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Cruel to be kind, that’s the rule. His initial plan had been simple – back in his day, it wasn’t hard to ostracize someone. Still easy as pie when you tugged on the right strings; pre-programmed circumstances made it easier. Bad guys could give out flower baskets to orphans and people would still flinch when they walked by – so getting the rest of Sugar Rush to snub the newly-rendered Glitch would’ve been easy.
But in the moment the game booted up for the first day after his, ahem, adjustments, memories re-wired and chipped at, another idea came to him. There they all stood at the race tracks; him up on the highest stand and podium, when a little turquoise form came wandering in. He could tell who it was by the sweets crammed against her hair.
And the other racers were chattering to her, clearly assuming she was just another character ready to go – they wouldn’t know until they saw it. He’d failed in deleting that dratted code, but, oho, the state he’d left it in wouldn’t be pretty.
And so the benevolent ruler swopped down via the candy-cane pole beside the podium, and sauntered over to greet them, nodding his head to the happy grins and awkward bows bestowed by the tykes.
“Hey there, King Candy!”
“Hullo, Hullo, great to ‘meet’ you all! Programming, am I right? Yes, yes, hello...”
And Vanellope waved sheepishly at him. Oh, he almost felt sorry about what was to some.
Perhaps. Maybe. Hh-hm.
He was all set to the play the part – the girl would eventually show her ‘true colours’ to her peers – and they’d go from there, wouldn’t they? “Alright everyone!” He lifted his arms, gently gesturing with his wrist like he saw many presenter NPCs do – not that he was anything close to that mediocrity. The gaggle of racers turned towards him, and he cleared his throat. “The roster is blank, so that means we’ll have to decide the first avatars –“
Instantly hands were in the air and waving.
“Me, me, me!”
“I wanna be first!”
“Who said you get to go first, I wanna –“
His frustration bubbled through his cordial expression just a bit. “Kids, kids, ‘c’mon, let’s be civil!”
“We should RACE to decide!”
Vanellope had jumped up on the spot, a move that would make Mario jealous. Hiding the streak of loathing and mirth in his head, King Candy allowed a short chortle, “And excellent idea, M’dear!” He pointed one to her, and the kid’s face lit up in glee at simply being addressed.
“You betcha King Puffy-Pants!”
Excuse her? King Candy tittered at her, deciding to let it slide, count back from five – ten. She wouldn’t be so sassy in a moment.
Eager to please, just like all new racers.
He knew the feeling.
Ignoring the bitterness inside, he gestured grandly to the finish line before them, “So, we’ll get started right away! Roster number will be decided by the –“
And there it was. A loud, jumbled crackle that sent a jolt through the tiny crowd. He’d pet himself on the back later for the start he faked, eyes wide and blinking as the racers gawked at the girl in the middle. A cry tore from her throat, hands clasping at her own shoulders.
Her panic must have made it worse, as it happened again – her pixels went hay-wire, blue code blinking in and out of view. Aha. He’d done it after all.
“It’s – it’s –“ A blond boy stumbled back.
They didn’t understand quite yet. And this was his chance – to cement it, to set things off for how they would be forever after. New and uncertain, these brats would buy anything he said.
But then Vanellope lifted her head to stare right at him, little hands extending, “I don’t – ouch! What’s –“
He was all set to refuse, a nasty kind of pleasure lifting in his chest – but then the idea came to him. He was the reasonable authority figure, wasn’t he? The good guy. They’d listen to him for being sugar and nice. And the plan came together so evenly in his head.
Moulding his face into a softening, pitying stare, King Candy moved forward when the others had stopped recoiling. “Oh, my dear.” He murmured, slowly clasping her hands. Careful, careful – not to do so when she was clutching. The child’s hands were soft and cold, and Turbo had never been one for comfort or contact - it took every ounce of his being to pull this off. He pretended to look over her, and made his face grow sad. “You poor thing...”
He gently petted his other hand over hers as she clung to him, staring around at her former fellow racers in bewilderment and panic.
“What’s going on?” Her voice cracked as her gaze came back to him, and he heaved a sigh. “Vanellope, sweetheart, something’s gone wrong with your – your code, honey.”
The other racers viewed them cautiously. Blank and unknowing, the child stared back at him. “But...what does that – mean?”
