#i know percy is going to come back eventually but he hasn't yet!!!

[kazz-brekker]

i put off watching the latest batch of legend of vox machina episodes for a couple of days but now i have seen them and i am Sad

[verstappentime]

Director’s commentary for Pietro and Erik’s relationship in superposition! (I love love love everything we got to see of them onscreen; the “remember what I always tell you” “there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism?” exchange in particular was so delightful, probably my favorite little moment of the fic so far)

ohhhh i love this one.

basically the idea came in the beginning to have pietro be part of the pit crew bc of his powers. then i was debating doing that bc i wanted him to be erik's kid, and we (me and percy who helps me with all my fics) were messing around with the idea of him being a little kid running around the garage or something, then it kind of all came together when i think he suggested we make him old enough to be on the crew *and* erik's son. so that's where erik being a teen dad came from! and once we landed on that idea, even though i knew it was going to be hard to slot into the story, i really super loved it. and we figured out a way around some of the logistical issues with erik not knowing he had a kid till he was 20, when he was probably already in f1, and us making erik a little older so it wasn't super outrageous.

they have an incredible relationship, there's actually a lot of lore that's not in the fic (yet, at least?). he found out about P when he was 20 and magda moved to england and got his number. he went over with his mom & she waited outside when he went in -- P was soo shy & didn't want to come out to meet him at first. he was so tiny and had erik's eyes and it was just surreal for him. he eventually got to say a little hello and go see some of pietro's trains and things and get to see his kid being a real four year old human and when he went back out to the car he just sobbed. he'll always be heartbroken that he never held him as a baby, tbh. he doesn't blame magda but he just wishes he could've gotten every minute with him possible. he takes being a dad more seriously than anything else and just loves his kid so much.

i guess it also hasn't come up that he stopped racing for a few years from when he was 20-22 because he wanted to parent full time, which is what led to him not winning his first championship until he was 25.

also, this bit you mentioned is a favorite of mine too, erik as a socialist who is also knowingly being a hypocrite because he's a multi-millionaire is funny to me lol. but yeah, these two are a great duo, erik does a good job!! there will be some bumps in the road bc he's parenting a 16 year old, but y'know. <3 thank you for loving them!

i'll add a deleted scene under the cut where erik opens up abt P a little more! (not very well written i'm sorry)

“I loved him from the moment I met him,” he says, quiet and honest. “He was small for his age, for a long time. And shy, if you can believe it. Magda had to coax him out just to say hello. I would’ve killed for four more years with him, back then.”

“And now?”

Erik shrugs. “It was hard at first. Toddlers don’t adjust well to change. And I think he… I know he wonders about it, sometimes. If I didn’t try hard enough to be there.” He swallows. He tries to keep that guilt tucked away somewhere safe. It hurts, and it’s hurt for the last twelve years. “But I just try to do everything I can to be a good dad, I guess. I don’t know if I’m getting anywhere with that one.”

He’s read so many fucking parenting books he could recite them. Raising mutant children, raising children with ADHD, explaining sexuality to your children, gentle parenting; everything he could get his hands on. But he still loses his temper sometimes.

He thinks of the first time he had to discipline Pietro, when he was little. He’d taken to Erik immediately, once he’d come out of his shell a bit, but Erik was a visitor, a friend who his mother had gently told him was his dad. They could play dragons together, visit the park, have a snack, and then he went back to his mom, who did heavy lifting.

The first time he’d taken Pietro overnight and needed to put his foot down, be just a bit firm (the first of thousands “no ice cream for dinner” arguments), Pietro had been completely distraught. He sobbed for what felt like hours, like Erik had broken his four-year-old heart.

He’d ended up burrowed into Erik’s neck, whimpering softly, while Erik whispered nonsense to him. It was the first time it dawned on him that if he just really fucking loved the kid, that could be enough.

These days, he isn’t sure.

[ravenquingvax]

I've not been watching Campaign 3 for a while now, but Twitter and Tumblr have been feeding me crumbs...

Now, an idea has sprung up in my head that I want to explore, but I don't know if I will write for it yet.

I mostly write for Vox Machina, I find that dipping my toes into writing for the other parties makes me uncomfortable, but this fic wouldn't be so bad.

Idk, maybe some day.

But here's sort of how it would start, i guess?

