#achatter

[engineer-gunzelpunk]

Traintober 2023: Revolutionary (The 1950 AFULE/ARU (Victorian Chapter) Strike, part 2

What The Engines Said

(Wholly fictional scenario of what I imagine happened if the engines at North Melbourne Loco were sentient)

North Melbourne Loco Sheds was achatter with the rumors of a strike by the human enginemen running wild in the yard.

In the evening, the locos were being shedded and the rumors were seemingly being validated with talk among the drivers... who's locos then passed this talk on to everyone else.

"Fireman says we might go on strike... whatever that means..."

"A strike! How exiting!"

"Does this mean we are getting smacked in the face?"

"No, you dummy! It means the enginemen are going to stop working a while!"

"Jeez, a strike... we finally get a break when the human drivers demand something...", grumbled the Norf yard shunter, E 236 "Hercules", a little tank engine.

"Oh do be serious, Hercules... we have no idea what this could mean", intoned S302 Edward Henty, the S-class Pacific, from his special berth.

"Yes we bloody do! It means we all get a rest! I've been run off me wheels since the bloody War ended..."

"He's right!" barked Pluto, A2 986, "We've been running ragged since the war, me cylinders are coming apart..."

"I need an farkin' overhaul..." grumbled Heavy Harry, who coughed painfully and spat a wad of ashy, clumpy black spittle, "They've been a bit stingy on the maintenance..."

"Me axelboxes didn't get looked a when I complained about it! What gives!?" rejoined X29, who had a name but everyone called him "Boofhead".

"Me smoke deflectors are about to fall off.. no one wants to tighten me nuts! Don't even get me started on me boiler tubes!" shouted another loco.

The shed was filled with the sounds of complaint from the locos, until a driver appeared in the middle of the round house.

"Quiet!"

"I'm sure you heard a lot of things... well, I've been sent to tell you that from midnight... there will be a total strike.., no passenger or goods trains are to be pulled until further notice!"

A ripple of amazement went through the locos in the shed.

"Can more frequent maintenance be put on the list of demands?" wheezed Harry.

"It is part of our rationale for the strike already, Harry... you don't need to worry about that..."

"What of the Progress sir?" asked Edward Henty.

"Cancelled, old boy. You could all do with a rest...".

"What of the other sheds?"

"They will be notified in due course... but you heard it from me first... we can trust you for your support, yes?"

More murmurings...

"Whats to stop scabs from climbin' in us?" asked Pluto.

"You're all clever dicks, you can figure it out... lest your tiny little minds blow a fus..."

"Ooooh.... ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...", a chorus of rising engine voices.

"Have a good night, we will let you know if the situation changes..." said the driver and walked out.

"So, what do we do?" asked Boofhead.

"I reckon we just sleep, would love a bit of sleep..." chuckled Hercules.

"How long do you reckon it will last, sir?" asked Harry.

"I dare say not that long... the Commissioner can't be that stubborn" said Edward Henty.

"Ah phooey! Of all the things... you reckon they'll listen to the drivers... they'd sooner replace us all with bloody exploding zeppelins than give an inch...", barked Pluto.

"Let the striking drivers and firemen do their work and we'll see..." said Edward Henty.

The shed fell silent, as the assorted big and little engines drowsed off.

The strike was to go on for 55 days... but those are stories for another day.

[spacedoutwitch]

Tribble Month 2023 Day 15: New or Old

He can’t quite run, what with the clustering woods and the falling snow and the footprints he’s following, but he makes an effort.  His breath puffs out in front of him, again and again, caught in the beam of his flashlight.  His flickering flashlight, nevermind how many times he smacks the handle’s end or the fact that he bought it yesterday.  Flickering and jittering, distorting the shadows of bare branches.  Not enough to thrust him into darkness, or to make him give up and go home.  But enough to unsettle him.  Enough to make that risk loom large in his mind.  

Because of course it is.

The other signs are less subtle.  No animals shuffling around leafless bushes, or stepping on twigs, or even a whistle of wind.  A cold which sinks its fangs right into his ribcage, through four layers of clothing, and sets his teeth achatter to spite his scarf and hat and coat hood and earmuffs.  And birch trees, more and more the deeper he goes, until they crowd out all others and try to do the same to him, staring him down with what are not eyes.  Yeah.  Really not subtle at all.

