Post by The Nutty Chocolatier on Nov 10, 2007 23:33:16 GMT -5
Hi there! I was cleaning out text files today and stumbled upon some old fanfic! I just thought I'd pull a quick cameo and post here for whoever likes the beginnings of unfinished stories. Someone can finish it if you'd like! Enjoy! ;D
Part One: The Experimental Culinary Convention
Officer John Smith Bailey: Town With No Name – DAY
Officer John Smith Bailey rolled his black and white to a halt. He wore dark aviators at all times and always posed with a confident crane while on-duty. He now sat like a tower on his steed of justice in a damp, lifeless mountainous Colorado village, waiting for the light to change. These kinds of towns were born for silence and solitude, and sometimes that fact gave him the willies. It wasn’t that he needed the rush of the chase, so much as… maybe the shadow of it—the scare every now and then. There simply weren’t any criminal impulses left in the people of his worthless little patrol district. It wasn’t like the old days, back in his hometown, where a cop like him was needed to crack down on punk criminals. Here, he was just a cop that was left out to wither and dry. Why did this silent little town even have a police force, anyway?
And then he heard it, or rather felt it at first. There was a strange rumbling in the cool cement under his tires, growing louder and louder. Bailey looked into his rear-view mirror:
A car rambled up behind him, closer and closer at a frightening speed for these parts. It slowed at the sight of Bailey’s vehicle, pulling up and stopping in the lane beside him. Bailey felt something shiver in his bones at the sight of this stranger. It was a classic corvette, 60s probably, with a bottle green paint job, retractable top, shining and glinting all over. Prime condition, and so completely out of place in a town like this that Officer Bailey didn’t even think to look away. Four people were inside, all men. Two wore hats, three were smoking, and all wore dark shades of drastically different styles.
Bailey was getting one of his old gut feelings about these strange fellows, especially that weird one on the passenger side. There was something else shifty about them… they all seemed to have the exact same facial features. Or maybe old Bailey’s eyes were playing tricks on him. He squinted suspiciously, and watched as every person in the corvette returned his savage stare with a friendly smile and wave.
The light flickered GO. The bottle green car roared off with a murderous speed for those parts. Officer Bailey watched them fly away. He was grim; fifteen minutes from clocking out. He sighed.
The Crew: The Green Possum -- DAY
Our story lies within the mysterious warren of the Green Possum. Ed Wood had control of the map in the back seat. Morton Rainey, who was holed up next to the cult director, was trying to read The Rum Diary for the umpteenth time. Willy Wonka had taken shotgun and was watching the world zoom by with mixed excitement and fear. Raoul Duke was at the helm, cigarette dangling from its holder, wondering how the hell he got in this situation.
And a situation it was. Everyone but Willy knew the score here, and precisely why they all had to get the hell away from that weird cop as fast as possible. What was just beyond the grasp of Willy’s magical mind was that Raoul Duke had brought a hippie’s legion of psychedelics along for the ride, and that was a dangerous game to play while traveling cross-country in a stolen corvette with four fictional characters of the same face.
“This is crazy!” Ed exclaimed from the back seat. He crumbled up their only map and tossed it up front. “I just don’t get all those little lines and houses. And anyway, fellas, I don’t believe at looking at the little details. It’s about the Big Picture!”
One of Ed’s large hand gestures caught Mort on the cheek, who jerked away and slunk down sullenly. Mr. Rainey was growing a genuine hatred for the director at his side.
“Bastards can’t even let me read,” he hissed at Ed in an undertone.
He snapped his book back to position and tried in vain to finish chapter eight.
Meanwhile Willy, apparently curious, picked up the map from the floor and untangled it, smoothing it out with tender care. “We need to go north,” he said brightly to Duke, pointing up.
The journalist cursed and thumped the steering wheel at this remark like a brutish fiend. Ed and Willy smiled stiffly at him, all teeth.
“Yes well,” Ed said, “we do have to go further upstate, Mr. Raoul. The map said so!”
