#this is ttte

[joezworld]

Traintober Day 6 - "The Comedy"

Hey it's Traintober! I have a couple of things written for this - more will be revealed if/when circumstances allow.

This one is just written for me: "What if I re-wrote arguably one of the worst Chris Awdry stories but also made it extremely topical? What's that? It's basically a shitpost?"

Yah anyways this is Drip Tank but it's also not.

Dripping

The Present Day - 2024

“Chaps,” Thomas said one evening as he arrived back at the sheds. “What is ‘the drip,’ and how can someone have it?”

“No.” Percy said firmly. “We’re not doing this again. It was stupid last time and I won’t be made the fool a second time.”

“This week.” Toby murmured under his breath. 

“What was that?” Percy glared. “Was that a constructive comment telling Thomas that we’re not playing dictionary games in public ever again?”

“Thomas, in what context did you hear that?” Toby ignored Percy. 

“I don’t know,” Thomas explained. “It was a group of children standing on the platform.” 

“Oh, so it is like last time!” Percy was irate. “We. Are. Not. Doing. This. Again!”

Thomas ignored him too. “They were talking about someone getting a new jacket, but it didn’t seem to be a bad thing. I think it was a compliment.”

“So it’s a compliment now?” Toby was curious. 

“Maybe.” Thomas looked pensive. “They could have been trying to be mean, but I didn’t get that sense. The boy they were talking about wasn’t even there.”

Percy wondered why he continued to like them all as much as he did. “Just, just, stop, you two. This is idiotic. Just ask the kids in the morning when you take them to school. Then we’ll know.” 

He paused. “Wait. Have Henrietta ask them when you take them to school, Toby. Then we’ll get the actual reason.” 

“I’m taking them in the morning, thanks very much.” Thomas said cheekily. “So I’ll ask.”

“You?! Since when do you take the kids? Since when does he let you?” 

“Since they’re resurfacing the main road tomorrow.” Toby said. “All the children are going by train because the buses are too big for the detour. “Unless you would like to take Henrietta, Victoria, Annie, Clarabel, and one of the big main line through coaches on the first down train tomorrow?” 

Percy quickly backpedaled, much to everyone else’s amusement!

-

The next morning, Thomas scanned the platform for someone he knew. He didn’t have Toby’s encyclopedic knowledge of the line’s children, so he had to wait for someone… there! “Rachel! Rachel Kyndley!”

Rachel Kyndley was definitely too old to count as “children” - she was commuting to the University in Suddery, for goodness’ sake - but Thomas definitely didn’t recognize anybody else.

“What’s up, Tommy?” She said, blissfully unaware of the question she was about to be posed with. 

“Do you know what “drip” is?” Thomas asked innocently. “I’ve been hearing children talk about it, and I don’t know what it means.”

Rachel made a series of facial expressions, before burying her head in her hands. “Who said this to you and why?”

Thomas explained what he’d heard, and Rachel took a long blink. “I’ll be back in one second.” She walked away, towards the carriages. 

A minute later, she came back with a younger boy in a blue satin jacket with “MIGHTY MORPHIN POWER RANGERS” written across the front. “Is this who they were talking about?”

“I believe so,” Thomas said after a moment of thought. “They said his jacket “had the drip,” but I don’t know what that means.”

The younger boy made an indescribable facial expression. “Rachel, I’m not doing this.”

“Yes, you are, Roy McColl.”

“No!”

“This is your fault!”

“Mine?!”

“If you don’t help I’ll tell your sister!”

“And I’ll tell yours!”

The two stared at each other. “Fine!” “Fine!”

The young boy started first. “So, what d’you wanna know, Thomas?”

“What is drip, and how do you have it?” It really was not a difficult question, and if they took much longer they’d be late setting off.

The boy - Roy - took in a deep breath. “It’s my jacket, see? It’s got drip, which means that it looks real fly. I got that rizz right now.”

Rachel looked defeated. “Roy. Think about what you just said.”

“What? It’s the truth, innit?”

“You explained a word that he doesn’t know with two other words that he doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t know what rizz is?”

“I don’t know what that means!”

“Uhghh, fine.” He thought hard for a second. “Drip is… like when you look real good, innit? Like you’ve got some clothes that look real nice, gives you a bit of a swagger. Fly is sorta the same thing but it’s like what old people say - maybe more good looking and not a swagger thing, understand?”