Still no sign of his wayward roommate, but all the evidence in the world of the thing hunting them.

If it hasn’t already left them dead in the dark, and turned its sights on him next.

He huffs, pulls his fur-lined coat tighter, and slaps the butt of his flashlight with a gloved, shivering hand.  And then he keeps going, step by step, matching up with the sole-shaped holes in the snow.

(Word Count: 269.)

[rossoman1576]

HUMP BACK＠武道館

ハンプバックの武道館公演に行ってきました。始まる前から武道館だーって感じでグッズも買ってちゃんと準備完了って顔していけた。その前にジャパンカップ負けたのは内緒。本当に楽しみにしてたハンプバック。ワンマンライブに来るのは初めてだったけど実際に出てきてみたらいつものハンプだって感じがした。いきなり「拝啓、少年よ」で全然ギターの音出て無くって面白かった。やっぱりももちゃんも緊張してたみたいで、ライブ中に背中叩いてもらってて見る側にはわからない緊張感がすごい伝わった。個人的に盛り上がっちゃったのはまあまあ序盤でサーカスをやってくれて、結構サーカスだ！ってわかってないファンも多そうで古参感が出せて良かったくらいに思ってた。でもそのちょっと後のMCで「昔から何回もメンバーが変わって、それでも私がハンプバックやって言い続ける限りはハンプバックやって思ってずっとやってきた。けど、今はもうこの三人のうち誰かがやめたいって言ったらハンプバックは終わってまう。この三人じゃなきゃ意味がない。だから誰かがやめるっていうと終わっちゃう。そのはかなさが自分たちをもっと強くしてくれた。」って話してて、ああそういうことかってすごい思った。「サーカス」は初期ハンプバックが崩壊して林萌々子だけが残って一人でハンプバックをしていた時の曲で、PVにも一人しか登場しない。だからこそ、ハンプバックの暗い強さ、強かさみたいなものを感じるPVなんだけど。そんなことを思ってるからこそ、今のこのメンバーでサーカスをやりたかったんだなあって思う。ハンプバックは完成したけど、今までの下積みに全部意味があって、昔のブラックヒーロー感のあるハンプも今の明るい世界観のハンプも両方ハンプなんだよ！っていうメッセージだったのかなって。ハンプはいつまでたってもちゃんと見せてくれるんだって思って言いたいこと言ってくれる感じがして、ジャパンロックかなんかでも「私たちのライブを、音楽を守ってくれてありがとう。」って言ってて、ロックってこういうことだよなって思った。ロックは誰かを傷つけるためにあるんじゃなくていつかの誰かを助けてあげるためにあるんだって、CRYAMYの世界の冒頭の誰かを守ることの話につながるものがあるなあと思った。あと、ハンプのMCで心に残ってるのが、「初めての武道館はチャットモンチーを見に来て、そのあと��先輩の武道館で、そのあとは同期で、次があたしたち。すごいことだよこれは」って言ってて、ナインスって武道館やってるのマイヘアとyonigeくらいだけどyonigeって1994年だから後輩なんじゃない？って気になって仕方なかった。でもyonigeの「一本」の淡々と曲を進行していくライブと違ってハンプは自分たちの言いたいことと自分たちのロックンロールを貫いてる感じがした。yonigeの説教臭いMC聞いてもなんも響かねえからただ歌聞いて感性壊して帰れよのスタンスもどっちも好きなんだけども。そこからのハンプのライブは本当に一瞬で終わってた。流れるようにマイユーとかヘイベビとかをやって星丘公園で「ロックが死んでしまった」っていいながらもハンプのロックはここにあるぞ！って感じして本当に良かった。ティーンエイジサンセットも声出せないながらも客みんながシンクロしてティーンティーンってしてる気がしたし、本当に楽しかった。アンコールでは本当に昔の曲の「月まで」をやってくれて、これも今まで全部がつながってるんだぞっていう感じがして、月までで初めてハンプを知った身としてはとっても嬉しかった。でもハンプバックは武道館では終わらないわけで、2日後にはもう千葉LOOKでライブがあってあくまで武道館はただの道中だよっていうので一番最後にLILLYでしめてくれた。本当にほんとうに楽しくて林萌々子っていう人間の魅力が知れて、みさちもぴかもMC参加してみたり、ぴかのパートが増えたり、ほんとに今のハンプバックはフロントマンが引っ張るバンドではなくてみんな一つでハンプバックなんだっていうことを今回の武道館で見せつけたと思う。最終京都museまじでなんで最速選考出さなかったんだおれの馬鹿野郎。

