XIV.

Vanellope did hail the group
assembled: "Greetings, fellow racers!"—
she brightly said.—Choosing to
ignore their scowls, she forged ahead:
"Rancis, Taffyta, Candlehead,
you're looking well. I see that you've
all come, the competition to
check out—well, here it is! Feast eyes
upon the 'Likkity-Split'—I built it
with my very own hands; the fastest
pedal-powered kart west of
the Whack-A-Mole!"

Now, reader, you must plain be told:
the other karts burned gasoline;
Van's homespun kart—bike with four wheels—
would pose no threat to finish first.
Ralph thought, "What strange fixation this!
She has no chance—why does she try?"

Brash Taffyta now spoke her piece:
"Vanellope, it is so 'you'.
But now hear this: you must withdraw,
you cannot race." "That's nonsense—
I have paid my fee—and I
will race without a doubt—you'll see."
"King Candy's ban applies to you:
No glitches race—is his command!"
"I am no glitch—that is the truth—
'pixelexia's' why I twitch like this."

Ralph had noticed, from the start,
the flick'ring that beset her form.
Of glitches, he had heard before;
and heard again, in the king's rant.
Such beings had mysterious place
in gaming's world; not often seen,
their ways unknown—nor understood.

Now Taffyta resumed attack:
"The rules are there, Vanellope,
to keep us safe. Let's say I'm you—"
and here she did sit in Van's kart,
and take the wheel—"and driving in this
strange small car; and actually feeling
cool for once: Then suddenly,
'Oh no! I'm glitching!'" And with this,
she feigned to glitch; she lost control;
she made a face; and then tore off
the steering wheel and growled at her:
"You're nothing but an accident
that without doubt will come to pass!
No, Van, you're out!"

"Hey, don't do that!" Van vainly cried.
But now the others did advance
upon her kart—and in the way
that children do—but not just them!—
they also 'glitched', and set about
to pound to pieces th'offending kart.
Van pleaded, "Stop! You're breaking it!
I just would race like all of you!"
Now Taffyta, the bully bold,
turned on Vanellope and told:
"You'll never race with us—you see,
you're just a glitch, and that is all
you'll ever be!" And with these words
she roughly shoved Vanellope
into the mud.

With this, Ralph lost his mind in rage—
he'd seen this film before, with him
in Van's place starring. Poorly as
she'd treated him, within his mind,
this took first place. Forgotten then
were thoughts of parley for the medal
with these kids. He leapt up, yelling:
"Leave hér alone, you rotten brats!",
and lumbered towards them quickly then
in stance of threat. Three times their size
stood he; and they did not require
much time to find their karts—start engines—
and depart in headlong haste.

The racers gone, our Ralph did turn
to see the forlorn pixie sat
next to her work—now merely parts.
Glancing up, she coldly said:
"What is it that you're looking at?"
"You're welcome—rotten little thief."
"I'm not a thief—I only borrowed
your dumb coin, so I could race.
I would return it you when I
had won that race." To Ralph, this put him
in three minds. First, the anger;
the treatment she had given him—
though he had lied, he had confessed
his fault: and yet, she still him mocked.
But something else took root as well:
she had no hope to win that race—
what strange pull could there be for her
to do a thing which had no hope?
'Twas clear that racing was a love
she'd give much for. And lastly, closest
to his home: she was an outcast,
shunned by all; not listened to,
but just ignored.

Anger ruled his stage for now:
"It was a medal—no mere coin."
"Medal, coin, whatever 'twas—
just go back to your own dumb game
and win another—leave me alone."
"I did not win it in my game."
"Then where?" "In 'Hero's Duty', 'twas."
At this the child laughed with mirth;
the homonym brought merriment.
"Hero's Doody? What a joke!"
Ralph growled, "It's not that type of stuff—"
but she was off: "I bet you have
to watch your step in such a game!
What was the medal given for?
The way you wiped? I hope that you
washed up real good 'pon handling that!
Oh wait! One more!" the pixie said:
"Why did the hero flush, pray tell?"
Ralph, nonplussed by this onslaught
scat'logical, simply frowned, said naught.
She pressed: "Come on, say 'why?'" He did.
"Because it was his doody!", and she
rolled upon the ground in tears.

"How dare you make such insult to
a noble game! I earned that medal,
fair and square—and I tell you,
you better win it back for me!"
"Well, unless you have a kart
upon your person, I can't help."
Ralph then did what naturally came
to him, when sore beset by ire:
he pounded stuff. Breaking candy
here and there, Van watched him—"What
a moron, he." Upon a hard round
ball he came—he pounded it—
she called to him: "Hey, genius, that's
a jawbreaker! They do not—" CRACK!
And there stood Ralph, still as a stone;
the jawbreaker was split in twain.
Vanellope's own jaw did drop—
"He did it—what the heck is this?"

Ralph, his angry passion spent,
sat stewing on a candy rock.
Van came close; now was intrigued.
"Enjoy your tantrum, little tot?"
"Leave me alone!" "Now hear me out:
You want that medal, do you not?
And I would race. Here is my offer:
Help me get a gas-powered kart,
and I shall race, and win, and so
return the medal—how's that sound?"
To Ralph this idea sounded fell.
"You want my help? The way you act?"
"The only thing you have to do
is break something—how hard is that?
Friend Ralph, come on—what do you say?"
"We are not friends!" He turned away.
He did not care to lightly aid
this irksome kid—no matter if
she seemed a victim, just like him.
But Van, her patience was intense—
kept wheedling: "Come on, pal—Ralph,
y'ol son-of-a-gun! My man, my main man,
buddy mine—" She held her arm out,
for to shake. He sat, not moving.
"My arm does tire—now do we have
a deal or not?" And then Ralph turned,
looked in her eyes. He thought, "What else
is there to do?" Reluctantly
he took her hand to shake, and growled,
"You better win!"
She beamed.