#old iron bridges

[zoeflake]

Views of the Loyalsock Creek to the east & west from the Rock Run Bridge, built in 1897.

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 21 - End of the Line

There's Something off About Proteus...

(Please read 'The Bridge' from last year's Traintober first to get the best experience, and then read 'Middle of Nowhere' afterwards. This will be a running theme for a few of these.)

The Skarloey Railway was prospering. The wartime traffic had bolstered the little railway immensely, as had the discovery of a vein filled with copper and iron ore to the north of the lake, on the other side of the now Old Iron Bridge. The managers of the line were quick to jump on the opportunity and bought a new engine to help with the work, freeing Skarloey and Rheneas up to do their own work with the main line and the slate quarry. The engine wasn’t given a name right up, but it didn’t take long for the men to start calling the engine Proteus, due to just how much water he drank and how well he herded the trucks into line – like seals, a worker had once remarked, though neither little engine understood the reference.

Skarloey and Rheneas thought Proteus was an odd sort. He did his work with no fuss whatsoever, making his way up high into the hills and taking the empty trucks right the way to the end of the line to be loaded before bringing loaded ones back. But he also didn’t… speak. He was completely silent – mute, the workmen claimed. He just gazed about with wide, dark eyes.

Something felt off about that too, and for all that both Skarloey and Rheneas tried to think of a reason whey they were so uneasy about their new shedmate, nothing came to mind. Proteus just… was. He came and he went, and he did his work. He said nothing, but his eyes took in everything, almost as if the little engine was cataloguing everything and tucking it away deep in the back of his smokebox.

The mining company extended the line deeper into the hills, searching for even more copper and slate and stone to exploit. Rheneas and Skarloey watched on, feeling a deep wrongness about it all but not quite sure why.

Stories began to trickle through. Miners were a superstitious bunch after all, and the old legends had a way of spreading rapidly through their neighbourhoods. One that stuck out to the engines was the tale of a mythical, almost perfectly spherical boulder which stood at the very heart of Sodor, and any who laid eyes on it was cursed. Rheneas had been the one to hear it, told it by a withered drunkard with almost unnaturally long white hair who had swung his hands around as he spoke as though he was trying to summon the spirits. He thought it was a passenger, and retold the tale to Skarloey as a joke in the sheds.

“And so the boulder stands over the valley, its ghoulish eyes constantly searching for those who trespass on ‘its’ territory – for the moment they do, it will curse them with a most gruesome fate!” Rheneas recounted, adding in sound effects to the delight of his brother. “Was that it?” snorted Skarloey. Rheneas was about to reply, when something stopped him. A half-buried memory, pushed down over decades of repression stirred to the front. “No…” Rheneas admitted. “The man said that he could only tell the story in full to someone who had witnessed the boulder’s powers for themselves.” Skarloey raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“So either you weren’t told the whole thing, or you missed something out while telling me and you saw this mystical, perfectly spherical boulder.” Rheneas went to retort, but thought better of it. “Remember when you had your cab fitted? Back when the Old Iron Bridge was made of wood?” Skarloey thought back, then hummed. “I think – it collapsed, didn’t it? And you had to be carted right the way around the valley behind a traction engine so you could get back here.” “Yes! I almost crossed the bridge that night… but there was something else on it. I saw something.” “And what would that be?” quizzed Skarloey. “I saw a lantern, out on the bridge. And I heard hooves – but there were no horses out that night… Or maybe there had, but the bridge still collapsed and a boulder fell into the ravine and had one of my coaches not derailed we would have gone with it.” Skarloey stared at Rheneas, then burst out laughing.

“Oh, you are a hoot! Ghost horses!” Rheneas scowled furiously, and let off steam. As the steam cleared, it revealed Proteus, backing into the shed after a long day at the mines. The little engine stopped not too far from them, and their crew hopped down, looking annoyed.

“There was a gas leak in one of the mines, and now it’s closed for a week!” the driver complained. “There are a few mines that use canaries,” Skarloey piped up. The driver and fireman shared a look, then turned to their engine. “A canary, huh? Well, a yellow engine ain’t that different.” Proteus just stared at the pair impassively, almost as if he didn’t care. Rheneas wondered why the little engine didn’t seem bothered by his crew’s almost compulsive decision, though he figured it may have been that he was used to their impulsivity.

Proteus did seem a little peeved when his crew actually followed through on their decision, painting poor Proteus a bright, eye-sore yellow and parading him about the yards. At the very least, it made spotting him in the dark easier.

To add to the odd modifications, another incident at the mines a week after his repaint – this time due to a candle going out and a miner being crushed under a wagon – led to Proteus’ superstitious crew bolting a large, ungainly American lantern to the top of his smokebox.

Skarloey and Rheneas both thought the lantern was unsightly, but withheld their comments so as not to embarrass the poor engine, especially as he had no way of speaking up for himself.

A suitable spot for a new copper mine was chosen, and Skarloey went up to help Proteus out so the little yellow engine could build the line. Each day, Proteus returned later and later, his lantern being almost constantly lit.

Then, one evening Proteus returned at nearly midnight, his crew almost silently finishing up their duties, but still loud enough to rouse both Skarloey and Rheneas.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” hissed the driver. “An almost completely round boulder!” The two engines were wide awake in an instant. They looked over – but neither could see Proteus’ face from where they were parked.

Still, both engines noticed a marked change. Proteus became more withdrawn, less inquisitive and more… blank. There was nothing behind those eyes now, as if Proteus wasn’t all there. Skarloey believed Rheneas now – but try as they might, neither engine could tell anyone else. They tried – but every time they opened their mouth, an invisible force held them back. It was as if they had been gagged, forced to keep their silence and watch as Proteus became more and more unrecognisable each day over the next month.

The rains came stronger than usual that year, and they weakened the ground up around the mines. All three engines had to go up to help repair – and that’s when Rheneas and Skarloey saw it.

The boulder was real. It stood right at the end of the line, on a cliff overlooking the ravine the railway ran through. Skarloey’s driver began muttering something under his breath, his hands clasped together.

“I’m not going up there again,” he hissed that night. Skarloey and Rheneas both agreed. Skarloey’s driver considered for a long moment, then turned back to them. “And neither of you should either. If you do, it will make a beeline for you.”

Both engines resisted the urge to demand to know what it was. Something deep in their frames told them knowing would be worse than blissful ignorance.

