(Willy's POV)
Seeing as how I won't be able to afford a place to stay for the night, I figure I might as well sleep on this bench. How could I have run out of money so quickly? I set my suitcase in front of me, and I take off my hat. I reach inside and I pull out an unlit bedside candle, and I blow on it, lighting the candle. I set the candle down on my suitcase, and I reach into my hat to pull out an alarm clock.
"There we go," I say as I set the clock down by the candle, and I reach into my hat to pull out a glass cup, setting it by the clock.
I then reach into my hat to pull out a pot of steaming hot chocolate, and I pour the delicious liquid into the cup. It is pretty cold out tonight, but this should help a bit. I pull a spoon out from my hat and stir up the hot chocolate. I stop when I see a big growling dog coming toward me. It starts sniffing at my pants.
"Hello there. Hey, stop. Hey! Shoo!" I try to shoo it away, but it bites down on my pants leg. "Go away! Stop! Go away! Shoo! Shoo!"
"Stop! Sit!" a deep, gruff voice calls out, and to my surprise, the dog obeys whoever said that.
I look to see a man standing a few feet away from where I'm sitting.
"Sorry about Tiddles. Seems to have an unusual interest in your legs," he says with a smile as he walks toward me.
"Must be these pants," I respond as I put my hat back on my head. "I got them from a mailman in Minsk."
"That would be it," the man laughs. "Tiddles would spend all day pursuing postal workers, if he could. Wouldn't you, boy?"
The dog known as Tiddles barks in response. The man laughs and looks at me, but then his smile fades.
"You're not planning on sleeping there, are you, son?" he asks me while pointing at my set up.
"Oh, it's just for a night. By this time tomorrow, I plan to have made my fortune," I reply.
"By this time tomorrow, you'll be frozen solid," the man says.
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," I mutter, but I am proven wrong when I grab the spoon I left in my hot chocolate and pull it out of the cup to see that my hot chocolate has frozen into a popsicle. "Perhaps it is a little cold for camping. Unfortunately, I'm not in position to pay for a room, sir."
"Oy. Sorry to hear that," the man says. "But as luck would have it, I know someone who might be able to help you out."
"Really?" I ask, thinking my luck really is starting to change.
The man and his dog lead me to a big place on what appears to be the poorer part of town. It's not as big as a mansion, but it's pretty big.
"Here we are, Mr. Wonka, home sweet home," the man says.
Tiddles barks and scratches at the door with his front paws.
"Get your filthy paws off my front door, you mangy mutt!" a woman's voice shouts from inside. "If that's you, Bleacher, you better have my gin!"
"I have something better than gin, Mrs. Scrubitt," the man known as Bleacher responds, and the slot on the door opens to reveal a woman's eyes. "A guest."
Bleacher steps aside so the woman known as Mrs. Scrubitt can see me, and I smile kindly at her. The woman's eyes light up when she sees me.
"Oh! Well, why didn't you say?" Mrs. Scrubitt snorts, and she closes the peephole so she can open the door. "Come on in, sir!"
I enter the place. It does seem quite cozy.
"Welcome to Scrubitt and Bleacher's, Guest House and Laundry! Make yourself at home, warm your cockles by the fire. Gin? (Y/n)! Noodle!" she shouts.
"Yes, Mrs. Scrubitt?" I hear two timid female voices ask.
"Put those books down and get our guest a glass of gin. Poor man's frozen half to death," Mrs. Scrubitt tells them.
"Thank you, Mrs. Scrubitt. You and your husband have been so kind to me," I thank the kind woman.
"Husband?! Him?!" Mrs. Scrubitt laughs as if I just told a joke. "Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you?"
"No," Bleacher replies, though he doesn't sound like he wouldn't want that.
Two girls enter the room. One of them is a little girl who looks to be twelve-years-old, and the other. . . has to be the most beautiful creature I've ever seen! She is a grown-up young woman who seems to be a few years younger than me. She has fair (s/c) skin and (h/l) (h/c) (straight/curly/wavy) hair. She holds a tray carrying two glasses of gin out to Mrs. Scrubitt, who takes a glass.