“It’s Duke, you pansy! Now shut up before I throw you under the tires!”
“Well I say, Mr. Duke. That sure is a swell spirit you’ve got there, and I admire it! Have you ever thought about acting in a motion picture?”
The doctor darkened. “No,” he murmured, as if there was a vast history to this comment. “And if you say that to me again, I’ll cut you up.”
Ed’s eyebrows stretched and he leaned back into his seat. Mort gave a slight smile.
Tense moments passed. This was not turning out to be the cozy get-to-know-you road trip that their various Angelic counterparts had planned…
“Oh! Oh!” Willy exclaimed suddenly from the passenger seat. “What’s that over there? It’s huge!”
“It’s a boulder…” Duke breathed, flabbergasted. “By GOD! We’re HERE!”
And they were. Duke’s innate sense of placement had found them abruptly in Boulder, Colorado at long last. Their journey was nearly up, and it was a fiery trail they’d left too.
Willy, becoming very excited for the first time since he saw his supposed chocolate river (the Mississippi R), did something quite out of the ordinary. As germ-phobic as he was, Willy had sworn off touching the car’s lovely radio. As a result, Duke’s musical choices had been playing the whole time, which meant the Rolling Stones’ Sympathy for the Devil in a loop for a thousand miles. But no more! Willy purple hand shot out and began tuning the radio frantically. Conflicting signals erupted from the speakers; they caught snatches of boring dialogue, bad music, and then--
“Edgar Pants here reporting live for ninety-seven-point-three FM. I’m standing in front of Bay-Ben Lodge and Ski Resort here on the outskirts of our beloved home, Boulder, Colorado...”
“Stop, smeep it!” Mr. Rainey shouted. He lunged forward and slapped Willy’s hand away from the tuner in agitation. “That’s where we’re going!” Willy recoiled in fright and disgust. Duke hit Mort. Mort punched Ed. Ed slapped Mort. Willy clung to the filthy dashboard. A good minute of girlish slapping then ensued between those brave enough to test their fate against the most deadly of germs.
In the end, the doctor won by a landslide. The other two very bruised men fell back in their seats, and Duke turned up the volume on the radio and drove on.
Edgar Pants was given full spotlight as he continued his monologue, “As some of you more blessed little people will have picked up by now, the Bay-Ben Lodge has been given a very special honor this year. They have been chosen to be the host of two universally acclaimed events: the dangerously enticing Experimental Culinary Convention, and the drunkenly popular Johnny’s Angels Annual New Year Party. Let’s take a look, shall we?”
Footsteps could be heard, followed by the unmistakable sound of a boom being dropped and muffled curses. Then…
“…ah, and here we are now in the entrance hall. A very nice place, yes. A very nice place indeed. Solid redwood and mahogany all the way ‘round—quite expensive. My cousin’s father-in-law is a personal friend of the owner, you know…
“But look here! Employees at this, the Bay-Ben Lodge, are at last beginning to set things up for the Convention that shall begin very soon indeed! What excitement we’re seeing here! Again, for the benefit of those just tuning in, I am Edgar Pants broadcasting here live at the Bay-Ben Lodge where the best of the best are just starting to set up for their biggest event to date. Ah-hah! A man gone astray! You there! I am important! Tell me your name, sir!”
A high-pitched voice answered tensely, “I’d rather not.”
“Now don’t be shy, man! You’re being broadcasted to every listener in a hundred-mile radius! Speak! I’m commanding you!”
“…Please, sir, I am not even a registered servant of this establishment. I’m on a very important mission…”
“What’s this? A spy in our mist, eh? Are you a member of the press, sir? Perhaps a member of my rival radio news team, the one-oh-one FM?”
“No. As I said I--”
“Then you’re a civilian! I petty little person like my once-removed Uncle Phyllis! I wish you could see this, ladies and gentlemen. Here we have a real-life commoner, like you! I wish to examine this boy!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, only a casual joke I made. Of course I’m only kidding. But, sir, if you won’t tell us your name then tell us this: what exactly is it that you’re doing here at Bay-Ben Lodge? And so close to the major events?”
