Author's Note: Hey look! I published another chapter! Really, I hadn't expected to publish another one this fast. And I got reviews! Awesome.
To Redberry Greenleaf: Woot! You reviewed! You reviewed! How excited I am! I hope you will like this one as much as you did the last one. And I'll think up an idea for the dancing scene. Mwhahaha…
To PucktoFaerie: First, cool name. Shakespeare's muh home-boy. Second, sorry about the big intro, but it's a habit of mine. You know, kind of like a signature in your personal style of writing. I tend to explain things, just to be descriptive. I appreciate you fortitude. Thanks for the props!
Okay, there are a few things in here that might be off. For example, I haven't seen both movies in a long time and I don't have my copy of the Roald Dahl book anymore, so I can't remember who the crazy grandma is. I randomly pick… Georgina! There. Please correct me if I'm wrong.
It had been a rather gloomy day for Mr. Bucket, who was returning home from his job of fixing things at the toothpaste factory. His day at work was very dismal- the screwing-on-lid machine kept breaking down in all sorts of places and when he fixed them another leak sprung. Very irksome indeed. Well, at least he was coming home to a warm meal and good family. Charlie had returned home from school now, probably had done his homework, (though sometimes Mr. Bucket caught an Oompa-Loompa looking over some geometry) and was doing "business" with Mr. Wonka, but to the family he was Willy. He decided, for some random reason, to see what had become of the tiny lot their house used to be in while on his homeward journey. He strolled by the gloomy old residence, gazing upon the muddy old patch of land, which seemed to glow yellow in the setting sun's light. But wait! What was this? On the other side of the lot, there stood a ruddy figure, huddled over a damp piece of paper. The figure studied it with solemn concentration, hands twitching a bit. Mr. Bucket stopped to stare at the person for a minute in strange fascination, when the person looked up.
Although frizzy strands of hair blocked the muddy face, Mr. Bucket could still recognize that face from afar. His mouth fell open in surprise. No… no, it couldn't be… but it had to be!
The figure recognized him as well, straightened up, and waved her arm, rushing through the muddy, empty lot to where Mr. Bucket was standing in disbelief. "Oh there you are, John. I thought you'd be in your house. But there is no house, so it would be very odd for you to be sitting in a bunch of mud. I mean, it isn't to odd for me to be sitting in mud, in fact I crawled through it for a few hours last night. But you look so clean and shaven, so I assume you wouldn't be living in mud. So where do you live? Did you decide to go underground? Is it nice down there? I expect it would be messy in this weather. And where's the rest of the family? Are they underground too? You know, Father always wanted to build a house underground after the second world war-"
"S-Sarah?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
"Why of course it's me, John! Did you get amnesia while I was away? I think you did. That would explain your gawky blank expression and why your house is gone. Well just to clue you in, my name is Sarah Olivia Bucket, and I am your sister. Your name is John Bucket, and you are married to Hannah Bucket, and you have a son named Charlie. Oh, by the way, how is Charlie? He is such the sweetest boy, you know. Oh, you don't know. Well, you have a very sweet son, and I don't know if you have any other children, because they don't let us have letters at the-"
"I know who you are, and I don't have amnesia," hissed Mr. Bucket, "What I want to know is what are you doing here?"
The babbling woman shrugged. "Oh, I got tired of that old place, John. The food there is unbearable, and they think you don't know it's unbearable because you're out of your mind. And everyone treated me like I was a child or I was crazy or something. Isn't that awful? Well, after a couple of years I just grabbed a spork and started digging. I dug, and dug, and dug, until I finally popped out. And then I decided to come give you a visit, being as I have nowhere else to go, and anyone else who would see me would think I was a lunatic or something."
Mr. Bucket sighed. He didn't comment on that last statement. Instead, he took her muddy arm (she looked to have some shreds of an undone straightjacket on, perhaps,) and guided her to the humongous factory in which his family now resided in.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
Mr. Bucket decided to take the back passageways to the Chocolate Room, the ones that no one but an occasional Oompa-Loompa janitor used. He didn't want anyone to see her; not yet. He would have to get her into their home so wouldn't go exploring things. Indeed, right now his younger sister seemed quite curious about the factory.
"What an admirable mansion you live in! You've stepped up quite a bit from that old shack you lived in. But it's a tad gloomy and dark, don't you think? I've tripped over things four times now. Whoops… ow… that's a fifth time. Don't you have any electricity or candles or something?"
"Ssh, Sarah, you must be quiet," he opened a back door to the Chocolate Room, guiding her to the house.
"Now this is more like it! So colorful! Something smells like chocolate. We never got any chocolate at-"
Mr. Bucket pushed her into the house, shutting the door. Mrs. Bucket looked up, giving the same look of awe as her husband. "Sarah? Is it really you?"