Proteus continued heading up to the end of the line every day, and not returning until almost midnight.

The rains finally cleared, but their departure signalled the rise of the mist and fog. It swirled around everything, making it almost impossible to see. The only thing bright enough to cut through the fog with ease was Proteus, painted in his bright livery and with his giant, powerful lantern.

Skarloey and Rheneas were thankful for the fog – it meant that traffic was slow, and they weren’t needed up near the mines. But Proteus still went dutifully up to the end of the line, even as work ground almost to a halt. Even as his eyes began to very slowly shift colours, lightening up around the edges and morphing from the coal-black eyes the pair had known for the few months the little engine had worked with them to something... different. A hazel, perhaps? But it was too vibrant for it, and too foggy to really tell. 

Then, something changed.

It had been a cold, wet and miserably foggy day. The fog was so thick that it was almost entirely impossible to see beyond the edge of Rheneas’ buffers, but he still agreed to pull the afternoon passenger train. His journey up was without incident, and the little red engine stopped at the top station to run around his train. As he puffed by the yard, he thought he could just make out the silhouette of one of the other engines – but it was too thick to tell.

“Goodbye,” whispered a voice. Rheneas looked over to the platform, but it was devoid of people. He looked back, and saw what looked to be Proteus’ lantern retreating into the distance. Rheneas felt a chill run through his boiler. Beneath his lantern, Proteus' eyes were almost blood red. 

“Let’s go back. Fast.” Rheneas’ driver obliged, happy to be out of the wet and cold. As they headed for the sheds, night began to fall. A full moon shone overhead, it’s brilliance almost entirely disfigured by a thick, impenetrable fog. Rheneas battled through it to reach home, and was glad to spot his brother in the sheds.

“Oh good, you’re here!” panted Rheneas. “Something is wrong – I was up at the top station, and I think I heard a ghost!” “A ghost?” “There was a voice, it said ‘goodbye’ but there was no one there except…” Rheneas cut off, his eyes blowing wide. “Except Proteus.” There was a muffled boom in the distance, and then silence.

During the night, Proteus went missing. He’d been somewhere up near the end of the line, and then gone. A farmer later claimed he saw the poor engine fall from the Old Iron Bridge, his lantern dark and his face featureless. Worse yet, the gas leak deep in one of the mines hadn’t been properly clogged – a miner had tried to light a cigarette, and the entire mine had gone up in a fireball.

The damage was intense and severe. The mining company ran dry of money, and had to sell the railway. Mr Handel Brown – the brother of Skarloey’s driver – bought the line, and decided to close the route up to the mines. “It’s not safe,” he said darkly. They placed dynamite on the Old Iron Bridge, and detonated it.

…

They destroyed the Old Iron Bridge, so why was it intact now?

Back to the Master Post

[houseboatisland]

I'm curious, have you any lore on The Old Iron Bridge?

Sorry for the wait answering; my mind’s been occupied with other cartoons hehe.

Uhh, let’s see.

This one “Duncan Gets Spooked” Audio Production from Sodor Island Forums (ick) interpreted the bridge to belong to some other impoverished, unnamed 2’ 3” gauge railway besides the Skarloey or Mid Sodor Railways, but apparently being not too far from the former. It then goes on to say that the reason the Skarloey engines are now on it is because it has been absorbed as an extension of their railway after it had laid closed for several years and never connected to the Skarloey. My headcanon basically aligns with that.

For a while, on this blog too, I flirted with the idea of the Skarloey and the Mid Sodor Railways briefly, and unsuccessfully, being a single company for a few years in the vain hope that it would help them survive their ongoing hardships. They would then split up, and the MSR close while the SR limped on. The railway The Old Iron Bridge used to belong to, would’ve been part of the connection between the two separate railways.

Now though, I’ve decided to revamp my headcanon: The SR and MSR never united. (They did think about it, though.) The railway that The Old Iron Bridge belonged to, (let’s call it “The Third Railway” for the sake of this post since I can’t properly name it right now) existed east of what became the SR’s Lakeside Station, and again, never connected with either the SR or MSR.

The Third Railway was built not long after the Skarloey Railway, in the 1870s, also to exploit minerals, (slate I guess, and maybe theirs would turn out practically worthless for selling,) and hopefully drum up tourism. The railway was more of a speculators’ toy than an actual railway with a purpose: it had very little going for it on its own, and its backers were betting everything on the SR buying them out once they got started up. The SR never did, and The Third Railway eked a miserable, hand-to-mouth existence, never profiting and usually not breaking even either.

The Third Railway of course wouldn’t have had many engines, because there wouldn’t be much work for them to do in the first place. I’m sure it wasn’t more than three. By the 1920s, one had already been sold or scrapped for funds, and the railway should’ve considered itself lucky to have lived this long. As with the Talyllyn Railway in real life, the surviving engines’ work would have been so undemanding that they would have existed for eternity with the minimum amount of care, quick patchup on basic engine designs and no excessive damage. Then, in the 1930s, The Third Railway decides it needs more money again, and sells/sells for scrap their second engine. Reeeeally playing with fire, now. Goose laying golden eggs, etc.

That leaves one engine: the engine later made infamous by Rusty’s story. He falls off The Bridge heading home one night, is never recovered, people claim to see his ghost, etc. His death is definitely the last straw for The Third Railway; they close immediately after they’ve collected their pittance of an insurance payout. The railway hadn’t had hope for its entire life, and they were lucky to have enough work for ONE engine at the time of his demise. (Why was he returning home at night if he barely had work to do in the day? I have to figure that out.)

Uhh. In terms of when the accident was, I’m gonna say it was immediately after the Second World War, (1946-48) and NOT during it, because then it instantly would have been eaten up for scrap metal, including The Old Iron Bridge. You’d think The Third Railway’s Company would have sold off the track and everything to pay off its debts, but I guess for one reason or another they were just never able to. That’s how the Skarloey engines can find it in one (crappy) piece when the events of “Duncan Gets Spooked” happen. My headcanon is that Season 5 basically was the Seventies, so at that time the SR is buying The Third Railway’s remnants and cleaning them up for expansion. Hence “clearing the railway of branches and overgrowth.” It wasn’t the Skarloey Railway that was all crummy and shrub-ridden in the episode: it was their new assets, the former Third Railway.