“…I’m afraid revealing such information would be considered treachery against my superiors. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”
“Hmm,” said Edgar Pants sadly into his microphone as the mystery boy left, obviously very let down by a rough launch in his interviews. “Well, folks, there you have it. Tables, chairs, posters, and people of all sorts: the Pre-Show of the Experimental Culinary Convention—“
Willy, who had been listening to Pants’ monologues with interest, was quite disgruntled when Duke flipped the radio back to his old tunes.
“Hey!” He said sharply, but was silenced by a terrifying look from the doctor. “Eep…” he mumbled, and turned away, startled.
“Looks like someone would like a fix or two,” Mort commented from the back seat with sarcasm.
Duke growled viciously.
Ed gave a meek laugh.
Willy began building something using the trash on the floor.
Mort hung low, miserable, craving a cigarette.
They’d arrived. The parking lot was half-full already, and it was still an hour until ShowTime. Duke steered the Green Possum to stop with a sickening lurch, and was out and walking away before the rest of the crew had time to blink. Willy hopped out second, Ed followed, and Mort sagged after them all feeling very tired indeed (it had been too long since Mr. Rainey had gotten a nap.)
The four fictional studs (as they’d all like to think) soon caught up with one another. They strolled as a team of funny-walkers up to the Bay-Ben Lodge, which had grown to legendary status since its first broadcast publication on the radio not moments before. Funnily enough, it looked like the Edgar Pants Radio News Team (EPRNT) still had its van parked just outside—crazy world.
Willy, who was not one to play follow-the-leader, led the group inside the Lodge. It was a marvelous place, boasting a gigantic entrance room that had been draped in only the finest mountain treasures. Mahogany and redwood were the major foundations, just as Pants had reported. A few great fireplaces were crackling fiercely; huge chairs and sofas and chessboards were scattered in empty spaces; the ceiling was at least twenty feet high; vast tree trunk timbers had been laid out against the walls. And worst or best of all, depending on your perspective, the most striking feature of this first and greatest entrance room was the incredible display of dead prizes: antler chandeliers, bearskin rugs, deerskin blankets, fox furs, moose heads, boars, and all the furry critters that you can think of. Duke, for his part, thought this animal display was brutish and fearsome, but admirable. Mort liked it. Willy’s eyes narrowed at the motive of these murderous mountain-people, while Eddie Wood formulated a terrible scheme about how to steal some stuffed minks for his ever-growing wardrobe.
Apart from the scenery, there was something else rather important to notice: this grand entrance room was as empty of people as they come. It was when all four members of the Johnny Quartet realized this, that they decided to split up — for three reasons: One) they more or less hated each other, Two) they needed to find that smeep convention, and Three) four separate tales would make this an epic and much easier to read, don’t you think?
And so, they parted, deciding to meet back at the entrance room in half-an-hour. Mort stumbled through a door on the left. The Doctor glimpsed a sign labeled “BAR” and moseyed that way. Willy moved instinctively toward the prettiest door (which happened to be the entrance one, leading him back outside.) Ed stayed where he was, still, hands twitching, wondering how the hell he could get those fantastic minks down from the ceiling…
Morton Rainey: The Lodge Int. -- DAY
The writer had just entered a hallway as brown and reeking with forest smells as the one he’d just left. It was long and windowless, giving Mort an intense feeling of claustrophobia. He expected this hallway to start spinning and grow tighter and tighter at any moment. Rainey kicked up his stroll. He moved swiftly down the hall and burst through the lavish wooden door at its end.
He now stood alone at the brink of a truly amazing room, at least in a writer’s opinion. It was a library. The wide, curved, semi-circled wall was covered with an enormous bookcase that stretched gracefully from wall to wall, ceiling to floor. Every shelf was packed neatly with books. Mort made a face, suddenly angry at the owners of this so-called “Lodge and Ski Resort.”
What kind of people put a collection of books like this way out of sight? He thought gruffly.
