A/N: (Cries) I have an upload addiction. This chapter makes you guys catch up with halfway through what I've written. I may post daily or every two days, but so long as you all accept that (so long as you're not fed up by then) they won't be updated very often when it finally catches up. Thank you so much for your fantastic reviews, it makes me feel so good especially knowing that this is just for a laugh and by no means decent writing in a lot of places...oh god I sound like I'm standing on an Academy Award podium...get off the stage woman! (Ahem) anyways, please do continue to R&R. If you haven't reviewed, please start doing so and I'll endeavour to read as much as I can of other people's works, if you do a signed review so I can click on the linky thing :) Have more mayhe- (coughs) fun with the boys! P.S, does anyone know why asterisks won't work in these darn introductions?
At the near side of the chocolate river, something stirred among the strawberry bootlace reeds. It groaned inaudibly, its movements drowned out by the mild din of people chattering. A hand, traced with dribbles of steaming hot liquid, grasped the jutting edge of a rock that was ironically made out of the candy with the same name.
With the strength of that one arm, a body was hauled onto the top of the bank, half caked in oozing chocolate. It breathed, for it was alive and human, heavily. The scent of the river and the sickly-sweetness of the room were disorientating.
The last mistake of Mr Wonka's lollipop gazed through dripping spectacles at the cluster of characters seated not many yards away.
"So how might we return from whence we came?" Ichabod was asking. "Can the effects be reversed?"
"I have no idea," said William. "There's absolutely no way I could even think about sending you all back until the machine is fixed."
"Machine?"
"Yeah, that great big hunk of debris over thataways. The candy's useless without it. You can't go messin' with lay lines without some sort of a harness. You never know where you might get sucked into."
Ichabod scowled.
"Another dimension perhaps?"
Mr Wonka gave another of his nervous giggles.
"Can this machine be fixed?" Crane demanded.
"Sure, but we're gonna need some time." William noted that every word he was saying seemed to be making the constable more agitated. "How come you're in so much of a hurry to get back, Mr Crane? Was something really fantastic going on in your world when you were pulled out?"
Ichabod's brow creased as he tried to remember what he had been doing before he arrived here. The vague memory of his heart racing, the thundering of hooves, twisted tree trunks struck with bluish-white from the lightning storm overhead. Something was gaining on him.
"Mr Crane?"
The constable snapped out of his daydream, unable to stop himself from blurting out, "Absolutely, we should remain here. No danger of overstaying our welcome, haha."
Mr Wonka raised an eyebrow and exchanged glances with Edward. Then he dropped the lollipop back into his hat, which he returned to its rightful place atop his rather feminine head of hair.
"Hello?"
At the sound of the gravelly voice, the three on the path turned to see a dishevelled man with straggly, blond hair. He was coated from the knees downwards in a thick layer of runny chocolate. He also appeared to be wearing a dressing gown. The man squinted through his glasses at them, and swore.
"Hey!" William protested. "You shouldn't say things like that. I mean really. If an Oompa Loompa heard you he'd wash your mouth right out. Like, the other day I heard one of the younger ones, probably that kid with the hosepipe, and he said the word f-."
"Thank you, Mr Wonka, I think your point has been made quite clear," Ichabod interrupted.
The arrival moved closer to them, hindered somewhat by a slight limp.
"Did you just say Mr Wonka?"
"Uh huh," the man in question replied. "That's me. Chocolatier extraordinaire. Have ya heard of me?"
The stranger seated himself within the circle, his eyes fixed upon William as if any moment he might disappear.
"You might say that. You're only a world-famous children's story."
Mr Wonka pouted.
"I am so not a story. Could a story do this?" He stuck his tongue out and pressed his thumbs into his cheeks.
"I'm so sorry," Ichabod sighed. "It seems we've all been victims of a botched experiment by a man with the emotional maturity of an estranged infant."
The stranger wrinkled his nose as he examined the man who was now speaking to him. He had noticed the facial features were almost identical to his own, and he was looking increasingly perturbed.
"And who are you?" he asked the constable.
"Me? I am Constable Crane. I believe that is enough information to suffice."
The blond-haired man continued to stare.
"Not Ichabod Crane?"
Ichabod narrowed his eyes.
"How did you-?"
"You're from one of the first American fairy tales, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. All gets solved by a guy called Constable Ichabod Crane." The stranger paused before adding, "He was meant to be really ugly."
"That's absurd," said Crane. "Arrogant rumours. I'm merely working to discover the truth behind an elaborate ghost hoax. Fairy tale indeed."
"Is that so?" replied the stranger. "No sign of any headless horsemen then?"