"Oh, I'm holding out for someone far superior to that idle peasant," Mrs. Scrubitt says.
The woman comes to me with the other glass of gin, and she holds the tray out to me, not making eye contact. I take the glass, not taking my eyes off her. After a couple seconds she looks at me, and I feel my heart pick up speed when I see her beautiful (e/c) eyes. I smile kindly at her, and I see a small smile form on the corner of her (thin/plump) lips as she looks away, seemingly embarrassed, and leaves the room. Mrs. Scrubitt raises her glass, and I do the same.
"Chin, chin," she says, and drinks her gin.
I drink my gin as well, but seeing as how I've never had gin before, I wasn't expecting it to taste so. . . strong. I cough when I feel the liquid run down my throat.
"That is extremely strong stuff!" I say.
"Yeah, you can run cars on that. So, what is it I can do for you? A room, is it?" Mrs. Scrubitt asks me.
"Well, yes, but, uh. . ." I start to say.
"Mr. Wonka is. . . temporarily embarrassed," Bleacher explains for me.
"Oh, no, you don't say," Mrs. Scrubitt says while looking at me with pity.
"I'm afraid that's true, Mrs. Scrubitt, but all that's about to change," I respond with confidence.
"Oh, yeah?" Mrs. Scrubitt asks me.
I notice the girls standing in a doorway. The young woman is looking at me with curiosity. Thinking this could be my chance to impress her, I walk up to the counter.
"See, I'm something of a magician, inventor, and chocolate maker. And first thing tomorrow at the Galeries Gourmet, I plan to unveil my most astonishing creation yet," I explain, and I take off my hat and set it on the desk. "Prepare to be amazed as I present you. . ."
I reach into my hat to pull out. . .
"A teapot?" Mrs. Scrubitt questions.
"No, that's just for making tea," I tell her, and I reach into my hat again, only to pull out a bunch of carrots. "That's for my stew."
I see the girls trying to stifle their laughter. I mentally slap myself for looking like an idiot in front of the (h/c)-haired woman. I reach into my hat again and end up pulling out a string of handkerchiefs.
"It's in here somewhere," I tell Mrs. Scrubitt.
"Don't you worry, Mr. Wonka, I can see you're a man of great ingenuity. And we got just the thing for you: the Entrepreneurial Package," Mrs. Scrubitt offers. "The room's one sovereign a night, but you don't have to pay until six tomorrow. Does that give you enough time to earn a few pennies?"
"More than enough, Mrs. Scrubitt. Thank you," I reply as I put my hat back on.
"Oh, it's the least I can do for a stranger in need," she says, and she places a form on the counter. "Now, sign here and we're all done."
She gives me a pen, and I'm about to sign my name on the line at the bottom of the form when I notice those girls looking at me through a hatch behind Mrs. Scrubitt. They whisper something to me, but I can barely hear them. Though, it sounded like they said, "Read the small print." I lean forward to hear them better.
"What?" I whisper.
Mrs. Scrubitt turns around to look at them, and they suddenly look scared.
"Thank you, (Y/n), Noodle, that'll do!" she says, and she slams the hatch before turning back to me with a smile.
"What'd they say?" I ask.
"Who's that then?" Mrs. Scrubitt asks.
"The girls," I reply.
"What girls?" she asks.
"Those girls! It sounded like, 'Read the small print,'" I say, and I grab the bottom of the form and pull on it to reveal quite a lot of small print. "And there does seem to be a lot of it."
I'm at the other side of the room by the time I'm done unfolding the form.
"Don't listen to (Y/n) and Noodle, Mr. Wonka. They're damaged," Mrs. Scrubitt says.
"Damaged?" I ask, wondering what she means by that.
"Orphan Syndrome," she replies.
"Orphan Syndrome?" I ask, never having heard of such a thing.
"Orphan Syndrome," Bleacher confirms.
