Oh, by the way, I don't know if it really matters. . . but I feel left out so,
Disclaimer: I don't own what I don't own and what I own is everything I own but what I don't own, which I don't own so don't sue me. pause Please?
REVIEWERS! whOOP!
Fxkoala: Hmmm, will the hospitable and overly caring Buckets ever wear down the lovable and adorably edgy Willy Wonka?
Yes.
Maybe.
I don't know. I guess we'll see!
DemiDevil: Oh happy day! Calooh! Callay! My first threat! Hahahahah . . . neato. But for your Wonkaish drawing, I'm afraid it wasn't very Wonkaish as the link seems to have poofed. BUT PLEEEEEEAAAASE POST IT AGAIN, I LUUURRRVE WONKAISH DRAWINGS! throws maroon and lilac and chocolate brown streamers into the air, which all happen to be eatable, so quickly holds out tognue
THANK YOU, MY DEAR REVIEWERS, ONE AND ALL! removes hat and takes a big swooping bow
Now, for the story! Soooooo exciting, right? Kay. Nothing to say except I had fun. Lots and lots of fantastical, fantabulous, friggan' fraggin' fun. nod Yah. So, go on. If you want, I mean. You could change your mind right now and go to ex out of this window and I wouldn't be able to stop you. But I imagine you knew that. Kay, never mind. Do as you wish. happy grin
Chapter 3
An Odd Day In, A First Day Out
"Charlie, eat your breakfast!"
The young Bucket ran about his house, doing this and that in a rushed excited manner, frequently passing the table where some eggs and sausage were waiting patiently. Mrs. Bucket was at the kitchen counter, stacking clean dishes and glancing out of the corner of her eye at her son. Mr. Bucket was in his favourite arm chair reading the end of his book. He was very keen on it this morning, (he appeared to be on the last few chapters) for didn't seem to see any need to assist his wife in capturing their child.
The old people were resting in bed, including Grandpa Joe. It was still rather early; six-fourteen, to be precise. The whole Bucket family had failed to get back too sleep when Charlie had gotten up around five-forty-five that morning, happily preparing for his first day as an apprentice chocolatier.
He was very excited indeed.
Mrs. Bucket sighed and looked up at the ceiling where Charlie was currently heard in his room scrambling things around and shuffling things about.
"Charlie . . ." she complained tiredly. She turned all the way around and put her hands on her hips. "Charlie! It's getting cold!"
There was a moment of silence upstairs, and the rest of the family looked up curiously. Suddenly a small boy half slid/half jumped down the latter and skidded into his chair where he stuffed a big fork-full of egg into his mouth. He looked up at his mother and adjusted the food in his mouth.
"Thganksh, muom," came a muffled appreciation. His mother sighed again and turned back to the counter. She heard a few munches, and then a silence as Charlie tried to swallow.
"Chew it. . ." she warned, glancing back at him. He chewed more.
Mr. Bucket chuckled from his armchair. "You don't even know when he's coming, Charlie. Could not be for hours." He added with a yawn. Charlie carefully swallowed then took a gulp of juice.
"I know," he said in his naturally feeble voice, "I just want to be ready." He smiled and looked at his mother, who returned the smile and went back to the dishes.
"Yes, well, it would be rude to be late. Especially on your first day."
"Though he didn't exactly say when he was coming, did he dear?" remarked Mr. Bucket looking at his wife.
"Nope," she yawned, shaking her head and covering her mouth politely. "But he said 'bright and early'."
"And it's bright. And it's early," grumbled Grandpa George from in bed.
"Pops. . ." began Mrs. Bucket.
"Well I just don't see what all the fuss is about!" he carped. "This joker comes and picks up our home, rattles us all about like we're canned nuts, then plops us down in a new place entirely," he gestured a "plopping" motion with his finger tips. "Then we have him to supper." Grandpa George stuck up his chin in a dignified manner, continuing in a more subtle tone to get his point across. "Next morning we get up at the crack of dawn, when we don't even know what time to see him!"
Everyone just rolled their eyes at his naturally grumpy personality. He paused, then took on a solemn expression and added indignantly, "Not to mention that whole mess of him blasting through our roof, telling us we can't stay together as a family, and Charlie here having to tell him to scram."
Everyone was silent, looking down at whatever they were doing, and the rattle and clinks of Mrs. Bucket's dishes had softened. There was a moment of somewhat awkward reminiscence.
"We patched up the hole in the roof fairly easily," Mr. Bucket pointed out quietly after a while, then Charlie spoke up.
"He changed, Grandpa. He has." Charlie paused when his grandfather still wore the same grudging expression. Charlie turned back to face forward in his chair, his face becoming brighter. "He let you all come, didn't he?" Mrs. Bucket turned around and smiled briskly, hoping for a change in subject, then coming up and pulling his chair out.
"Yes Charlie, now you'd better get out there or you will be late." Charlie nodded and kissed his mother on the cheek, going to get a little red book bag he'd filled up with things he might want during the day, then going to the rest of his family members. After giving a hug to his father, he went round the beds and gave each of his grandparents a kiss on the cheek. He got to Georgina, and she engulfed him a full hug, perhaps thinking he was going on a much longer trip than he really was. When he got to George, his grandfather wagged a finger at him.
