Impure Imagination
I was going to do those drabble requests (and I said I'd take ten, so I think they're still open), but then a little voice in my head said "Crowley/Willy Wonka." Which was too much, even for my sick, twisted mind, but Crowley does go to a magical chocolate factory.
I'm leaning toward Johnny Depp!Wonka, but book!Wonka probably works as well (Sadly, I think I probably could've gotten Gene Wilder!Wonka into bed with Crowley, but it would've been proof that there is no good in the world.)
There was something different about the king of the chocoholics, but Crowley couldn't quite put his finger on it, and it wasn't like he could pick any of the world's crazy loners who tried to pass their problems off as "artistic" out of a line-up.
"This is quite unexpected," said Willy Wonka. "Quite unexpected. You're not another one of those horrible spies or nasty lawyers, are you?"
"No," said Crowley. "But if you're having legal troubles, I do know where you can find several good barristers. Most of them, in fact."
"I'm not interested," said Wonka. "I just run a chocolate factory--the most magnificent chocolate factory in the world and--"
"Not very efficient, is it?" asked Crowley, looking at the chocolate lake. It was a good thing the angel wasn't here or he'd have ended up like that fat little German.
"I don't care about efficiency. No one else has chocolate mixed by waterfall."
No one else had a factory run entirely by tiny workers who were paid in beans, but it wasn't in Crowley's best interests to discourage that sort of thing. He didn't want Wonka's soul to lose that easy source of tarnishing, and giving Aziraphale a box of Wonka Bars wouldn't be the same if he couldn't bring up the slave labour angle. Not that Aziraphale cared much about the fate of indiginous peoples if there was chocolate involved.
"I'm sure the little fellows are quite happy," Aziraphale would say as he tore open the wrapping. "Nice homes, all the cocoa beans they could possibly eat. Or whatever it is they do with them."
"He keeps them locked up in a factory," Crowley'd say. "Doesn't even pay them a living wage. He's probably demolished their homeland and turned it into a theme park."
"If you were really so concerned with poor factory conditions--which, if I recall, you were always so fond of--you'd do something about that nasty Mr. Salt's business. He treats those poor women just dreadfully."
But Crowley'd always been more interested in getting a reaction from Aziraphale than with whatever went on in some dark sweatshop, so he'd changed the subject.
He looked around at the candy trees--"playing God" could probably be added to Wonka's sins. "This is quite a room," he said.
"Yes," said Willy Wonka. "Everything in this room is eatable. Even I'm eatable."
"I'm sure you are," said Crowley. "I didn't actually come here for the tour."
Latex squeaked as Wonka's grip tightened around his cane. "You are one of those spies," he said. "You've come here to take all my hard work and pass it off as your own!"
"I'm here with a business proposition."
"You'll have to leave. Nothing is for sale except my candy and only just the candy. My methods and my workers are not."
"I think you should have another contest. Another five Golden Tickets."
Wonka laughed. "There's no reason to do that," he said. "I've already got what I wanted."
"Yes, but there are still so many wicked children in the world. Wouldn't it be nice to teach them a lesson too?"
"You really shouldn't mumble. I've never had anything to do with mumblers."
"Isn't that why you've got the lawyers on your arse? The Gloops didn't look like they could afford it, but the Salts can, and you know how Americans are. They just love suing people."
"No, I still can't understand a word you're saying..."
"Wouldn't it be nice to bring a few more nasty kids in here and...well, I'm sure you'll think of something."
Wonka pulled out a stack of cards and read from the top one. "Those were all unfortunate accidents. If the children had followed my instructions--"
"Accidents happen a bit faster." Crowley grinned at him. "You don't have to pretend. I understand perfectly."
Wonka looked at him. "You're just a big nut, aren't you?"
"Nice money making opportunity. People went absolutely mad for Wonka Bars last time."
"People buy my chocolate because it is delicious, not to win a prize."
"You really don't get out much, do you?" He slipped an arm around Willy Wonka's shoulders and ignored the resulting cringe. "Just think about it for a bit. You could really use a bit more cash flow anyway--it's not going to do that poor Bucket kid any good to inherit a factory you ran into the ground, is it?
***
Several months later, another five children stood in front of the factory gates. No one said much to the tall Englishman in sunglasses or the old seeming boy who was with him. Wonka, however, recognized him immediately. "Mr. Crowley," he said nervously. "You didn't tell me you had a son."
"I would've left him at home if I could've."
"That's not very nice, dear," said the boy before smiling up at Willy Wonka. "I don't think anything unfortunate will happen this time, Mr. Wonka."
"Only if he actually gives you all the chocolate you can eat for the rest of your life, angel," said Crowley.
"I never go back on my promises, Mr. Crowley," said Wonka.
"I think one or two truckloads should be sufficient," said the boy.
Wonka was quite surprised to find that a pub had appeared in his building, but then it was pretty hard to keep track of all the buttons on the Great Glass Elevator. Mr. Crowley and the boy drank a great deal, but Willy Wonka didn't know if this was out of the ordinary. His father hadn't approved of liquor either.