[autumnsunshine10]

Winter nips at our heels– Daylight saving’s end will drag Us closer to its frost bite, Setting our on-edge teeth Achatter, sending shivers Through to shake our souls, Stressing that the end Of this too-short year is near. Where did the time go? How is it already this cold? We wonder, shaking the dust From our coats, hoping the snow Stays away awhile longer And warmth lingers, staving off The often beastly winter.

Light the fire and stoke The embers, if we are to survive November

[caffeinated-yearning]

31 with Ratchet

“sometimes you love someone and you don’t want them to leave… because if they’re beside you, you can see that they’re safe, and you can keep them safe. But, if they go somewhere without you… you might lose them.”

Lying flat on his back, a mundane human. Tau- a joke on and of himself, three levels of meaning to his name and all of them forgotten; the only way he would have it. By his own admission, a boring sort of entity. The kind that has to manufacture fun for itself or it will lose touch or time or both.

The sands of the desert’s twilight, still warm with the last scorching light of the sun. It was comfortable against his skin, once tucked in the chill of an air-conditioned hull. The cover of night, the distance from the road, theoretically enough to allow that being possessed of a metal frame, Ratchet; enough to let him take a more humanoid form- and he had. That he was willing to sit with, to indulge in something that Tau had not done in years, was a sort of kindness that seemed almost too good to be true.

Maybe it was. Too good to be true, that is. The threat of attack loomed no more. The rebuilding of Cybertron had begun, and so now they--all of them--would be leaving for their home. They had never really stopped thinking of it as home, even though they described its state as barren and bleak when they did speak of it. And that was familiar; home was the place that Tau had grown up, even if, or when, it felt empty and void of all. The place in the middle of nowhere, the place where no ambitions grew. He lived elsewhere now. Years had begun to shift his view, that place as home that he still thought was home but not his- shifted to seeing the silo as home. For a long time that was not the case for him- and for beings who lived eons, even years on an unfamiliar planet might not change the desire to return to the place they know is theirs. It made sense to Tau, who even still thought that this world that he had found a place in was so beautiful and still might not be his home.

But it should have been something joyful, for everyone. The giants who had been upon the Earth certainly found it joyful- that home could be rebuilt, that they could finally return to the home they had not known in eons. Yes, it should have been joyful.

...

Tau swallowed. Looked up at Ratchet, whose eyes illuminated his whole face. Oh, to be so beautiful. “Where is it, again? Cybertron, I mean.” Where is your home?

Bright and luminous- Ratchet pointed to the star; his human, the one who soaked in the study of space with the eager will of a long-thirsting plant, only glanced for a moment at the star itself. A moment, before landing again on the teal-grey of the brightened face, the eyes that glowed, the mouth with songlike zeal that talked about home. The star’s name he knew; he could find it again whenever he wished.

The shine of blue, the eager and joyous nature as Ratchet offered up his vast knowledge of the planet that was home, the light of a thousand thousand stars all lighting the white-and-red of his body in a beautiful glow… That was not so easily found.

The stars were a home. One that Tau knew, one that he’d mapped on each of a thousand nights. Ratchet… he was also home, in a way that was new and fearsome and that demanded cautious investigation. He’d known Ratchet for years and still it felt that there was infinitely more everything to discover. A treasure trove, or perhaps the exploration of it all was the treasure. He had so much left to discover. That’s dumb, came the thoughts all achatter, as Tau continued looking not at the stars. The talk of the cities of an alien planet had faded, in their place a smile of contentment that burned Tau’s ears and face so much more than the sun.

“Thank you.”

“What?” Ratchet looked down, then, at the human- as though Tau had said something odd.