"If that boy grants you any trouble, you make sure you give him a good kick!" Charlie chuckled and kissed his cheek, saying goodbye. He waved to everyone and trotted out the door. The rest of the family went back to their morning activities. A small "Hmph," was heard from the bed.
"Dad," Mrs. Bucket began, "There really isn't reason to hold anything against Mr. Wonka."
"He seems like a fine gentlemen," added Mr. Bucket, still reading his book.
The man in the bed glanced up. "All I want to know is why did he change his mind!" Grandpa George looked at everyone in the house, who seemed to suddenly consider this question as well. It was a good question once they thought about it. They weren't entirely sure what the answer was. Grandpa George went on. "People don't just change their minds so quickly and surely about things like this. Not without some assistance."
"Charlie wouldn't do that, and even so, how would he?" Mrs. Bucket replied rhetorically, still focusing on her dishes, and knowing already where George was getting at. "It's not like he tracked down the man and made him reconsider." Grandpa George snorted.
"No, but that doesn't mean it's not what happened. Could be the other way around!" He said with a nod. None of the family members looked at him, but they were all listening very closely.
"I've been alive longer than any of you," he said, directing this at the other three in bed. "Mark my words," he continued, tapping his nose wisely.
"There was more here than just 'a change of mind'."
Charlie was sitting out a little ways from his house, carefully looking at the candy meadow's shrubbery. He wasn't eating any; he knew his mother wouldn't approve of that so directly after breakfast. More to the point, he was more interested in examining it than consuming it at the moment. He was about to start his life learning how to create such things; he thought it a good idea to familiarize himself with the subject.
Charlie took out a little notepad and pen, examining a twisty purple plant intently. After twiddling his pen over his paper for a moment, he smiled to himself and closed it up. Mr. Wonka would be there any minute; he didn't want to look silly by doing research.
So, instead, Charlie sat on a little patch of grass, thinking about what other parts of the factory he might see today. Suddenly, he got a bright idea and flipped open his notebook again. He put the tip of the pen to his chin in thought, then labeled it in big letters at the top,
Rooms Seen
He listed the obvious ones.
Chocolate Room
Inventing Room
Nut Room
Television Room
Glancing up for a moment, Charlie then scratched out the heading and put this;
Places Seen
This seemed more appropriate, and he started listing again.
Fudge Mountain
Doll Hospitable and Burns Unit
Cotton Candy Room
(Charlie put a question mark beside this one because he wasn't sure of the exact name; Mr. Wonka had passed by that one and didn't give many details when he'd seen it.)
Deciding he couldn't remember any others, Charlie slipped his book back into his bag and sighed serenely. He wondered what others he could add to his list after today. He leaned back on his elbows.
Maybe they wouldn't see any others at all. Perhaps today was simply going to be contracts and papers and agreements. Maybe all day would be filled up with signatures and initials and dotted lines.
Charlie smiled, knowing that wouldn't be true. Mr. Wonka didn't seem like the kind of person who'd want to waste an ounce of his time over things like that.
Perhaps they'd see the Inventing Room again! Charlie was eager to go there a second time and look at all the remarkable gizmos and gadgets that populated it. Though if the rest of the factory was as off-scale as the parts he'd seen already, he bet he'd witness many more bizarre inventions than just those.
Charlie let out a relaxed little breath in thought, then looked back at his house. He tilted his head to one side and smiled. It did look lovely there actually; its quaintness fit in very nicely with the rest of the room. It reminded him of a Gingerbread house. He thought of the little gingerbread people inside it, then wondered if he should have told them more properly about Wonka and his father. During their move to the factory, his explanation was probably not very understandable.
The moment would have been right. It would have mildly explained why the chocolatier had been reluctant to open the door to them. It may have helped them not to hold anything against the man. It really wasn't his fault how he felt on the subject, after all. . .
No, it wasn't his decision. It was Mr. Wonka's business; he should let him alone. Charlie rolled over on his side, leaning his chin on his hand and plucking up a little piece of grass. Besides, he didn't even know much about him. He didn't know why Mr. Wonka and his dad had stayed so far apart all that time.
It could have been the most obvious reason, Dr. Wonka being a dentist and all; their occupations were rather contradictory. But Charlie had an inner gut feeling that there was more than just that. He didn't know why, and he could be wrong. But just because they had jobs differently from each other shouldn't have been enough to detach them so drastically for so long.
Charlie fell onto his back and dropped the blade of grass on his tongue. It melted instantly, and a chilling minty sensation flew all around his mouth with a delightful tingle. Even though Charlie had made himself scarce shortly after they entered Dr. Wonka's home, he'd been there when the two embraced each other (quite awkwardly at that). There'd just been something in their eyes, he'd seen, like a deep secret they both knew but could never say aloud. Charlie had left silently then, to give them the privacy they deserved. He'd quietly closed the door behind him, and gone out into Dr. Wonka's plain respectable hallway to wait.
And he had waited.
He'd waited for what he thought to be perhaps forty-five minutes before Wonka came out, unspoken, but with a discrete smile on his face, and walked down the hall, giving only a small nod towards the door for Charlie to follow him.
