TO ALL MY LOVELY LOVELY REVIEWERS!
Laseri: cowers in fear The "long story short" thing was deliberate, don't worry. I reread things a lot, so I'd have caught that one since, as you said, it was in there 5 times. lol But I thought of it like the story "Quite Frankly" by The Island Hopper? She says the phrase in the beginning and end of the story, and I thought it brought the things together really nicely. (yay, Island Hopper!) "Long story short" felt like a good way to make the intro simply explain what had happened before you come in. We all know, obviously, but it prevented me having to say bluntly the whole middle of the movie. Just a little phrase I thought fit. But I'm glad you like the scene with the house going to the factory. I always kinda had that idea of how they moved it there, and it reminded me of if just the top part of a crane could fly (I think about things a lot).
fxkoala: I imagined Wonka would be, even after the reunion with his papa, really shaky about bringing Charlie's family into the factory, especially since once he does, he can never get out of it. I know I'd be scared out of my mind if I were in his position.
Snappy Dresser: does Wonka's Swanky hand dance Thanks! I'ma writing as we speak! (p.s. How snappy a dresser are you exactly? Hm? Hm?)
Black Fire: Thanks bunches and bunches! It was so much fun to write ev-ver-r-rything-ng l-like th-this-s-s. . . giggle And I'm glad it gave out that impression, how Wonka was pretty oblivious to the feeling of missing someone like that. Because even though he missed his dad, that was so long ago and so carved into him, he didn't really realize he felt it. Not like with the feeling being newer and fresh with Charlie. As for the flashbacks, I didn't really mean for it to come off that way. I just wanted to simply explain where they were and why they were there without making up a whole conversation. I wanted to keep that more. . . private, I guess, between Dr. Wonka and Willy Wonka. So we don't know exactly what was said, just that everything is alright now.
Thanks for the reviews you guys! I am REALLY sorry it took me a whole week to get the second chapter up! My computer has been crashing all month, so we had to get a computer repair guy in here (His name was Jimmy and he was very nice) like every day for the past week. I've had the chapter, (so at least I had lots of time to revise) just couldn't get it on here. I'd curse my computer, but it'll get mad and stop working again. (he's sensitive, shh . . .)
Chapter 2
The Dinner
"Mr. Wonka?"
Wonka didn't budge. He just stood there, wide eyes locked on the family, whose eyes were locked back on him. He seemed not to hear Charlie.
"Mr. Wonka." Charlie repeated. Wonka finally blinked a few times then looked over at Charlie, as if he'd forgotten he was there too. Charlie just looked at him, and Wonka suddenly remembered himself, feeling he was expected to say something. He opened his mouth then shut it a couple times, eyes still wide.
"Oh. . . dear," he whispered under his breath, lips barely moving; he swallowed the dryness in his mouth. Releasing a breath and trying to compose himself, he smiled a big over exaggerated smile and started across the room. When he got to the other side, he worked his smile to say something, but immediately lost it.
He realized he had no idea what to do. And they were just staring at him. He tried another grin as he opened his mouth to speak, but found himself utterly lost for words, and it vanished again. Searching for something to say, and opening and closing his mouth like a fish in water, he gulped anxiously and wished he'd have planned what to say on the ride over. He mentally kicked himself for not doing so, and let out a quiet shaky breath.
Charlie watched as the chocolatier tried and failed more than too many times to say something. Finally, the boy spoke up and saved him.
"Mum, Dad, everyone, you remember Mr. Wonka?" he said, gesturing to the anxious looking man in front of them. At the sound of him name, Mr. Wonka looked towards Charlie, then back up again. He smiled nervously. Three occupants in the bed nodded.
Grandpa George was scarcely heard to mumble, ". . . Forget the umbrella, that cane will do nicely. . ."
". . . Mr. Wonka," began Mrs. Bucket, smiling kindly. "How very nice to see you . . . again." Manners first, as she always said. Mr. Bucket nodded behind his wife.
Wonka was still silent, looking as if he might faint any minute. Charlie realized he shouldn't have set the man up in such an awkward situation; especially without cue cards.
"Mr. Wonka . . . changed his mind. About us coming to the factory," He smiled, looking towards Wonka, praying he'd be able say something, "That we could all come."