But just as Mort’s curiosity brought him to investigate the caliber of great books Bay-Ben had in their collection, he caught himself in a yawn, and a great one at that.
It undoubtedly, he thought as Mort saw the plushy cattle-skin couch by the fireplace, is time for a nap.
He curled against the smells of leather and tobacco, and fell quickly into a deep sleep.
Willy Wonka: Lodge Ext. -- TWILIGHT
“Chilly,” the chocolatier giggled nervously to himself.
Willy stood once again just outside the entrance of Bay-Ben Lodge, watching intently as more and more people filled the parking lot. He rubbed his arms and tapped his cane, but it did no good now that crisp snow was beginning to fall. The sun was setting. However, this was not a matter of stupidity on Wonka’s part. On the contrary, the reclusive genius knew precisely what he was doing, even if the other Johnnies inside did not.
And—ah! My plan is unfolding perfectly! Willy thought with cheer.
A sleek BMW had just pulled up very close and parked. A group of hip youngsters emerged, dressed in the height of fashion. They gave Willy very queer looks as they passed him, but our top-hatter man didn’t mind. Instead, he waited for them to make their way past the main entrance door (as he had expected) and watched pleasantly (or perhaps creepily) as the group solved the puzzle for him. And sure enough, the youngsters stopped at a sign that the Johnnies must have overlooked on their way in, read it, and followed the pointing arrow on its face. Willy laughed to himself. He flicked his cane and strolled after them, reading the sign as he passed:
Experimental Culinary Convention THIS WAY >
PLEASE USE SIDE DOOR >
Wonka couldn’t get enough! He laughed and laughed as he followed the group of clever, hip youngsters—they looked back in visible alarm at the strange man now following them. Of course the group didn’t know that Willy only wanted to find the Convention too. Willy laughed louder to try and put them at ease, and wondered if those youngsters would like some candy as a gift…
Edward D. Wood Jr.: Lodge Int. -- TWILIGHT
Willy Wonka, Raoul Duke, Morton Rainey and Edward D. Wood Jr.
Gather for the Experimental Culinary Convention
and Johnny’s Angels Annual New Year Party
in Boulder, Colorado
December 2005
Gather for the Experimental Culinary Convention
and Johnny’s Angels Annual New Year Party
in Boulder, Colorado
December 2005
Part One: The Experimental Culinary Convention
Officer John Smith Bailey: Town With No Name – DAY
Officer John Smith Bailey rolled his black and white to a halt. He wore dark aviators at all times and always posed with a confident crane while on-duty. He now sat like a tower on his steed of justice in a damp, lifeless mountainous Colorado village, waiting for the light to change. These kinds of towns were born for silence and solitude, and sometimes that fact gave him the willies. It wasn’t that he needed the rush of the chase, so much as… maybe the shadow of it—the scare every now and then. There simply weren’t any criminal impulses left in the people of his worthless little patrol district. It wasn’t like the old days, back in his hometown, where a cop like him was needed to crack down on punk criminals. Here, he was just a cop that was left out to wither and dry. Why did this silent little town even have a police force, anyway?
And then he heard it, or rather felt it at first. There was a strange rumbling in the cool cement under his tires, growing louder and louder. Bailey looked into his rear-view mirror:
A car rambled up behind him, closer and closer at a frightening speed for these parts. It slowed at the sight of Bailey’s vehicle, pulling up and stopping in the lane beside him. Bailey felt something shiver in his bones at the sight of this stranger. It was a classic corvette, 60s probably, with a bottle green paint job, retractable top, shining and glinting all over. Prime condition, and so completely out of place in a town like this that Officer Bailey didn’t even think to look away. Four people were inside, all men. Two wore hats, three were smoking, and all wore dark shades of drastically different styles.
Bailey was getting one of his old gut feelings about these strange fellows, especially that weird one on the passenger side. There was something else shifty about them… they all seemed to have the exact same facial features. Or maybe old Bailey’s eyes were playing tricks on him. He squinted suspiciously, and watched as every person in the corvette returned his savage stare with a friendly smile and wave.
