A/N: Response time!
Gs33022, you have good eyes! Violet's thought about sticking her gum on a Wonkavator button was indeed the book reference! (I also added a mention of Oompa-Loompas wearing gloves as part of the reference, since Violet in the book said that she loved the rackets that women who were wearing expensive gloves kicked up.) Regarding Charlie's appearance, a certain wait is finally over. He is indeed the fifth character I mentioned trying to add to the fic's description. While not in this chapter, he is about to become far more significant.
This isn't a response, but I have a general Author's Note, too. That little bit about Forsyth, Montana in the previous chapter falls under the "Write What You Know" trope. My great-grandfather, who is now gone, actually lived in Forsyth. I remember heading to his house to visit (from out of state; I don't live in Montana and never have) several times as a little kid, and yes, the town really is that small and out-of-the-way. It's not on the scale of everybody literally knowing everybody else, but lots of the downtown parts are consolidated, so it's pretty close. The most accurate way I can describe it visually is that it looks like you've time-traveled to the 1960s. (Given that it actually WAS the 1960s in the chapter's pseudo-flashback, I can imagine that not much of the infrastructure changed between now and then.) To get there traveling west, you have to cut through the much larger Miles City, among a few other cities. (To give everyone an idea of the size and remoteness, one time before I was born, Great-Grandpa had a heart attack and had to be airlifted to a hospital in Miles City, the drive time of which would have been fatal. It was the closest place that could treat him; Forsyth had nothing. He made a full recovery from the emergency and got to go home, fortunately.) I have been back to Forsyth (and, by extension, Miles City) at least once since his passing, so I have personal knowledge of what both places are like.
When Violet arrived back at the lodging, she was surprised to discover Mr. Wonka sitting upright on the sofa inside the sitting room. Cautiously, she gave him a small wave and continued walking before he stopped her, right as she was almost past the coffee table.
"Violet," he piped up suddenly, not moving from the sofa, "we need to talk."
Violet was startled. She looked at him in a sort of confused stare, but she was also quite nervous. After all, Mr. Wonka had just used the same tone of voice that he had when she had bothered him in his office to ask for money earlier in the week. "What for?"
Mr. Wonka patted the spot beside him on the sofa. "Just sit down."
Tensely, Violet walked very slowly around the coffee table and towards the spot that Mr. Wonka had indicated on the sofa. She was visibly nervous as she sat down, fearing a lecture.
"Violet, a little birdie told me that you may be having a discipline issue." He was as stern as anything, almost in the manner of a strict but calm headmaster.
"Discipline?" Where could he possibly be going with this?
Mr. Wonka took a moment to collect himself. "Well, it appears that you apparently have been having trouble at school. I think that now is an appropriate time to discuss this."
Violet's heart jumped. "Wh-What do you mean?"
"I'm talking about school conduct. You got punished yesterday, didn't you?"
Violet narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "Now, what would you know about that?" she snapped. For about two seconds after this, her jaws were perfectly still.
"I admit it," Mr. Wonka went on, "Rungdin was the 'little birdie'. While you were out and about in town today, he came to me in the Inventing Room while I was fixing a machine. He came in there to let me know that you had headed out, but he also reported something very concerning. He said that he had spotted a red mark on your left hand while the two of you were in the Wonkavator. Now, normally, I pay no mind to these things, as they are usually pressure marks of some sort, but Rungdin told me specifically that this mark was a double line with tick marks between them."
"Oh, that was nothing!" Violet replied quickly. "I was pushing to get through the hallway between classes sometime yesterday, and I accidentally rammed my hand into a drinking fountain."
Mr. Wonka remained calm, even though in his head, he was not. "Don't make up lies, Violet. As hard as it may seem to believe, I was a pupil once. I saw my fair share of classmates getting theirs. Trust me, I know a caning welt when I hear about one."
Violet looked toward where the Wonkavator would be parked, attempting to shoot Rungdin a dangerously angry look. To her dismay, however, he and the Wonkavator were long gone.
"Could I see your hand, please?" Mr. Wonka requested, holding out his own. Fearing more trouble if she refused, Violet complied. The mark was starting to heal, but its shape was unmistakable.
"How did this happen?" Mr. Wonka asked, looking at the mark. Lifting his head to give Violet some eye contact, he added, "And please don't lie to me."