SPOILERS FOR CRITICAL ROLE CAMPAIGN 3 FROM AT LEAST EPISODE 51 ONWARDS

Thinking about Vex suddenly being startled by a feeling in her chest that she hasn't felt for a very, very long time.

She's concerned immediately, but for the wrong reason.

What sort of pain is this? Did she need a cleric?

Then it hits her.

But that can't be right…

Then the amulet goes off, the dragon tooth one Keyleth gifted to her oh-so long ago, from where it rests on her necklace stand.

She snatches it at once and rushes to find her husband, her chest aching more than ever, and finds Percy as he jumps out of his armchair in his study clutching at the amulet around his own neck.

Knowing the other is safe, they quickly rush to check on Pike, who was here to train Gwendolyn healing magic and emergency aid techniques.

Pike is fine, and her own amulet is back at home, so Vex & Percy's sudden and frantic appearance startles her and Gwendolyn.

When Pike is informed of what's happened, she immediately scries on Grog.

Grog's fine, he's been off doing Grog things, but he's stopped upon realising his amulet is doing that weird thing again that it hasn't done since... Well. In a long time.

They try to check on Scanlan next, but there's interference now - it's alright though, because he's suddenly appearing in a puff of purple magic looking terrified.

That just leaves Keyleth and Taryon then…

Pike tries to scry again, setting her target to Keyleth, but she just can't get through.

Scanlan admits he had struggled controlling his magic when coming here, which concerns his friends greatly - what was going on?

Still determined to try and check on the others, the group gathered some supplies before trying to teleport to grab Grog from out in the woods nearby…

But that's not where they end up. Instead, they find themselves ending up all the way in Emon of all places.

Scanlan is embarrassed, assuring them it isn't his fault, but the group's attention is soon turned to the sky.

A light is shooting into or out of the moon known as Rudius... That can't be good.

They rush to find Allura, who is franticly scrambling around her tower while Kima and Gilmore argue off to the side.

Magic is broken, divine and arcane... Uh oh.

And now these three pillars of magical strength Vox Machina have looked up to for years are now more terrified than Vox Machina has ever seen them before.

Something was happening.

Today's the solstice, right? Wasn't Keyleth doing something related to that?

They need to get to Zephrah, but they don't know how.

Was Keyleth safe? Was it her who set the amulet off?

It's stopped flashing by now... But they don't feel like she's been lost... Is she okay now?

That feeling in Vex's chest has also subsided, but Vex has no idea what that was. (She does, but she refuses to believe such a silly idea.)

The group had to rangle horses, but they eventually set off for Keyleth's home to find some darn answers.

After Zephrah, they can try to find Grog and maybe go look for Tary over in Wildemount.

It takes longer than they'd like, but they get there only to find out she isn't here.

She's in Marquet, actually, dealing with a huge thing that they can't know about.

Keyleth didn't want them worrying about her, of course, but Zephrah could help them get to Marquet via tree.

This magic works, at least.

So they get to Marquet, but they don't really have much to go on, though whispers and rumours direct them there.

Everyone there is dead when they finally arrive, a large machine now dormant.

Black feathers are scattered everywhere, laying in pools of different coloured blood.

Keyleth isn't here, but fallen Ashari soldiers are dotted around the ruins of whatever catastrophe happened here.

They need to find Keyleth.

Vex takes one of the mysterious black feathers and tucks it into her hair.

After searching and searching, they find some first aid supplies and empty potion bottles by a tree big enough for Tree Stride.

They hope this means Keyleth got home, but it means they missed her... Frustrated, they investigate some more.

Percy is curious about the machine but can't figure out how it once operated.

Satisfied they didn't miss anything, the group began the long journey back to Emon and across the sea.

They finally get back and report to Gilmore and the ladies, who are all deeply troubled by the news.

Vox Machina then disembark once more, heading for Zephrah once again.

This time, when they arrive, Keyleth is home - and she's in the worst state any of them have ever seen her in.

Hurt, using her staff as a crutch, she's beside herself with toe-curling anger.

That is, until she sees the innocent black feather in Vex's hair and breaks down.

There is so much to tell them.

There is so much to do.

[joezworld]

So, a while back this got posted and I thought it would be cool to do a set of stories on the whole subject of 'family'.

Then work picked up and I only got through the first one and a half.

The half story got used in Day 27 of Traintober (it's the story Gordon retells to Richard Hatt), but this one never seemed like it could fit, so I decided to put it up after Traintober.

