Within a half hour, Veruca had finished the bottle of Vodka Joel gave her and the effects were in full force, she was swinging side to side on the bar stool she sat on and began mumbling nonsense every once and a while. The little brute who always made her demands known as clear as possible was now more incomprehensible than a Glaswegian. Charlie had finished his second ale a long time ago and instead decided to focus his attention on deciphering what Veruca was complaining about, but he could not construe much apart from something about her Daddy and a prune. The alcohol she had consumed had also made the little brute more emotional, or at least more emotional than she typically was. During her incomprehensible rambling sessions, Veruca fluctuated between screaming and banging her fists on the counter out of frustration and anger and bouts of crying when violent venting methods were not enough to release the pain that had built up inside of her. While most people would not have thought twice of getting off the barstool, getting on up out of the bar and never turning back, Charlie could not turn his back on someone in need, especially not his fellow Golden Ticket winner. The Good Boy could not look at himself in the mirror if he left someone alone when they were at their lowest point, he had to be there at their side and do whatever he could to make sure they made it to the other side. However, this was easier said than done, and not because the little brute's personality made it difficult to care about her, but because her slurred speech made it near incomprehensible to understand what she needed help with. In fact, the clearest thing Veruca said that Charlie could understand was her repeated claim that her father daring to put restrictions on her life following their disastrous visit to Wonka's factory was somehow resulting in her being abused.
Such claims, in what, at the moment, Charlie interpreted as to be made in the misleading, out-of-touch glory Veruca was best known for, could best be summarized by the repeated statement she kept crying out amid actual tears of sorrow pouring out of her eyes, "I never got my other pony!"
Yet despite the pain alcohol put her through, Veruca kept on drinking from the bottle of Vodka until she finished the last drop. She let the bottle roll onto its side, without a care if it fell and shattered, and proclaimed for everyone at the bar to hear, "I'm bored now…going home!"
"Are you sure you're in the right condition to do that by yourself?" Charlie asked as he was already feeling tipsy after just two beers and Veruca had drank two bottles of hard liquor and who knows what else and how much before coming down here.
But, this kind of concern for her well-being did not sit well with Veruca, no one had the right to tell her how to live her life and she made this known, responding, "Agh, I can do what I waaan...!"
Charlie immediately swooped down and caught Veruca from falling to the floor, and then, emphasizing her inebriated state, said, "Ooh, got you. Look at you, you are literally legless."
Despite developing a high alcohol tolerance, even Veruca was not immune to the effects of inebriation. Simply watching her struggle to get off the bar stool was enough to set off Charlie's caregiving instincts, causing him to get stern and declare, "That's it, I can't let you leave alone, you're out of it. Where do you live? I'm taking you home."
"Check...driving...in clutch bag," Veruca drowsily mumbled as she tried pointing to her pink designer clutch purse.
"All right, let's have a gander," Charlie responded as he searched the brat's clutch purse for her driver's license.
Charlie found the pink card located in a pocket on the side of the clutch purse, next to a series of credit cards, and when he held it up to his eyes he noticed that her home address was here in the City of London. This would make it much easier to get her home as the longest the drive would take would be over half-an-hour. All that was left to do before departing the tavern was to pay, and so Charlie began calculating the cost of two ales and Veruca's Gimlets and bottles of liquor. Yet, since he felt it was wrong to take money from Veruca's purse, he started rummaging through his own wallet for two £50 banknotes. All the while, the bartender noticed him doing this and propping up Veruca at the same time.
Joel immediately gestured at Charlie to put his wallet away, telling him, "No, no, no, it's fine, you can leave, you're doing us all a service by taking her home."
"I can't leave without paying," Charlie replied in a very innocent sounding tone, similar to that of a good child being peer pressured into shoplifting.