“It means – “ Just a pinch of regret peppered in, “You can’t race, sweetie.”
...
Well that went just about as well as you’d expect, but to his credit, he put up a good show. The glitch went on and on about how she’d wouldn’t do it on the track, she just needed a chance, and he’d dialled up the concern. Putting on the show of a worried ruler, but one with sympathy, was difficult.
But every time the kid treated him like her friend because of this ‘understanding’ he’d assured her of made him bristle inward. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly at how well she’d been played. Most of the conversations played out the same way.
“Vanellope, sweetheart, you know why I can’t allow that! I’d feel much better if you stayed where it was safe, you know how I worry about you –“
“But King C, I’d be fine!” Again, loitering around the palace because she had nowhere else to go, which he’d begrudgingly allowed, in fact, keeping an eye on her so she wasn’t traipsing near the Finish Line was a good thing – the little character plonked herself down against a chocolate pillar, hands in the air, “I went for a whole two hours without one glitch today!” She lifted both little hands to emphasize this, and his patience waning, he pressed his hand against his forehead, kneading the skin.
“Vanellope.” He began again, the exasperated, but no less patient tone rehearsed and second nature by now. “Sometimes I think, hm, you’re not hearing what I’m saying!” A brief, tried chortle made it out of his throat. The child leaned against the pillar, pouting and scowling at the wall.
Again, it was a familiar sight. He pushed it to the back of his mind and sighed, “Sugarplum, don’t give me that look – or the salmon wallpaper that look either. I’d love for you to race, I know you’d do well –“
Her head turned, mouth open, upset face at the ready to start again, but he held up a firm finger, “But I’m trying to keep you safe. If you glitch on the track you could get hurt – those slides are no joke and if you –“
“I’d just respawn like all the others!” Vanellope protested. “C’mon, King C, I’m tough n’ taffy, I could handle it!”
She punched the air, and it took him a moment to realise she was mimicking the boxing game some consoles down. A snort escaped him before he could stop it.
But then he saw another opening. Placing a far more stern look on his face, he shook his head, “Vanellope – sweetie, listen!” He finally got the child’s attention and her determined Rocky-esq display faltered, “You can’t leave the game, remember when you tried?”
“Oh yeah, you were ‘bout to have a hernia.” She quipped, grinning cheekily. He smoothed back the strands of hair poking out behind his ears,
“Yes, I almost did, you drive me insane.” Vanellope snickered, far too amused by that old pun – but hey, it was a good one, he never stop uttering it back in the day. “But that isn’t the point, sweetie. If you die here, how do we know you’ll respawn?”
And there we go, the humour was zapped from her form. A slight glitch tugged at the edges of her body as she looked at him, all doleful. Alarm was sinking in. “Wh...but... this is my game. I’m still a part of it.”
Oh, the irony. Candy watched the defensiveness creep into her posture, twitching her eyebrows into a glare. Lifting his hands in a placating way he quickly said, “I know you are. But our game is new, Vanellope, glitches – the game will try to fix itself, it may not reboot broken code at all! You might not come back! Why’d you think I was so hard on you when I thought you snuck out?! I was worried sick!”
And he had been. If anybody outside got wise to what he’d done...
The harshness in his tone made her flinch, but he could easily play it off as anger born of worry. Again, he inhaled slowly to composure himself as she sullenly stared at her knees. “I know it’s tough.” He began, coming to sit beside her against the pillar, gently petting her shoulder. “But everything I do –“
“Is ta protect me.” She recited, propping her chin up on her palm. “I know.”
Seemed he’d won he argument for now, but she’d be at it again soon enough. Urgh, he was getting too old for this! This disguise was messing with his willpower.
“But whadda I do then? The other guys won’t talk to me –“
“I’ve spoken to them –“
“They still won’t, even after you told ‘em it wasn’t my fault.” Slouching until she was basically lying on the cotton-candy carpet, Vanellope closed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, like a corpse in a casket. A very tacky parody. He rolled his eyes. “What do I do if I can’t race or do anything fun?”
“By fun you made deadly, young lady.” For once, the grin he displayed came easy – very easy. Those two words went hand in hand with him once, still did, however literally sugar-coated his life was now.
“So what do I do? Help Sour Bill make announcements, count mushrooms?”