*checks watch*

It's certainly after Traintober now, isn't it?

Replacement

July, 1987

Once again, Tidmouth Sheds were in an uproar, but this time, it was a different sort of uproar.

"I'm telling you, he's a mongrel! A fraud! A waste of good metal!" Screeched a posh voice.

Vulgar statements followed this:

"How dare you, you cheese-shaped lump of-"

"-can you at least say this to my face?"

"-if ah were in steam ah would be turnin' ye into roast duck, you-"

"Forget yerself Douggie, can ye imagine what Bear wuld be sayin' if he wuz 'ere?"

"Quackers, I swear to all that is not holy, if you don't stop talking-"

"Is this what the pride of the LNER sounds like? An unmitigated -"

-

Perhaps an explanation is necessary.

The year prior, The National Railway Museum had restored Mallard - the fastest steam locomotive in the world - to operating condition. Gordon was very pleased by this, as it meant another member of his extended family was in steam.

Furthermore, Mallard's speed records were a source of personal pride for Gordon, as his design was the prototype for all the Gresley Pacifics, including Mallard. This meant that Gordon would happily spend hours telling anyone and everyone who would listen (or couldn't get away quickly enough!) about his family's various exploits, much to the annoyance of the other engines, who wished he'd give it a rest!

But Gordon would not give it a rest, and spent most of the next year going on and on about Mallard and Flying Scotsman. Things eventually grew so dire that the Fat Controller reached out to Mallard and Flying Scotsman's owners to see if the engines would like to come out to Sodor just so Gordon would stop.

Unfortunately, things had not gone as planned. While Flying Scotsman was just as charming and gregarious as he always was, Mallard... was not.

Within a few days of his arrival, engines up and down the Island had begun complaining of the A4's attitude, which ranged from snooty and aloof to cold and even downright hostile depending on whom he spoke to:

"You should have heard the things he said when he thought BoCo was gone!" Edward said crossly one morning at the junction. "I've never heard such remarks about diesels!"

"Did he say anything about you?" James growled. "He told me - to my face - that my class was a "insignificant footnote in history".

Percy looked over, expression dark, at where the express engine was sitting at the coaling tower next to Gordon and Scotsman. "He hasn't said anything to me yet, but I think he knows where his bearings are greased."

"What?" Edward was confused.

"Keep it to yourselves," Percy explained. "But I think those books about us are a bit more popular on the mainland than we think. He thinks he can get away with being a sore axle to you because you aren't famous."

"And you are?" James snapped back.

"No," Percy admitted. "But Thomas is, and every time I've seen that great Wedge is when Thomas, Gordon, or Flying Scotsman is nearby."

The three engines looked at each other.

"So not only is he a rude heap of scrap iron," James began. "But he's also a glory hound?"

"Seems so."

"What a berk."

-

This brings us back to Tidmouth Sheds. Henry had been away at the works for several days, and returned to the big station on an evening goods train from Crovan's Gate. Mallard, Gordon, Scotsman, and several other engines were already in the shed when Henry backed in.

Pleasantries were exchanged with the other engines, but when Henry tried to say hello to Mallard, trouble started.

"You aren't a Black Five, are you?" Mallard asked, suspicion colouring his voice.

"You have a very good eye!" Henry chortled, unaware of Mallard's personality. "I've been rebuilt quite thoroughly - Stanier was the most recent one, about 50 years ago now."

"Really? And what were you rebuilt from?" Mallard asked, even more suspicious than before.

Across the shed, Donald, Douglas, and Duck looked at each other with growing concern. Henry's origins were well known to the Island, as was Mallard's superiority complex - this conversation would not end well.

"-and well, at the end of the day, I think I was originally built out of a rejected first draft for Gordon!" Henry laughed a little. "Of course, that was a long time ago."

A lengthy silence followed that.

Gordon and Scotsman looked at each other. They'd never considered that Henry might share a common origin with them.

Douglas, Donald, and Duck looked concerned. They could see Mallard's expression turn increasingly thunderous.

"Gordon, my dear cousin." Mallard eventually said, his tone practically poisonous. "Did you know that we're in the company of a fraud?"

-

The noise did not stop. No matter what anyone did to quell the argument, it would quickly start up again as Gordon or Scotsman tried to make their increasingly-recalcitrant cousin apologize to Henry. Mallard's responses were so rude that they don't bear repeating here, and each time sparked off a new round of shouting.