“For… You know.” The medic’s attention, suddenly leveled at something like himself- Tau’s eyes darted to the star about which the metal planet orbited. “For being here. Talking. Just… This.” A broad gesture to encapsulate everything. (A failure of language.) Tau tried not to pay any mind to the gaze that continued searching for his missed meaning. The silence stretched too long, and the embarrassment at being so ill-equipped to speak seemed nearly to leave first-degree burns on the face and neck both. “Sorry.”

“... I wish you could have seen it, back then.”

“Maybe I’ll steal a space-suit from NASA, and visit when it’s rebuilt.”

Scoffing at that; “it won’t be the same.”

“It’s still home, though.” Pausing, staring, starting, backtracking; “I mean-. Your home. You’re going there- it won’t be mine. I can’t exactly live there. Even if I wanted to- which I do- I can’t. Obviously.” It will be farther than the kin of man shall ever reach, and it will be all the home I could ask for, and it will be lost to me forever, on account of an error in my form. A form of lipids and proteins and which needs breath of a certain type. The words, a flash of eloquence, that slipped out before he realized he was saying anything at all so open; “sometimes you love someone and you don’t want them to leave… because if they’re beside you, you can see that they’re safe, and you can keep them safe. But, if they go somewhere without you… you might lose them.” Tau laughed, as though to conceal the sincerity that had been; “sorry, that was silly. How’s someone like me supposed to protect anyone like you? You’re a doctor and an autobot; I’m just a meatbag of probably earthly origins.”

“You did,” he muttered, looking away at the same moment that Tau glanced up to question him. 

“Surely, the good doctor is in jest,” Tau shook his head, sand and grit now happily nestled in among his hairs and nearing his scalp. A good excuse for a shower, if nothing else.

“Not everything is a joke.” He took a moment, drew a breath. “If you hadn’t been so... Persistent about me getting parts of the Energon the team brought back.” He stopped talking, glaring at the arm that showed the vitals of the team.

“I’m sorry.”

“You were protecting me- us. The team, to the best of your abilities.”

“Not much ability."

“It meant a lot that you were so adamant.” He coughed, looked as though he remembered something, and added, “I never said I was going back to Cybertron. Someone has to make sure that Earth is safe.”

“But Cybertron- but that’s your home!” But Cybertron is his home. Why would he forego his home? Tau looked at the star, then back at Ratchet with incredulity he couldn’t fathom. “Why would you..?”

“Maybe I have a new home here,” his tone was gruff, dismissive, and yet the content of the words was odd. A new home here. “And the space bridge isn’t going to be defunct just because of one trip; I can visit them whenever I want.”

Tau almost felt a smile quirk across his face at this strangest of turns. Then... Quietly, he addressed the stars; “a new home..? Imagine that.”

[galimatios]

refugio

"they won't find you," comes a voice echoing in the darkness of a cave. it's a familiar voice— one you've heard on numerous occasions by now. it's sweet, warm with the dulcet tones of security. so strange for someone mortal, like those who've pursued you through the centuries— but this one is different. this boy is different.

"they won't find you. i promise."

underneath your paws is the aging wood of a boat that carries you silently across the water. it's dead silent save the occasional stir of a rod that the boy uses to direct the flow of magic running through the currents beneath you. one of the magi. you're well acquainted with them. perhaps too well— for their history has been inexplicably intertwined with your own as far back as you can remember. those mortals, whose bodies possess the innate ability to manipulate the ambient energy within themselves and the environment, are in ways so similar to you even with your canid appearance— but they're not like you.

these humans— they don't understand. they warp and twist the world in their vision. make it bleed for their own desires. they are not one with the world— no. they think themselves above it, better than the centrifugal force that drives all life.

the balance.

you remember being born thousands of years ago, wrought from turquoise by the hand of a master craftsman. with his chisel he imbued your stone body with the breath of life and said to you— you are my companion. no more, no less. back then, things were simple— you were simple. the only thought that ran through your head was the joy of fulfilling your purpose, following the ends of his saffron sash through the temple and sleeping beside him at night when the crickets in the distance would gently lull you to sleep. it was a simple life with its simple bliss. you were happy.

one day, he did not come back from his rounds.