That would be preferable, he thought to himself. But maybe – perhaps giving the vagabond something to do would keep her occupied and off topic about racing. Just a little, “Well why not? Why not help me do all the bossin’ and preparin’?”
The child stared at him, totally thrown for a fruity loop. “Huh?”
Standing up with his hands on his hips, smiling in feigned a challenge, “Or is the Taffy-Boxer too afraid to come up again the fearsome Sour Bill?”
Just for good measure, he waggled his fingers as if the prospect was truly spooky and Vanellope lapsed into a set of giggles, “I could take Sour Bill! But wait, can I? Can I be up on the podium? Can I blow raspberries into the microphone?”
“Yes – wait, ix-nay on the raspberries!” He shook his head, but now Vanellope was bouncing around him, snarky placing her hands behind her back,
“I get ONE raspberry or I’ll keep hasslin’ you till you’re blue in the face!”
Hard bargain. King Candy chortled, humouring her. All right, if he had to put up with it, let it be for a good cause. “Alright! One! But then you behave yourself, missy, for a least a month!”
He meant it as a figure speech, a figure of speech, but she quickly grabbed his hand, shook it, and darted off, “A month, gotcha! See ya later King C, I got practice my speech!”
“Wait, wait – Vanellope!” He called, mentally kicking himself.
Well, a month was still something, wasn’t it?
...
The Pastry Police reported what happened to him in a rush – Vanellope had been hanging around an unfinished level – that Cola Mountain – and almost fell in. The whole game had jolted on the spot – clearly ready for a respawn that wouldn’t go over well, but the child managed to avoid it somehow – glitching out of the fizzy lava.
She lived, but her codes were going nuts. She’d come back to the castle, stumbling and spluttering. The guards drew back.
“Vanellope!”
If she succeeded in respawning, who knows what would happen? He pointed so veraciously at Duncan he almost toppled backwards, “Scoop up a health-pack from the nearest race track!”
“But sir –“
“Did I stutter?!”
They didn’t dare say no, you lisped it, because a Mad King Candy is a Bad King Candy.
“K-K-King C-“
Vanellope’s violent sparking was getting so hectic, he could barely see her at all; but from what he could tell she was doubled over. Bet getting close was way off limits, so plastering on his best reassuring but firm look, he lifted his hands and made a settle-down gesture,
“Just stay calm, Vanellope – this’ll pass, it always does –“
Then she toppled onto her side.
...
The glitching eventually stopped. They had to wait who knows long for it the code to stop spluttering enough so they could move her. This time round, Candy was determined to keep an eye on her. That – that had been too much of a close call and he couldn’t quite shake the nagging worry from his body. A lot of pacing was involved my friend.
He didn’t know why. He’d avoided the crisis; the game hadn’t reset and everything was back to normal. The child would be up and on her feet and probably harassing him in no time, so why was he hovering near the doughnut bed they’d cautiously placed her in?
“Sir.”
He nearly jumped out of his skin. “Sour Bill! Do announce your prescience next time!” Pressing his fingers against his head he spoke through his teeth, “I’m about as tense as liquorish on a medieval wrack!”
And it was true. He’d seen that stuff pull and snap far too much not to use it as a metaphor. Perhaps this much was certain – this game was driving him insane...
...
Ow. Ow. Ow.
That’s all Vaneloppe comprehended for the first, five minutes maybe. Then blurry, muffled chatter. A deep, monotone voice dragging itself into being and a familiar, bubbly voice that sounded ready to lose its owner’s marbles.
Oh yeah.
The clarity of what almost happened came back to hit her harder than any cart. She almost saw her proverbial self burst into code, and her eyes snapped open. King Candy and Sour Bill were chattering – but it halted upon her sitting bolt upright.
Oh hey, how’d she get into this doughnut –
“Vanellope!” King Candy suddenly breathed out, looking like a deflated rubber balloon. Tugging at his bowtie as if that would compose him, he said, “Are you alright?”
Vanellope peered down at her hands, herself, her shoes. Yup, in one piece. Her code fell off and strange, but. Existent. “Yeaaah. I’m – whoa. I didn’t die.”
“You almost did!” Whoa, he did not look good, Yeesh. Vanellope’s snarky spirited didn’t last long though. Man. He’d really freaked out over it. More so than her. “Galloping Gumdrops, young lady, are you trying to drive me up the wall?”