"Does everyone have amnesia in this place? Of course it's me, my dear sister-in-law. How wonderful to see you!" she strutted over to Mrs. Bucket to give her a hug. "Oh, no, I mustn't do that, I'm all dirty and you're all clean. What a lovely little house! It's so wonderfully cozy. And the mansion outside is really a nice touch. Did you win the lottery?"
Mrs. Bucket led her rather absent-minded sister-in-law to a chair, where she sat her down and began to talk with her.
"How did you get here?"
"Why, I broke out, of course! I missed my home and family."
"How did you break out?"
"She dug her way out with a spork and crossed the mudbank to get here. I found her out by our old lot," said her brother, crossing his arms.
"Oh, don't talk about me like I'm a lost puppy or something, John. He always did that. Even when he was 9. What a good big brother you are, John. But you mustn't fret. I found my way here, and I can go away any time you like. I just wanted to visit."
"Of course you can stay here, Sarah! Stay as long as you want." Mrs. Bucket said, patting the grimy hand. "But it's a very big surprise to see you here after six years. And it's an even bigger shock to know that you broke your way out of an asylum."
The muddy woman flinched at the word. She remained silent, hands folded. Finally, she asked in a more controlled, quiet tone, "Where are my parents?"
"They're sleeping at the moment. Why don't you wait here and wash up, I'll go get Charlie, and then we'll talk over some tea," Mrs. Bucket said, smiling.
"That's sounds lovely. I haven't had tea in quite a while," Sarah said, smiling back. Mrs and Mrs. Bucket stood up, walked over to a corner, and talked in hushed voices.
"What are we going to do, John? There will be people looking for her. And they will probably come to us first."
"We'll deal with that later. But right now we have to focus on asking Willy if she can stay."
Mrs. Bucket looked out of the window. An Oompa-Loompa was plucking some toffee-filled doodle-fuggle fruits off a tree. "I hadn't thought of that."
"Why don't you go get Willy and I'll go get Charlie."
"But what about your sister?"
"She's a good girl. She knows how to behave politely in someone else's house." He smiled. Mrs. Bucket gave him a very dubious look that said, Darling, your sister is an escaped lunatic from a badly-run asylum. I wouldn't be too sure on her social skill right now. Mr. Bucket sighed, and turned to Sarah.
"Alright, sister. Here's the thing- the reason we live in this enormous place is that a very kind man who's a friend of Charlie's offered for us to come and live with him. This is technically his house, so I need you to stay in here and not do anything else. Got it?"
"Got it." Sarah stared out the window at the brown river.
"Good." And with that, Mr. Bucket grabbed his wife's hand and headed out the door.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
Willy Wonka was again in distress. Everything seemed to be breaking down lately. The factory wasn't that old, but it behaved like an old man sometimes. He must remember to give the factory a good sermon on candy factory life spans and how factories are supposed to behave. He tapped his candy-filled cane on the floor of the glass elevator nervously. He was heading diagonally to the Chocolate Room, and diagonally made him a little tense. If Charlie wasn't in his house doing that awful, pointless stuff those horrible "educators" give every night, he would be somewhere in the Toffee Room. Willy's mind drifted into old memories of when he was a child and how his… ugh… what was that thing called? Oh yes, teacher,Willy grimaced at the word, would always load him up with awful things like math and English and science. And they were very silly questions too. Honestly, what does a child need to know these days except for equations on how to make Raspberry Divinity, the formula for fudge, speaking Oompa-Loompanese, and things like that? English was one of the worst. His English were that there goodest already! He gave the buttons a few impatient pushes, tapping his shiny shoe, and scratching underneath his top hat. He also must remember to remind the Oompa-Engineers to try to make the glass elevator go faster. As he passed Fudge Mountain, he gave a wave to some of the climbers. Passing over the halls, he glanced for a second at a hurrying Mr. Bucket across the corridors. When Mr. Bucket spotted him,the excited manbegan to jump and wave his arms like some Trianadoid. Willy waved back, a little scared. He still was getting to know Mr. Bucket, and he didn't quite get some of the weird things that parents did. He wondered what he would do if he were a parent.
"Ew, that's gross." He told himself, shuddering. The glass elevator began to slow, and stopped outside the Chocolate Room. Exiting the whirring translucent thing, he activated a few numbers, and opened the door, striding in towards the little house. He gave a few nods to the working Oompa-Loompas, approaching the house. He knocked a few times, before jiggling the handle and letting himself in.