So, in my headcanon, the supernatural is real. Ghosts and crap. (It’s a show about choochoos with faces. Some kooky presence or non-mortal plain/dimension/whatever existing isn’t entirely off the table.)

Duncan definitely saw The Engine’s Ghost, and what workmen at night have seen him too from Rusty’s retelling. It’s a good time now to note that what happens in my headcanon doesn’t follow that what the show and books show is gospel, and some things may happen differently than what’s onscreen. So while the episode may show The Engine’s Ghost to merely have been fireflies, in my version of the episode it was deadass, on God and his Timberlands, the ghost. Duncan’s freakout was waaay worse too, (oh, and his crew, don’t forget them,) and the fireflies explanation was merely his way of coping with what he saw. He spent many a sleepless night rewriting his memory to be that it was fireflies, however stupid that was. (I’m not gonna go into detail but I’ll just say The Engine’s Ghost’s face was absolutely unmistakable with a bunch of flickering bugs. If you saw what Duncan saw, you’d see just how stupid his rationalization sounds. “Dude are you blind??? That was NOT bugs, yeesh���💀” you’d say.)

I have little in the way of headcanon for The Engine himself set in stone, headcanon-wise. But I can say for certain he felt cheated by life, and that’s why his restless spirit still roams the place of his death. In my headcanon, The Engine’s Ghost must have heard Duncan calling Rusty’s story rubbish, and that’s why Duncan’s the only engine to ever, as I said, come face to horrific-gross-terrifying-ghost face with him. The Ghost was livid and thought Duncan had earned himself a one way ticket to Scare the Soot Out Of Youville for his insulting him. Duncan’s also the only engine to ever “face off” with him all this time later. This particular spooking seems to have sated The Ghost’s hunger for attention for several years, for he wasn’t seen again for at least a decade.

But The Ghost does start appearing again after that, just to keep his legacy going and, truth be told, he revels in the new attention his story has gotten since the comparably tame TV adaption. He’ll appear if he knows people are camping out to see him, or maybe during the day, become invisible and secretly be responsible for something non-maliciously being where it shouldn’t. (You have to pity the poor coach or truck that happens to be moved, though. What a freaky thing to live through and then just keep living with after the fact.) Lots of the campers have seen him making his usual “round” on his bridge, and as you can imagine try to record it, but I guess ghosts in this world never show up in photos or video the same way vampires don’t appear in reflections, and because ghosts are seen so rarely, that’s what helps along a majority of people into thinking ghosts aren’t “real” when they are.

The Skarloey Railway still runs the former Third Railway since buying it and reviving it. (It’s barely recognizable with the old thing. Much prettier.) Duncan, naturally, is banned from being scheduled to run on it for PTSD reasons. It just makes sense to do, if you’re a railway traffic coordinator.

[ryan1014n2]

Traintober Day 2: Bridge

Lucky for Duncan, the moon's not full tonight. . .

[raurquiz]

#happybirthday @TheJeffBridges #jeffbridges #actor #kevinflynn #clu #tron #tronlegacy #tronares #ironman #TheOldMan #badtimesattheroyale #OnlytheBrave #kingsman #thegoldencircle #TheOnlyLivingBoyinNewYork #hellorhighwater #dreambig #SeventhSon #TheGiver #truegrit #ripd #thebiglebowki

[thingsdavidlikes]

Puente Don Luis I. Portugal. by Edorta Kartiber On-Off.

[pistonsandgearsinc]

Traintober: Day 2 "Bridge

"*Ffrindiau sy'n delio â Geffyroffobia ac Acroffobia*"

[Old Iron Bridge, East Sodor]

Skarloey tried not to look down at the marsh below, he focused his eyes ahead as best he could, trying to find something to latch onto. He couldn't really, aside from Duncan and the clouds.

His incident at the old wooden bridge had left him a touch shaken. His attention was, at this moment, drawn to Duncan who seemed very on edge whilst crossing the old iron bridge. He couldn't particularly blame him, the bridge did seem to have a presence to it. In the back of his mind however, he wondered if perhaps Duncan felt the same about bridges, or more specifically about heights.

He could hear Duncan muttering to himself up in front, but wasn't quite sure what he heard. "There's nae such things as ghosts, there's nae such thing as ghosts." "Duncan? Everything alright up there?" Skarloey asked cautiously. Duncan blinked and and in a rather shaky reply, ". . Oh-Aye. I'm fine."

Skarloey wasn't quite convinced.

- Happy Traintober everyone! Sprites and background by Princess Muffins.

I originally wanted to do a whole mini retelling of Skarloey's most infamous episode, but there wasn't a background for the bridge. So I improvised and I quite like what I've come up with.

Hopefully the next one will be more of a story.

[postcard-from-the-past]

Iron bridge in Lasalle, Languedoc region of France

French vintage postcard

[the-bridgehunters-chronicles]

Unassuming Bridge, a Rare Survivor of Motherwell’s Legacy- Bridges and Tunnels

The modest Pratt through truss spanning Oldtown Creek in Logan, Ohio, stands as the last extant bridge constructed by the Motherwell Iron and Steel Company, a once-prominent regional manufacturer. Founded in Lancaster in 1867, the Motherwell enterprise commenced operations producing shovels and scrapers under the moniker Motherwell Brothers. Expansion followed in 1874 when the firm reorganized…

[death-rebirth-senshi]

You know I tried to read call me by your name when I was younger and I couldn't get into it but maybe now I'm mature enough to handle it

[zoeflake]

And into the forest we went...

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2023: Day 30 - Middle of Nowhere

They Should Have Left This Part of the Island Alone:

The railway line to the new quarry was making the older engines nervous. “I don’t like it,” muttered Duke as he went about his work. “That part of the island is meant to be left alone.”

Skarloey and Rheneas agreed with the old engine. “They’ll find the bridge,” Rheneas hissed at Skarloey. “We closed that line for a reason.” “I know, Rheneas,” Skarloey replied gravely. “But what can we do? If there’s profit to be made, those executives won’t listen to reason.” “What’s up there isn’t reasonable,” Rheneas retorted.

All three were on edge – and it only got worse when the surveyors found an old, creaky iron bridge. It spanned a wide gorge, crossing over a swamp below. Rusty went to help the gangers lay rails over the old structure – only to find that there were already rails! These rails were weather worn, bent out of shape by hot summer days and rusted by frigid winter nights.