“If you think that old people say “fly,” you’re going to have a rude awakening in about five years.”

“I thought that only helicopters and airplanes could fly,” Thomas chipped in unhelpfully. “I guess I’ve learned something.”

“Roy…” Rachel glared. 

“Alrigh’ fine!” He recoiled. “So fly and drip mean that you look real nice and fresh. Like, you look good and all that.” He explained again. “You got me?”

“Okay…” Thomas said carefully. “What was that other thing?”

“Am I really gonna tell Thomas the Tank Engine what rizz is?” The boy said quietly. 

“You brought this on yourself…” Rachel said darkly. 

Thomas looked on expectantly. Seeing young people get so flustered about this sort of thing was one of the few perks of getting old. 

“So, rizz is when you got that charisma, that charm, that style. You know, if you ever wanna get with someone, you might wanna rizz them up, be a real gentleman about it.” Roy said it with an ever-increasing look of dread, as though he had never heard the words spoken aloud until they were out of his mouth and unable to be retracted. Rachel Kyndley looked like she wanted to die on the spot. Inside his cab, Thomas’ crew were in hysterics. 

Thomas wasn’t sure if he should be worried or impressed that this explanation made sense. “So, drip and fly are similar in that they mean you look good, and rizz is when you’re particularly charming?” 

A strangled noise from the platform said volumes, and his crew were now bent over in laughter.

“That’s almost -” Whatever Roy was about to say was cut off by the guard’s whistle. “Oh, well looks like I’ve gotta go-” 

“Nope!” Thomas’ driver gasped out between chuckles. “If you don’t get this right now, we’ll never know for certain. Get in here!”

“I don’t think that’s strictly necessary-” Rachel started. 

“You too lassie!” the fireman chortled. “This is the funniest thing I’ve heard all year!”

“I-uh, well-” Rachel hemmed and hawed, wondering if she could do a runner and then call in sick.

“Oh, come on dearie!” Said Clarabel, who had been watching the proceedings with amusement. “We’ve all been so curious!” 

“Oh my god.” she whispered, and followed Roy into the cab with a sense of impending doom.

-------------------------

Later

A few days later, Thomas headed off to the works for his annual inspection.

“Nothing’s too wrong,” The manager of the steam shop said as he went over the list. “We do want to get you in for a new coat o’ paint, though. Starting to look a little tatty ‘round the corners.”

Thomas was not one to turn down a new coat of paint, and so a few hours later he was being sanded and stripped of his old paint, ready for the new coat. In the corner of the paint shop, a few of the workers were hunched over an old Ford Anglia, polishing it to a strangely-sparkling finish. 

“Allrighty,” the paint shop foreman said, entering the room with a few swatches of paint. “We’ve got some new variations on the old blue and red. See, this one is going to show up much better in bright sunlight, while this one is - well, we’ve managed to get a hold of the retro-reflective stuff that they put on road signs; might make you a touch easier to see in the dark, if we do the red lining with it.”

Thomas looked at the samples, before turning his attention to the car in the corner. “What are they doing with that?” he asked. “It’s so… sparkly.”

“Oh that?” The foreman said. “It’s someone’s project. I think they’re mixing in pearl with some metallic blue. Really makes it shine, doesn’t it?”

It was shiny even from across the room, and Thomas felt an instant, impulsive attraction to it. “Can you do that to me?”

The man was taken slightly aback, but nodded. “Sure we can, but, are you sure? It’s not exactly something that you can take off once the novelty wears off.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine!” 

---------

Later still

A day later, they rolled Thomas out of the paint shop to a flurry of camera shutter noises. The paint shop crew had jumped at the chance to “tweak” Thomas’ paint, and he sparkled in the sun like a pearlescent gemstone. 

The younger members of staff were especially pleased. Most of the time they had to work within the constraints of “history,” and “tradition,” and “but I’ve always been this colour,” so seeing their creativity on full display was very rewarding. 

“Wow,” Thomas said as he inspected a picture of himself. “I look great!”

“You really do, mate.” One of the painters said as he took a selfie. “We gotta see if we can get Gordon or someone to do this.”

“Oh, he’ll never go for it,” Thomas rolled his eyes. “I don’t think he could handle this level of drip.”