Violet sighed audibly. "Somebody told on me because I was chewing gum in class. I denied it, but the teacher saw it distinctly and told me to get rid of it. The next thing I knew, I was at her desk and receiving a few blows. I replaced the gum in a later period, though."
"I see. Violet, you know that school policies don't allow that."
"Yeah, I know. It's just that I never got caught."
"Would you mind telling me how many strikes you were given?"
"Four. I don't know why I was, if it was so minor."
"I suspect that it also had to do with denying that you had the gum. Administration also doesn't tolerate that, or sassy attitudes."
Violet was silent.
"You have been enrolled for just barely over a week," Mr. Wonka continued. "For everyone who was present, this is now their first impression of you. I hate to be so blunt, but they now have you imprinted in their minds as the snob who disregards school policies willingly. Do you want that?"
Violet gave her head a quick shake. "No."
"I thought not. In any case, Violet, this is unacceptable. Let the incident serve as a sort of lesson. I will let you off this time as a learning experience, but if I find out about something like this again, I will be sending a letter home about it."
"I don't think that my parents will do anything," Violet scoffed, rolling her eyes. She had gotten notes home about chewing gum in class in the past, but her parents hardly had done a thing because they thought that it was just a nervous phase, ditto for the attitude.
"I would have to see for myself. Hopefully, it won't come to that."
"How did that snit know to report that mark, anyway?"
"Don't call Rungdin a snit, Violet," Mr. Wonka warned. "Back in Loompaland, the Oompa-Loompas lived in family clans in trees, normally with three generations in the same hut. I actually have a village set up in the factory to mimic the environment as closely as it can, and the family clans are still intact. Anyway, getting back on track, the men wore only deerskins slung over one shoulder, and the women wore leaves over their abdomens and clavicles. They still do wear them in the factory's Oompa-Loompa village, as there is no factory equipment that would deem extra bodily protection necessary. Whenever a child misbehaved severely, the father or grandfather, whichever of the two happened to be home to witness the antic, would take off the deerskin and grip one edge of it. Then, he would use the edge gripped to give the child one quick swat across the calves before dressing himself again. If there were no men in the household—for example, if there were two adult sisters who had adopted—there was still a deerskin kept in the hut for disciplinary purposes. Normally, the swat that the misbehaving child received would not leave even a mark, but on rare occasions, there would be a tiny little spot that could be identified because of its darker orange tone. When Rungdin saw what you had on your hand, it reminded him of the little calf spot that naughty children got occasionally, so he thought to ask if our realm had something similar. Sure enough, it does, and now consider the fact that it happened to be an official warning. If you will have to give up gum for seven hours on five days of the week, so be it."
Violet glared at Mr. Wonka. "I don't want to get rid of my gum for that long."
Rather than arguing, Mr. Wonka chose to pretend that he didn't hear her. "Another thing that will need to be fixed is your attitude. It makes all the difference when interacting with people. If you keep it up, you're going to be turning into a blueberry for the rest of your life. If I'm not mistaken, your folks told me that only getting somebody you like to like you back—which, to me, sounds very symbolic of improving oneself—will get rid of your curse."
"That's not all," Violet said quickly. "Whoever it is also has to kiss me. I'm getting a hunch that that witch just figured the task to be impossible to accomplish and hence picked it. Would you want to hang out with someone you knew had a problem like that? My sources say no."
Oh, boy, Mr. Wonka thought silently, does this girl REALLY have a severe pride streak going on? When he finally spoke in a few seconds, he managed to hide all traces of this thought. "Well, in any case, I'm sure you don't want the affliction to remain. There is no way, regardless of the circumstances, that you will be able to get around having to better yourself."
Violet realized just how right he was. She certainly did not enjoy having to go through the inflations and deflations twice a day, but just the same, she didn't see what exactly needed to change. Mr. Wonka was giving her an expectant look, though, so she gave him a meaningless, silent nod.
"Good. I'm glad we had this conversation," Mr. Wonka got up and headed towards the Wonkavator's loading area, pressing the button for the device to come. Violet watched silently as he got into the contraption a moment later and disappeared.
Violet, not really having much imprinted in her mind from the lecture, walked over to her bedroom, approached the desk where her typewriter was positioned, and got started on a paper that had been assigned for homework. She paid no more mind to what Mr. Wonka had told her.
Mr. Wonka never brought up the incident again for the rest of the weekend. All he could hope was that Violet would land into no more severe issues anytime soon.