“We’ll need to pull these rails up and relay them,” Mr Hugh said. “It’s odd,” Rusty replied. “I didn’t even know there was a bridge up here.” The little diesel began the long, tedious task of carefully removing the old rails and replacing them with fresh new ones. Somehow, the bridge itself had not suffered the same fate as the track. Instead, it stood silently over the gorge, perfectly frozen in time.

Rusty felt like the railway was intruding on something, purely by crossing over the gorge.

Still, they pressed on.

They found the trackbed of an old railway on the other side of the bridge, one which twisted and turned carefully through the mountains until it reached an abandoned quarry, sat perfectly at the base of the mountain they wished to mine.

“It’s an abandoned quarry,” Rusty told the other engines. “And it’s in the middle of nowhere! I don’t get it. Who’d even put a quarry there, let alone abandon it and leave a giant iron bridge behind!”

Skarloey and Rheneas shared a worried look, while Duke went eerily quiet.

“I thought your railway blew up that bridge,” hissed Duke the next morning, once the other engines had left for work. “We thought so too,” Skarloey replied, eyes wide. “We planted the dynamite and everything! You don’t think…” “I wouldn’t want to risk it,” Duke replied solemnly.

Much of the line was overgrown, and soon the foreman began asking for trains to run up to the construction site to take away all the trimmed branches and leaves from the trees. Rusty and Peter Sam set to work on the trains, hauling long lines of trucks up and down the extension.

“You be careful on that old line,” Duke warned Peter Sam. “That is a part of the island few venture to for good reason.” Peter Sam was confused. “Granpuff, what are you talking about? I know it’s in the middle of nowhere, but it’s nothing to be afraid of!” “Just listen to me,” Duke hissed, his eyes ablaze. Peter Sam gulped. “That part of the island is not to be trifled with! You take care, for the love of Saint Machan, Peter Sam!” Peter Sam shakily agreed to the old engine’s frightening warning.

Construction continued apace. The new quarry was further up the mountain than the abandoned one, and a line was constructed through a narrow gorge below the old quarry to reach it, circling around behind the mountain towards the site.\

That was where they found it.

It was a boulder, rounded by wind and rain buffeting it on all sides. It stood high up on a ledge, completely cut off from the rest of the world by the rough terrain. “What a sight…” gasped Rusty when the little diesel first saw it. “It’s certainly something,” agreed Duncan. “Don’t see stuff like that every day.”

The old quarry was reopened the next week. It still had veins of slate it reached, some nestled deep in the mountainside. Trucks began grumbling their way up the once-disused incline again, bringing load after load of slate and stone down the extension, across the old iron bridge and then down the valley.

“I don’t like this,” Duke remarked, watching nervously as Sir Handel shunted his trucks into place for Henry to load onto his goods train. “You don’t like most things, Granpuff,” snorted Sir Handel. Duke just scowled and steamed away to collect his next passenger train.

But Henry noticed that Duke kept gazing up the valley towards where he’d been told the quarry was, a fearful look in his eye. As the big green engine heaved his heavy goods train out of the siding, there was a sudden clunk from beneath him. “What was that?” he asked, throwing on the brakes – but it was too late. One of the slate trucks toppled right over, smashing into wooden splinters as its brakes jammed in the points. Henry stared back at his trucks in shock. Sir Handel was also stunned. Neither of them noticed Duke watching the entire spectacle with wide eyes.

“It’s already beginning to make an appearance,” hissed Duke to the other old engines that night. “Did you see what happened to Henry? That was a slate truck that derailed.” “It spilled across the entire mainline,” Skarloey said. “There was no way we couldn’t see that mess!” “So what do we do?” Rheneas asked. “A better question is what can we do?” Skarloey groaned. Neither of the other engines had an answer.

Winter set in not long after that, bringing with it fogs that curled up from the rivers and lakes along the Skarloey Railway and blanketed everything in thick, impenetrable grey. The snow followed close behind, a blizzard of white slush falling all through the night.

When the snow came, it made work difficult. Industry ground to a halt – but they still mined the slate from the lower quarry to keep the engines busy. Skarloey, Rheneas and Duke hated it when they had to go up the extension. The old iron bridge swayed and groaned under them, as though threatening to collapse at any second.

The workmen, however, didn’t notice. They were busy at the quarry, where they’d shovelled as much snow as possible into a giant bank behind the buffers. They believed the snowbank would stop runaway trucks from skidding all the way down into the ravine the line used.

One especially frosty morning, Skarloey was sent up to the quarry with some coal trucks and empty slate wagons. “Be careful,” warned Rheneas. “We may have passed that time of year, but I wouldn’t be too sure that it’s not still out there.” Skarloey agreed and was extra vigilant as he made his way up towards the quarry. The original trackbed that the railway had once used had become impassable over the years, so instead, trains ran through the ravine before circling back to enter the old quarry. Skarloey didn’t like this route.

“The old route may hold bad memories,” he murmured to himself. “But at least it was safer.” His driver didn’t hear him. They neared a large snowy overhang which dangled dangerously over the line.

“That’s got to be the snowbank the workmen have been making,” hummed Skarloey’s driver. “It doesn’t look safe,” Skarloey said. “I’d rather we check to see if it will collapse.”

The guard strode up, overhearing Skarloey’s suggestion. He gazed up too. “The old engine’s right,” he said. “The sound of Skarloey’s engine could trigger an avalanche. I’d rather we run over a detonator and check.” Skarloey and his driver agreed.

Up at the quarry, there was a problem. The overnight frost had buckled part of the winch mechanism that hauled trucks up and down the incline. The winch kept catching, slowing production down. A long line of loaded trucks was placed on one side of the incline, and a line of empty trucks on the other. As the loaded trucks started to come down the incline, the empty trucks derailed. The winch groaned.

“Break it! Snap it!” shouted the trucks. And they did.

The trucks came hurtling down the incline, thundering along, swaying violently. “The snowbank and buffers will stop them!” called a workman. But he was wrong.

Down below, Skarloey’s driver had just finished setting the detonator, and was walking back to Skarloey’s cab when they heard the rumble of a runaway train. “Back driver, quick!” shouted Skarloey. His driver sprinted to his cab, and threw open the regulator. Skarloey jolted back as the trucks plunged through the snowbank and into the ravine.