"Charlie? Charlie, are you here?" he asked. Stepping into the house, he could see muddy footprints leading all over the wooden floor and behind the corner into another room. Willy's amethyst eyes narrowed, and he stepped quietly towards where the footprints led. "Charlie?" he asked again, glancing behind him out the window to see if the boy was outside. He turned back, right into the face of a muddy, frizzy-haired thing. "AAIIIIIIII!" he gave a girlish squeal, leaping several feet behind the couch. The thing screeched back, flailing its arms and tripping over a chair.
"Oh my Gumdrops! It's a Squeezledork!" he shrieked, grabbing a pan. The Squeezledork stood up, and stopped screeching.
"Who are you? And what are you doing in my brother and sister's house?" she demanded. Willy stared at the being from behind his fortress.
"You know, my brother will be home any minute! He doesn't like burglars! I don't like burglars either, just so you know. Once, someone tried to burgle my dorm in college and I knocked them into a coma with a hairdryer!" she grabbed one of Charlie's discarded textbooks. The two circled each other, glaring.
"What have you done with Charlie?" he asked lowly, clutching his pan.
"What have I done with him! I'm not a criminal! You're the burglar! You really should get your careers straight, you know."
"I'm not a burglar! If I was, I'd be wearing black, now wouldn't I?" Willy reasoned. The muddy thing stopped.
"Well, you do have a point there. Not many burglars come into houses wearing purple."
Indeed, he didn't look like a burglar. The man was very tall, (maybe it was because of the tall top hat he was wearing, with a magenta and green band wrapped around the base,) and had on a very nice purple suit. He had a cane too, did that mean he was distinguished, or decrepit? But his face was even more entrancing than his outfit. He had clear violet eyes, that seemed to glimmer withperiwinkle bluespecks inside, with a face as pale as ivory. His hair was also quite interesting. It was the color of dark chestnuts, fashioned into a girly bob, and at that, Sarah commented, "Do all burglars have silly hairdos like yours?"
"It's not silly! And I am not a burglar! I'm a candy-maker." He said, first complaining and then very proudly.
"Wow. What a coincidence. You know, this factory actually belongs to a candy-maker. His name is Willy Wonka, and he's a very brilliant architect. And I bet he makes 97 times as great candy as you'll ever make. And he certainly doesn't go barge in into people's houses, trying to rob them or kidnap their nephews/sons/grandsons or whatever."
Willy brightened. "Do you really think I'm that brilliant?"
"No, stupid-head. I said Willy Wonka. Now, I suggest you leave before he comes and finds you here and makes you into bubble-gum or something."
Willy paused at the thought. It would be very hard for him indeed to make himself into bubblegum. He wondered if he would taste good. He probably would.
"You won't leave? Fine." And with that, the muddy frizzy thing pounced on top of the squealing candy man and started to wrestle him to the door. To Willy's relief, Mr. and Mrs. Bucket burst in with Charlie at that moment.
"Sarah! What on earth!" Mrs. Bucket proclaimed.
"Aaugh!" Willy said, underneath Sarah's torso.
"Hey, Aunt Sarah," Chalie said, grinning.
"Oh, hello, Charlie! My, how you've grown! Come here and give your auntie a kiss! I was just taking care of this burglar for you."
She released the struggling purple chap and went to give her nephew a kiss on the cheek. Willy got up, made a desperate attempt to rub off the mud on his clothes. "Ew, she's all dirty!" he whined and shuddered, as if he were being dumped into a tub of earthworms and centipedes and such. Charlie flicked a chunk of soil off the eccentric mysophobic. He paused, trying to remember the names of all the other phobias that Willy was related to.
"Sarah?" Mr. Bucket asked incredulously, turning towards his sister. She seemed to not notice.
"I told you, he was looking for Charlie and he kept on saying he wasn't a burglar, but then he grabbed a pan and I had to take him down! I'm sure the owner of this factory and the heads of security here will be very pleased with me."
"Dear, he is the owner of the factory," Mrs. Bucket said gently, brushing Wonka off. "And the security team's right outside, waiting for instructions."
Sarah's eyes darted from her victim, who was glaring daggers at her, and to her family. "Then he's… that's… ohhhh," she said, looking at the ground, then to Wonka. "Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?"
"I was trying to tell you, but then you up and tackled me," Wonka said, rapping his cane with aggravation.
Sarah's gaze crashed at her feet. "Ah. I'm dreadfully sorry," she said, "I misunderstood you."
"You bet your bonbons you did!" he said, once again shuddering at the thought of what might be in his clothes.
"Willy," Charlie said, addressing him in an informal, friendly manner, "She's my aunt. And she did mean well, you know. She also needs a place to stay, and here's the only option, with her family."
Willy's thin lip curled at the word. He was still getting over automatic reactions to anything relating to the word parents.
"I won't be any more trouble," Sarah said, standing. "Honestly. And I'll make a point to keep a meter's distance from you at all times. No more tackling," she said, giving a wild smile.
