Fic: Amelia and the Giant Gobstopper.
Remember my birthday crossover meme? Hopefully, I'll get through the rest of the lovely prompts everyone gave over the next week or so, but to start, written for john_elliott who wanted Wee!Amelia to meet Willy Wonka. This is a gorgeous prompt, to which nobody could probably do justice, but I had a stab at it.
Story: Amelia and the Giant Gobstopper
Author: lost_spook
Rating: All ages
Word Count: 1112
Characters/Pairings: Amelia Pond, Willy Wonka
Warnings: None.
Summary: Amelia meets another strange man with a box who wants to talk about food.
***
Amelia and the Giant Gobstopper
*
It happened on the school trip. Amelia Pond (who wasn’t much interested in grand, English houses, and who was very, very fed up with being laughed at for believing things that were true, and not made up at all) was standing alone in a maze, when she saw the glass box pop up through the earth and come to rest in the middle of the nearest hedge.
By the time she had reached it, a small-ish man dressed in clothes that came into the category of Old Fashioned in her head (tall hat, a spotty bow-tie and a black jacket with flappy bits at the bottom) had emerged.
She stared at him, hard, because she had thought she knew all about funny men in boxes. “You’re not the Doctor.”
“And why should I be?” he demanded, immediately hopping over towards her. “Are you ill, little girl?”
Amelia shook her head. She definitely wasn’t ill at all, thank you.
“Amazing!” he gasped, nearly falling over to express his astonishment. “Breath-snitching! Perfectly healthy, and she can talk. Yes - have a gobstopper.”
She frowned. “My aunt says I should never take sweets from strangers.”
“Oh, aunts,” he said with an airy wave, and her eyes widened as he held out a multi-coloured, round gobstopper; the largest sweet she’d ever seen in her life. "I never listen to aunts!"
Amelia remained stern, despite the impossible candy in her hand. “And so does my teacher.”
“Aha,” he said, and then beamed at her. “Then why don’t you give it to me?”
She looked at the sweet he’d dropped into her hand. It was still multi-coloured, but now it was pink and yellow and purple, instead of blue and orange and green. She handed it back to him.
“A gobstopper! Why, thank you,” he said. He examined it carefully for a long moment, and then swung back round. “Now, then, would you like this gobstopper of yours back? I find I don’t want it, after all.”
“You won’t catch me out like that,” she told him. “Why have you got a box and why is it stuck in the hedge? They tell you off for doing things like that at these sorts of places.”
“That isn’t a box,” he said, waving his cane. “That, my dear girl, is the Great Glass Elevator!”
She peered past him, to look at it again. “It’s a lift?”
“No. Lifts go up and down,” he said, drawing himself up. “This one is an Elevator, which is a different thing entirely. It has retro-rockets and is fully ventilated, aerated, and automated.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
“Gobstopper,” he said, pressing it into her hand. “Then we’ll get on much better.”
She glared at him. “That’s rude.”
“Why, how clever you are,” he returned. “No, lick the gobstopper. It’s a different flavour each time. But can you imagine the work that goes into making each one? How does anyone know how many times a gobstopper will be licked and as a new flavour entirely is needed for each one, how many flavours must that be? Oh, the artistry, the endless quest for something new! Have you anything to suggest?”
She looked down at it, and sighed, because he was a very strange man, and this was definitely a sweet. A great big sweet that was now yellow and red and bright green, and smelled of pineapples. Then she looked at him. “I know someone who likes fish-fingers and custard. I don’t expect you’ve tried that.”
“Snozzling whizzbangers,” he cried out, leaping up in the air, as if he’d suddenly had a pin stuck into him. “What a doozy! In your head, my girl, there exists a flavour undreamt of by the most famous chefs of at least three continents. How did you do it? Wonderful!”
She chewed her lip. “It’s weird, though. People might not like it.”
“Every flavour is tasted at least a hundred times before being used,” he countered, with a smile. “We’ll see, but that’s an inventive suggestion, little girl.”