Wonka glanced at Charlie, then abruptly back up, finally able to make a few comprehensible sounds come out of his mouth as some words formed in his head.
"yyYEAH! Eheh, I sure did!" He quietly cleared his throat. "I'm very happy to welcome you all to my factory! This is the Chocolate Room; this is where I've decided to put your house, so you can make yourself at home." He ended with a bright white grin, for this was how Willy Wonka usually ended an informative statement of such.
When no one replied for a moment, Wonka emitted a nervous giggle and looked down at the top of his cane to see if there was anything interesting on it. There wasn't. He looked back up and was relieved to see they were no longer staring at him, but looking around the newly introduced room.
"It's beautiful," Mrs. Bucket replied quietly, once again taking in the new settings in awe.
"It certainly is," Mr. Bucket agreed behind her.
Wonka didn't hear them. He was too busy in his head, frantically pasting together what he'd say next. He went on. "I- I trust you'll find it quite lovely, and if there's anything you need just give a holler," (at this point he put his hand next to his mouth, demonstrating a "holler") "and the Oompa Loompas'll help ya out." He nodded, still showing off his perfect smile. Everyone hesitated for a moment, not quite sure what to think.
". . . I beg your pardon sir, but what are Oompa Loompas?" Mrs. Bucket asked finally. She'd never quite figured that out from his last visit. And though Charlie had told her lots about the tour when he got home, he had said it all so quickly and it had gone by so fast, the rest were left with clipped details swimming through their heads such as, "blueberry" and "taffy-puller" and "squirrels" and "chocolate pipe" and possibly "Oompa Loompa". They'd all been rather dazed after a rather large flying object carrying her son and his grandfather, not to mention a very unusual extra passenger, had crashed through the roof of their home.
Mr. Wonka's smile quivered for an instant, but then he widened his eyes and grinned even harder. "Why they're the WORKERS!" No one spoke. He glanced sideways and down a little. "Yah . . ."
Charlie smiled. He turned to his family. "They're wonderful," he encouraged them cheerfully; "We met some of them on the tour." He saw Grandpa Joe nod to the other elders in bed.
"Ya!" Wonka giggled again nervously. "Well, I assure you you'll feel right at home here. I'd better be off to leave you to get settled. I'll . . . be back in the morning to pick up Charlie and show him the walk of the factory!" He tapped the rim of his hat politely, then spun on his heels and started to walk away.
"Oh wait, Mr. Wonka!" she called, finally finding the courage to leave her husband's arm and venture into the beautiful room. She held her skirt and carefully made her footing a little out the door to talk to him, for Mr. Wonka was a very fast walker when he needed to be.
He stopped, paused a moment, then reluctantly turned back around, still smiling rigidly.
Mrs. Bucket straightened her hair, which had gotten more than a bit messy during the move. She gestured toward the house. "Won't you stay for supper?" Wonka froze, his smile vanishing. What?
She gave a pleasant smile. Unlike Willy, whose stomach-butterflies had formed a riot and were now colliding against each other from within his ribcage, it was not forced at all, but genuinely kind. "It's already made," she insisted, "And there's plenty. We'd love for you to stay."
Wonka just stood there, and looked around anxiously. He'd given up smiling; moreover forgotten about it, being utterly perplexed at the moment . . . Wwhy does she want me to stay for dinner?
Charlie beamed. "Please do, Mr. Wonka!" He turned to his dad. "I'll set the table for eight." Mr. Bucket ruffled his son's hair as the boy darted inside, then turned back to his wife.
"Shall I help our parents to the table, dear?" Mrs. Bucket smiled and nodded, turning around to go inside, but not before looking at Wonka and beckoning him in. Wonka did his fish gape again, wishing more words would make their way to his mouth. Oh no oh no no no. . . shh-shoot. I can't even just leave now. . . not now that they expect me to come in. . .
He released a small whimper when everyone was in the house, wishing he had had time to prepare cue cards for this occasion, and hesitantly made his way for the second time that week into the Bucket's little home.
Stepping in through the doorway a little ways behind Mrs. Bucket, he looked around. The house was dimly lit, giving it a nice homey feel (not that Mr. Wonka would know such a feeling, but he expected this was what it was like). It was also much . . . cleaner than he remembered. Not just cleaner, but they had some good enough furniture, carpeting in areas, and it was all together just improved. Charlie's father must have gotten a better job; he must have on account of they were having company to dinner. At least Charlie wouldn't just be skin and bones and a ruffle of messy hair on top anymore. That was the first thing Wonka had planned on dealing with when Charlie moved into the factory. That kid needed nutrition, sustenance, chocolate! Well, more or less.
