I'm so sorry for the extremely late chapter! I had a change in my schedule along with the start of a new semester, so in between school and volunteering I had almost no time to myself these past months.
Thank you sooo much to those of you that took the time to review the previous chapters! I was left smiling and grinning for days on end because I couldn't stop thinking about those amazing, wonderful comments. They made me so "gosh-darned" happy! Eeek!
It's been a while since I've written Wonka, so I hope he hasn't turned out too differently from how I'd originally started. I may have accidentally mixed up 2005!Wonka with the book!Wonka at certain points, but in my defence, the Willy Wonka in my head has always been a sort of healthy mix of the two ^^
Dinner at the Buckets with Willy Wonka was a peculiar affair that night.
The chocolatier greeted Charlie's parents and grandparents with the same familiar enthusiasm, like all other evenings. The food was delicious, and everyone at the table was enjoying it immensely.
Yet, as Charlie carefully watched Mr. Wonka out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that something about today's dinner most definitely was off—and the boy would bet all of his weekly allowance that it had something to do with the information the Oompa-Loompa had brought earlier.
It was not the relative silence coming from the man, who'd always been politely reserved and kept mostly to himself at gatherings such as these. No, it was the almost mechanical way Mr. Wonka handled every situation one could possibly encounter during suppertime. It was as if he was on autopilot, letting his wide, plastic smile and dazzling white teeth do all the social work. He sawed through his meal with bizarre, robotic precision, yet somehow managing to appear like he wasn't quite present while doing so. Once, he even stabbed a bit of potato with the wrong utensil and didn't seem to take notice of people's stares as he brought it to his mouth.
"Everything all right, Willy?" asked Mrs. Bucket kindly. "Is the food not to your liking?"
"Nonsense, Mrs. Bucket!" Mr. Wonka swivelled around to face her with that award-winning smile. "Your cooking is as exquisite as ever."
Mrs. Bucket glowed at the praise, but Charlie was too busy noticing the very faint but still visible twitch in the man's dimples from this new angle. While his family may have remained blissfully oblivious, Charlie had come to learn some (not all) of the most subtle signs in Mr. Wonka's expressions that distinguished his moods. For example, the smallest shift in a smile could signify a drastic switch from happiness to grief. Wonka could be laughing but Charlie could see when the mirth, while lighting up his whole face, was devoid in his eyes.
However, if there was one thing that stayed a constant in Charlie's observations, was that Wonka only reacted to things that seemed obvious. Whether he was simply oblivious to the slighter changes in atmosphere or blatantly ignoring them, the chocolatier would mostly respond to social cues that were laid out in plain sight and not woven between the subtext. Thus, the most baffling part of this whole evening so far was that Charlie could not for the life of him figure out just exactly what was bothering the man. They had shared plenty of dinners beforehand, and there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about this one that would cause such a change.
He tried to think of possible things the Oompa-Loompa could have said earlier, and if it would be enough to affect Wonka this much. Just what sort of news could induce such a lack of expression in—
Oh, there it was.
Charlie blinked at Wonka again, who was suddenly back to his calm and jovial self. It was as if the past forty minutes of autopiloting never even happened. Had Charlie not been observing like a hawk this whole time, he would have been completely fooled. No small measure of satisfaction was felt at being one step ahead of someone who possessed frighteningly remarkable acting skills. Unfortunately, seeing Wonka act perfectly normal did nothing to soothe his nerves. In fact, it only confirmed his suspicions that something was indeed, spectacularly wrong.
"Quite the busy day at the factory," Mr. Bucket was saying. "Five engines busted within the first two hours—they really ought to upgrade those transmissions, what with candy business booming and all." He threw a knowing, playful look at Wonka. "I swear, it feels like the people are buying toothpaste by the bulk these days."
"Surely Mr. Wonka can invent some new candy that won't give children any cavities," Grandpa Joe said. "Isn't that right?"
"Why of course!" Wonka answered cheerfully. "Actually, you'll be surprised at how many candies I've put out there that are cavity-free. And yet teeth are still rotting left, right, and centre."
"Why do you think that is?" asked Mr. Bucket.
"Oh, it can be a many different array of things," Wonka said, "and all of which, ultimately, is none of my beeswax."
"But you're a candy maker!" Grandpa George grumbled as Grandpa Joe attempted to speak. "Candies cause cavities!"
"A candy maker makes candy," Wonka explained. "The cavities are a choice made by the children."
"Children don't choose to get cavities," Grandpa George said, snorting. "What sort of fool would simply go and say, 'by golly, what I wouldn't do for a rotten tooth'?"