Charlie played with the grass around him, ruffling it up and combing his fingers through it.
There must be more, he thought to himself, staring at the dark, faraway ceiling of the Chocolate Room. He wondered what it could be that had caused the two's detachment, Mr. Wonka's isolation from other people, his incapability to utter certain words. . .
Charlie was in the midst of pondering over such morning thoughts when he recalled why he was out sitting on a candy hill in the first place. He looked around. No Mr. Wonka. Confused, Charlie wondered how long he'd been sitting here. He glanced at his wrist watch; a quarter past seven. The boy sighed.
Where is he?
In a large Caribbean-blue room that was equally tall as it was wide, Willy Wonka sat at his elegant wooden desk reading over some paperwork that he'd meant to go over as of five weeks ago. He rested his cheek on his rubber gloved hand with a little squeak, dully ripping open a piece of mail with a gold, W-engraved, sword-shaped envelope opener.
January 7
To Mr. Willy Wonka:
It has come to our attention, here at Ovum Incorporated that your candy business has more than thrived over the years, as has our plastic Easter egg Industry. And, as the owner of this fine management, I propose we join forces, merging such major successes together, and. . . .
Wonka flung the letter over his shoulder without more ado, nor any new expression whatsoever, like he'd never even picked it up in the first place, and singled out another envelope.
This one had a red stamp on the front that read "NASC" in a big circle. He cut it open and started off again.
16 of January
Ms. Jody Jackasson
President
NASC Associations
Dear Mr. Wonka:
On behalf of the entire membership of the National Anti-Sugar Consumption Association, I would like to ask you once and for all that you shut down your chocolate factory and the disaster it creates. Sugar increases the hyper activity of people's metabolism, especially young children who are the target of your sales, and not only does it unmercifully rot the teeth, but it is a know fact that. . .
Wonka tossed it aside as well, sighing. He reached for a plain white envelope, slit the top, and removed the parchment inside.
DATE: 23 January
To Whom It May Concern
Subject: Letter of Recommendation for Mr. Cann D. Steelier
It is with great pleasure that I send this letter of recommendation for a great man and loyal employee; Mr. Cann Steelier. Cannwell was a part of a USO Candy Corporation years ago, but has retired from that position, under management by Mr. F. Fickelgruber, and is now. . .
"Ucgh!" Wonka cried, throwing down the envelope like it was covered in ants. He "hmphed" huffily. "When will these people would stop bothering me?" he grumbled, then looked at the big stack of letters and paperwork that still laid on his desk. Never, probably. Did he really have to read all those? They weren't going to be important. None of it ever was.
He stuck his chin in his hand and drummed his fingers on the table, frustrated at himself for having let them pile up. He wondered why he had, seeming to recall starting them, deciding he was bored, and going off somewhere else to do something more fun. Wonka sighed.
I should really stop doing that.
Suddenly a small knock was heard on his door. Relieved for the distraction, Wonka got up out of his chair and moseyed over to his big entryway. He swung the door open and looked down habitually. There stood a tiny little man in a bright orange shiny jumpsuit. He looked rather troubled, and quickly beckoned the chocolatier down to his level. Mr. Wonka crouched down and the Oompa Loompa whispered in his ear. After a moment of this, Wonka frowned.
"A house?" The oompa loompa nodded urgently. Wonka began the word "What", leaving his lips pursed, and looked down perplexed. Why on Earth would there be a house in my Chocolate Ro-
"OH!" He exclaimed, everything coming back to him suddenly. He laughed and waved a hand off to it. "That's just-" He stopped.
Oh dear. Had he forgotten to tell his little workers? He had. Which meant he'd probably also forgotten to give them orders to send a note up this morning reminding him. Which also meant he'd forgotten about-
"Charlie!" he cried. He hastily staggered back into his office, nabbing his things. Then he stumbled back out the door and down the hall, holding his hat to his head and gripping his cane in the other hand, leaving the little Oompa Loompa standing there rather puzzled and shaking his head at his boss's . . . Wonka-ness.
Wonka dashed wildly down the white-walled and blue-carpeted hallway, slipping into his coat, skidding at the corners, and wondering aloud how he could have forgotten.
"I should . . . have tied a string around . . . my finger!" He scolded himself as he ran.
Suddenly he stopped with a stagger at the fork in the hallway. He looked down one corridor, then the other, pouted and stomped his foot.
"Where is it?" He demanded to the air impatiently, gripping his cane tighter with a squeak. He paused for a single moment, then suddenly sucked in a breath, pursing his lips, and darted down the hallway to the left, remembering where he'd last departed from his transportation.
"This . . . is so . . . unprofessional!" he complained, sounding very unprofessional in any case. He spied the elevator and made a quick dash for it.
"Oooh, I could just kick myself for making the poor boy wait s-ooOOOPH-"
CRASHhhH!-
Thuddunk.
……………………
Wonka swung himself back up and let loose an airy giggle.
". . . so long," he murmured under his breath. He looked around nervously, quickly straightening back on his hat and snatching his cane, then punched the button to open the elevator doors.