After a moment, Wonka emitted a small gasp and quickly removed his hat, recalling it was polite to do so when you are a guest in someone's house. Mrs. Bucket took one last look at the beautiful Chocolate Room one last time, then closed the front door and turned around.
"Oh, may I take those?" she offered, referring to Wonka's things. He looked down at his effects, then hesitantly let her have his hat and cane. Mrs. Bucket put them up, then twirled back around and began to help the man out of his coats. He let out a little gasp of surprise, and quickly let her take them. Mrs. Bucket hung them up over each other next to his hat with care, then bustled off into the dining room.
Wonka rubbed his left arm subconsciously. He felt so misplaced here, especially without his belongings. No cane, no hat, no jacket. . . He shivered involuntarily and rubbed his arm again, realizing he was also rather cold. He'd become so acquainted with having on those extra layers so, even in his warm factory, chills ran down his back. But it was likely his shivering was also associated with his current situation. And to be where he was without his familiar sense of cover and protection so quickly and suddenly was . . . scary.
Another chill ran down his neck, and he squirmed to make it go away, then cautiously made his way into the dining room. Charlie, who was already sitting, turned around in his chair and smiled cheerfully. Wonka exhaled, grateful for a face he wasn't so intimidated by.
Mrs. Bucket (she seemed to be everywhere at once) swung around the table and pulled out a seat for him. He slowly lowered himself into his chair and pulled his shoulders up, like a little kid that's being scolded by their teacher.
The others were just now sitting down at the table as well; on one side, Grandma Georgina, Mrs. Bucket, Mr. Bucket, and Grandpa George, then on the other were Grandpa Joe, Mr. Wonka, Charlie, and Grandma Josephine.
As Mr. Wonka seated himself, Grandma Georgina, who'd been happily examining the design on her plate (and there was none), suddenly looked up at Mr. Wonka from down the table and frowned.
"Who're you?"
Wonka halted, and stared at the woman, who stared back seeming just as utterly confused as he. Mrs. Bucket helped her father into his chair then smiled at her mother.
"Mum, this is Mister Wonka," she stated clearly. Grandma Georgina didn't take her stare off of Wonka, and he glanced over, somewhat helplessly, to Mrs. Bucket. She gave him a reassuring wink, and then looked back to her mother, speaking a bit louder and clearer.
"He makes chocolates." Grandma Georgina turned her attention to her daughter, then looked back at Wonka, smiling like a child.
"I love chocolates!" she declared, putting an oddly placed emphasis on the word "chocolates", then lost focus and began to look around the room with great interest. Wonka looked at her with a funny expression. Mr. Bucket saw him and leaned across the table.
"She's a bit batty," he said with a smile, nodding towards Georgina, "But the dearest thing you'll ever meet." Upon this, Charlie's grandmother spun back around to face her son in law, smiling widely.
"Aow, you dear!" She patted Mr. Bucket's cheek, who smiled though he knew she hadn't the faintest clue what she was doing it in response to. Grandma Georgina then went back to looking around the room in marvel. Wonka stared for a moment, his head slightly tilted with fascination, then halfway grinned. I think I'll like her.
Suddenly he remembered what manners he needed. "Oh- . . . thank you, very much, by the way. . ." he said hastily, trying to address both Charlie's mother and father at the same time, so looking back and forth between the two as he said it. Mrs. Bucket chuckled and went to get the pot of stew.
"It's the least we can do, Mr. Wonka. After all, you're doing so much for us." She came back with an enormous pot that seemed to be even bigger than her, served him, along with the others at the table, then went back to cut the bread.
Mr. Wonka stared at his lap, trying to quickly figure out what she was talking about. Done for them? What have I done for them . . .? Wonka continued the enigma in his mind as Mrs. Bucket came back with the bread, setting it on the table, then taking off her oven mitts and seating herself across from him.
"I know Charlie here is thrilled to be your new . . . heir? Is that right?"
Wonka's eyes widened in realization. That's what she was talking about?
