A/N: I am so so sorry. University work has piled on top of me. Thank you all for being so patient. I will not give up on this story but it will take time for me to get it out in little pieces. Like this one. Yay!
Not that it was possible to tell on the inside of Mr Wonka's spectacular factory but by now it was early evening. The once dishevelled pile of mechanical clutter was beginning to look more like a machine in progress. Oompa Loompas wandered back and forth carrying boxes of nuts, bolts, springs and strange contrivances that seemed to have the sole purpose of flashing blue for no explicable reason.
Constable Crane fumbled inexpertly with a device we commonly know as the screwdriver – something he'd not been acquainted with up until today. As a rule, practical gadgets of all shapes and sizes fascinated Ichabod but it didn't stop him cringing at the thought of something like this in the hands of an enraged Mr Rainey. It also did nothing to prevent his clumsiness.
"Elegantly done, Mr Crane," Jack smirked as another screw slipped from the constable's fingers.
Ichabod paused, sighed, and turned his flatteringly chocolate-smeared face to the pirate. Jack was fanning smoke away from a dazed Edward.
"I'm trying to think of a way in which you could be less useful," said Crane.
"You should watch that lip of yours, mate. I'll 'ave you know I'm busy tendin' to the wounded 'ere."
"Can't say I didn't warn him," William called from the other side of the machine. "I told ya not to go pokin' around in all the wires and such with hands like yours, Mr Edward. Didn't anyone ever warn ya about not stickin' metal things in plug sockets?"
Edward coughed meekly. Sparks crackled in his hair.
"Apparently not," Jack answered for him.
"He was only trying to help," said Ichabod. "Which is more than I can say for Mr Sparrow."
"See these?" asked the pirate, holding up his dirty, roguish palms. "These are a sailor's 'ands. You can't go ruining 'em with something as slight as science."
Ichabod repositioned the screw and twisted it into place.
"It can't do you much harm opposed to the usual work of your hands. Pick enough pockets and you'll probably be lucky enough to have them chopped off." He moved to pick up a section of the machine's outer shell and struggled to lock it into place.
Jack got up and shoved the casing roughly until it clicked. His mood had shifted to annoyance.
"Do we 'ave a problem, Mr Crane?"
By the look of it, Ichabod wasn't planning on backing down either.
"Assuming you are aware we're both trapped in a world we know very little about, I'd say that constitutes as a problem, wouldn't you?"
Sparrow stepped up to Crane with a threatening air.
"You well know what I mean, constable. Are we treading on ground that leads to spilt blood? Now me, I don't care for fighting, but can I really trust to turn my back on you? Or shall we sort this out right 'ere?"
He placed a hand on the constable's shoulder with a crushing grip. Ichabod grimaced but more from disgust than pain.
Mort swore under his breath, breaking the tension.
"Would you two just get a damn room?"
The near combatants broke away. Ichabod turned to walk behind the machine, deciding to ask further instruction from the chocolatier.
"Eunuch," Jack muttered.
Inside the constable's mind was a big metaphor. The metaphor contained a herd of camels. At that moment, every single camel was loaded with one straw too many. Ichabod spun, pistol whipped from his belt and aimed shakily at Jack.
"I am NOT a -."
The whole room flooded suddenly with flashing red lights. A siren blared.
"Er…what's going on?" the pirate asked loudly, because someone had to.
Mr Wonka stepped out from behind his invention, paying little attention to the fact Ichabod was still holding up a gun.
"Beats me. Doesn't sound good though, does it?"
He laughed nervously before shrieking out a tongue-waggled cry. A group of Oompa Loompas bustled up from another manhole hidden in the sugar grass. They squeaked at William and made a display of childishly rude noises, which he repeated a few times as if to clarify.
"Whangdoodles!" he cried.
"What?" spluttered Crane, lowering his pistol. "What's happened?"
"Why don't people listen?" Wonka grumbled. "Whangdoodles, I said, darnit!"
Jack scratched his bandanna.
"I'm with Bodders on that one," he said. "What?"
Mr Wonka could barely stand still for worrying.
"When Mr Rainey sabotaged my elevator it crashed on a ledge near my Fudge Mountain. It just so happens there was a collapsed mining tunnel through to Loompaland around there. The elevator shifted the landslide and now the sweet smell of my factory's attracted half the Whangdoodles in the country. They're invading! Oh merciful heavens, we gotta do something before they eat all my workers!"
Jack drew his cutlass.
"Well I dunno what in hell they are but I says we go and find out." He grinned.
"I thought you didn't like fighting," said Ichabod.
"Aye, but perhaps it'll be more fun than standing around 'ere shouting at you. Although I do find it comparatively amusing."
Edward mumbled something through somewhat singed lips.
"What?" Wonka wondered.
"Sounded like 'ammunitions'," Crane interpreted.
William snapped his fingers.
"Bingo! By golly that boy's got some grey matter. I clean forgot I put my squad on standby. All right folks, let's get to battle stations, heehee!"
Mr Wonka hurried off towards the chocolate waterfall.
"Where are we going?" Ichabod called after him.
"To my elevator of course. Hurry up!"
They began to follow. Jack halted.
"What about Mister Shiny?" he asked, indicating the foil-wrapped Mort.
"Let him out," bellowed the chocolatier. "We're gonna need all the weapons we can get."
Wordlessly, the pirate and the constable slit the writer loose from his bonds and walked after Edward and Mort. They exchanged a glance of unresolved rivalry but held their tongues.
As the distinguished characters all vanished over the toffee rockeries, the Chocolate Room slipped into quietude once more and all that could be heard was the happy chomping of a grazing horse.
