Vanellope was lying on a bright red and white bed with Christmas trees on it. Her eyes were closed, an arm was hanging off the bed, and she her mouth was hanging open, a bit of drool dripping off. She was snoring louder than a giant.
"Wakey, wakey, President Vanellope von Schweetz," a voice called out. Vanellope got up with a start and snapped her head over to the open door. Mr. Short was standing at the door, smirking. Vanellope looked down at her mouth and wiped the drool off his mouth. "Don't tell Rancis I sleep like this," She pleaded.
"You've been out for an hour," Mr. Short informed her. "Those wolves really did a number on you, from what I've heard." Memories started to flood Vanellope's mind of the wolf clawing and biting her, and she shuddered. It was then that she glanced down and noticed that her arm was in a caste.
"Tom patched you up," Mr. Short said. "You're lucky you survived those wolves. I'm impressed, especially for such a little girl like you."
Vanellope shuffled off the bed. "Don't call me little, little guy," She said, offended. "Where'd everybody go, anyways?"
Mr. Short shrugged. "Willow returned you to the workshop and told me to take care of you after those wolves attacked, and then she left with the other kids. Though one thing still bugs me."
"What is it?" Vanellope asked. Before Mr. Short could answer, Tom burst through the door next to Mr. Short. "Oh, you're awake," He said. "What do you want, Tom?" Vanellope asked, huffing. "Those other elves want to hear your story," He replied.
"But I just got up," Vanellope complained. "I'm afraid you have no choice," Tom answered, grinning. Reluctantly, Vanellope dragged herself to the door and followed Tom and Short out of the door and to the hallway.
The hallway was surprisingly long, about as long as a blue whale. Vanellope swore it took her a half hour to reach the end of the hallway, but finally, she reached the incredibly colossal workshop room.
The room was fantastically detailed. Red, white and green stripes decorated the snowflake-covered walls. The ceiling had a voluminous sled-shaped chandelier hanging from the top. The room was filled with elves and different sorts of toys and dolls. On the floor, there was a picture of a capacious pale full moon in the icy blue sky, and there was a picture of Santa flying towards it.
"Hey, you're stepping on the snowman," Tom scolded. Vanellope looked down and noticed that she was standing on the picture of a small snowman. "Sorry," She apologized and jumped off the snowman.
All of the elves were sitting around the room. Some were drinking beer or hot chocolate, others were playing with toys, and a few were wrapped up in red blankets, shivering in the cold. Vanellope recognized Billy and Pointy among the elves wrapped in blankets.
"What happened to them?" She asked Mr. Short. "They went out in the freezing cold to look for Willow and Wynter during the time of Fannar's blizzard," Mr. Short answered. "But it appears we underestimated the power of his cryokinesis sorcery, and these are the results."
"He cast another one an hour ago," Tom added. "Reindeer and elves were caught in the snowstorm. These few were lucky. The others have not returned."
"Oh no," Vanellope whispered in despair. "Rancis and Taffyta and the rest. They're all trapped in the ice regions with Fannar during those blizzards. They could be in serious danger. I have to go get them."
"You're not going anywhere in your condition, young lady," Mr. Short stated firmly. "You have no idea what it's like out there with Fannar, and the wolves, and...and..."
"And the frost-bites!" Tom added. Several of the elves shivered at the mention of frost-bites.
"What were a bunch of delicate kids like you doing out there anyways?" An elf asked. "Don't you dare call me delicate, pointy-hat," Vanellope warned. The elf shushed.
"Well, tell us already," Tom said. All the elves were facing Vanellope. Finally, the president sighed.
"It all started when one of my friends, Candlehead, entered your game to meet some new people," She explained. "But then Fannar unleashed some snowstorm and she got lost in the icy regions, and then me and some of the other racers came to find her. Willow and Wynter were guiding us."
"Only a few hours and those two have already gotten themselves lost again!" Tom complained. "Anyways," Vanellope continued, slightly irritated at Tom's interruption. "During our journey, Candlehead ran past us, and a pack of wolves attacked and I got hurt, and..."
"WHAT!?" Several of the elves shouted in disbelief. They started mumbling and whispering to themselves in awe and amazement. However, Vanellope misread what they were saying.
"Yeah, I know, I'm a terrible president," Vanellope moaned in despair. "I mean, If I can't even look after one racer, then what chance do I-"
"No, not that," Tom said. "The wolves."
"Yeah, what about them?" Vanellope asked, poking at her cast. "They attacked you?" Tom asked. "Oh course they did," Vanellope replied. "I thought you knew."
"I thought you crashed into a tree or something," Tom admitted. "I can't believe what those wolves did."
"What's unbelievable?" Vanellope asked. "They're wolves, they attack people, you of all people should know this." She crossed her arms and waited for a response.
"That's the point," Mr. Short said. "They don't attack people." At that, Vanellope stared at Mr. Short in confusion. "What are you talking about?" She asked.
Mr. Short shook his head in incredulity.
"Those wolves are usually friendly. A little stuck-up, but friendly nonetheless."
(Scene Transition)
Candlehead was lying in a large cave on the ground. She was still unconscious, and her skin was rather pale and icy. A blue blanket was covering her. She was shivering, and her breath fogged out of her mouth. A cup of hot chocolate was lying next to her, still warm.
Just at that moment, heavy footsteps echoed throughout the icy cave. Candlehead woke up, startled. She could see the shadow of a large man enter the cave. Her pupils shrank as she recognized it. It belonged to Fannar.
With a shriek, she got to her feet and turned to run, only to find herself facing her reflection in the wall. It was a dead end. The only escape route was being blocked by Fannar, who was still coming.
Finally, the footsteps stopped, and Candlehead could see a large man in the reflection standing behind her. Trembling, Candlehead turned back to find Fannar a few feet in front of her, breathing heavily.
His long nose was pointing down at her. His blue eyes pierced her soul. Candlehead started trembling uncontrollably and tears started dripping down her cheeks.
"P-Please, I beg of you..." She pleaded pathetically. Fannar, a cold sneer on his face, pulled out a large bag, similar in size to Santa's. He held it out in front of Candlehead and dropped it a few feet in front of her. Candlehead jumped in fear.
Fannar bent down and began to pull something out of the bag. Shivering, Candlehead struggled to see what he was pulling out. Soon, an object was visible, but Candlehead could not make out what it was.
Finally, Fannar yanked the object out of the bag. He did it so fast Candlehead could not see what it was.
A knife, she thought, and backed away in fear.
Finally, Fannar held the object out for her to see. Her eyes widened in shock, her jaw dropped, and her shoulders slumped in disbelief.
It was a plate of milk and cookies.
"Well?" Fannar spoke in a soft voice. "Aren't you going to eat? It's not getting any colder out here, is it?"