"Oh!" He let out a small laugh, "Madam, please, think nothing of it. . ." he giggled quietly as he set his napkin in his lap. Duh . . . Mrs. Bucket poured some milk from a pitcher for herself, then set it back in the center of the table where everyone could reach it.
"Well of course we must think something of it!" she exclaimed. "It's not every day one has their house moved into the world's greatest chocolate factory! Let alone meet the world's greatest chocolatier, let alone even have him for supper, but have their son chosen to be his successor!" she conveyed, nodding to her husband, who nodded back in agreement, "Now that's something to be awfully grateful for."
Wonka's pallid cheeks took on a gentle shade of rose and he looked down into his soup, taking up a spoon full so he had something to do with his hands, even though he wasn't hungry. He wasn't usually this shy. What was he talking about? He wasn't ever shy! Willy supposed it was the awkwardness of the whole situation that was getting to him. After all, when was the last time he'd eaten a meal with anyone but himself? Pbsshh, not in a long time.
"Charlie's a wonderful lad," he said quietly, still letting his spoon hang over his bowl, "Can't see why anyone wouldn't want him."
Charlie smiled up at him happily. Mr. Wonka returned a small smile, but hastily looked back down into his meal, sipping his soup. He wished he didn't feel so uncomfortable.
Charlie was eating up his meal now too, and spoke right before he popped a spoon into his mouth. "What are we doing tomorrow, Mr. Wonka?" Mrs. Bucket looked up brightly, breaking herself off a piece of bread, and then passing the basket around the table.
"Oh yes, what have you planned for our son tomorrow?" She leaned to her husband. "I'll make a note of calling Charlie's teacher; this is important," she nodded, then turned her attention back to the man across from her with an attentive smile.
Wonka paused. He hadn't thought of that. Picking Charlie up tomorrow morning had simply been something to fill in the empty space between their silence and his departure. This morning, he didn't even know he'd have an heir. He thought he'd just be chewing on a Slicorice stick (if he ate anything at all that night) while he worked on a machine or two in the Inventing Room that'd blown a fuse. Since then, tomorrow hadn't even crossed his mind; today had been enough to deal with.
"Well. . ." he began slowly, "I intend to show Charlie here," he nodded to Charlie, "around, first of all. . ." He vaguely took the bread basket that was passed to him, without even taking any, then unconsciously passed it to his right. "Take him around the machines; show him the rope of how they work. The process is fascinating, really," he noted with a smile, glancing to the left as he thought.
"I suppose I'll need ta show him the main corridor. . . a-and the rooms that lead into it. . ." he added happily. "I could also show him around the factory grounds, so he could get the swing of things, oh, but it's so big!" He spread out his hands excitedly, nearly knocking Charlie's bowl over; the boy grabbed it steady and giggled.
Wonka rested his chin in his hand, still glancing up in his own ideas. "I suppose there are lot's of things we could do," he said thoughtfully, more to himself than anyone at the table.
Mrs. Bucket smiled. "Sounds lovely," she said, stirring her soup to cool it off. Remembering they were all there, Wonka jumped a little. He took his elbow off the table and went back to spooning his meal.
"Yeah. . ." he giggled softly. Everyone at the table took a few moments of silence to eat.
"Well since we've gotten to the subject of the factory," Mr. Bucket began suddenly, "I believe we should set down some rules." His wife quickly dabbed at her mouth with her napkin then set it down on the table.
"Ah, rules! Quite right, dear."
Mr. Wonka felt his heart drop. Oh no. . . . This is where it starts . . .
"Rules . . .?" He repeated quietly.
"Yes, well to begin with, Charlie has school, as you know," (in which at this point Wonka nodded obediently) "So with the exception of tomorrow, it's to be homework first, then factory business," she continued, this time directing her instructions to Charlie. He nodded understandingly.
"Yes, mum." He popped another spoonful of food into his mouth.
Mr. Bucket spoke next. "Which also means Charlie's got to get his rest so is to be done and home by 7:30 pm on weekdays for supper-" Mrs. Bucket intercepted and smiled.
"Which you're always welcomed to, dear," she insisted to Wonka.
Mr. Wonka smiled mildly. He knew she didn't mean it, but it was polite to respond in one way or another. He sat there silent, waiting miserably for them to get on to the part where they told Charlie he couldn't play after homework, not to run around too much or he'd get his clothes all dirty, that he could only make so many candies a day before he had to come home and floss. . .