After stepping in, he cleared his throat a little and calmly waited for the glass doors to close again. As the elevator departed he glanced up and hastily smoothed down his hair.
The doors reopened to reveal the beautiful Chocolate Room. Wonka stepped out, looking around curiously. Now, is he still inside the hou-
"Morning, Mr. Wonka!"
Wonka jumped in a small panic when the cheerful voice from behind him spoke up. He stumbled around, sighing with a sense of relief to see it was just Charlie, and pushed his hat down on his head once again, then lit up a smile.
"Good morning, my dear boy! I must say, I'm terribly sorry for keeping you waiting." He took an opportunity to catch his breath. Charlie, who'd been kneeling down and looking at a taffy pussy willow, stood up and brushed off his pants.
"It's okay, I was just looking around the room again," he told him with a grin. Then he quickly added, "If that's alright, I mean . . ." Wonka let loose his first dazzling smile of the day and swayed back on his heels in a way that seemed to emphasize what he said.
"Of course you can! You live here now, and it's your factory too, remember!" Charlie popped on one of his meek little smiles. Wonka beamed down at him. "Now, we've gotten a bit of a late start, so- What's that?" He asked suddenly, pointing down at a little red backpack lying next to Charlie's feet. Charlie frowned, then looked down next to him.
"Oh just some things I thought I might want to bring with me." He smiled and slung it over one shoulder. Wonka tilted his head, looking at the little bag.
"Oh." He looked at it for a moment, then shrugged in an accepting manner and grinned. "Well, we'd better get truckin'! So much time and so little to do, ya know." He strode back into the Glass Elevator, happily followed by Charlie.
Once inside, as Charlie began to admire all the buttons on the wall, Wonka turned around. He quickly pulled out his pocket watch to see how late he'd actually been, and winced to see it was already half past eight. Stuffing it back into his coat pocket, he turned back around to Charlie, who he was happy to see still examining the buttons of the lift.
"So, Charlie, where to first?" he asked excitedly. Charlie jumped and looked to Wonka with his curious eyes.
"Me?" he asked politely. Wonka looked more excited than Charlie had been.
"Yeah!" he cried. "You're going to be running the factory; you should be the one to decide!" Charlie looked up at him.
"Mr. Wonka, I won't be running the factory for a long time. . ." Wonka held up his head and shut his eyes, putting both hands on the top of his cane in a very respectable way.
"Well, no better time to get the hang of it than the present! Took me long enough, and I built it!" he giggled.
Charlie looked from him to the buttons. How could he choose? There were so many, some he couldn't even read they were so far up the wall; his nose didn't reach more than half way up. And most didn't even make much sense to him.
Cheeky Twirls
Credible Undies
Fill by Mouth
Hairy Fairies
Lemon Shortbread
Figs and Wigs Room
Haystacks
Juicy Flutes
Mucky Water Room
Peccadillo Circus
Pee Wee Thai Chi Room
Purple Room
Square Candy Room
Stud Muffins
Unit Room
Phlegm Brulee
Rocky Road
Spewed Dumplings
Television Room
Whizzdoodles
Cinnamon Kisses
Bright Room
Apricottage Cheese
Bendable Straws
Children Only
Room De Jour
Orangerie
Exploding Candy
Frangipan Origami
Billy Cakes
Staring Way
Train Station
Wonka Rewards
Ummph Room
Hot Cross Nuns
Wide eyed, Charlie turned up to Wonka with a helpless expression. Wonka sighed, folding his arms, and leaned back against the elevator wall. Suddenly, his eyes lit up.
"Hey!" He reached across and punched a button marked, "Map Room". He then folded his arms again, resting back against the wall, and Charlie heard him murmur, "Slowpoke." No sooner had Charlie given a laugh had they both been smashed against the clear wall as the elevator gave a lurch and was off.
When they reached their stop, the doors opened up to an enormous hallway. Not only was it long, but the ceiling was exceptionally far from the ground. It was more like a narrow ballroom than a hall. The crystal lights that hung evenly from its ceiling seemed to darken as they got further down, until you could scarcely make out whether that was a wall at the end or if it simply kept going. Who knows, thought Charlie, It could.
The walls were a shade of pearl gray, and there was a beautiful dark red carpet going down the center, with gold trim and fringe at the ends. It was nearly the same exact colour of Wonka's coat, and Charlie kept a sharp eye so he might not loose him in the camouflage.
Wonka brushed out the elevator, Charlie right behind him, and began his way down the hall at his usual quick pace and long stride. When they got to the center, Wonka stopped abruptly to face the wall on the right, nearly causing Charlie to collide into him. Wonka glanced down.
"Sorry." Then he looked back up with a grin. "Here we are! The Factory Map!" Charlie craned his head up to look at the wall and saw that, in fact, on it was an enormous map! He stared in awe. There were little boxes all over it, and after reading their labels, Charlie realized they were rooms. Dozens and dozens, all leading to one another by a red line (Charlie looked at the key in the left-hand corner and saw this meant a hallway), a blue line (elevator shaft), or a green line (the key didn't seem to have a label for that one). Charlie continued to stare at it in amazement, then looked at the very top and saw the words, "LEVEL ONE".