The old engine looked up in horror. “Avanlanche!” he cried. The trucks tumbled into the ravine, bringing the snowbank with them. Tonnes of snow and slate and wood and iron roared down the ravine walls, smashing into the rails where Skarloey had just stood. Shards of wood splintered off and rocketed past the old engine, missing him by inches.

“I knew it,” Skarloey whimpered. His driver was stunned. The usually unstoppable old engine had been reduced to near tears. “I knew we shouldn’t have come here. It’s angry now. We need to leave. We need to leave it all to nature.” “Are you alright, Skarloey? You’re talking jibberish.” “I am not!” snapped Skarloey. “We need to go. Now. We’re not welcome here.”

Skarloey’s driver was so stunned by his old engine’s outburst, that he complied. Skarloey hurried back down the line, not stopping for even a moment until he was safely on comfortably familiar rails.

Duke and Rheneas met him at the middle station. “Are you alright?” asked Rheneas. “You’re meant to be up at the quarry.” “There was an avalanche,” Skarloey hissed. “The trucks… they broke away from the winch… they plunged into the ravine… it’s angry.” Rheneas and Duke shared a worried look.

It took a long time to clear away the wreckage from the avalanche. The frigid temperatures had hardened much of the snow into ice, and it wasn’t until spring that they were able to safely run trains back through the ravine.

The melting snow also cause a surge in torrents that threatened to wash away the track. These were particularly bad around the new quarry construction site. The boulder stood overhead, silent as it gazed down at the construction disturbing its peace. Rusty mentioned it to the other engines. “I don’t want to go back up there,” Skarloey muttered to Rheneas and Duke. “One of you go confirm it.” “I’ll go,” said Duke. “You two were here last time – it might not target me as a newcomer.” “It targeted you when your line strayed too close,” reminded Rheneas bitterly. “I’m amazed it only took one of those Culdee Fell engines as a sacrifice.”

The news came that James had derailed near the Culdee Fell Railway after looking after the line while the electric engines were unable to work. When the red engine was shunted into the siding to await his turn in the works, he looked very shaken up indeed.

“I saw something up there,” he declared loudly to everyone who listen. “There’s something wrong up at Peel Godred!” “Shut up!” snarled Rheneas. “We know. But if you tell anyone, it will come after you.” James went silent in horror. “It’s… but Godred…” “Godred?” Duke thundered over, eyes wide in surprise. “You saw him? I must go up to that quarry at once.”

“I’ll get the story from James,” Rheneas promised. “You go take a look.” Duke raced away, swapping duties with Peter Sam to get up to the new quarry construction site.

And when he turned that final corner, his boiler ran cold. “It’s really there,” he gasped in amazement. The old engine shunted his trucks into their proper siding, muttering an ancient Sudrian prayer under his breath. His first driver had taught him the prayer long, long ago – and he’d taught Culdee.

As he turned on the triangle to head back down the line, an object fell from the ledge, smashing down on the trackside. Duke jumped. “What was that?” exclaimed Rusty, hurrying over. “It’s… it’s… a cylinder…” Duke edged closer to the rusted metal lump. It was rusted beyond all comprehension… and yet, it was too familiar for Duke’s liking. “I’ll take it with me,” he said eventually. “I’d suggest you send some men to secure the ledge.” Rusty and the foreman agreed, and Duke hurried away with the rusted cylinder.

“It’s Godred’s!” he exclaimed to Skarloey and Rheneas that night. “His cylinder block was at that site! It cannot be a coincidence.”

“It’s a warning,” a voice said. The three jumped and looked all around – but there was no one there.

The seasons changed. When summer came, the new quarry finally opened. Long trains of high-quality rock came pouring down from the mountain, filling up truck after truck at the transfer sidings. Rusty met Bear and Donald at the transfer sidings.

“Where’s all this rock coming from?” asked Bear. “The new quarry,” replied Rusty. “This mountain rock is good for many things, although it’s dangerous up there.” “How come?” asked Donald. “Because of a big boulder,” Rusty said grimly. “It stands on a cliff high above the line, and it feels like it’s watching me.”

“Dinnae be sae dunderheided!” snorted Donald. “Boulders dinnae hae een!” Rusty just sighed and rumbled away, not spotting a very concerned Skarloey in the sheds.

The new quarry soon began to leave its mark. Profit came streaming in, encouraging the quarry owners to further exploit the lands around their initial setup. This brought them ever closer to the cliff where the boulder stood.

“It’s not right,” hissed Duke. “There’s a reason it was left as the middle of nowhere.” “Pah!” snorted Duncan. “It’s just the base o’ Culdee Fell! Peel Godred’s on the other side!” “Peel Godred is not on Culdee Fell,” Skarloey said sternly. “And it’s not technically the base of Culdee Fell, but one of the smaller mountains that feeds into the Fell itself.” Duncan rolled his eyes and huffed away.

The weather changed again, and something strange began to happen along the old line. The trees and bushes that the workers had cut right back the year before had grown far more rapidly than anyone could anticipate, beginning to choke the line with dead leaves and debris. After some debris hid a rock that derailed Sir Handel, the Thin Controller got the workers to begin pruning along the line.

Peter Sam and Rusty often worked together, the two top-and-tailing the trains up and down the extension. One day, Rusty helped Peter Sam to a water column at the top of the ravine, and once there, honked goodbye to let Peter Sam know that the little diesel had headed up to the old quarry. Peter Sam needed this drink, but the trucks grew impatient. “Let’s break away,” they giggled. Their loads were heavy, so when they tugged at a coupling, it snapped.

The trucks rocketed back down the line, speeding through the ravine. “After them!” shouted Peter Sam. The little green engine gave chase, but it was already too late. A sign read ‘Slow! Steep bend and Ravine ahead’ – but the silly trucks never saw it. They thundered onto the old iron bridge and toppled over, crashing down into the ravine and plunging into the swamps below. Peter Sam puffed out onto the bridge and stared down at the scene of the disaster.

“This was our fault,” sighed the driver. “We didn’t secure them properly.” “But it makes no sense…” murmured Peter Sam. “Those trucks were new…”

But that excuse didn’t float well with the Thin Controller. “New or not, those trucks shouldn’t have been given the opportunity to run away. You will shunt trucks here in the yards until I can trust you again.”

Duncan was delighted with Peter Sam’s dilemma. “Fancy no securing yer trucks,” he sniggered. “They’ll come back to haunt you and yer special funnel. OoooOooo!”