Dead silence followed this. 

“What?” Thomas looked around. “Did I say it wrong?”

“No, and that’s the scary thing.”

--------

Later still

Thomas’ new paint was the talk of the Island for several days. Most of the opinions were positive, however some engines had a less-than-complementary view on the situation…

“Who does he think he is?” James grumbled to nobody in particular at the big station. “Gallivanting around in this shiny paint like that, it’s likely to cause an accident!” 

Gordon, at the next platform, raised an eyebrow that said volumes, but otherwise stilled his tongue. 

“Oh please!” Tornado said from the platform on the other side of James. “He looks so good in that paint. I’d say that you’re just jealous.” 

“Jealous? Me?” James retorted at a suspiciously high pitch. “I’m just pointing out the obvious here! If everybody keeps looking at him they’re bound to run into something sooner or later!”

“And it’ll be worth it…” Tornado whispered in a sing-song voice, leading her crew to roll their eyes in unison. 

“Don’t mind her,” Said the driver, who Gordon idly noted was one of the youngest girls he’d ever seen on the footplate. “She’s just blinded by Thomas’ incredible drip.”

“Completely rizzed up.” agreed the fireman, who looked like a child. “Totes delulu.”

“Mood.”

Any further conversation was cut off as the signal dropped, and Tornado steamed away, lost in her own imagination. 

James continued on indignantly. “And that’s another thing! People just keep saying things about him like they’re supposed to make sense!”

Gordon looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Nobody will tell you what any of it means, will they?”

“No!” James wailed. “And I have no idea why!” 

“One wonders…” Gordon said snidely. 

“Oh, as if you know what an “on point drip” is!” 

“I have better things to worry about than the idle slang of children.”

“Oh, so they won’t tell you either!”

“I never said that!”

“Oh really? Then please, professor, educate me on what drip could mean in relation to Thomas! Has he sprung a leak?!”

Just then, Edward emerged from under the station canopy, and drew up to the signals. “What, Thomas?” He said conversationally. “Personally, I think he looks fly as hell, but then again I’m a boomer, so I could be tripping.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but the signal dropped. “Ah well, gotta bounce, TTYL!”

And he puffed away, grinning widely. 

Gordon and James took about three seconds to process that. 

“Edward, who taught you those words?”

“Edward! Get back here and tell me what that means! EDWARD!”

[shinygoku]

Bertie the Bus backed into his berth, while the passengers he had been carrying bumbled about, some of which were heading for Thomas’ train.

They had time before he was scheduled to depart, though Thomas couldn’t help but to notice that Bertie was a little bit behind his usual schedule.

“Hullo Bertie,” he called. “You seem out of puff, your driver didn’t forget that Petrol stuff, did he?”

“Oh no, of course not! It’s my axels, they’re aching!”

Thomas pulled a face, he knew full well how much of a hassle aging axels could be.

Bertie carried on. “It’s that new school, as there’s so many children in the area, they’ve put in traffic controls. But instead of nice, sensible lights (like your Signals, you know), there’s this horrible new thing. So when I drove over the Sleeping Policeman—”

“You what?!” Thomas almost let off steam in his alarm, but he couldn’t see anything untoward under Bertie, tempering his horror a bit.

“Ah, a Sleeping Policeman! It’s a wretched bump in the road, and now I’ve got to drive over one every day!”

Thomas was gazing into the distance, not really seeing the view before him. “It sounds awful! Why on Earth are they sleeping in the middle of a road, they ought to know better!”

“Oh it is, it’s like if you lot had to roll over stones every quarter mile! I–hold on. What did you just say?”

Thomas was having a realisation of his own, and his face went from quite pale to decidedly flushed.

“A Sleeping Policeman is something hard they put on the road, you daft teakettle! A speed bump!” Bertie laughed in a jolly way. “Goodness me, now my axels are aching even more!”

“Well it’s a very silly name for it! Really now!” But he was somewhat relieved.

It was time to go, anyway. He whistled loudly and chuffed off, taking extra enjoyment from the lump-less iron rails under his wheels.

[bruhstation]

you’re just like the rest of them

[nartothelar]

guys do you want to see the coolest thing ever

ehehe vintage 2000 thomas and friends mini moving keychain!!!

