Willy Wonka FanFic Intro

I was just one of many people working in Wonka's factory- this is before we were all fired and replaced by Oompa-Loompas, of course.  I was in college, and I needed a steady job to help me pay my way through, and, well, it was a fun job and it paid well, so I took it.  Day after day, I'd come to this marvelous factory, put on my gloves, and get to work doing one of the simplest jobs, keeping the chocolate river clean.  If any stray blade of sugar-grass or if any human hair drifted into it- anything- it was my job to remove it.

It was easy work.  Most of my time was spent daydreaming.  The only real excitement I got was when something big fell in, like a coworker, and I had to phone in Wonka himself and let him know while I fished him/her out.

It was after I'd fished out my fourth coworker that Wonka called me to his office.  I was absolutely clueless as to what he'd summoned me for.  As far as I knew, I hadn't done anything wrong.  I went to the office, my stomach twisted in knots, and I played with my sweaty hands behind my back as I tried to smile calmly and confidently as I entered the room.

Willy Wonka was facing his desk, which faced away from the door.  He had his head down, and for just a silly little moment, I indulged in the private glee inspired by the whimsical curling of his golden-brown hair which stuck out at odd angles from beneath his brown top-hat.  I'd always adored his curls to the point of girlish infatuation.  I began to wonder, as always, how those curls felt- if they were soft or rough, how much they would bounce if I tugged them, thoughts like that- and then I began to wonder other things, such as whether or not he had the same whimsical golden hair curling on his arms, if his arms were tan or not, muscular or not, since I'd never seen them; he was always wearing that purple suit-jacket.  It was just as I began wondering what his chest hair looked like that Mr. Willy Wonka suddenly sensed my presence and turned around.

"Billie!" he said, arms wide in an exuberant Y-shape, fabric stretching taut across his mysterious chest, impish grin lighting his face, charming blue eyes sparkling.  I blushed.  "You summoned me, sir?"

"'Sir'?!  Don't you think that's a bit formal?  After all, you have been working for me for six months now.  And excellent work, too, I might add."  His grin widened.

I ducked my head, blush deepening.  "Thank you, sir."

"Wonka," he corrected.

"…Mr. Wonka."

He sighed impatiently, grin fading a bit.  "No- just Wonka.  Well, I have some good news and some bad news- which would you like first?"

"Umm…"  I really didn't know.  I was terrified what the bad news might be, and probably too anxious and excited to know what the good news might be.

"All right, bad news it is then!  Well," he said, spreading his hands wide and then clasping them together, "The bad news is, you've been replaced."

An icy rock settled in my stomach.  "…What's the good news?"

He smiled widely, eyes crinkling.  "You're being promoted!"

I could hardly believe my luck.  "Promoted?!" I repeated dumbly, not believing.

He nodded, giddy.  "Yes, as of now, you are my personal assistant."

I gaped.  "But… shouldn't that go to someone with… I don't know, more job experience or something?"

Wonka brushed the comment away like a pesky gnat.  "All the workers with more experience have made themselves indispensable.  They'll never be promoted- they're too good at what they're doing."

That did make some sense.  "But… why me?"

He leaned forward in his chair.  "Because, my dear," (my stomach clenched when he said 'my dear' and looked into my eyes) "-I have seen you daydreaming on the job, and I want to know what kind of ideas you have.  I want to know what's going on in that pretty head of yours, what you're thinking when you gaze dreamily into the chocolate river and let your imagination run wild.  Because, as you know, my factory is a place of pure imagination.  I would very much like to know what sort of imaginings my imagination has inspired you to imagine."

No eyes were ever so childishly blue as Willy Wonka's.  He had just paid a huge compliment to me, one which I felt was undeserved, but then, none of us ever really knew what was going on in the boss's head… still, that he'd picked me seemed highly fortunate and very unlikely.

"…Will you accept this post?" he asked, seeming a trifle unsure of himself for once.

For a few seconds, I couldn't make my mouth form the words.  Then, "Yes," I said.

"Wonderful!  You start now."