She looked at his box again, entangled in the middle of the hedge. “You could call the fire brigade. They help when things are stuck.”
“Brilliant!” he said, reaching for his hat. “I won’t need them this time, but you’re quite right - why do I never think of these things?”
Amelia looked at the gobstopper, which was nothing but shades of purple now. “Maybe you don’t have that sort of brain?”
“Now, for that,” he said, “and the brand new flavour, a clever girl deserves a reward, and when you get home, you will find a whole box of fudgemallows waiting, just for you.”
That sounded like a good thing. “Are they sweets, too?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, putting a hand to his ear. “I’m a little deaf -.”
Amelia drew in a deep breath, and tried again. “ARE THEY SWEETS?”
He fell over, and looked back up at her, with a twinkle in his eye. “You’ll see.” Then he climbed nimbly back to his feet, and tipped his hat at her.
“Wait,” she said, following him. “Are you not real, too?”
He turned back. “Real? Why don’t you pull my nose, and see?”
Amelia did.
He pulled hers back.
“Ow!”
He bent down to put his face level with hers. “Little girls shouldn’t pull people’s noses, even when they’ve been invited. It’s not polite. You will find out how real I am when you get your present.”
Amelia took another deep breath. “If you make a fish custard sweet, can I have one?”
“Really?” he said in surprise. “You would like a fish custard sweet?”
She smiled. “In case my other friend comes back. He’s funny about food.”
*
The promised present did arrive, if slightly battered, and by a postman who was not in uniform, and mysteriously short, and puffing as he placed it on the doorstep.
It was real, though. She ate the fudgemallows, which were the best chocolates she’d ever had in her life, because there were no rules about taking sweets from postmen who were shorter than she was.
Best of all, it meant that if the chocolates were real, true chocolates that melted all over her face when she ate them and got onto the duvet cover and down her front (enough to make her real aunt give her a completely real telling off), and there was a real cardboard box with a little note on it, then so was the strange little man and his glass box.
And if he was real, well, then, so was her Raggedy Doctor, and his police box, which was what she’d known all along. Grown ups were so sure about everything, even when they hadn’t been there, and didn’t know anything.
Except for two of them, she thought, but then probably neither of them counted as people.
***
Story: Amelia and the Giant Gobstopper
Author: lost_spook
Rating: All ages
Word Count: 1112
Characters/Pairings: Amelia Pond, Willy Wonka
Warnings: None.
Summary: Amelia meets another strange man with a box who wants to talk about food.
***
Amelia and the Giant Gobstopper
*
It happened on the school trip. Amelia Pond (who wasn’t much interested in grand, English houses, and who was very, very fed up with being laughed at for believing things that were true, and not made up at all) was standing alone in a maze, when she saw the glass box pop up through the earth and come to rest in the middle of the nearest hedge.
By the time she had reached it, a small-ish man dressed in clothes that came into the category of Old Fashioned in her head (tall hat, a spotty bow-tie and a black jacket with flappy bits at the bottom) had emerged.
She stared at him, hard, because she had thought she knew all about funny men in boxes. “You’re not the Doctor.”
“And why should I be?” he demanded, immediately hopping over towards her. “Are you ill, little girl?”
Amelia shook her head. She definitely wasn’t ill at all, thank you.
“Amazing!” he gasped, nearly falling over to express his astonishment. “Breath-snitching! Perfectly healthy, and she can talk. Yes - have a gobstopper.”
She frowned. “My aunt says I should never take sweets from strangers.”
“Oh, aunts,” he said with an airy wave, and her eyes widened as he held out a multi-coloured, round gobstopper; the largest sweet she’d ever seen in her life. "I never listen to aunts!"
Amelia remained stern, despite the impossible candy in her hand. “And so does my teacher.”
“Aha,” he said, and then beamed at her. “Then why don’t you give it to me?”
She looked at the sweet he’d dropped into her hand. It was still multi-coloured, but now it was pink and yellow and purple, instead of blue and orange and green. She handed it back to him.