[m1ndnpd]

[crankybugs]

Happy Pride Skarloey Railway

[hazelcongestion]

pov thomas is giving you his business card

[offbeat03]

A silly and cute redraw!!

Unedited ver.

[superarti]

Mr. Percival and Sir Topham Hatt verses Duncan

[tslauravincent]

Feeling bored, who's gonna book me for weekend?

Don't forget to reblog

Text me on telegram @tslauravincent

[mwolf0epsilon]

So I've been watching a lot of Girl With The Dogs videos recently, and thought it'd be funny to do a parody redraw where one of the railway staff started an "engine grooming" channel, where they wash and paint the engines while also giving the viewers information on their build/class and specific needs.

I am now kind of attached to "Guy" and might adopt him as an actual OC that primarily mans the Washdown Station...

— ☕️ Ko-fi | 🧡Commissions

[joezworld]

Traintober Day 16 - The Western

So, the entire reason I did these Traintober prompts in the way that I did is that I watched Patrick H. Willems' new video "Why Are Movies So Obsessed With Trains?" and got inspired. (It's a very good video, go watch it and the follow-up.)

One of the primary inspirations I had was old westerns - you know, armed men on horseback robbing trains, cowboys, shotguns, whatever it was Gore Verbinski was doing with The Lone Ranger (2013); that sort of thing.

So I did that. On Sodor. Because why the hell not?

If you squint you may see some similarities to Train Stops Play.

Catch That Train!

The 1990s - When isn’t important

The train stood still under the bright sun of a high noon. It was hot but calm, the perfect day to stay inside, out of the elements. 

The engine certainly thought so - he was a four-coupled design, old as dirt by modern standards, but polished and cared for; still useful. He blew impatient smoke rings into the clear summer sky - he wanted to be somewhere else. 

His crew felt the same, baking in their uniforms as they tended to their charge. The fire was hot in the best weather, and the best weather this was not. They were considering stripping to their undershirts, or beyond, just to cool down.  

Behind them, a mixed train stretched back - short by some standards, but long for them: nine cars - one dry goods van, a trio of open hoppers that were riding empty (except for some loose straw), a trio of flatcars as empty as the hoppers, and then two coaches tacked onto the end - one for the mail, the other a baggage/coach combination. An odd train for sure, but this line was always a little old fashioned. 

The signal was at danger, and so they sat there, in the middle of the fields, surrounded by nothing but high grass…

-

The horses emerged over the crest of the nearest hill. 

There it is! The lead rider bellowed. He adjusted his white coat, dug in his spurs, and his white stallion took off with a will, galloping down towards the train. 

One after another, his fellows trailed behind him, until a fourteen horse gang was charging down the embankment towards the train. 

CLUNK 

The signal dropped, and the engine set off with a roar of impatience. 

The train jolted into movement, and the riders had to push their horses to keep pace. Soon the train was pulling away, and the riders slowly fell back, galloping down the center of the rails to keep their horses from falling to exhaustion. 

The tracks abruptly split underneath them, a long passing loop opening up to the right of the train. One rider, a small man on a huge chestnut mare, took his chance. Gaining speed, he pulled right alongside the train, slowly working his way along the coaches, looking for anywhere that he could hop on. 

The train did not oblige, and its speed began to slowly increase again, in varying steps. Sometimes the horse was faster, other times it was the iron horse. The rider was undeterred, even as his mare worked up a lather. 

A second set of hooves joined his, pounding against the rails of the loop. The lead rider pulled alongside. His stallion was longer in the legs, and he managed to pull ahead. The rest of the group slowly followed, trying to gain ground. 

It was slow going, but they’d have them eventually. All they had to do was make the flatbeds…

HONK-HONK! 

A two-tone note split the air, and the riders scattered as a huge diesel locomotive raced towards them on the loop. Half of them went right, spilling off the track and onto the embankment alongside, while the others slowed down, pulling in behind the train once again. 

The diesel grew larger by the second as the riders on the right-hand side spurred their horses on for another sprint. To the right of them, off the tracks entirely, was an earthen embankment that carried the road. Ahead of them, arcing over the tracks, was the bridge that took the road to the next town…

One rider, wearing black clothes and on a black stallion, took the charge, his horse almost flying up the side of the embankment, hooves pounding the road’s surface. Up here, he could almost gain on the steamer, and he raced onto the bridge just as the diesel slipped underneath in a streak of green. 