The light flickered GO. The bottle green car roared off with a murderous speed for those parts. Officer Bailey watched them fly away. He was grim; fifteen minutes from clocking out. He sighed.
The Crew: The Green Possum -- DAY
Our story lies within the mysterious warren of the Green Possum. Ed Wood had control of the map in the back seat. Morton Rainey, who was holed up next to the cult director, was trying to read The Rum Diary for the umpteenth time. Willy Wonka had taken shotgun and was watching the world zoom by with mixed excitement and fear. Raoul Duke was at the helm, cigarette dangling from its holder, wondering how the hell he got in this situation.
And a situation it was. Everyone but Willy knew the score here, and precisely why they all had to get the hell away from that weird cop as fast as possible. What was just beyond the grasp of Willy’s magical mind was that Raoul Duke had brought a hippie’s legion of psychedelics along for the ride, and that was a dangerous game to play while traveling cross-country in a stolen corvette with four fictional characters of the same face.
“This is crazy!” Ed exclaimed from the back seat. He crumbled up their only map and tossed it up front. “I just don’t get all those little lines and houses. And anyway, fellas, I don’t believe at looking at the little details. It’s about the Big Picture!”
One of Ed’s large hand gestures caught Mort on the cheek, who jerked away and slunk down sullenly. Mr. Rainey was growing a genuine hatred for the director at his side.
“Bastards can’t even let me read,” he hissed at Ed in an undertone.
He snapped his book back to position and tried in vain to finish chapter eight.
Meanwhile Willy, apparently curious, picked up the map from the floor and untangled it, smoothing it out with tender care. “We need to go north,” he said brightly to Duke, pointing up.
The journalist cursed and thumped the steering wheel at this remark like a brutish fiend. Ed and Willy smiled stiffly at him, all teeth.
“Yes well,” Ed said, “we do have to go further upstate, Mr. Raoul. The map said so!”
“It’s Duke, you pansy! Now shut up before I throw you under the tires!”
“Well I say, Mr. Duke. That sure is a swell spirit you’ve got there, and I admire it! Have you ever thought about acting in a motion picture?”
The doctor darkened. “No,” he murmured, as if there was a vast history to this comment. “And if you say that to me again, I’ll cut you up.”
Ed’s eyebrows stretched and he leaned back into his seat. Mort gave a slight smile.
Tense moments passed. This was not turning out to be the cozy get-to-know-you road trip that their various Angelic counterparts had planned…
“Oh! Oh!” Willy exclaimed suddenly from the passenger seat. “What’s that over there? It’s huge!”
“It’s a boulder…” Duke breathed, flabbergasted. “By GOD! We’re HERE!”
And they were. Duke’s innate sense of placement had found them abruptly in Boulder, Colorado at long last. Their journey was nearly up, and it was a fiery trail they’d left too.
Willy, becoming very excited for the first time since he saw his supposed chocolate river (the Mississippi R), did something quite out of the ordinary. As germ-phobic as he was, Willy had sworn off touching the car’s lovely radio. As a result, Duke’s musical choices had been playing the whole time, which meant the Rolling Stones’ Sympathy for the Devil in a loop for a thousand miles. But no more! Willy purple hand shot out and began tuning the radio frantically. Conflicting signals erupted from the speakers; they caught snatches of boring dialogue, bad music, and then--
“Edgar Pants here reporting live for ninety-seven-point-three FM. I’m standing in front of Bay-Ben Lodge and Ski Resort here on the outskirts of our beloved home, Boulder, Colorado...”
“Stop, smeep it!” Mr. Rainey shouted. He lunged forward and slapped Willy’s hand away from the tuner in agitation. “That’s where we’re going!” Willy recoiled in fright and disgust. Duke hit Mort. Mort punched Ed. Ed slapped Mort. Willy clung to the filthy dashboard. A good minute of girlish slapping then ensued between those brave enough to test their fate against the most deadly of germs.
