I've read the books and have seen both versions of the movie. However, I strongly favor the Wilder movie version, and haven't read the books in about ten years, so, this fic will be based upon Wilder's Wonka, as portrayed in the movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
Mr. Wonka wasn't a man to cater to threats. Frankly, he wasn't a man that paid much attention to threats. After all, he lived in a utopia of his own creation, and the more he expanded and created and concocted within the confines of his factory, the more he distanced himself from the vast majority of the human race, the less he remembered his own mortality- or, rather, susceptibility to threats.
Especially threats made by the parents of naughty little children who deserved what they got when they set foot in his factory.
I'll get you for this, Wonka!... I have a blueberry for a daughter...
Please. Mr. Wonka was a genius, a man ahead of his time, a music maker, dream dreamer, a man of visions! Besides. He'd had them all sign contracts about never speaking of what they saw to anyone... Of course, they really didn't stand to lose much of anything, when they'd already forfeited their rights to the life supply of chocolate...
Perhaps he should have taken into consideration that there were other ways to 'get someone', that didn't involve selling their ideas to other candy-companies...
And maybe he should have known that one didn't have to speak of the conditions of a factory, to warrant a full-blown NDHA examination, or that only a small tip-off would have the NTCA up in arms to investigate what an anonymous source had dubbed 'the tax-fraud of the century'.
Hindsight is, after all, 20/20.
It was, for these reasons, that Willy Wonka now found himself anxiously twisting the round top of his cane into the palm of his hands, his seemingly youthful, genial face drawn into a clear look of worry, and his kind, twinkling blue eyes trying unsuccessfully to read over the shoulders of the three men stalking around his factory, all of whom were busy jotting down notes on the clipboards as they shook their heads in distaste.
"Unacceptable," one muttered, viewing the length of the chocolate river as though he'd never seen anything more wrong in his entire career in the NDHA, the National Department of Health Administration.
"Unsanitary," the second NDHA official scowled, having forced his way into the inventing room, and spied Oompa Loompas quickly scurrying to hide the tell-tale signs of mud-caked shoes and musty, old coats, both of which had been known to frequent the recipes of Wonka Products.
The third man merely gave a dark, greedy laugh, as he surveyed a stack of papers, the financial records of Wonka Industries for the past fifteen years- a period of time in which Mr. Wonka had neglected to once pay his taxes. The NTCA (National Tax Collection Agency) agent would certainly get a promotion for this haul.
Mr. Wonka, whose glibe tongue had never failed him in the past, didn't know what to say. Oh, he tried, and once or twice a witty comment started to escape him, but his words always died out halfway to the end. Because this was the end, and no amount of wishful thinking or homespun magic or anything else was going to stop the flashing of those red pens against the paper laden clipboards.
He tried to defend his factory's uncommon set-up, tried to explain that the inventing room ingredients were heated up to such a high degree that all germs and nastiness was fried clean out of them- he even tried to explain why it was that he'd neglected his taxes all these years (funny story, really.. if you.. if you'd like to hear it...).
However, these men where the type of persons who had long since grown out of their imaginative, childish, and understanding sides. There was no room for sympathy in the NDHA, and certainly no room for caring in the NTCA.
"We're closing your factory," the first man said, thrusting a formal documentation of the act into Wonka's hands.
"Indefinitely," added the second man, sealing the iron gates with a dark, large lock and chains.
"And we're seizing all of your assets, as reimbursement to the government for back taxes owed," finished the third, and the second man calmly placed the key into this man's hand.
And so, for the first time in over fifteen years, the Chocolate Waterfall ceased to churn and mix the chocolate, the whirring and clunking machines of the inventing room cut off with a pitiful gasp of steam, all of the factory's records were removed from Mr. Wonka's private office, sealed in a manila envelope marked 'Classified', and the entire factory came to a standstill. The silence was chilling, frightening, and eerie, and Mr. Wonka felt it all the way down in his bones.
For the first time, Willy Wonka was staring at his factory from outside the gates. Only, there was no comforting smoke rising out of the tall, cylindrical chimneys, no warm, peaceful smell of sweets in the wind, and no Mr. Wonka working busily within the factory with his beloved Oompa Loompas.
There was only a sad and defeated little man locked out, holding a cane in one hand, a small suitcase in his other, his top hat seeming to droop right along with his purple-coat clad shoulders, surrounded by an indeterminable amount of small, orange skinned, green haired folks, most of whom were sniffling quietly to themselves instead of singing, all gathered around their boss and most incredible candy-maker of all time, not one knowing what was to become of them.
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Done it again. The second start of a Wonka Fic in the last 24 hours. Ah well!
This seems a little darker than I intended it- I hope the humor isn't lost for most of you.
I can't promise daily updates, or even weekly- please keep in mind it has about four other fics to contend with, and while that may seem like a poor excuse to you, the readers, I'm only trying to be honest.
Review, Review, if you liked what you read so far.
-Zangai