They would likely have gone on until dawn broke over the horizon, and only did stop when Henry's crew arrived to light his fire for the Flying Kipper. They had heard the argument all the way from the station carpark, and decided that the only way to end this was by separating Mallard from everyone else.

-

"- you expect me to pull what?!" As an uncooperative Mallard was driven towards the docks, the rest of the engines looked at each other, wide-eyed and emotionally exhausted.

"I never want to speak to him again." Gordon said, his voice scratchy and raw from a night of shouting.

"Gordon," Henry began.

"I'm serious." Gordon rasped. "He has no right to speak to you that way. As far as I'm concerned, he is the fraud, not you."

This drew raised eyebrows across the shed. "How is he the fraud, Gordon?" Duck asked. "It's not like he isn't a Gresley."

"He might look like one," Gordon growled. "But he isn't. No true Gresley would ever speak to another engine like that. There is a code. Honor. Dignity. Respect. It's the Gresley - nay - the North Eastern way."

The other engines stared at him. They were all well aware of how Gordon had treated Henry during his first few years on the Island.

"Don't look at me like that!" He snapped. "I was young and I was stupid then. And I have apologized." He looked in the direction Mallard had gone. "He has no such excuse."

The other engines looked at each other. They were all very upset at Mallard's rudeness, but clearly he'd struck a nerve in Gordon.

They wanted to say something, but by that point, the firelighters had arrived to prepare everyone for their morning trains, and the clatter and noise made conversation impossible. When the sheds had finally quieted down, Donald and Scotsman - who did not have morning trains - had fallen so deeply asleep that they slept until noon.

-

Everyone else spent the rest of the day in an exhausted haze. Henry was falling asleep any time his wheels stopped turning, and Gordon's temper had become shorter and shorter as the day had gone on. Even Scotsman, who had managed some sleep, was still groggy to the point of slurring his words.

Mallard, who had also been up all night, was equally snappish, especially after his run with the Flying Kipper. His owners had agreed to let the Fat Controller run him in normal services as well as rail tours, thinking that it would be a nice change from being kept inside the National Railway Museum all the time. However, Mallard actually enjoyed the light duties of being a museum engine, and found real work to be unpleasant and tiring.

He had not been quiet about this either, and this meant that when Mallard arrived in Barrow with the Flying Kipper, Henry's crew was already fed up with him. They left him in Barrow yard and stalked into the yard master's office, and immediately asked for their engine to be assigned the heaviest, most difficult train available.

That train turned out to be a special load of unfitted stone wagons bound for the harbour at Arlesburgh. Mallard made heavy weather of the trip, and it took him almost five hours of slow and dusty running to reach Duck's branch line. His train was of particularly low priority, and he had been shunted into almost every siding on the line, something which rankled his express engine sensibilities enormously. His axles ached and he was so tired that he was almost seeing double.

Mallard tried to rest once he'd delivered the train to Arlesburgh, but Duck hadn't forgotten the things that had been said about Henry, and blew his whistle, wheeshed steam, and generally made a nuisance of himself to keep Mallard awake. When Duck left, Donald and Douglas arrived and picked up where he left off.

When the time finally came to return to Tidmouth, Mallard was in a state of outraged and overtired hysteria. He'd been awake for more than thirty hours at this point, had been yelled at by engines who were defending a fraud, and had been made to do real work! It was disgraceful! Despicable! Absolutely disgusting!

He continued fuming all the way to Tidmouth station, and was subjected to further indignities when he was left alone on the far goods platform.

At first, he thought that it would be possible to get some rest at long last, but that hope was dashed when a pair of green tenders backed down next to him.

“What on earth do you want, Cousin?”

“What is wrong with you.” Scotsman didn’t phrase it as a question. He glared at the A4 through exhausted eyes.

“You’ll have to be more specific.” Mallard said graciously. “My paintwork is a touch shabby, my valves are worn, and I feel as though I could do with some more grease and lubri-”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh that?”

“Yes. That.”

“Well I’m not sure that there’s anything left to talk about my dear Scotsman - you certainly seemed content to say your piece all through the night, and into the morning as well!”

“They- I- You- You have been preened and fettled just a bit too much, alright? It’s gone to your smokebox, and not in a good way.”

“Oh please. You and I both know I’m correct. That abomination is nothing more than a waste of good metal. He should have been confined to the cutting room floor just like his drawings.”