In the end, the doctor won by a landslide. The other two very bruised men fell back in their seats, and Duke turned up the volume on the radio and drove on.
Edgar Pants was given full spotlight as he continued his monologue, “As some of you more blessed little people will have picked up by now, the Bay-Ben Lodge has been given a very special honor this year. They have been chosen to be the host of two universally acclaimed events: the dangerously enticing Experimental Culinary Convention, and the drunkenly popular Johnny’s Angels Annual New Year Party. Let’s take a look, shall we?”
Footsteps could be heard, followed by the unmistakable sound of a boom being dropped and muffled curses. Then…
“…ah, and here we are now in the entrance hall. A very nice place, yes. A very nice place indeed. Solid redwood and mahogany all the way ‘round—quite expensive. My cousin’s father-in-law is a personal friend of the owner, you know…
“But look here! Employees at this, the Bay-Ben Lodge, are at last beginning to set things up for the Convention that shall begin very soon indeed! What excitement we’re seeing here! Again, for the benefit of those just tuning in, I am Edgar Pants broadcasting here live at the Bay-Ben Lodge where the best of the best are just starting to set up for their biggest event to date. Ah-hah! A man gone astray! You there! I am important! Tell me your name, sir!”
A high-pitched voice answered tensely, “I’d rather not.”
“Now don’t be shy, man! You’re being broadcasted to every listener in a hundred-mile radius! Speak! I’m commanding you!”
“…Please, sir, I am not even a registered servant of this establishment. I’m on a very important mission…”
“What’s this? A spy in our mist, eh? Are you a member of the press, sir? Perhaps a member of my rival radio news team, the one-oh-one FM?”
“No. As I said I--”
“Then you’re a civilian! I petty little person like my once-removed Uncle Phyllis! I wish you could see this, ladies and gentlemen. Here we have a real-life commoner, like you! I wish to examine this boy!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, only a casual joke I made. Of course I’m only kidding. But, sir, if you won’t tell us your name then tell us this: what exactly is it that you’re doing here at Bay-Ben Lodge? And so close to the major events?”
“…I’m afraid revealing such information would be considered treachery against my superiors. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”
“Hmm,” said Edgar Pants sadly into his microphone as the mystery boy left, obviously very let down by a rough launch in his interviews. “Well, folks, there you have it. Tables, chairs, posters, and people of all sorts: the Pre-Show of the Experimental Culinary Convention—“
Willy, who had been listening to Pants’ monologues with interest, was quite disgruntled when Duke flipped the radio back to his old tunes.
“Hey!” He said sharply, but was silenced by a terrifying look from the doctor. “Eep…” he mumbled, and turned away, startled.
“Looks like someone would like a fix or two,” Mort commented from the back seat with sarcasm.
Duke growled viciously.
Ed gave a meek laugh.
Willy began building something using the trash on the floor.
Mort hung low, miserable, craving a cigarette.
They’d arrived. The parking lot was half-full already, and it was still an hour until ShowTime. Duke steered the Green Possum to stop with a sickening lurch, and was out and walking away before the rest of the crew had time to blink. Willy hopped out second, Ed followed, and Mort sagged after them all feeling very tired indeed (it had been too long since Mr. Rainey had gotten a nap.)
The four fictional studs (as they’d all like to think) soon caught up with one another. They strolled as a team of funny-walkers up to the Bay-Ben Lodge, which had grown to legendary status since its first broadcast publication on the radio not moments before. Funnily enough, it looked like the Edgar Pants Radio News Team (EPRNT) still had its van parked just outside—crazy world.
