a blase shade of green. His entire living quarters was just plain blah.

How could anyone stand living in a place like this for long? Ridiculous, really, he thought while brushing his teeth in neat little circles as he had for years.

He finished up, and then purposely did not grab for the floss. Instead, he rather glared at it triumphantly, as if he had overcome some sort of obstacle - something he did twice a day, every day.

"Ahhh...at least the bed is nice," he muttered, climbing into bed. Once he was suitably comfortable, he clapped twice loudly, plunging his whole world into darkness.