“A gobstopper! Why, thank you,” he said. He examined it carefully for a long moment, and then swung back round. “Now, then, would you like this gobstopper of yours back? I find I don’t want it, after all.”
“You won’t catch me out like that,” she told him. “Why have you got a box and why is it stuck in the hedge? They tell you off for doing things like that at these sorts of places.”
“That isn’t a box,” he said, waving his cane. “That, my dear girl, is the Great Glass Elevator!”
She peered past him, to look at it again. “It’s a lift?”
“No. Lifts go up and down,” he said, drawing himself up. “This one is an Elevator, which is a different thing entirely. It has retro-rockets and is fully ventilated, aerated, and automated.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
“Gobstopper,” he said, pressing it into her hand. “Then we’ll get on much better.”
She glared at him. “That’s rude.”
“Why, how clever you are,” he returned. “No, lick the gobstopper. It’s a different flavour each time. But can you imagine the work that goes into making each one? How does anyone know how many times a gobstopper will be licked and as a new flavour entirely is needed for each one, how many flavours must that be? Oh, the artistry, the endless quest for something new! Have you anything to suggest?”
She looked down at it, and sighed, because he was a very strange man, and this was definitely a sweet. A great big sweet that was now yellow and red and bright green, and smelled of pineapples. Then she looked at him. “I know someone who likes fish-fingers and custard. I don’t expect you’ve tried that.”
“Snozzling whizzbangers,” he cried out, leaping up in the air, as if he’d suddenly had a pin stuck into him. “What a doozy! In your head, my girl, there exists a flavour undreamt of by the most famous chefs of at least three continents. How did you do it? Wonderful!”
She chewed her lip. “It’s weird, though. People might not like it.”
“Every flavour is tasted at least a hundred times before being used,” he countered, with a smile. “We’ll see, but that’s an inventive suggestion, little girl.”
She looked at his box again, entangled in the middle of the hedge. “You could call the fire brigade. They help when things are stuck.”
“Brilliant!” he said, reaching for his hat. “I won’t need them this time, but you’re quite right - why do I never think of these things?”
Amelia looked at the gobstopper, which was nothing but shades of purple now. “Maybe you don’t have that sort of brain?”
“Now, for that,” he said, “and the brand new flavour, a clever girl deserves a reward, and when you get home, you will find a whole box of fudgemallows waiting, just for you.”
That sounded like a good thing. “Are they sweets, too?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, putting a hand to his ear. “I’m a little deaf -.”
Amelia drew in a deep breath, and tried again. “ARE THEY SWEETS?”
He fell over, and looked back up at her, with a twinkle in his eye. “You’ll see.” Then he climbed nimbly back to his feet, and tipped his hat at her.
“Wait,” she said, following him. “Are you not real, too?”
He turned back. “Real? Why don’t you pull my nose, and see?”
Amelia did.
He pulled hers back.
“Ow!”
He bent down to put his face level with hers. “Little girls shouldn’t pull people’s noses, even when they’ve been invited. It’s not polite. You will find out how real I am when you get your present.”
Amelia took another deep breath. “If you make a fish custard sweet, can I have one?”
“Really?” he said in surprise. “You would like a fish custard sweet?”
She smiled. “In case my other friend comes back. He’s funny about food.”
*
The promised present did arrive, if slightly battered, and by a postman who was not in uniform, and mysteriously short, and puffing as he placed it on the doorstep.
It was real, though. She ate the fudgemallows, which were the best chocolates she’d ever had in her life, because there were no rules about taking sweets from postmen who were shorter than she was.
Best of all, it meant that if the chocolates were real, true chocolates that melted all over her face when she ate them and got onto the duvet cover and down her front (enough to make her real aunt give her a completely real telling off), and there was a real cardboard box with a little note on it, then so was the strange little man and his glass box.
And if he was real, well, then, so was her Raggedy Doctor, and his police box, which was what she’d known all along. Grown ups were so sure about everything, even when they hadn’t been there, and didn’t know anything.
Except for two of them, she thought, but then probably neither of them counted as people.
***