Skarloey, Rheneas and Duke all winced together. Rusty noticed. “Well,” the little diesel said. “The workers up on that extension say there’s a real ghost – I bet you’d be frightened of it.” “Pah! Ghosts, things that go bump in the night; rubbish! That’s just a load of nonsense they’re telling you to spook you, Rusty. But tell it anyway, I’d like a laugh.” Skarloey went to say something, but Duke hushed him. “He’ll learn one way or another,” murmured the old engine.

“Alright, I’ll tell you a story that’ll make your funnel quiver,” smirked Rusty. “A long time ago, a little engine was returning home. It was a misty moonlit night. As the little engine crossed the old iron bridge, he suddenly lost control and plunged over the side and into the swamps below. He was never found again – but the workmen say that when the moon is full they have seen the engine trying to make it home… but he never reaches the other side.”

Rheneas, Skarloey and Duke all slunk out of the sheds, faces pale.

“So what do you think of that, Duncan?” asked Rusty. “Pah! Nonsense,” replied Duncan, and he puffed back into his berth to sleep.

The gruff engine was plagued with nightmares all throughout his restless sleep, but he didn’t tell anyone. Duke, Rheneas and Skarloey kept a close eye on him – and Duncan kept a close eye on the moon. It was only two days until it was a full moon. To distract himself, Duncan began to pull pranks on Peter Sam, pretending to be a ghost to spook the poor engine.

“Never you mind, Peter Sam,” sighed his driver. “He’d be frightened if he really saw a ghost.” This gave Peter Sam an idea, which he told his crew. His crew spoke with Duncan’s, and they agreed.

“The full moon is tonight,” they said. “We’ll do it at once.”

Duncan had to take coal trucks up to the quarries and bring loaded stone and slate trucks back. Every trip involved crossing the old iron bridge. “Haunted bridge; Pah!” snorted Duncan. “It’s as tame as a pet rabbit!” But all the same, he kept thinking about Rusty’s story. If he’d been less in his smokebox, he might have noticed more about his surroundings.

The boulder had shifted.

On his last train of the evening, Duncan had to bring a special new piece of machinery up to the new quarry. It was called Thumper, and it was built to make collecting the rock even easier. But it took a long time to unload Thumper, and even longer to assemble the trucks they needed to take back. As dusk fell, Duncan spoke up.

“If we don’t go now, Skarloey’ll take my favourite place in the sheds,” Duncan complained. He hadn’t noticed the fact that Skarloey had stopped stealing that spot months ago, spending his time close to Duke and Rheneas instead. “We can’t go until all our trucks are filled,” his driver replied. Duncan looked nervous, his eyes darting from side to side.

It was dark by the time they set off. The moon was full, and the mists were rising up around the old iron bridge, curling around its beams like tendrils trying to drag it down into the swamps. Duncan whistled, and the sound echoed all around, bouncing off the walls of the gorge and distorting into something unnatural.

Duncan tentatively crawled onto the bridge. He made it halfway before suddenly stopping. Ahead, he saw flickering lights. To Duncan, they looked like an engine. His driver didn’t see the lights.

A rock plunged into the swamps below, startling both Duncan and his driver. “It’s the ghost!” wailed Duncan. “Take me back! Take me back! Please!” Duncan’s driver was spooked too – he opened the reverser, and Duncan hurried for the safety of the quarry sheds.

Duke came to find him the next morning. “Are you alright youngster?” he asked, eyes not on Duncan. “No,” admitted Duncan. “I saw something. It was there, on the bridge!” Duke looked grim, still gazing up at the cliff where the boulder stood. “I see. Come along then, let’s get you back to the sheds while there’s plenty of daylight.” Duncan was all too happy to have another engine with him as he crossed the old iron bridge. A large shard of rock stuck out at a jagged angle, not twenty feet from the bridge.

“It looks like it came away from the cliff last night,” Duke’s driver said. “Must’ve caused a right ruckus!” “It did,” laughed Duncan’s driver. “Spooked me!” “But I saw something,” murmured Duncan. Duke didn’t reply – not until they were in the privacy of the sheds.

“So you saw a ghost then,” Duke said. It wasn’t a question. “I did,” Duncan replied. Skarloey, in the next berth over, looked over. “So, it’s really back,” he muttered. “Indeed,” Duke sighed. “I looked this morning – that boulder has definitely moved overnight.” Duncan gulped. “What? The boulder? Is it a ghost too?”

Neither Duke nor Skarloey answered for a long moment.

“No one’s quite sure,” Skarloey eventually said. “But whatever it is, it’s been around since long before the railway.” “But the engine!” “Wasn’t the first to fall off the old iron bridge,” Rheneas announced grimly, steaming in. “There was also a horse and its handler. But that engine’s demise is what closed the bridge originally. We put dynamite on that bridge… and we thought we’d blown it up!”

“So what is it?” demanded Duncan. “No one’s quite sure,” repeated Skarloey. “It was written about by King Godred himself, not to mention Saint Machan and the Ancient Sudrians. It stands at the top of the Keeill-y-Deighan valley, opposing the Standing Stones.” “The ancient Sudrians stayed well away from that region for a reason,” added Duke gravely. “It’s in the middle of nowhere – and we’re disturbing it with this new quarry.”

Duncan felt ill.

Something was up at the new quarry, and he’d just delivered a piece of machinery to increase production.

Rusty also felt like something wasn’t right with the boulder. It seemed as though it had shifted up on the cliff from one end of the quarry to the other. But that was impossible.

Instead, Rusty focused on the new piece of equipment. Thumper was very useful. He worked extremely hard, pounding away at the cliff face and digging up tonnes of rock for the little engines to take away. Sir Handel, Peter Sam and Rusty were kept hard at work – but no one bothered to check on the boulder.

Loose gravel fell to the lineside.

It rained the next day, and the workmen were unable to work. Rusty still went up to the new quarry, to check for any signs of damage. Rusty gazed up, and shivered. Above stood Boulder.

Suddenly, a large slab of rock smashed down onto the rails. Rusty was shocked. The driver was concerned too. “We’d best leave until the weather’s better,” he said. “The rain’s loosened some of the rock.” “I think it’s Boulder,” murmured Rusty. “I think it wants us to go away.” As Rusty left, the little diesel didn’t notice a dark face cross the Boulder, before vanishing into the rain.