Willy, who was not one to play follow-the-leader, led the group inside the Lodge. It was a marvelous place, boasting a gigantic entrance room that had been draped in only the finest mountain treasures. Mahogany and redwood were the major foundations, just as Pants had reported. A few great fireplaces were crackling fiercely; huge chairs and sofas and chessboards were scattered in empty spaces; the ceiling was at least twenty feet high; vast tree trunk timbers had been laid out against the walls. And worst or best of all, depending on your perspective, the most striking feature of this first and greatest entrance room was the incredible display of dead prizes: antler chandeliers, bearskin rugs, deerskin blankets, fox furs, moose heads, boars, and all the furry critters that you can think of. Duke, for his part, thought this animal display was brutish and fearsome, but admirable. Mort liked it. Willy’s eyes narrowed at the motive of these murderous mountain-people, while Eddie Wood formulated a terrible scheme about how to steal some stuffed minks for his ever-growing wardrobe.
Apart from the scenery, there was something else rather important to notice: this grand entrance room was as empty of people as they come. It was when all four members of the Johnny Quartet realized this, that they decided to split up — for three reasons: One) they more or less hated each other, Two) they needed to find that smeep convention, and Three) four separate tales would make this an epic and much easier to read, don’t you think?
And so, they parted, deciding to meet back at the entrance room in half-an-hour. Mort stumbled through a door on the left. The Doctor glimpsed a sign labeled “BAR” and moseyed that way. Willy moved instinctively toward the prettiest door (which happened to be the entrance one, leading him back outside.) Ed stayed where he was, still, hands twitching, wondering how the hell he could get those fantastic minks down from the ceiling…
Morton Rainey: The Lodge Int. -- DAY
The writer had just entered a hallway as brown and reeking with forest smells as the one he’d just left. It was long and windowless, giving Mort an intense feeling of claustrophobia. He expected this hallway to start spinning and grow tighter and tighter at any moment. Rainey kicked up his stroll. He moved swiftly down the hall and burst through the lavish wooden door at its end.
He now stood alone at the brink of a truly amazing room, at least in a writer’s opinion. It was a library. The wide, curved, semi-circled wall was covered with an enormous bookcase that stretched gracefully from wall to wall, ceiling to floor. Every shelf was packed neatly with books. Mort made a face, suddenly angry at the owners of this so-called “Lodge and Ski Resort.”
What kind of people put a collection of books like this way out of sight? He thought gruffly.
But just as Mort’s curiosity brought him to investigate the caliber of great books Bay-Ben had in their collection, he caught himself in a yawn, and a great one at that.
It undoubtedly, he thought as Mort saw the plushy cattle-skin couch by the fireplace, is time for a nap.
He curled against the smells of leather and tobacco, and fell quickly into a deep sleep.
Willy Wonka: Lodge Ext. -- TWILIGHT
“Chilly,” the chocolatier giggled nervously to himself.
Willy stood once again just outside the entrance of Bay-Ben Lodge, watching intently as more and more people filled the parking lot. He rubbed his arms and tapped his cane, but it did no good now that crisp snow was beginning to fall. The sun was setting. However, this was not a matter of stupidity on Wonka’s part. On the contrary, the reclusive genius knew precisely what he was doing, even if the other Johnnies inside did not.
And—ah! My plan is unfolding perfectly! Willy thought with cheer.
A sleek BMW had just pulled up very close and parked. A group of hip youngsters emerged, dressed in the height of fashion. They gave Willy very queer looks as they passed him, but our top-hatter man didn’t mind. Instead, he waited for them to make their way past the main entrance door (as he had expected) and watched pleasantly (or perhaps creepily) as the group solved the puzzle for him. And sure enough, the youngsters stopped at a sign that the Johnnies must have overlooked on their way in, read it, and followed the pointing arrow on its face. Willy laughed to himself. He flicked his cane and strolled after them, reading the sign as he passed:
Experimental Culinary Convention THIS WAY >
PLEASE USE SIDE DOOR >
Wonka couldn’t get enough! He laughed and laughed as he followed the group of clever, hip youngsters—they looked back in visible alarm at the strange man now following them. Of course the group didn’t know that Willy only wanted to find the Convention too. Willy laughed louder to try and put them at ease, and wondered if those youngsters would like some candy as a gift…
Edward D. Wood Jr.: Lodge Int. -- TWILIGHT