Charlie's mouth popped open a bit, much to Wonka's delight. He glanced down at the boy staring at the map in wonder, and grinned to himself. He wouldn't deny it; it was pretty gosh darn neat.
"And here's the Chocolate Room," he said suddenly, walking up to the wall and touching a little box marked, indeed, "CHOCOLATE ROOM". "So here's the main corridor. . ." He ran his finger along a red line, then out to where the factory seemed to end. ". . . To here; the factory gates!"
Charlie was looking up at the map, and Wonka suddenly released a little gasp. "Oh, yah!-" he said, as he seemed remember something. He leaned over to the right side of the map where a little plastic box on the wall was holding pamphlets, and snatched one out. The chocolatier opened it up, scanned it, then gave a perfectly white grin and handed it to Charlie.
"Here. Give this to your . . . family." Charlie took it and opened it up as well, seeing it was a little map of the Chocolate Room like the one on the wall, leading outside, as well as marking different halls and ways to get there. It also seemed to have guidelines and facts about the factory; what time it shut down, its exact address, etc. "Wouldn't wanna get lost," Wonka laughed mildly, then stepped up to the wall again.
"So right now we are. . ." Wonka twirled his finger in the air above the map for a moment, looking for the right spot, then stabbed at it once it'd been located. "Ha!" He took his finger off so Charlie could read the label "YOU ARE HERE." Wonka tilted his head to one side with confused amusement.
"It amazes me how it figures that out every time I come here . . . huh. . ." he said quietly. Charlie grinned up at him, slipping the little booklet into his backpack, then turned around and pointed to the other wall, which was also covered with a map.
"And is that the second floor then?"
"You betcha." Wonka said proudly. Charlie gazed down the dark hallway, seeing now the side walls going down were lined with enormous maps, each of a different floor; the first one in front of them, second on the opposite wall, third next to the first, and so on. He tried to locate the end of the hall, but it was simply too dark to see.
"How many floors are there, Mr. Wonka?" Charlie asked, still looking down the hallway. Wonka's eyes widened for an instant, then he put on a big grin and headed towards the elevator shaft hastily.
"HhhEY, let's go check out some other rooms, 'Kay Charlie! There's so much more to see, you know. Gotta keep moving. . ." Charlie looked from him back down the hallway, then quickly trotted up next to the chocolatier. They stepped into the elevator and Charlie wondered if he'd be able to pick a room yet. Wonka sensed the boy's uncertainty, and turned towards him with an excited little gasp.
"Who votes for the scenic route?" His hand shot happily up into the air, bringing out an excited little smile from Charlie. Wonka punched the button marked, " Random Place", causing the elevator to give another lurch and the occupants were once again splat against the sides. Wonka giggled, quickly mounting his cane against the opposite wall so he wouldn't squish the poor boy.
The lift swerved around a corner, knocking the two back into their original places, and was off once again.
"Darling, are your sure your boss doesn't mind?"
Mr. Bucket didn't look up from his work. He was intently studying the schematics for the toothpaste-lid machine, trying to figure out why it had recently screwed many of the lids on backwards, defying the law of "righty-tighty, lefty-loosy," and making many customers very upset.
"Hm? Oh, yes dear, I called him up earlier and told him we'd moved; he offered me time to settle before I asked for it. Everything's understood."
Mrs. Bucket was currently dusting the table tops. The grandparents were in bed, Grandpa George reading a book (it actually seemed to be the beginning of Mr. Bucket's novel), and the other two grandmothers knitting happily. Grandpa Joe was simply looking out the window, gazing at everything there was, still giving time for his incredulity to wear off. Mr. Bucket nabbed a pen from the little table next to him and marked something on his papers, continuing to talk to his wife.
"And, er . . ." he silently mouthed whatever he was writing as he marked something else on his paper, ". . . and what about Charlie's school? You cleared everything over?" Mrs. Bucket chuckled and went to another area to clean.
"Just as much as you did. I simply excused Charlie from his classes today. His teacher didn't ask, and she was going to send someone to collect his homework for him, but I clarified that he'd take it tomorrow. No need to give too much information out just yet. Not until it's absolutely necessary." She blew some hair out of her face and continued to shine the dear life out of a cabinet counter. Mr. Bucket glanced up and frowned.
"What is it?"
"What's what?" she asked, still scrubbing. Mr. Bucket set down his papers and gave a look to his wife's back.
"You always clean when something's worrying you." Mrs. Bucket turned around, rather out of breath from the polishing, and set her hands on her hips critically.
"Nothing's wrong." Her husband kept his gentle scowl, then sat up more and counted his fingers.
"Shined everyone's shoes twice the week your mother had the flue, tried to clean behind the refrigerator when you were expecting Charlie, you wouldn't stop mopping the floor all during that Golden Ticket business . . ." He set his hands down and waited for his wife's excuse this time. She let out a breath and dropped her hands to her sides in a shrug.
"It's just rather new is all! I mean . . . we have been faced with some serious changes in the past forty-two hours . . ." she turned back to cleaning.
"I thought you were happy with it?"
