A/N: Here's the next one at last. Serious lack of time or will at the moment. Thank you again to all of you who have reviewed. The amount of reviews I keep getting, however, that ask for me to bring in new characters tells me that I need to reiterate that alas I only wish to write about the ones Ihave chosenthough I am highly flattered that people don't seem to worry that I would destroy their favourite characters! There was a longer explanation before about why I have chosen these specific Depp charries, but I suppose all you need to know is - sorry, it's because I'm not. But I do hope you enjoy this anyway, even if these darling buds of genius are not your favourite character.
Oh and a sincere apology to Timmie as I watched Sleepy Hollow last night and indeed you are right. He is from 1799, not 1899 as I thought and is of course an eighteenth century constable. I shall make amends when I can be bothered to re-edit the two chapters in whichI referred to him as a nineeteenth.
DFQ xxx
For all the good his sudden waves of confidence would do him, Constable Ichabod Crane didn't have a clue how to drive a bike. (1)The room watched him as he gingerly placed his hands on both handlebars and eyed them as if he were dabbling in alien technology. Mimicking the writer's actions, he twisted the handlebars very gently. His breath was snatched from him as the bike shot off out of control, taking him with it.
The companions who weren't participating observed from a safe distance with spectator binoculars – the fruit of a plant that had recently sprung up upon realising it was needed. It had only taken Mr Wonka a moment to explain that Jack was looking through the wrong end of his and to adjust Edward, since he wasn't even facing in the right direction.
Mort sniggered and drove slowly into the crowd of Oompa Loompas as they dodged the constable's high-speed zigzag. Luckily it wasn't long before Ichabod calmed down and worked out the controls for himself – much to Mr Rainey's dismay.
Ichabod snatched up his water pistol and steered towards Mort. The writer fumbled vainly with his own game weapon and bike. The constable aimed – but was intercepted by a group of Mort's Oompa Loompa teammates and was forced to turn around under a foamy onslaught.
Mort wasn't laughing for long. The opposing red team of the constable's rushed in from the side.
"Oh f-."
Mr Wonka clapped a hand over Edward's binoculars during Mr Rainey's outburst. Jack, however, was chortling away at the sight of the writer being soaked by a dozen little bikers.
Soon the whole hill was in chaos. Humans and Oompa Loompas zipped around, covered in a substance not unlike bubble bath. Mort and Ichabod pursued one another back and forth, circling, jetting the soda liquid in each other's ears and eyes in true anti-sportsmanship.
Eventually the battle was called off when Mr Rainey fell off his bike, which he insisted was only because he had the disadvantage of wearing a dressing gown. Ichabod helped the writer back onto his quad bike as the two Oompa Loompas who had not fought wheeled what looked like a giant fan onto the pitch.
Jack lowered his binoculars.
"What is that thing?" he wondered.
"HsawAknow Reird!" Mr Wonka cried, grinning.
"And in the King's English?"
"WonkaWash Drier!"
Mort frowned over at the soapy form of Ichabod beside him.
"Did he just say drier?"
The soap blob constableshrugged.
Mr Rainey winced and braced for impact as he watched a cackling Oompa Loompa press a switch on the side of the giant contraption.
But the 'fan' did not spin. Instead of turning, the great rotor blades began flapping like birds, sending out gentle ripples. To describe them was to speak of sonic waves slowed to a fraction of their normal speed, slithering over the grass and the awe-struck bikers. The dirt did not simply disintegrate, nor was it even washed. One second it was there, and the next, Mort and Ichabod were as clean as they had been before they'd arrived. Suffice to say neither of them had been sparkling, but all confectionary residues were removed.
The constable and the writer dismounted their bikes, unbuckled their water guns and headed back to the others; both stunned at the chocolatier's method of cleaning.
"Good heavens, Mr Wonka," said Crane. "It's no surprise to me how you get the funding for such a facility as this. Remarkable, truly remarkable."
Mort nodded in passive agreement but smirked as he added, "Good job Sparrow wasn't back there. He'd've vanished."
The reply was an obviously indignant: "Oi!"