"Orphan Syndrome," I repeat.
"Noodle was dropped down the laundry chute as a bab, and (Y/n) was found when she was only four. And I took them in out of the goodness of my heart, and I've done my best, Mr. Wonka, honest I have, but they've been left with a suspicious nature. They see conspiracy everywhere," Mrs. Scrubitt explains while folding up the form.
"Poor girls," I say, feeling terrible for the girls.
"I know," she responds. "This is all your standard ts and cs, but you're welcome to take a look, if you want."
"I'll just give it a once-over," I say.
I give the contract a once-over. At least, I pretend to, because I have an embarrassing secret. After a few seconds, I look up at Mrs. Scrubitt.
"Well, that all seems to be in order," I say.
"Really?" she asks.
"Uh-huh," I reply, and I look behind me to see Bleacher standing there.
"Hello," he says with a smile, and I sign the contract.
"Oh! Then welcome to Scrubitt's!" Mrs. Scrubitt cheers and dings the reception bell.
She leads me up the stairs to a nice-enough room.
"Here you are, Mr. Wonka. The Entrepreneurial Suite, and a four-poster, and a sink plus soap, and a little mint on your pillow," she says.
"Fantastic!" I respond, and she leaves me alone. "What a kind woman."
It seems like my luck really is changing for the best. As I start to get settled in, I think about that young woman I met in the lobby. She truly was very beautiful. But the fact that she has Orphan Syndrome is just terrible, and she apparently lost her parents when she was just a small child. Maybe I can still try to make friends with her.
(Y/n's POV)
"Maybe he won't sign it. Maybe he'll read the small print and save himself from this awful nightmare," I say while pacing around mine and Noodle's shared room, trying to be optimistic.
"Yeah, maybe. And if he doesn't?" Noodle, who is sitting on the bed and watching me pace with her book in her hands, asks.
I stop and sigh, not wanting to answer that. I made the mistake of agreeing to stay here after Bleacher found me when I accidentally wandered away from my father and got lost. But I was only four; I was young and innocent, and I didn't realize I naively fell into a trap. The only good thing about this place is Noodle. She's like a little sister to me, and it's been that way ever since she was found as a baby. I can only pray that man doesn't make the same mistake I made. I think about how silly that man was when he tried to produce what he said was his "most astonishing creation yet" from his hat. Even if he failed his little trick, I thought he was quite charming. And I will admit, he was very handsome.
"(Y/n)?" Noodle asks, waving a hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my trance.
"Yes, Noodle?" I ask.
"Are you okay? You spaced out," she says.
"Oh, I'm fine," I assure her.
"(Y/n). Oh, Noodle," we hear Mrs. Scrubitt call out sweetly.
"I take that back," I mumble.
I feel my heart sink to my stomach. She may sound sweet, but I know Noodle and I are in big trouble. We leave our room to meet Mrs. Scrubitt in the hall.
"Y-y-yes, Mrs. Scrubitt?" I stammer.
"I've been looking for you two," she says.
"What do you want?" Noodle asks.
Mrs. Scrubitt suddenly slaps me across the face and grabs a handful of my hair.
"(Y/n)!" Noodle cries out my name, but Mrs. Scrubitt viciously grabs her by the shoulder and drags both of us down the hall.
"I want to teach you a lesson, you miserable little bookworms!" she shouts.
"What did we do wrong?" I cry out as I try to free myself from her grasp.
"You know what you did, you stupid girl!" she shouts at me. "Stop squirming!"
She kicks the doors to the pigeon coop open, and she throws us inside. I hold Noodle close to me as we look up at Mrs. Scrubitt.
"You two ever interfere in my business again and you'll be in this coop all week, do you understand?" she shouts.
"Yes, Mrs. Scrubitt," I reply softly as I rub my head.
"Sorry, Mrs. Scrubitt," Noodle adds.
"Well, I should think so too," Mrs. Scrubitt growls before slamming the doors shut, leaving me and Noodle in the darkness.