willy wonka was something of a visionary, an inventor, a chocolate maker. he was a young man, yes, his forlorn appearance out of place in the city, yes, however his desire to make his name in the culinary world as a chocolate maker overpowered that. after all, what else did he need other than his chocolate, and a hatful of dreams?

well he hadn't anticipated a rival, that was for sure.

see, since getting trapped in the laundry, scrubitt & bleacher with years of debt to pay, he'd recruited a band of other unfortunate souls that shared his plight to sneak out and sell his extraordinary chocolates to the public without being caught by the cops. however, one evening, it became clear that he wasn't alone in the underground chocolate business.

the thing about the chocolate cartel was that their chocolate was overpriced and plain; while wonka's was vivid and full of life for an affordable price-- yet it seemed that you had also had a similar vision and a similar method of execution.

"you? again?" wonka questioned, mildly bemused as he slipped through a storm drain to the tunnel below, to find you standing there, clearly irked by encountering him for the fifteenth time that week. you were his rival. noodle had clearly told him he had to adopt a semblance of competitive spirit when it came to someone in the same niche of inconspicuous chocolate selling as he was-- yet he was rather awful at the whole feuding matter.

"well aren't you a sight for sore eyes, i'm surprised the cartel hasn't called the cops on you yet." he remarked, adjusting the waiter's uniform he had donned as a disguise, white shirt, black waistcoat, framing his lean frame rather nicely, brown curls a bit of a mess due to a hasty escape.

his tone retained a congenial air even in the face of a predisposed rivalry. "though i suppose i could say the same about myself. where are you headed today?"

it was rather hard for anyone to take him as opposition when he was this polite about it; even you could be thrown for a whirl-- whiplash, rather.