Far more surprising was the fact that all the children--even the really horrible ones--all had miraculous escapes. The Oompa Loompas were quite put out by that as they'd spent weeks working on songs and didn't get a chance to use them.
I'm leaning toward Johnny Depp!Wonka, but book!Wonka probably works as well (Sadly, I think I probably could've gotten Gene Wilder!Wonka into bed with Crowley, but it would've been proof that there is no good in the world.)
There was something different about the king of the chocoholics, but Crowley couldn't quite put his finger on it, and it wasn't like he could pick any of the world's crazy loners who tried to pass their problems off as "artistic" out of a line-up.
"This is quite unexpected," said Willy Wonka. "Quite unexpected. You're not another one of those horrible spies or nasty lawyers, are you?"
"No," said Crowley. "But if you're having legal troubles, I do know where you can find several good barristers. Most of them, in fact."
"I'm not interested," said Wonka. "I just run a chocolate factory--the most magnificent chocolate factory in the world and--"
"Not very efficient, is it?" asked Crowley, looking at the chocolate lake. It was a good thing the angel wasn't here or he'd have ended up like that fat little German.
"I don't care about efficiency. No one else has chocolate mixed by waterfall."
No one else had a factory run entirely by tiny workers who were paid in beans, but it wasn't in Crowley's best interests to discourage that sort of thing. He didn't want Wonka's soul to lose that easy source of tarnishing, and giving Aziraphale a box of Wonka Bars wouldn't be the same if he couldn't bring up the slave labour angle. Not that Aziraphale cared much about the fate of indiginous peoples if there was chocolate involved.
"I'm sure the little fellows are quite happy," Aziraphale would say as he tore open the wrapping. "Nice homes, all the cocoa beans they could possibly eat. Or whatever it is they do with them."
"He keeps them locked up in a factory," Crowley'd say. "Doesn't even pay them a living wage. He's probably demolished their homeland and turned it into a theme park."
"If you were really so concerned with poor factory conditions--which, if I recall, you were always so fond of--you'd do something about that nasty Mr. Salt's business. He treats those poor women just dreadfully."
But Crowley'd always been more interested in getting a reaction from Aziraphale than with whatever went on in some dark sweatshop, so he'd changed the subject.
He looked around at the candy trees--"playing God" could probably be added to Wonka's sins. "This is quite a room," he said.
"Yes," said Willy Wonka. "Everything in this room is eatable. Even I'm eatable."
"I'm sure you are," said Crowley. "I didn't actually come here for the tour."
Latex squeaked as Wonka's grip tightened around his cane. "You are one of those spies," he said. "You've come here to take all my hard work and pass it off as your own!"
"I'm here with a business proposition."
"You'll have to leave. Nothing is for sale except my candy and only just the candy. My methods and my workers are not."
"I think you should have another contest. Another five Golden Tickets."
Wonka laughed. "There's no reason to do that," he said. "I've already got what I wanted."
"Yes, but there are still so many wicked children in the world. Wouldn't it be nice to teach them a lesson too?"
"You really shouldn't mumble. I've never had anything to do with mumblers."
"Isn't that why you've got the lawyers on your arse? The Gloops didn't look like they could afford it, but the Salts can, and you know how Americans are. They just love suing people."
"No, I still can't understand a word you're saying..."
"Wouldn't it be nice to bring a few more nasty kids in here and...well, I'm sure you'll think of something."
Wonka pulled out a stack of cards and read from the top one. "Those were all unfortunate accidents. If the children had followed my instructions--"
"Accidents happen a bit faster." Crowley grinned at him. "You don't have to pretend. I understand perfectly."
Wonka looked at him. "You're just a big nut, aren't you?"
"Nice money making opportunity. People went absolutely mad for Wonka Bars last time."
"People buy my chocolate because it is delicious, not to win a prize."
"You really don't get out much, do you?" He slipped an arm around Willy Wonka's shoulders and ignored the resulting cringe. "Just think about it for a bit. You could really use a bit more cash flow anyway--it's not going to do that poor Bucket kid any good to inherit a factory you ran into the ground, is it?
***
Several months later, another five children stood in front of the factory gates. No one said much to the tall Englishman in sunglasses or the old seeming boy who was with him. Wonka, however, recognized him immediately. "Mr. Crowley," he said nervously. "You didn't tell me you had a son."
"I would've left him at home if I could've."
"That's not very nice, dear," said the boy before smiling up at Willy Wonka. "I don't think anything unfortunate will happen this time, Mr. Wonka."
"Only if he actually gives you all the chocolate you can eat for the rest of your life, angel," said Crowley.
"I never go back on my promises, Mr. Crowley," said Wonka.
"I think one or two truckloads should be sufficient," said the boy.
Wonka was quite surprised to find that a pub had appeared in his building, but then it was pretty hard to keep track of all the buttons on the Great Glass Elevator. Mr. Crowley and the boy drank a great deal, but Willy Wonka didn't know if this was out of the ordinary. His father hadn't approved of liquor either.
Far more surprising was the fact that all the children--even the really horrible ones--all had miraculous escapes. The Oompa Loompas were quite put out by that as they'd spent weeks working on songs and didn't get a chance to use them.