Luckily, Joel assured him that he was insisting he did not have to pay, explaining, "It's alright, Daddy receives the bill, I'll just add your ales to the bill. Don't tell her this, but there are often additional 'service charges' on her bills because of how disruptive she gets. She's the only reason this establishment turns a profit, but eventually her imp-like behaviour becomes too much to handle and it disturbs the other clients."
Veruca's frivolous spending of money did not come as a surprise to Charlie, nor did the fact she or her father never caught on to the fact that Joel was overcharging her simply because he could. In fact, this encounter reminded Charlie of an important learning moment for him, the first time he ventured into the city after receiving his first paycheck from the master chocolatier a month following his 18th birthday. After growing up in crippling poverty, the moment Charlie received his first monthly paycheck of about £8,000, he went out and bought all the stuff he and his family could only dream of having when he was a child. And even though he nearly spent all his money on his family, including a new top hat for his mentor, Wonka sat him down afterwards and lectured him about his terrible money management skills and how he should not blow through his paycheck every month. In fact, the more Charlie remembered that talk, the more he came to believe Wonka invoked Veruca when he explained that spending your whole paycheck at once was unwise. It seemed to the Good Boy that Veruca's father never explained to her where money came from and that she would have to spend his money reasonably, but knowing what he knew about her, such a conversation would have been futile.
As the two former Golden Ticket winners stood on the sidewalk outside Fenston's, with Veruca leaning against Charlie while being held up by his embrace, Charlie hailed one of London's famous Black Cabs, a hackney carriage, and helped Veruca inside as the driver turned around, and asked, "Good evening lady and gent, where is it you wish to go?"
"I'm taking her back home, the address is on her driving license," Charlie told the driver as he stepped inside the vehicle and handed him the card.
The driver looked at the information on the eighth section, the category which listed a home address on British driver's licenses, and input the data into his GPS, and once he saw where their destination was, he replied, "Ah, Stourton, we're not that far, this shouldn't take too long."
The driver handed Charlie the driver's license back, got back on the road and drove towards their destination when all of a sudden Veruca got very agitated and began tossing and turning herself in the backseat, as well as nonsensically screaming, "Daddy, I want Turkey Twizzlers, now!"
"Don't scream, don't scream, we have some at home," Charlie whispered into her ear as he patted her forehead and simply lied to her as the breaded processed meat spirals she begged for were discontinued years ago, not so long after their tour of Wonka's factory, actually.
The drive to Veruca's home took about 15 minutes with all the traffic and throughout the drive all Charlie could think about was what could have transpired in his responsibility's life since the last time they had seen each other. It was Charlie's observation that she was still highly demanding and ungrateful, but at the same time she did seem to possess above-average intelligence; after all, it would take much intelligence to convince her parents to give her everything she desired, Charlie thought. Veruca was also very observant when she was not blacked-out, for as funny as her demand for Turkey Twizzlers were, those breaded staples of millions of British childhoods would have gone a long way in counteracting the high levels of alcohol coursing through her system. But now, instead of squeezing through a gate to get the squirrel she wanted, she could no longer do as much as half-asleep-stare at the passenger seat in front of her. Charlie meanwhile twirled his right index finger through her slinky curls as she lied semi-conscious on his chest, the ebb and flow of her breathing on Charlie's chest being the only thing keeping him from frantically screaming at the driver to redirect to a hospital. Once the driver reached Veruca's home, a high-end apartment complex on the banks of the River Thames, The Stourton Block as the large sign above the entrance proclaimed it to be, Charlie pulled out his wallet and handed the driver a £20 note and told him to keep the change as an apology for the commotion Veruca caused. That is not even mentioning the fact that Charlie's hands were not available to receive and count change at the moment as he now had to carry a limp Veruca all the way indoors. Thankfully, a doorman was present outside this late at night and he opened the door for Charlie, who gave him a nod thanking him, and Veruca, who the doorman rolled his eyes at once she passed him as this had not been the first time he had seen this scene of the brat being dragged home after a night out drinking played out before.