That Candyman is Mine!

Wow, I finally updated, that took more time than I expected. Perhaps I shouldn’t promise things! XD

I changed Verucas age a little to give the story a bit of a nymphetteish feel, but not too much. :P

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Despite being incredibly rich, and what some would call a spoiled brat, Veruca wasn’t exactly lacking brains, as most would lead you to believe. At least the kind she needed to get whatever it was she wanted.

Veruca lay on her stomach in the middle of her giant, four-post bed, her bare legs swaying lazily back and forth in the air. She was sucking on the end bright pink pen she had been writing with as she reread the rough draft she had so carefully written. I’ll spare you the long version of her plan, as Veruca would have told you it’s a lot of tiresome rubbish. A summery of her plan is as follows: She bought seven tickets to a Chocolate convention in Switzerland, as well as airfare for Charlie and his family. Oops, too bad, Mr. Wonka hadn’t been sent a ticket! Oh well, the strange note that accompanied the tickets stressed that the convention was ideally for young chocolatiers, and their families, just getting started in the business. Willy Wonka didn’t really have the mind to go anyway and be “stalked and harassed the entire time by overzealous fans” as he put it.

Veruca smiled deviously as she crammed the tickets and her letter (Which had been typed up by one of her servants and signed by with a made-up Switzerlandish name) into a nondescript envelope and furiously scribbled the address of Wonkas factory onto it. Her little pink tounge darted out and licked the back of the envelope until it was sticky, and carefully sealed it shut. She gave it a little peck of a kiss and headed towards the door.

“Mail this out immediately.” Veruca said, jolting her head out of her bedroom door and thrusting the letter into the hands of a surprised maid who had been walking past her door from her parents’ room.

“Y-yes mam.” The maid stuttered wide-eyed, and scurried downstairs. She still hadn’t gotten use to Veruca randomly popping up and making noisy demands.

Veruca shut her bedroom door behind her, strutting over to her mirror and looked into it.

“I guess all I can do is wait now.” She mused, picking up a vial of red lipstick she took from her mothers room and spread it on her lips. “Oh, how I do hate waiting.” She grimaced and rubbed her lips together. The bright red color of the lipstick clashed wonderfully with her pallor of her skin.

As Veruca was upstairs putting on makeup, the maid she had given the envelope to was on a long trip back from the family’s mailbox, the look on her face something along the lines of “I wonder what could have been so bloody urgent?”