"It is very much their choice, and theirs alone," Mr. Wonka said calmly. "Cavities can be prevented entirely if the teeth owners just took the initiative to do so. Unfortunately, my dear sir, responsibility is a much-detested detail in life that is often overshadowed by negligence and apathy, characteristics found in all repulsive boys and girls who are too lazy to brush their teeth every night and day."
Grandpa George harrumphed but fell silent, and everyone returned to their meal for another few minutes. Charlie, however, suddenly lost all appetite for the delicious roast chicken and corned beef on his plate. It wasn't even so much the fact that Wonka's last ramble was spoken as if reciting something he'd spent a great deal of time committing to memory, without caring much for the actual meaning the words entailed.
No, that wasn't it; Charlie focussed intently on Wonka who'd returned to his machine-like state, but this time with an odd stiffness to his face, as if suddenly he was extremely uncomfortable with himself, or perhaps from sitting with the Buckets round the same table for so long. Whatever it was, the man was making a great deal in pretending to eat while not actually doing so, rearranging his food in just the right way to fool the casual onlooker.
While Charlie was one of those onlookers, he certainly wasn't doing it casually. There were now a dozen questions sitting on his tongue that itched to be asked, but he simply couldn't do it here with the rest of his family.
He pushed his own peas around for a bit, wondering just how he was going to get through this one. No doubt the chocolatier would claim he was busy and leave as soon as the chance arose. Since Charlie's tour had ended early, he would not have a chance to talk to the man until tomorrow. That would put too much time in between now and their next conversation, which just wouldn't do.
Charlie thought long and hard, until everyone began to reach the bottom of their wine glasses and began to clear the table.
"Mr. Wonka," the boy said slowly, as Mrs. Bucket left the table to fill the sink. "About what you said before... I actually think I have a really good idea for a new candy we could test. I'd like to talk to you about it now, if you can."
Mr. Wonka's artificial calm dimmed very subtly as he processed this request. He inhaled through his open mouth in order to say something, but Charlie didn't let him. "I've been sitting on it for weeks, actually," he continued bravely. "It's sort of like—er, a party accessory. And I was thinking maybe, we could have it up for my birthday? Since it's coming up soon—it'd be really nice to see something of mine put up."
"Oh, Charlie, that's wonderful," gushed Mrs. Bucket, missing the way both mentor and apprentice drowned in uncomfortable tension that came from two entirely different sources. "I'm so happy to see you finally putting some thought into the day!"
He hated using the guilt card on Wonka like this. Normally, Charlie would have never used his birthday as an excuse to try and get something, for such an act was entirely too reminiscent of children like Veruca Salt. Charlie was nothing like her, and all the adults in the room knew it. Nonetheless, the boy stared openly with the most eager, innocently hopeful look he could muster. Wonka squirmed, obviously waging an internal battle as he stood frozen by his chair, already half-reaching for his cane.
But Mr. Wonka was a kind man, and while Charlie loathed taking advantage of his kindness, he also knew that this was perhaps the only thing that might get them even five minutes of privacy right this moment. Just now, it looked like the man had been ready to bolt the minute it was deemed socially acceptable. Despite the way his stomach sank at the blatant emotional manipulation he'd just pulled on his beloved friend, Charlie knew he'd won.
After seeming to struggle between a variety of different reactions, Mr. Wonka finally decided on a smile, strained as it may have been. "Sure thing, Charlie! We can talk about it in your new room."
After Charlie and his family moved in, Mr. Wonka had commissioned personal living quarters for each of the Buckets in the factory. Each room was bigger than the space in their house put together and was perfectly designed and tailored to suit every individual taste. Charlie smiled back, fighting against the sinking feeling in his gut.
"I'll uh, I'll meet you there then," said Wonka, straightening his hat and brushing off invisible dust from his sleeves. "I'm sure you have cleans to plate—I mean, plates to clean. Yeah. I'll just..." He giggled nervously, and then all but dived out of the door.
Charlie stopped himself from sighing just in time as Mrs. Bucket turned a concerned eye towards him. "Not even a single one of his usual good-byes," she remarked. "Poor fellow seems very stressed. You haven't been giving him a hard time, have you Charlie?"
"Of course not, mum," he answered, while thinking wryly, oh but you'd be surprised at what I just did two seconds ago, mother.
Mrs. Bucket smiled. "Don't worry, I know you haven't. Heaven knows what some parents would give for a well-mannered, non-clingy boy like you. Go on, I can take care of the table with your grandparents tonight."
"Thank you," Charlie said, trying to sound and look excited.
With wooden steps weighed with questions and their conflicting nature, he left for his new room.
I actually ended up cutting a chapter in half because the second half isn't written the way I wanted it, and I thought it'd be best if I posted this part first (before I end up going crazy haha)
Updates will most likely not be regular due to dumb things in life, so again I apologize in advance. Still, I would very much appreciate reviews! ^^