A/N: Yay it's snowing outside! A proper Tim Burton Christmas atmosphere and I have Mr Wonka at last on DvD. Not done badly considering I'd only seen the movie twice before :)
Willy felt his skin crawl at the very sound of her. Not so much an eerie prickling (for Mr Wonka was known to over-fantasize) but it was like the sensation of a scarab swarm on jumping beans. Hands clamped over his ears, he dove behind the fudge machine.
When the awful noise finally stopped, he peered through a plastic loop of tubing at the traumatised florist.
"Are ya finished?" he asked, apprehensive.
Isabelle got to her feet, struggling not to slip in the goop that had built a moat around her toes. She pointed a trembling, dripping finger at the chocolatier.
"You – you're in a lot of trouble," she said. "When people find out you kidnapped me, that you…that you tried to kill me, they'll lock you up. You be certain of that."
Mr Wonka edged out, a sulky frown on his face.
"Now hold on a second. First, I have no idea how you got here and furthermore, you're the one who's gonna be in trouble. Trespasser!"
"Trespasser?" Isabelle blurted, fuming. "You invited me here!"
Willy folded his arms stubbornly, enhancing the silliness of his childish pyjamas.
"Oh really? And in what language is me storming out of your stupid little catering place considered an invitation?"
Isabelle stamped her foot, nearly losing her balance.
"You posted me a letter written on a Golden Ticket!" she hissed.
"Did not! Why would I wanna do that?"
"I don't know," the girl spluttered. "But you did. It's in my bag and if you don't let me go, the police will find it when they come searching for me."
"All right then, show me this so-called ticket," Mr Wonka said shrewdly.
Isabelle tapped at her shoulders to locate the strap of her handbag, but it was missing. She swallowed, trying to remain calm.
"Well obviously you took it off me before you put me in that horrible machine, else it's still in there. You'll probably destroy the evidence…but – but you'll still be caught so let me go this instant!"
Willy raised a hand and opened his mouth to speak but faltered. His lips twisted with annoyance. He wanted to say that he hadn't a clue what she was talking about. He wanted to shout at her for being so ungrateful after he got her out of the mixer. He hadn't written that ticket, he hadn't left the factory since the last time she went berserk. But the whole situation was exhausting him and he couldn't find the words.
"Fine," he said. "Get out of my factory."
Mr Wonka strode past her, barely aware that she flinched.
Somehow, Isabelle had the sudden feeling she was a tiny, lost child. Her temper tantrum had been ignored and she was left with a stronger sense of confusion than ever before.
"I – I don't know the way out," she called after him.
Mr Wonka didn't even look back.
"I'll starve!" she cried out.
Willy sucked his teeth, having put one hand on the rung of the exit ladder. He turned to glower at his unintentional prisoner.
"Ma'am, you're in a chocolate factory. I sincerely doubt it."
That said, he clambered up the ladder and disappeared through the hatch at the top.
The young florist stood awkwardly, once again regretting the bitter barb of her tongue. Even if she had been kidnapped by a crazy man, he didn't seem all that bothered. On the other hand, perhaps her shouting had made him realise what she believed he'd done and had prevented him from harming her further.
She glanced hopelessly about the room, greeted only by the digital chirrup of shuttle-like boxes as they slept, waiting to start making their various comestibles.
Great, she thought. All I need now is a magic rose and some talking furniture and I'm all set.