Mrs. Bucket kept on polishing, quickening as she spoke. "Well I am, dear, of course! This is . . . incredible, honestly! But it's also a lot to deal with! It's a big thing, moving into a factory! The most famous chocolate factory in the world! I'm more than grateful, I couldn't be more grateful, but it's just so . . . big! I-"
Her husband, who'd sneaked out of his chair during Mrs. Bucket's rambling, relieved her of her dusting cloth, and put his hands on her shoulders to relax her.
"I'm not going to let you near the kitchen cupboard if you're going to keep that up." He said seriously, sliding the bottle of wood cleaner away. His wife let out a small breathless chuckle. "I know. It will be stressful in the beginning. But so are all good and wonderful things." He pecked her on the cheek as she leaned back against him. "It'll all be fine. Soon it will be as every-day as cabbage soup."
"Oh, I know," she sighed. "But we will need to find the time to talk to Mr. Wonka about everything. Besides Charlie, I mean; what will we do about groceries, or school and your job? We don't even know our way around here! I've not set foot outside since last night!" she laughed. Mr. Bucket squeezed his wife's shoulders lovingly, then departed back to his chair to fold up his papers.
"Well when Mr. Wonka comes back tonight, I'll make certain to bring it up." He nodded, and his wife nodded back. The grandparents, who'd been listening in bed, nodded too, going back to their things. After a moment, Mr. Bucket looked up and turned back to his wife.
"Dear, where might . . . the newspaper be?" Mrs. Bucket pulled back her hair and began to tie it up out of her face.
"It. . . Could it possibly be on the doorstep?"
"But how . . .?" Mrs. Bucket shrugged and went into the kitchen.
"Who knows in this place. But Mr. Wonka did say his workers would help us settle. Why not see if one of them is out and about, I'd also like to know when we should be expecting him and Charlie back."
Mr. Bucket frowned, but carefully made his way to the back door. He swung it open, once again blasting the same strong sweet smell into the house that the Bucket's had yet to figure out the origin of, and looked around. He took a step out, leaning forward to see further around the house.
". . . Hello?" He paused. Suddenly there was a clatter of pans from within the house followed by a surprised little shriek.
"Oh!- Dear . . .?" Mr. Bucket turned to face his wife in the house. She was wide-eyed, and bounced a little as she pointed downwards towards his knees. He glanced down and was rather staggered to see a small man in a bright red rubber jumpsuit staring up at him. Mr. Bucket took a step back, and cocked his head to one side.
The little chap stood there attentively, looking up at Mr. Bucket. Charlie's father glanced back up at his wife, who was bouncing a little again. She looked up at him with a face of unsure realization, and mouthed the words, "OOMPA LOOMPA", then nodded down to the swirly haired worker. A couple pans were scattered by her feet, and she was holding a pot in both hands, as if ready to squash the little creature if it got too feisty. Mr. Bucket stared down at it, (it was still standing attention and looking up patiently at Mr. Bucket) then forced out a few words.
"Er . . . do, um. . ." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Would you happen to know where I might find . . . the newspaper . . .?" He asked unsurely. The little man blinked, then turned his head sharply to the left and circled his hand in a beckoning motion. Mrs. Bucket gasped and dropped the remaining pot that was in her hand, covering her mouth with both, as three more of the little things scurried up to the first.
They huddled up, and a series of murmurs and occasional snickers were heard from the circle. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket exchanged looks of fascination, and Mr. Bucket put one hand on his hip, the other gripping a tuft of hair on the back of his head. Every once in a while one of the little men in the circle would lift up his head to glance at the larger people, then go back into the group to say something.
After about half a minute of this, the three others scurried back off into the room, leaving the initial one standing alone in front of Mr. Bucket once again. Mr. Bucket watched the others go, then looked at the one left curiously. Suddenly the little gentleman pulled out a newspaper from behind his back and held it up to Mr. Bucket, who looked at it, then carefully took the little rolled up paper and tried a mild grin.
". . . Thank you sir," he said with a nod. The little person nodded well naturedly, then pulled his arms up in a tight cross against his chest. Mr. Bucket slowly moved his gaze to his wife, who made a frantic rolling motion with her hands to return the gesture. He looked back down to the oompa, who was waiting with his hands in the same position patiently, then slowly brought his arms across his chest as well. Seeming satisfied, the tiny man took a little bow, and scurried off into the room to go back to whatever tasks he had for the day.
As soon as he was out of sight, Mrs. Bucket stumbled over the pans with a clatter and out of the house to her husband. She grabbed onto his chest and looked wide eyed to where the little thing had run off to.
"Darling . . . . . .?" Mr. Bucket, looking a little dazed, glanced the same way, then down towards the ground, and flicked on a confused little smile.
"Oompa Loompa." He stated with nod. He slapped his wife gently on the back, then staggered back into the house. Mrs. Bucket looked from where the Oompa Loompa left to her husband several times, then snatched the ends of her skirt and stumbled back in behind him, ready to demand all the information she could get.
". . . Oh, and that's the testing section of the Bubble Room where we test the bubbles to make sure they bounce high enough." Wonka pointed at a glass squared-in platform where dozens of Oompa Loompas were bouncing wildly atop giant multi-coloured bubbles. Charlie quickly scribbled in his notebook.