I can’t believe I’m listening to this. You sound like Deltic - you know, the original Deltic? The prototype who had BR’s men so far down his intakes that they were able to turn him evil?”

“I can’t say I’m familiar.”

“He said that he was inevitable, and that he would surpass us in every way, and that we would all fall to his greatness. He was a supremacist git, Duckie, just like you are right now.”

“I’d kindly ask you not to lump me in with monsters such as that.”

“Then stop acting like him. Actually, I take that back - do start acting like him; I had the chance to meet him a few years ago at the Science Museum - he’s had a complete turnaround, spent an entire hour telling me how sorry he was for everything. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize for something in my entire life.”

“Well I’ve never had to, and I doubt that I ever will have to.”

“Why don’t you start. Today.”

“Oh, be sensible! Why are you supporting the Mongrel anyways?”

“He’s -” Scotsman cut himself off. “All right, even if we ignored what you said about Henry - which we will not, by the way - Gordon is furious about this. I’ve never seen him so mad and neither have the other engines who live with him! You owe him an apology on top of everything else!”

“Feh! I don’t owe him anything! He’s scarcely better than the fraud!”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Oh don’t look at me like that! He’s a prototype! A first draft! A rough approximation of what was to come! Don’t tell me you haven’t looked at him! His running board has more in common with the Forgery than you or I, and they’ve even removed his center cylinder! His center cylinder! And his Gresley motion! The two things that make our line stand out above all the rest! He’s as much of a Gresley as that box on wheels they put on the Woodhead line! The only reason I afford him any respect at all is because he’s managed to ingratiate himself to that clergyman with a predilection for children’s books!”

“First of all, Tommy is just a much of a Gresley as we are-”

“Bah!”

“And second, where do you draw the line? Are there no true Gresleys other than you? Is it limited to just your class? Or does one have to be famous? Is Green Arrow a true Gresley according to you? Are Dwight or Dominion true Gresleys? Are the J50s? Am I?”

“Stop being melodramatic. Your undesirable shape aside, you are of course a Gresley, and so are -”

“Undesirable shape.”

“What? Oh yes, it’s very unfortunate, but true.”

“How so?”

“Well, it’s rather obvious if you think about it.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Just look at those of us who survived - they only preserved one or two of the rest of our family classes - just look at yourself, they only saved you because of your record - but they’ve preserved myself and five others! Clearly we are more desirable than the rest of you, and I have seen for myself how popular a streamlined body is.”

“You vainglorious little bas-”

“In fact, and I mean no offense, but if it had been Silver Link, Sir Ralph, or even a Thompson or a Peppercorn who hit the ton instead of you, they would be here and you wouldn’t. It’s that simple.”

Even through his exhaustion, everything Scotsman saw was beginning to get this strange red colouring. “You’ve crossed a line now, and you are going-”

“I’ve crossed a line?!” Mallard scoffed. “Scotsman, cousin, I am the line. The Line, against which Gresleys - no, all steam locomotives are measured against. I achieved something that no locomotive has done before or since, and I did so with loose valves, a failing cylinder, and a heavy-handed driver. You did something that Truro probably did before you were even drawn, except that you had the good sense to bring a dynamometer!”

Mallard paused. His smokebox was ringing like a damned bell, he was so tired, and he didn’t have any desire to be kind today. “And in case you start getting any ideas above your station about your fame or your glory and if that affords you some unearned amount of additional respect, old iron, let us remember that when BR decided to form the National Collection, They. Didn’t. Want. You.”

Scotsman was about to burst a boiler tube. He opened his mouth to say something equally hurtful when an aggrieved sounding “AHEM” could be heard from beside him.

There on the platform was the Fat Controller, who had heard everything, and was as angry as Scotman had ever seen a human being get.

“Oh, what is it now?” Mallard griped, showing that he had no sense in his smokebox at all.

-

Later

The Fat Controller spoke to the big engines that night. “Due to, err, extenuating circumstances, Mallard had to return to the mainland early.”

Exhausted cheers met this.

“Now, I understand that some of you might be disappointed by this,” The Fat Controller ignored them. “but not to worry. I have spoken to a gentleman whom I know very well, and I have arranged for another locomotive of Mallard’s type to arrive shortly. That way we will be able to accommodate all the people who have come out to see Gordon, Flying Scotsman, and Mallard all together.”