Ichabod turned white.
The tip of Mr Wonka's cane whipped out to rap the un-addressed man in the chest.
"I think it's about time you told us who you are, mister."
"I'm not finished," said the man. "But I don't think you need to tell me who the other two are." He indicated Edward and the pirate. "More stories. Scissorhands, and the one you got tied up there is Jack Sparrow."
"That's Captain Jack Sparrow."
Jack sat up and winced. He squinted at the blond-haired man.
"Bloody hell, not another one." After glancing from Mr Wonka to the stranger, he continued. "I take back what I said before. This one's got the worst hair."
"You know him too?" Edward wondered timidly.
The stranger nodded.
"He's a Disney character generated from an amusement park ride."
"I'm a what from a whatting what?"
Mr Wonka's cane gave another sharp rap.
"Name?" the chocolatier insisted.
"Morton," the man said finally. "Morton Rainey."
The cane withdrew slowly without a word from its owner.
"Great," Jack piped up. "Now that we're all amiable and such, how's about loosening these bonds a bit?"
Seeing that everyone else had chosen to ignore the pirate's plea, Ichabod opted to question further.
"Very well, Mr Rainey, what may I ask is your current line of employment?" He looked the unkempt man up and down. "If in fact you have one."
"I'm a writer."
"I see, and I suppose the reason you claim to know us all is that you have read books about people of the same names?"
"You can say that," Mort answered with a thin smile. "Or you could accept that none of you are real and you're all figments of my imagination. I probably fell asleep on the couch again."
Jack sniggered.
"Denial's already overused, mate. You'll 'ave to do better than that."
"What kind of books do you write?" Ichabod pressed, frowning.
"Thrillers, mainly," said Mr Rainey. "Usually dark in tone, ones that make you think, you know? Only problem with those is the endings have gotta be perfect."
"Ah, so nothing verging on the occult realms then? Not feeling dissatisfied that your stories are not, as it were, of the flesh? Desperate men may call upon any number of forces to – agh!"
Ichabod bit his lip at the pain in his kneecap where the chocolatier's cane had struck.
"Wonderful to see we're all getting along so well!" William cried. "I think it's about time Mr Crane and I set to work fixing my machine, 'kay? Edward, you can stay here and make sure Mr Sparrow keeps outta trouble and, Mr Rainey, you can do anything you like… 'kay?"
He hurried to his feet, tapping and prodding the constable into moving with him. Once on the other side of the sugar-frosted hill, Mr Wonka pulled Ichabod behind the remnants of the multi-dimensional candy machine, out of sight from the others' puzzled faces.
"What do you think you're doing?" they hissed in unison.
"I," Crane retorted."Was trying to get to the bottom of this whole spectacle. If a man is able to claim that I am nothing other than a work of fiction, I have reason to believe he is not sound of mind-."
"You can say that again."
"Quite. Therefore it's entirely possible that we were not brought here by coincidence, but for some twisted purpose as yet unknown. And our dear Mr Rainey is most likely behind it!"
"No you moron," Mr Wonka snapped, his voice low. "I meant that Mr Rainey really isn't sound of mind. He's totally cuckoo. He's loco. He's a screwball. He's nuttier than one of my Nutty Crunch Surprises that accidentally fell in the nut vendor. He's-." He stopped, noting the unimpressed gaze of the constable. "Don't make me use my cue cards here. This guy is bad news with a capital BN."
Crane raised an eyebrow.
"Go on," he said.
"I already told you how you all got here. That was my fault and I'm gonna sort it out ay-sap, but right now we have a pretty big problem. Trust me when I say we have to keep our newest friend as happy as we can."
"Oh? And why's that?"
"Because, my dear sir, what he doesn't know is that while we are stories in his world, he is in actual fact a story himself in mine."
Ichabod's tense posture wilted. He sat on a patch of grass that was free of stray metal shards. Mr Wonka crouched to his level.
"So you have read about this man?" Crane asked.
"Not for myself, no. However, one of my workers last year was stationed in the Television Room. Television - that's a little box that shows you pictures, our time's way of showing books if you're too lazy to bother with words. Made a lot of storytellers redundant.
Anyways, it was late one night he came running out of there, the poor little fella was frightened to death. He said there'd been a really scary movie - a story, playing and he'd sat through the whole thing. He had to sleep with the light on for the next two weeks. Apparently the guy who pretended to be the main character in order to tell this story looked a fair bit like me. I don't think that Oompa Loompa will ever get over it completely."
"The main character, he was-?"
"Mr Rainey? Yeah."
Ichabod clasped his hands and pressed his lips to his thumbs.
"Tell me what happened."