The road turned to cross the tracks, but the stallion didn’t. 

With a yell from its Rider, the black horse took a flying leap and cleared the bridge’s brick sides, soaring through the air in a perfect arc. 

Steel horseshoes sparked off the roof of the diesel as the horse landed mid-gallop, charging down the length of the passing train, against the direction of travel. 

The Rider looked to his left, mentally juggling three different speeds in his head as the steam train whizzed by on the other track. There went the hoppers, then the flatbeds…

The end of the diesel’s passenger coaches were quickly approaching…

Coaches, there. 

With a swift command from the Rider, the horse jumped from one train to the other, landing atop the first coach with sure-footed ease. Seconds later, the white stallion of the Leader landed atop the second coach with a thonk. 

Looking back, the rest of the group, now led by the young gun with the chestnut mare, continued down the road. Once it straightened out, they steeplechased their way across the lineside hedges and rejoined their fellows on the tracks in record time. 

Now then, onto the real prize. The two riders looked at each other, and spurred their horses on yet again, moving forward up the train. 

Reaching the end of the two coaches, they took a jump, and landed on the third flatcar with a bang. 

There! It was the Young Gun, pointing further up the train. Third hopper!

The two riders turned as one, and started up the train, their horses jumping the gaps between cars with practiced ease. 

The Young Gun watched them from the line. They’d find it, he was sure of that. 

HEY! His head whipped around. There, standing in the doorway of the coach, was a hired Guard. He took one big step out the coach, and onto the first flatbed. 

He wielded a shotgun. 

The Young Gun didn’t even think. With one shout to his associates, he stood up on the saddle of his mare, judged the gap, and leaped for the train. 

The Guard didn’t hear him coming, and he tackled the man to the deck of the flatbed. The gun went skittering off the side of the train car, falling away to the lineside. 

The Young Gun was fast on his feet, and tried to pin the Guard to the deck. Unfortunately he was built like a string bean, while the Guard’s muscles strained out of his shirt. With one move he was halfway across the flatbed, while the Guard looked for his weapon. 

Finding it gone, he reached for his belt. With a vicious look, he grabbed a small object and flicked it. The man exuded an aura that said he didn’t need a gun. An extendable baton would do the trick. 

The Young Gun was momentarily at a loss, before a shout from his fellows drew his attention. One of his associates tossed something his way. 

A mallet. 

The Young Gun suddenly felt more confident. This, he could work with. 

The two men stared each other down,  waiting for the other to flinch. 

A shout rose up from the hoppers. They’d found what they were looking for!

At the exact same moment, a cry of What is going on? emerged from the open door of the coach. 

The two men realized that it was now or never. 

They readied their weapons

They charged.

----------------------------------

A few minutes later

“I’m sorry,” Said the police constable, not for the first time. “But you’re going to need to take this from the start.”

“Polo is our game!” Said the man on the left. He held the reins of the white horse. 

“Polo,” The constable repeated. “The sport on horseback?”

“That’s right!”

“And…” The constable held onto his pen and notepad like a lifeline. “What exactly does polo have to do with chasing down a train?”

The man on the right, the one dressed in all black, spoke up. He at least had the good graces to look slightly aware of the situation’s ludicrous nature. “It’s the gentleman’s rules of polo.” he said quickly.

“The… Gentleman’s Rules.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you mind elaborating on that a touch?” The pen, it has to be a lifeline. 

“Well,” the white-dressed man started, before his black-suited companion stopped him. 

“Clancy. Please.” He looked to the heavens for support. “that's the rules of our game. One ball, no out of bounds. Play doesn’t stop until the horses tire or the ball is destroyed.”

Oh no. Things were starting to make sense. “And would I be right in assuming that you hit the ball onto the train?”

“You would be.”

“So, you were chasing it down to retrieve your ball?”

“Yes.” The one in black was looking more and more chagrined. The one in white was suitably oblivious.

“Did it, at any point, occur to you that it might be wiser to treat the ball as lost?” They’re going to say no, because this island is full of nutters. Why did he accept the transfer from London? Was it the lie about peaceful country life, or the lie about Sodor being boring?

The white-dressed one puffed himself up. “We are not cowards! What’s a spirited ride down the railway line to a skilled group of horsemen like us?” He gestured broadly to the group of polo players, who were all being interviewed by what had to have been every police officer in Suddery. 