"A-and this is where we harvest the grumble weeds and tulips for the candy bouquets!" The elevator passed a window where Oompa Loompas scattered around a bright green meadow were cutting the overgrown grass and piling it in wheelbarrows. They all wore gardening gloves, and waved their little hands when they saw the lift go by. Wonka waved back with glee, then leaned lower to Charlie and put his hand to the side of his mouth.
"They're best in the winter season," he said quietly, then drew himself up like he'd just told a secret and didn't want anyone else to know.
The elevator turned sharply to the right, going down a different path. They passed a circular room with an enormous vat of chocolate in the center and a clear pipe going from up it into the ceiling. An assembly line was carrying little chunks of pink coloured fudge under a spout that connected into the tub, and were smothered with a dribble of chocolate, then rolled into a hole in the wall. Little oompa loompas were standing on a platform around the tub, stirring it with long sticks occasionally, and taking care that each piece of fudge was covered equally with chocolate.
Mr. Wonka beamed, and pointed excitedly out the window. "And this is the room where I make the most delicious kind of strawberry-flavored chocolate-coated fudge!" he said happily, then watched the process in the room with interest. Charlie looked up at Wonka.
"This is where Augustus Gloop went to?" he asked observantly. Wonka frowned and looked down at Charlie with a baffled expression.
"Who?" Charlie smiled and looked back at the room.
"Nothing," he giggled. The elevator suddenly took another sharp turn to the left, down a different pathway. It opened up into what Charlie realized was the same way they'd gone on the tour. They passed Fudge Mountain, bunches of bundled up oompa loompas scaling its snowy peak from far below, and began past the room with the pink sheep. Charlie looked up at Wonka for a narrative. Wonka's face fell a little like last time, and he glanced down at Charlie with a small giggle.
"And uh, heheheh . . . this is where we collect the . . . wool candy. . ." he trailed off and turned the other way. Charlie watched with curiosity as the little oompa loompas shaved the sheep then stuffed the pink fluff into the giant cotton candy machine against the wall. A grin grew across his face, and he tried his very best not to laugh as Mr. Wonka rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, made a face, then spun to the other side of rooms.
The elevator slid charmingly on its cable, passing the Puppet Infirmary, which was rather empty except for a few dolls still recovering from their last show's little mishap. They flew up and slid to a momentary stop in front of what Charlie recognized as the Secretarial Offices. After the two got their footing once again, Wonka looked up and smiled as he waved happily to a female oompa loompa sitting at a desk.
"Oh hi, Carol!" The little oompa loompa paused in her typing and waved back. Wonka leaned forward to look around the rest of the offices. "Where's Doris today?" The oompa loompa held up little note from the table that read,
Maternity leave.
Back next Tuesday.
- Doris
Wonka's jaw dropped with a colossal grin.
"Nuh uh!" The Oompa Loompa that was covering for Doris smiled and nodded. Wonka pulled himself up straight, only to be tossed back around when the lift began motion again.
"You make sure you send her a congratulatory gift basket from me, 'kay?" he giggled excitedly. They saw the oompa loompa give a thumbs up, right before the elevator dropped abruptly. It soared downwards, passing oompa loompas on both sides blasting guns filled with little bits of multi-coloured candies. Wonka grinned.
"And this," he exclaimed as a bullet went flying across the elevator, missing it by an inch, "is Target Practice! Where they shoot the candy and marshmallow bits into the chocolate! Plus," He giggled and looked out the window to admire the colours, "It's really fun." Charlie began to write this one in his notebook.
Wonka noticed a scratching noise, and glanced over. Charlie was writing something. He cocked his head to one side, and slowly leaned down behind the little boy to look over his shoulder. Charlie didn't notice.
"What are you doing?" Wonka whispered curiously after a moment. Charlie looked behind him and smiled sheepishly.
"Oh, just . . . notes." Wonka was still looking at the notes over Charlie's shoulder, and the boy handed them up to him. Wonka took the little notepad and held it up in the light. He tilted his head and turned the book upside down.
"Notes? . . ." he repeated, not really paying attention, but still inspecting the book interestedly. Charlie put his hands in his pockets.
"About the rooms," he explained. "I thought it'd probably be handy to have them written down, and what they're for." When Wonka still looked confused, and held the book at a crooked angle, Charlie continued. "Just so I know them, I mean." Wonka looked up and suddenly let out a little laugh.
"Oh, gosh, Charlie, you're gonna need a lot of paper to do all that!" he giggled. "There's a ton of rooms! More than just here in the elevator! Thousands!" He spread his arms out wide, the notepad's papers fluttering about in one hand. He gave it back to Charlie, who took it without looking at it. His eyes were locked on Wonka in amazement.
"Thousands?"
Wonka swayed forward and put his hand on his chest. "I don't even know how many!" he exclaimed, a huge grin still on his face. Charlie closed his notepad and slipped it back into his backpack, then looked back up at Wonka in awe.
"But . . . you built them." He pointed out perplexed. Wonka stood back up and frowned.