“As a racer that would be...impressive?” Vanellope ventured, grinning cheekily (but uneasily) and hoping pointing out the unintentional pun again would somehow tame the situation. King Candy blinked.
Then he gave a weak kind of laugh. “Its official, Sour Bill, she’s trying to kill me.” He said this almost to nobody in particular.
Stumbling slightly, Vanellope found herself off the funny doughnut bed-thing in moments, fiddling with her hands. King Candy had turned away, shaking his head. “King...King C, I didn’t – I didn’t mean to this time. Like, I didn’t mean to freak everybody out. Or you. I...”
She wasn’t good at this.
Neither was he, but she’d never know that. Hesitantly, she reached out to clasp his sleeve and he glanced over his shoulder, bushy brow raised. She saw something in his expression soften, and he gently petted her hand.
“Vanellope, I hope you realise how - hoo, how close this was. The game would’ve recovered, but you...”
She didn’t know what came over her, next moment she’d flung her arms around his middle, eyes screwing shut as she hugged him. King Candy’s arms flew up and for a moment he was stiff as a board. Sour Bill, unseen, probably had no idea what to make of it.
Thankfully, she didn’t glitch.
Then, gradually, she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, a hand gently stroke at her head. “M’sorry, King C. But hey, you’ve always steered me right.”
A hooting laugh broke the melancholy. Breaking the hug as well, King Candy pinched her cheek, perhaps a little harder than he intended but hey, Vanellope was snickering,
“You cheeky little monster! I should have you tried for that!” The goofy man exclaimed, fake-scowling, “Ten months in the Fungeon for trying to give the king a heart attack and terrible puns!”
“I’d just eat the walls.” Vanellope returned without a moment’s hesitation.
A pause. King Candy glanced up, apparently doing the math and – “That’s actually plausible, nevamind.”
...
Antics like that would come and go over the years – and maybe it was the programming that allowed the tykes to stay truly child-like for so long, but things days and weeks ran by faster than he’d ever known them to. Racing was the main aspect of his life, of course, but dealing with Vanellope came as a close second.
Having her around was part of the package, and strangely – it became almost easy to deal with?
Sometimes, though, the arguments and attempts to the get at the track put them at loggerheads. Instead of hanging around the castle, she’d hide out in the game somewhere else whenever he was furious. ‘Grounding’ her had become a thing, you see, and Vanellope threw a tantrum every time.
Her angry protesting and furious determination never failed to remind him of – the old days. He’d almost go as far as to say himself, back when he was new and brash – something he tried to deny.
Eventually, though, she’d creep back, cowed by the silence of the outer regions of the game and missing the noise of the main parts.
Maybe even HIM.
The idea brought up mixed feelings – but why would they be mixed? Was this coding change beginning to mess with his head? That child being on his mind so much – he’d gone above and beyond for her, truly, he didn’t need to do anymore.
He did not care. In the slightest.
...
“King Candy’s WAY too easy on her.” Taffata stated for the fifth time, flicking away a used lollipop stick off the edge of the milk-river bank. On her side, Rancis, on the other, Candlehead. They usually hung out here. The other racers were lounging by the cookie-trees; it was a lazy day and they’d already raced throughout most of it to pass the time.
After the Glitch tried to sneak into the race again.
Instead of encouraging them to bully and snub, King Candy had calmly explained, many times, that Vanellope was not at fault for how she was, and that he would handle these attempts. His card at playing the over-protective ruler, and dare some say it, father-figure, were well cemented in their minds.
But knowing the risks, the Racers were less than understanding. “She could get us unplugged! Why can’t she get that through her muffin-head?”
Huffing loudly, Rancis folded his arms, all up on his high-horse, “It’s because she’s the favourite.”
“Nah, he just coddles the Glitch because she’s damaged.” Candlehead quipped, kicking a crumb into the milk-river below.
But it was true, in their minds – she got to run amok, go up on the podium, say hello to the audience and racers, loiter around the castle where the king could keep an eye on her – he let her away with murder!
So long as she didn’t get near the track.
...
“Vanellope Von Sweetz!”
What?!
Why hadn’t he recognised that hoody!? Down below the Coin-Collector, leaping around on the spot was that very child, wildly proclaiming that she was in the race.
Fury and shock exploded inside his brain because when did she get the gall –
“Vanellope?!”