Willy stared at the dirty thing in distain. Well, she was Charlie's aunt, but she's filthy! Filthiness is bad. Very bad. Bad germs. But if she stays indoors all day, then-
"Well, I guess you could stay for a little while, if you don't get in the way," Willy said, reluctantly, "But clean up immediately. You're all… icky." And with that, he turned on his shiny leather heel, striding out the door, careful to not get any more dirt on him. He paused, and poked his head back through the doorway. "Oh yeah. Charlie, you're needed in the Chocolate Chip Rookie room." and went out.
Mrs. Bucket quickly drew a bath for her sister-in-law and lent her some of her clothes. Mr. Bucket went with Charlie, and Mrs. Bucket boiled some tea for the grandparents, who were due to wake up soon. Sarah shed her ruddy once white uniform, now a dingy grayish-brown with streaks of green. She also had on something of a crudely sewn straightjacket; it wasn't a normal one that you couldn't get out of easily, but something the nurses might help "calm her down". Sarah rolled her eyes. Just because she wasn't babbling in another language or not saying anything ever didn't mean she was abnormal, it just meant she wasn't like the others locked up at the...place. She stepped into the bath, the water turning brown from all the dirt. Sarah had to rinse off, drain the dirty tub, and fill it again to get a proper bathing. When she was finished, she felt new and regenerated. All those layers of dirt were becoming rather cumbersome. She donned Mrs. Bucket's clothes: a small white blouse, a purple-green-and grey plaid skirt that fell to her knees, some green-and-black stripedstockings, and some leather boots that looked like galoshes on her. She looked herself up and down in a mirror. Her outfit was rather uncoordinated and tacky, but she hadn't really cared about those sort of things since she was taken away to… well, she didn't want to think about that anymore. Besides, she smiled, she fit in perfectly with the rest of the colorful, strange atmosphere of the factory. Her thoughts dwelled back to Mr. Wonka. She felt a hefty amount of guilt upon her as she remembered taking the poor man down. How nice of him to let her stay. Maybe she'd write him a thank-you note. She swept her hair up in a loose bun, trying desperately to keep those blasted strands from coming down. It was no use, so she just headed downstairs. Her brother's parent-in-laws and her parents had woken up and were chatting amongst themselves about things.
"I could hardly sleep with those Oompady-Shnoompady things about. They make too much noise with those machines." Grandpa George gruffly stated.
"It's a factory, you humbug. Everything's noisy," Grandpa Joe replied.
"Well I think they're just the most darling things ever to grace the planet," Grandma Josephine smiled, "I love the little tykes."
"I love it in the fall when they turn that wonderful shade of deep orange," Grandma Georgina said, staring out the window.
"We're talking about the little people, remember, Georgina?" Grandma Josephine said.
Grandma looked at her. "Really? When did we switch from pumpkins to Oompa-Loompas?"
"Hullo, everyone," Sarah said, joining them.
"Hello, Sarah. Did you have a nice vacation at St. Luna Tik's?" Grandma Georgina said, not looking up.
"It was very nice, thank you." Sarah answered.
"Well, that's good. It's always nice to get a vacation for a little while. Tell me, did you remember to pick up that carton of eggs on your way home that I told you to get, before you left?"
"No, I don't think I did. Sorry, mother."
"That's alright. But you really should write these things down, dear. You can be a little absent-minded at times. You get it from your father."
Sarah crossed over to give her father a kiss. I suppose since they were growing forgetful in their ripe age they forgot that their daughter (or son-in-law's sister) had been shipped away to an asylum and hadn't seen them for six years.
"Where's Charlie?" Grandpa Joe asked.
"He went with Willy and John to go and fix something," Mrs. Bucket replied, serving the tea.
"Such a nice young man," Grandma Josephine smiled. "Have you met him yet, Sarah?"
"We had a brief encounter," Sarah looked into her teacup, "He seemed very… benevolent."
"He smells like peanuts!" Grandma Georgina stated happily.
"That's the fourth time you've reminded us of that this week, Georgina," Grandpa George said, "I think you've drilled it into our frail old skulls by now,"
"Of course, sometimes when those two have been working I find he smells a bit like peanuts and vanilla," Grandma Georgina continued, "I like vanilla nut cake with green icing!"
"That does sound good," Sarah said.
"We don't have nay cake right now," Mrs. Bucket said, "but I do have a package of Wonka's Strawberry Fudge-filled Scones. Would anyone like some?"
"That sounds lovely," Grandpa Joe said.
So, they helped themselves to some scones and tea, carrying on a lovely evening, the Oompa-Loompa security force several meters away, keeping a close eye on the new guest.
Author's Note: Grandma Georgina reminds me of myself… o.O