"True." He waited a moment, then smiled again and looked back down at Charlie. "But do you know how many teeth you have?" Charlie shook his head. Wonka grinned. "Me neither, even though I brush 'em every night!" He glanced up.
"I suppose I could count them . . . but who has time for that?" He put forefinger to his chin in thought, resting his elbow on his other arm. "I could have my orthodontist count them sometime . . . next time I get them checked . . ."
"Or your father," suggested Charlie from below. Wonka quickly looked down.
"Huh?" Charlie hesitated a moment then shrugged mildly.
"He could count them for you. Since he's a dentist." The top-hatted man glanced up out the window, looking slightly confused. "Next time you visit him, I mean." Wonka didn't say anything. Charlie paused.
"You . . . are going to see him again?" the chocolatier looked down at him, then quickly back out the window.
". . . Yeah . . ." he replied vaguely. There was an oddly placed silence. Charlie finally spoke again.
"Don't you want to?" he asked softly. Wonka was still gazing out the window. He opened his mouth a little and paused, then closed it again. Finally the man nodded gently, still gazing out the window, brows knit, like he was trying to calculate something in his head. There was another silence, and Charlie spoke.
"I mean . . . it seemed like everything was okay with you two now. I'm sure he would like to see you again too." Charlie didn't fully understand why Mr. Wonka was acting like this. He'd seen how relieved Wonka had been when they left Dr. Wonka's house; why did he still act so oddly on the subject? This was why Charlie wondered what else there could be that he didn't know.
The chocolatier suddenly looked down towards his feet, his eyes slowly widening, then looked sharply up again and glanced over at Charlie. He forced on a grin that Charlie had begun to learn was Wonka's way of covering things he didn't feel like showing up, and nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah! Sure." He let out a little breath, like he'd been holding it for a long time, and turned to face out the window again, still holding onto that protective smile for dear life. Charlie decided to drop the whole conversation. Mr. Wonka obviously wasn't comfortable with the subject, and Charlie shouldn't bother him.
They were both silent for a moment, simply looking at the views that passed them by. Suddenly Wonka pulled out his pocket watch, and flipped it open. Barely looking at it, he flipped it shut again and tapped the front with his thumb.
"Gosh, look at the time. We'd best be getting you back, Charlie. You know what your dad said about school nights." He frowned for a moment, like he needed something clarified. "You . . . do have school tomorrow, right?" Charlie nodded, and Wonka grinned again. "Well, let's head on back then, shall we?"
He pressed the button marked "Chocolate Room", and the elevator gave a little jerk then headed in a different direction with the two occupants inside.
When they arrived, the doors slid open revealing the dim Chocolate Room and the darling little Bucket house in the center of it all. Charlie stepped out, followed by Willy Wonka, and they began their way to the house.
"Thank you for taking me around the factory today, Mr. Wonka," Charlie mentioned politely, looking at the ground as he walked. Wonka gave a grin and waved his hand off to it.
"Don't mention it, dear boy! We've still got much much more besides that! Just you wait and see what we can do this weekend!" Charlie looked back at him and smiled happily. Suddenly the swing of a squeaky door was heard in front of them, followed by a "Charlie?" The boy looked up and saw his mother holding a wooden spoon in one hand and a head of cabbage in the other. Charlie grinned and scurried up to meet her.
"Hi, mum," he said when he reached her, and gave her a little hug. She put the spoon in her other hand and ruffled her son's hair affectionately as he rested his chin against her apron.
"How was today, darling?" she inquired with a grin. Charlie nodded happily.
"Great! We saw lots!" His mother smiled, taking up her spoon again and wagging it in the air.
"That's good. Now dinner's almost ready, so come on in and wash up, won't you dear?" Charlie nodded as his mother went back in. He wasn't too hungry because he'd nibbled at some tid-bits after breakfast before Mr. Wonka had shown up that morning, but Mr. Wonka hadn't had anything. He was probably starving.
"Mr. Wonka, you can stay for-" he began brightly as he turned around, but stopped short and rested his eyes on the empty little patch of grass in front of him. Charlie let his shoulder's drop a little and frowned.
He was gone.
Author's Notes: Kay, ya know what? The Map Room was so my idea! I wrote about that (it was initially Map Hall . . .) before I put the rooms in, and when I did, I saw Map Room and flipped out, and was like, "Oh yah, I rock, I think like Willy Wonka," and I bounced and bobbed and jigged and did his little Swanky hand dance to music that wasn't there. Yuuup, I had a good ol' time with that.
The map: Dunno if you noticed the lines in the key on there. . .
Wonka's letters: Did ya catch some of the things in there? giggle
Chapter 4 Preview: Oh dear, it seems something is amok with our Mr. Wonka (the poor darling). And Charlie goes to school! Also, we get a little aftermath. . . Yes, I love the vague element of mystery. Do you know what the chapter will be exactly about? Do you know what aftermath? Noooo. . . It's so mysterious. OH! I can use a word I discovered in my own sweet time and in-deliberation the other day! ahem The ambiguity of it. Yaaaah. Yah, if ya don't know it look it up. Engage yourselves. My chapter previews are very ambiguous.
Mh-hm!