That engine turned out to be Union of South Africa - or Osprey, as she preferred to be called nowadays. She was Mallard’s polar opposite - bouncy and excitable, she relished the chance to have some “real work”, and made fast friends with the engines of Sodor before nightfall of her first day on the Island.

“Why couldn’t we have had her before?” BoCo asked the shed at large. “And do we have to give her back?”

Everyone laughed at this, and when Osprey herself backed into the shed a while later, she was met with genuine smiles.

“You all seem happy about something!” She chirped.

“We’re just glad that you aren’t rude like the last one was.” James said with surprisingly upbeat bluntness.

“Duckie...” She sighed. “What did he do now?”

Everyone told her, and when they finished, the happy mood in the shed had darkened significantly.

“So he thinks he’s in a class of his own, does he?” She said quietly. “He should know better than to say things like that.”

Even Scotsman looked at her quizzically at that.

“He’s… been doing this for some time.” She explained. “Being earmarked for preservation, not having to worry while we all did… it did things to him. We’ve all tried to make him stop - it gives the rest of us a bad name! - but with myself, Bittern, and Nigel on other sides of the country, there isn’t a lot we can do. And he clearly doesn’t respect anyone else’s opinions on the matter.” She looked at Scotsman significantly when she said this - Mallard hadn’t so much crossed the line as he’d driven over it at 127 miles per hour.

“Well we must do something.” BoCo, of all engines, spoke up from the other side of the shed. “Forgive me if I’m treading on any Gresley family ground here, but if one of my brothers had spoken like that, the rest of us would have paid him out from now ‘til the new millennium.”

Gordon, Osprey, and Scotsman looked at each other for a moment.

“I suppose we should…” Gordon began.

“He certainly deserves it.” Osprey said.

“But what could we do to him that isn’t wanton cruelty?” Scotsman pondered. “We are trying to be the bigger engines here, let’s remember.”

The engines paused for a moment to come up with ideas, but the quiet was soon broken as Henry was driven into the shed.

“You all look contemplative.” He said as he was spun around on the turntable.

“We’re just trying to - my word,” Osprey said as she took in Henry’s form. “You do look like one of us - no amount of Stanier meddling can change that.”

A pair of gasps rang out as Gordon and Scotsman had the same thought at the same time.

As everyone else looked at them, they both turned their attention to Henry.

“Henry…” Gordon said slowly. “Have I ever mentioned how-”

“I know what you’re thinking.” Henry said quickly, cutting him off. “And I will not be a party to it.”

“Oh come now, cousin.” Scotsman said slyly. “Tell me that you can’t see the appeal of this?”

“I’ve been in the same shed as your lineage for sixty years,” Henry said. “I will not be involv-”

“I see you haven’t given up on insulting children, have you?” Sir Nigel said as he was backed into the next road. Mallard was in the back of the shed, sulking; he’d been put back there several hours early after the parents at the heritage railroad’s open day had started complaining.

“They are sticky, and stupid, and young.” Mallard grimaced. “I don’t know how you put up with them.”

“I put up with them because I like them, and more importantly, they like me.” Sir Nigel said. “If they grow up not liking steam engines, then how will we survive when they’re adults? Boilers don’t grow on trees, you know - their ticket revenues will someday pay for them!”

A vulgar noise followed this, and the other A4 rolled his eyes. “Ah yes, Super-Engine is a piece of history; they’ll never rid themselves of you.”

“Did you come in here for a purpose, or am I to be stuck with you until the morning?”

“Yes to both, unfortunately enough.”

“Well, out with it - I want my beauty sleep.”

“I think you’d have to sleep for a month to manage any of that-”

“Why you-!”

“-but I do have some family news.”

“What is it? Be quick.”

“Did you know that they found another A1 prototype? I don’t know how this has only now come to light, but-”

“I said be quick.”

“ - but, new documents have come to light in Sodor. Apparently their 4-6-0 - I cannot for the life of me remember his name, but he’s the green one in the books - he’s one of us! Scotsman, Gordon, and Osprey all vouch for his pedigree, and when I saw Arrow, he was ecstatic at the prospect of expanding the family a little. Oh, and Morayshire is already champing at the bit to go out there and welcome him in person…”

Sir Nigel kept talking for some time, but Mallard didn’t hear him.

They adopted the fraud. Those savages.