"Um, no skipping meals, no getting lost in the factory, no bringing home things that might explode over night," she said counting her finger and bringing out a giggle from Charlie. "And. . . that's about it." She folded her hand and smiled. Wonka looked up, wide eyed.
". . . What?"
They all looked at him for a moment, not fully understanding. He glanced around, then looked up at her rather suspiciously. "That's . . . that's it?" Mrs. Bucket turned to her husband, who shrugged, then turned back to Mr. Wonka and nodded. Wonka looked back down, his eyes darting back and forth in a very confused manner. Suddenly he looked up and tilted his head to the side a bit.
". . . Really?"
Mrs. Bucket laughed. "Why yes, Mr. Wonka, what were you expecting?" Wonka threw his arms out in the air as if it were obvious.
"Policy? Authority? Regulation?" He shrugged deeply, like it was clear as day light. "You know!" he said, still wide eyed, "All that p-bmbh-"
He started a word but ended it as if there was a bumper car inside his mouth ramming against the sides. His lip quivered and he opened his mouth again, only to hopelessly bend his lips around and make the same sound. Everyone eyed him expectantly. Wonka sat stone still in his seat, seeming to attempt to say something but every time only being able to make that muffled gulping noise and glance down helplessly. Mrs. Bucket was about to say something when Wonka breathed in sharply.
". . .M-mmmom and dad. . . stuff. . ." He visibly gulped, but forced out an airy giggle.
Mrs. Bucket eyed him curiously, then cautiously replied, "Well, we don't intend to restrain Charlie like that, Mr. Wonka. He's free to do what he pleases here, so long as it's safe and doesn't interfere negatively with our lives. Or yours." Wonka stared across the table at her, dark eyes taking in what she had said, then nodded slowly and deeply.
"'Kay. . ." He looked back down and messed with a spoonful of stew. Everyone was silent, all looking at Mr. Wonka, who went on playing with his supper. Mr. Bucket finally broke the silence.
"Is. . . that alright?" Wonka dropped his spoon with a small clatter and looked up immediately.
"Oh, yah, of course!" He looked as if he'd never spoken any truer works in his life. "I want Charlie to have all the fun he possibly can here, more at the very least!" The Bucket's exchanged mild glances at this off form of logic, not to mention Wonka's sudden quick and drastic way of talking.
"He can't be held down by petty rules and restrictions that families give children! It's all they ever do, set down curbs and regulations to control everything! It's precisely why I didn't want-"
He stopped abruptly and looked down back into his meal. He hesitated, then continued with a different sentence. "-I just want him to have fun with the factory. H-he's just a kid, after all. . ."
There was an awkward silence. Mrs. Bucket paused, then smiled warmly. "Of course, that's just how we feel! There's really no point in running a chocolate factory if you're not going to have fun with it, just going to try and make sense of it! Why, candy doesn't have to have any sense to it, that's why it's candy!" she laughed.
"Besides," she continued, "We don't need to set restrictions to keep him safe; he knows his line, and we're sure you'll take excellent care of him when you two are working."
Wonka looked back up at the two people across from him, nodded, and smiled. "Good." he said, seeming rather relieved, as he exhaled softly. Everyone else at the table calmed a bit and smiled as well, besides Grandpa George who muttered, "Crackpot," and was greeted with a sharp jab from Charlie's father.
After supper, Mrs. Bucket went to help her and her husband's mother and father to bed. Charlie cheerfully said goodnight to Mr. Wonka, who gave a timid wave, then rushed up the latter to his small bedroom to get plenty of sleep for the next morning; he was very excited. Mr. Bucket left from saying goodnight to the old people and Charlie, then approached Willy Wonka as he was collecting his things.
He gave him a gentle slap on the back, causing Wonka to give a small jump, nearly dropping his hat and cane.
"Want to tell you that Charlie is more than looking forward to his first day tomorrow. He really does admire you, you know," he said nodding. Wonka opened his mouth to reply, but only projected a squeak as Mr. Bucket took his hand with both of his and shook it whole heartedly.
"And once again, thank you so much for all you've done, sir. It truly is all remarkable." Wonka again started to speak, but suddenly Mrs. Bucket came bubbling up next to her husband and wrapped her arms around the unsuspecting Mr. Wonka.