Edward giggled.
"Well now that we're cleaned up, I should think it's time we all got back, mm?" Ichabod proposed. "I'm sure Mr Wonka will need time to alter the machine so that we all get back at exactly the moments we came out of, is that not so?"
William seemed to have frozen on the spot.
Jack waved a hand in front of the chocolatier's face but there was no response.
"What'sa matter with 'im?"
"He's having a flashback," the others said in unison.
The doppelgangers looked at each other suspiciously but decided to dismiss the moment.
"He's having a what?" the pirate asked, having escaped this infamous technique.
"A flashback," Mort answered. "It's when you remember something significant to you that happens in your life and you have to stop and think about it."
Jack wrinkled his nose.
"Sounds like a poetic way of tryin' to explain a memory."
"These ones last longer," Ichabod furthered. "They hold you in their grasp so you can't get away from them until they're done showing you more and more of what you are desperate to forget."
"Oh I see," said Jack. "Nope, never 'ad one. Not yet anyway. Men like me don't 'ave time to stop and think too 'ard about what they've done. Always got to keep on looking ahead, watch where I'm putting me feet, savvy?"
"I wonder what he's thinking," Crane whispered, his attention back to the fazed out Mr Wonka.
"None of your stories have finished," Mort's voice echoed in the chocolatier's mind. He was back there in the production zone of his factory. "Hell, Ed's here ain't even begun... you got a tragic life left to lead is all I can say."
"Mr Wonka?" Jack's voice cut through from what seemed like the distance.
William continued to stare blankly but responded, "Yah, you guys just go on ahead. I'll be over in a jiff."
The others exchanged glances and started off back towards the machine. Mr Wonka's cane whipped out and barred Mort's way but, eerily, he was still staring in another direction.
"Except you, Mr Rainey. I wanna word. This way." Mr Wonka tore his gaze away from the scene in his mind and he walked off a little way through a miniature orchard of candy trees.
Mort glanced over his shoulder as the rest of the company wandered out of sight then he pushed his spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose and followed after the chocolatier.
When he caught up, Mr Wonka was standing quietly with his back to him, seemingly watching the flow of the river as it curved out the other side of the orchard. Mort shuffled his feet awkwardly. It only took seconds for his nerves to turn to a defensive anger.
"Mr Wonka, what is this ab-?"
He was cut off as Mr Wonka suddenly spun around and pinned him against a tree with his cane. There could not have been too much force behind it as the tree itself was as thin as a maypole and fragile, but the look in Mr Wonka's eyes, quite unlike the dreamy glaze he'd had minutes before, held Mort in place. It was a dangerous look, a wild one, one that was even scaring the chocolatier himself, but he had to know…
"What happens to Edward?" William demanded.
"What?"
"You know what happens in his story," Mr Wonka hissed. "And you are gonna tell me…sir."
Mort Rainey opened and closed his mouth a few times, uncertain of what to say. He decided to do what was asked of him and told William, as quickly as he could manage, the story of Edward Scissorhands.
"But it doesn't matter now," Mort finished. "He can change it. We can all change our outcomes now, can't we?"
It seemed like an eternity that Mr Wonka met with the hopeful gaze of the writer. He knew that it was too risky for any of them to return with further knowledge about their tales than they'd started with, but he could also see that he couldn't let them know what he was going to have to do. If they were anything like Mr Rainey, they would fight to the ends of the Earth to keep their memory to alter their fates.
For one of the first times in his life, William had to make an adult decision.
"Course we can, Mr Rainey," he said, forcing a smile. He released Mort and ineptly patted his shoulder with the extreme tips of his fingers. "Let's scoot on back to the others then, skit scat!"
Mr Wonka pushed out a small laugh and ushered an uncomfortable Mr Rainey on his way. Staying a few paces behind, the chocolatier pulled out a handful of sweets – each one glassy and round like a marble. He looked at them sadly. They glittered back. He returned them to his pocket with a sigh and walked on.
(1) Apparently neither does the author of this fanfiction, having ridden only on thumb-operated quads.