The quarry grew even busier once the rain cleared. Even more machines came to help – and that’s when Rusty looked up.

“Boulder’s moving,” Rusty gasped. “Don’t be daft!” snorted Rusty’s driver. “It can’t!”

But it did. It fell from it’s high perch, smashing down into the quarry below. It bulldozed several buildings instantly, then began to roll downhill.

“It’s rolling along our line!” exclaimed Rusty. “Quick!” The little diesel dashed backwards, honking their horn and shouting in terror. “Go! Go! Run!”

The boulder picked up speed, growing ever faster. Rusty swore that there was a face on the boulder – the little diesel went even faster, tears springing to their eyes.

“I don’t want to be squashed!” Rusty wailed. The little diesel rushed down the extension, wheels screaming in protest as Rusty rounded each bend as fast as their driver would dare. The boulder began to gain on the poor little diesel, but still Rusty kept going.

Skarloey, Rheneas and Duke sat on the other side of the old iron bridge. They were just about to cross when they heard the thunderous roar of the boulder falling from its perch.

“No…” gasped Skarloey. “Rusty!” exclaimed Rheneas in horror. The little engine went to move forwards, only to be stopped by Duke. “We can’t go over,” shouted Duke. “It all downhill from that quarry – the boulder will come straight for us!”

Rusty was driving flat out, racing through the ravine. The boulder was slowed by the narrow walls, but it wasn’t stopping. Still, Rusty used these precious moment to their advantage, drawing ahead and refusing to slow in the slightest, even as their engine began to cough and splutter.

“Help!” shouted Rusty. They sped round the next bend, and the little diesel’s driver spotted the old iron bridge.

“If we can cross that, we’ll be safe!” The little diesel managed to find just a little more speed. Rusty clattered onto the bridge, going as fast as their wheels could carry them. The boulder was close behind.

Rusty sped off the bridge; the boulder roared onto the bridge. The old iron bridge groaned under the weight, rivets snapping off in all directions before the superstructure gave way and the entire thing, boulder included, went smashing down into the gorge.

The last thing the engines saw was a terrifying, scowling face carved into the side of the boulder.

And then, silence.

The engines left the gorge as quickly as they could. As they did, an explosion rocked the mountainside! “The quarry!” exclaimed Rusty, horrified. “The boulder must’ve…” The little diesel trailed off, unable to finish that horrific thought.

When the Thin Controller surveyed the damage, he decided to close the extension. Down in the gorge, the boulder was half submerged. “We should have left this part of the island… alone.”

They ripped up the rails the very next day, and left the trackbed to be engulfed by nature. Some places are left well enough alone because they must be – but Skarloey, Rheneas and Duke know that one day, people will return to the dark side of Culdee Fell, in search of the wealth it hides. And when that day comes, they too will know of it.

And it doesn’t accept trespassers.

Back to Master Post

James and Godred

Rheneas and the Old Bridge

[mayasaura]

Was thinking about this line because Harrow what the actual fuck are you talking about, and I realised something.

Not only does Harrow really for real not know that Gideon loves her—in the bullshit context of their lives, this is a reasonable misunderstanding for her to have.

What has Harrow known Gideon's life goals to be since they were children? Hint: There are at least two Harrow is fully aware of.

The first is to be wanted. As much as Gideon hates and wants to escape the Ninth, she also paradoxically craves their acceptance. They're the only community she's ever known. Harrow plays on that desire from the very beginning, mostly by kind of .... well, okay, by negging her about it. Ironically appealing to her sense of loyalty and duty to her house when they both know Gideon never even had that bridge to burn. That kind of thing.

Whether or not she's right, Harrow sincerely believes that acceptance to still be important to Gideon. First flower of my house, the greatest cavalier we have ever produced. You are our triumph. The best of all of us. When Harrow has only seconds left to make amends, she not only banks hard into praising Gideon, she frames it to unambiguously offer Gideon the acceptance she's always been conspicuously denied. Assuring her of her value not just as a person or as a cavalier, but as one of their house, one of their people.

The second thing Harrow knows is that Gideon wants to join the Cohort. Easy, everybody knows that. She's only been telling everyone with ears (and then some) since she was eight years old. It's the bait Harrow dangled to entice her into this mess. She wants to be a hero, to do great deeds like in the comic books. She wants to be a soldier.

Against the backdrop of all that context, Gideon's dying declaration "for the Ninth" starts to sound a hell of a lot more like "for Queen and country." Especially when you remember that Harrow is still the sovereign ruler of the Ninth. From Harrow's vantage point, Gideon could easily be playing the heroic underdog in a war movie. The soldier no one believed in until she threw herself on a grenade to save her squad. The knight errant who proved her chivalry by giving her life in service to her king.

From that perspective, Harrow's line to Ortus makes sense. She's following through on her promise of acceptance, defending Gideon's loyalty to the first Ninth face she sees. She's playing out Gideon's war hero fantasy, where Gideon's act of heroism proved them all wrong about her. In which case Ortus's response, "You are the most worthy heroes the Ninth House could muster. I truly believe that," flows very naturally as a reply. He understands what Harrow is trying to say, and affirms it.

It's not a hero's burial in the Anastasian, but it's the closest thing Harrow has the power to give her. And it's a fucking reasonable interpretation of Gideon's actions that doesn't touch on her feelings for Harrow at all. Fuck me.

[osamucide]

WHAT THEIR LOVE FEELS LIKE . . .

. . . ft. BSD men

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA . . . freshly steamed rice, sherpa blankets, the moon in the sky during the day, well-loved dirt paths, comfortable sweatpants, clean kitchens, perfectly made lemonade, finding a dollar in your pocket, gentle cat paws, scratching a lover's back.

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI . . . used books with vigilant annotations in them, jazz music, charm bracelets, quiet and steady streams, lined leather journals, light rain, flickering flourescent light, cracking the spine of a new novel, knowing looks, linking pinkies while walking, caramel drizzle.

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA . . . boozy chocolate-covered cherries, leather car interior, red sangria, gold jewelry, peeled clementines, extinguished matches, the peaceful room next door to a party, counting a lover's freckles, cupping your hands around a flame, divine geometry.

⊹ AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE . . . star anise, black lace, fig jam, perfect puddles of rainwater, vanilla ice cream, soft distant thunder, silver jewelry, blackberry-stained lips and fingertips, tracing sweet words into a lover's palm, the moment of silence and peace when you pass beneath a bridge while it rains.