Now, you probably know that any other ordinary houseguest would gently pat a hug back, as people ordinarily did upon meeting and saying goodbye for the night. But Mr. Wonka was anything but an ordinary houseguest. The timid chocolatier hiccupped a gasp at the sudden contact, and stared wide eyed at the woman that was gently squeezing his waist.
The hug lasted for only a moment, as we've said that normal "Thank you for coming" hugs do, and she let go, taking his hand brightly and causing another rubbery squeak.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Wonka, we really do owe you so much! It's all we can do to welcome you into our home, while you've welcome us into your entire life! Our gratitude goes without saying, and little Charlie couldn't think more of you!"
She finally stopped bobbing his arm, which had gone rather limp with all the surprise, up and down and took a step back to her husband, who put his hands on her shoulders lovingly. After he caught his breath, Wonka hiccupped again and let loose a long giggle, quickly covering his mouth with one gloved hand and trying to retain his nervous self.
"Oh, w-w-well, thank you so very much, Mrs. Bucket, for that lovely meal," he breathed another embarrassed little giggle and hastily cleared his throat.
"Like I said I'll . . . see you tomorrow morning then, bright and early!" His eyes darted to both of the smiling people across from him. Finally, he gave a bright grin and tipped his hat. "G'dnight!"
Mr. and Mrs. Bucket chorused a "Goodnight," as Mr. Wonka turned around and began to walk through the dimly lit meadow outside the Bucket house, making his way to what they assumed was the elevator, to go up to wherever his own living chambers must be in the factory.
Wonka was striding back, wondering why on Earth those people, especially the mother, was being so ridiculously nice to him, when a "Goodnight, Mr. Wonka!" nearly made him jump out of his shoes. He spun around, halfway across the Chocolate Room, to see the little head of Charlie Bucket peeping out through a rather large hole in his roof, waving happily. Wonka let out a small laugh, waved, then turned around and began walking again, making a mental note to have the Oompa Loompas fix that. He reached the far wall and punched the call button for the elevator.
I guess they aren't that bad. Wonka tapped the top of his cane and glanced up. But they're so weird . . .He rubbed the back of his neck with confusion. They'd let Charlie do what he wanted in the factory? Whatever he wanted? The elevator doors slid open and Wonka ambled in, still in thought.
It just didn't make sense. Why were they letting Charlie do what he wanted? Didn't they want some control over him, over the factory? He pressed a button that read, "Residence". I mean, that's what families did, wasn't it? They just told you what to do and what not to do . . . Why would this one be any different? Wonka pursed his lips. Maybe they really did just want Charlie to have fun.
"I guess some families could be like that," he considered aloud. He smiled with confusion and looked out the side of the lift. "Weird."
Mr. and Mrs. Bucket watched through their doorway until Wonka had entered the elevator and disappeared from sight. They smiled and re-entered the house, Mr. Bucket going to retrieve his book from that spring-less arm chair where he'd left it, and Mrs. Bucket going off to clean up from supper.
"He really is a nice old fellow," commented Mr. Bucket to his wife as she left to the kitchen. He heard her give an agreeing sigh. Suddenly her footsteps stopped and he heard he emit a little gasp. He picked up his book, flipping to the page where he left off. "Dear?"
"Now . . . how did he manage to do that?" she said softly.
Mr. Bucket glanced over curiously. "What?" He turned to see his wife staring at the empty dinner. Over by the sink were eight bowls, glasses, and spoons, resting carefully in their proper place for the night on the drying rack. Mrs. Bucket blew out a frustrated little breath then looked over to her husband, setting one hand on her hip, the other gently covering the smile that played on her lips.
"He cleared the table."
Author's Notes: This chapter was really fun for me. I loooooooved writing about Wonka and how I thought he'd act at a dinner like that. I did my best to keep him in character, so I'm crossing my fingers.
"p-bmbh-": I have to say, even if I didn't do it that well, it was so much fun describing Wonka's. . . problem. Though I kept feeling really bad and having to go make hot chocolate so I'd feel better. That always works, right?
Chapter 3 Preview: Well, Charlie's first day in the factory. A few new rooms to see, a nice time to get acquainted with new surroundings, new neighbors. . . you know, the works.