it was customary for him to descend from your mountainside refuge on occasion to meet the needs of the villagers below. there were indeed times were your master came back days— even weeks late due to extenuating circumstances. so you merely sat there, upon the temple steps, waiting for him to return to your side.

days passed. those days turned into weeks, then weeks into months. months into years. you would wait a hundred of them before realizing your master was not coming back.

when you finally brought yourself down from the temple steps, you passed by a pool of water. you did not drink from it— a being of stone required no sustenance —but you peered down into its surface, gazing at your own reflection. the details of your canine features were still as sharp as the day they'd been carved, but something changed. your pure turquoise body was no longer such— it was marred, tarnished with the excess of time.

you didn't care anymore.

the golden bangles around your ankles sounded like chimes as you walked for miles through the vast forest at the base of your mountain. you didn't know where you were going, what you were trying to do. the only thing that kept you moving was the perpetual motion of your limbs, unable to stop because if you stopped that meant you had to think. so instead you focused on the feeling of your pads against the litters of leaves on the ground. the sound of running water as you passed by rivers and streams. the birdsong in the spring mornings and the cicadas calling in the summer heat. and in the blink of an eye, you were another hundred years older. the memory of your master was fresh in your mind as always, but the pain of his disappearance aged into something bitter, something sweet— a pastiche of loss and the memories you had of him. for a while, this became your peace— your solitude and the awareness of the life around you.

that peace was irrevocably broken the day you crossed paths with the magi.

along with the life the monk gave you came certain qualities, for he was no ordinary monk but a magus in his own right, and perhaps not even human— after all, humans did not live past a hundred years yet you spent at least five-hundred by your master's side. and in those five-hundred years, he'd caught you a few tricks— to avoid being seen by mortals. spells of evasion, invisibility. things to allow a creature such as yourself exist in a world where magic was no norm.

it seemed as if humans finally caught on. hot in pursuit were no normal humans at all. they saw through your spells and illusions, gazed upon your stone skin and thought to themselves, this relic belongs to me. you could feel the greed in the way their eyes sparkled at you.

but you had no master now. the only one you'd ever accept was long, long gone. so you did what any dog would do without a home: you ran.

you haven't stopped running. not once in a thousand years.

"we're almost through," comes the boy's voice again. it breaks you out of your reverie, ears alert. you feel his magic running through the water, pulling the boat forward. this isn't the first time he's helped you— no. just one of many strange displays of kindness throughout the years. his brown skin and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles reminds you of your master in ways you don't want to admit, choose not to admit— because you know that this boy, in time, will soon disappear along with all the others that aided you in your journey. humans were such fragile creatures after all— unlike stone, bodies made of flesh never lasted long.

sometimes you wish you, too, were made of flesh.

but the scene changes. the boat exits the cave, and your thoughts are whisked away by the expanse of sky reaching far above you. and in the distance, you see the faint light of distant stars illuminating the night with their eternal luminescence— the one thing that's been constant in your long, long life.

within minutes, the boy docks the vessel in a hidden cove, eyes cast back in the direction of his village miles and miles away. he can go no further with you.

this is where you part.

the boy stands there, watching you get off the boat. he's silent, but you can feel the words caught in his throat, tangled with emotions his youth prevents him from articulating. in the last few months you've spent with him, he's always been achatter with whatever's on his mind— so the difference in his behavior does not go unnoticed. yet at last, after a few minutes, he seems to make up his mind:

"you won't forget me, will you?"

you cannot reply, for you are a dog, and dogs do not speak— but there are some things that require no words to convey. taking a step towards the boy, you do what any dog would do when in the presence of a friend: you lick his outstretched hand, rub your stone muzzle against it, and the boy smiles. you let the joy in you well up again, breaking into a run— baiting him to chase after you on the shoreline. he laughs, and you let him catch you, tumbling down onto the sand in unison as he breaks into a peal of laughter.

bittersweet. that's the word that runs through your mind. bittersweet. like every good bye you've endured through the ages.

when you finally break free of his embrace, you know he's tearing up but too proud to show it. instead, he shows you his best side— the one he wishes you to remember him by, his face aglow with a smile as bright as the stars themselves. and before you leave, you offers you his final parting words:

"don't get caught, okay?"

you don't need to say anything anymore, one thought lingering in your head:

i won't.