⊹ RANPO EDOGAWA . . . shortbread cookies, wool socks, poppies, stray eyelashes, strawberry jam, argyle and pastels, candied fruit, chess matches, foil-wrapped chocolates with sweet sayings inside, when a dog at a party likes you best, collections of old keys, shooting stars.

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA . . . peonies, perfectly pulled shots of espresso, letters with broken wax seals, comfortable routines, toffee and brown sugar, freshly ironed clothes, finding something that's been lost, completed to-do lists, cats sleeping atop stacks of books.

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA . . . photo albums hidden in plain sight, flickering candles, the breeze on a cloudy beach, stars on a clear night, perfectly steeped tea, crackling fireplaces, a safety net, clean sheets and pillowcases, crisp mountain air, packing a lover's lunch in the morning.

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA . . . steam from a bath, soft and implacable floral scents, typewriter font, concentric tree circles, fallen bird feathers, uplifting newspaper headlines, children's laughter, protective hugs from behind, stratus clouds like blankets over the sky, dreams that make you want to sleep longer.

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI . . . brown italian leather, vintage cameras, subtle gemstone details, warm french bread, fancy bookmarks, polaroids in your wallet, tying a lover's shoes, laughing at everything when you've drank a bit too much, dried rosemary and blood orange and pomegranate.

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY . . . frost-covered cranberries, string music, coffee table books on classical art, accidental halos of light, perfectly toasted marshmallows, the crunch of fresh snow beneath your boot, coconut and dark chocolate, a stray cat trusting you to pet it.

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL . . . pistachio ice cream, mourning doves on a wire, strands of pearls, opalescence, sitting side by side at a piano, salt water taffy, blowing a perfect bubble with your gum, the television flickering as you sleep, cradling a lover's face, banana pudding trifle.

⊹ SIGMA . . . fresh linen smell, rose gardens, pressed flowers, sleek dress shoes, swan necks in the shape of a heart, satin and silk, bouquets in translucent cellophane, sleeves wide enough to fit someone else's arms in, lace folding fans, white chocolate truffles.

[cabinvibe]

https://www.instagram.com/s/aGlnaGxpZ2h0OjE4MjM5ODk2NTMxMTMxODI2?igshid=ZmMyNmFmZTc=

Bridge from the past …

[http-shield]

you offering?- bucky barnes unhinged!avenger reader x bucky

a/n: this was the first draft of smash (in a loving way) which is why some lines are the same.

Moving day swiftly degenerated into chaos as more and more boxes were unloaded from the truck. Theoretically, Steve and Bucky should not have that many possessions, seeing as neither of them had lived very long lives in the new century; however, as box after box is carried in, you realise you couldn't be further off base.

Steve shouts down the hall, alerting you of their arrival (having smacked headfirst into you with a box full of record hours earlier, you had developed the system of very loudly announcing yourselves before walking into narrow spaces). You turn to the hallway, ready to semi-jokingly tell Steve off for all the free labour he had managed to squeeze of you, but your brain short circuits as Bucky walks in. The long-sleeved shirt had turned up in has long since been discarded. Instead, he is sporting a black tank top showcasing a stunning display of his muscled arms and shoulders. Unable to look away, you follow the veins along muscled forearms, sweat glistening in the afternoon sun, vibranium fingers humming as they glide over the tops of the box, his hair pulled back in a bun sitting low at the nape of his neck and those godforsaken strands that hang over his eyes leave you thinking about the way they would feel brushing over your thighs.

"You're drooling." You jump, startled by Steve's amused whisper, as he stands behind you, cast iron pot in his hands.

"Ha.Ha." The retort is weak, mind too preoccupied with thoughts of your friend to conjure a coherent sentence.

"Seriously. You gotta bit'a...." Steve wipes the side of his mouth with his thumb, smirk growing as he continues to tease.

"You need to get outta here before I punch you in the face." you whirl on him, warning through clenched teeth. "I will fight you, old man."

He backs away, raising his hands in defeat. "Kids these days, can't take a joke."

-----

An Ikea flatpack sits on the floor of the living room. The name and instructions unreadable as the three of your stare a the unbuilt couch frame.

"You bought a box?" Bucky turns to Steve, brows raised as he gestures to the floor.

"It's a sofa, Buck. We just need to build it." the former sighs, crouching down to examine the slip of paper it came with. "We just need to learn Swedish."

Bucky follows suit and squats, grumbling something about knowing 30 languages but unable to put together a stupid piece of furniture.

You debate joining them, adding a new brain to the equation, but as if it were your turn to take that single cell passed between the three of you, you reach for your laptop and begin your search.

30 minutes later, the frame is complete. The cushions, however, are nowhere to be found.

"Did you not order them?" you ask, eyes still trained on the screen as the two super soldiers stare at the incomplete project.

"I didn't know I was meant to!" Steve is quick to defend his mistake. "If you buy the couch, it comes with it."

It's not a completely irrational thought. It's common sense really. You buy a couch it must come with cushions, so why didn't this one?

Bucky sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So we have one bed and couch frame? Where am I meant to sleep, Steve?"

"You can sleep with me." You mumble as you scroll through ikea website, searching for the accompanying pillows.

"Is that you offering?" Bucky asks, and for a second, you are confused by the question, but as you look up from the screen, you find both men staring at you. Ah, the super hearing caused by the super serum. Super.

"Offering what?" you play dumb, biting down on the tip of your thumb, hoping he can't hear your heart slamming in your chest.

"Just thought you were offerin' to have me sleep with you but I guess I heard wrong." Bucky smirks and shrugs. "Guess ill have to take all this " he begins to flex, making an obvious show of his muscles. "and sleep on the floor."

You bite down on your finger in a futile attempt to hide the smile that is forming. "Guess so."

Bucky frowns, sad, wide puppy eyes staring at you. "Come on, doll. Don't make me beg."

Heat flashes through you and your heart picks up speed again. "You can beg for it, Barnes, doesn't mean I'll let ya' " your voice shakes a little, but you can hide it behind a smug chuckle.

Bucky's tongue darts out to wet his lips as he begins to retort but Steve's cough stops you both. The Captain's face is crinkled in disgust as he stares.

"Could you save this till I'm not in the room?"