“Aside from him being a skilled instigator,” The black dressed man said with a hangdog expression. “We didn’t bring another ball.”

“I see.” The constable made a few notes out of sheer desperation. Somehow he knew that the other side of the story was going to be just as implausible. 

“Now then,” He turned slightly, and addressed the private security guard, who looked ready to explode. “What’s your side of this whole business?”

“I-” The man started. “We. Are from Securicor. You know, the security firm? We are escorting a highly valuable shipment from Brendam to Newcastle. I am doing my job-”

The man was turning puce, and the constable cut him off. “Yes, yes, I’m aware. Cash transport on behalf of Northern Rock. We are kept in the loop on this sort of thing.”

“Then you know how valuable this shipment is!” The burly man continued, waving his arms around. “And so I hardly see why I am being questioned about how I did my job and protected my shipment from- from- from a group of bandits on horseback!” 

Here we go. “You’re being questioned primarily so that I may have a full understanding of what transpired, but also because you drew a firearm on these two men right here, and then proceeded to get into a fight with another whilst on a moving train.”

“A fight that he lost, I daresay.” The white-dressed rider spoke up again. His black-dressed compatriot put his head in his hands. 

“They jumped onto a moving train!” The guard protested. “What was I supposed to do?!” 

“Win the fight, I might say.” said the white-dressed man. 

“Why you-!” The guard turned a different color, and looked like he needed to be restrained. 

“Oi!” The constable cut in. “Leave it! No more of this instigating while I’m right here.”

“Oh fine.” The white-dressed man said calmly. “It’s all the better that he lost, anyway. We’d have never gotten the ball if young McColl hadn’t distracted him.”

He produced a small white ball that helpfully said “POLO” on it.

The Securicor guard went several colors at once. “All that, for that?!” He bellowed, and lunged for the ball. It took all of the constable’s strength, plus several other men, to wrestle him to the ground. 

-

Several hundred feet away, Edward watched the rapidly unfolding calamity with bemusement. “I say,” he wondered aloud to the Chief Inspector for Suddery. “Isn’t that the new man that London sent up?”

“A-yup. ‘E’s been here ‘bout a week.” The inspector said as a group of men restrained the security guard. 

“How has he been fitting in?” 

The guard broke free, and the new constable had to tackle him to the ground. 

“I think he still needs to get used to the place. Not used to the country life, I think.”

“Few are.”

[shinygoku]

Percy and the Coaches

Seems kind of odd in hindsight how Percy covering the Ffarquhar line during the Sodor Strike in Troublesome Engines is barely covered with a single sentance, isn't it? So odd, indeed, that I decided to turn my wheels for another fic for the first time in ages! Enjoy~

=-=-=-=-=-= =-=-=-=-=-=

Going back onto the main line, as he was specially sent for by The Fat Controller, was unexpected but something that Thomas was ready to roll with. Something about the Tender Engines having a strop and being rude to Edward?! What silly behaviour indeed! The very morning he was informed, he bustled down, but didn’t get to take in much information before the Controller himself was speaking with him, Edward, and a green Tank Engine who Thomas hadn’t seen before.

Thomas was quietly relieved that he wasn’t to go back to shunting, and wasn’t too worried about the task to pull trains on the mainline (where Edward would be in control of the opposite direction). It was no longer his heart’s desire, now he had his beloved Branch Line, but it was still a thrilling prospect. Which helped take the edge off his concern for his equally beloved Coaches, Annie and Clarabel. He wouldn’t be able to take them along with him, and in any case it would be better for his Branch Line to have his faithful coaches keeping their eyes on things. That meant that someone else would have to take them out on runs, and the someone else was the new Tank Engine he’d met that morning.

Thomas couldn’t quite trust another Tank Engine with Annie and Clarabel yet, and he wasn’t sure just why. Part of it was that the Green Engine was indeed brand-new to this railway, and didn’t know the first thing about Ffarquhar, but there was something else.

“He seems decent enough, I suppose. But I can’t tell if there’s much going on behind his eyes! He’s got this sort of face, how would Gordon put it– not that I think Gordon is right about whatever it is he’s blathering on about now! Just– oh! It’s so annoying, if The Fat Controller brought him in he must be sensible, but I can’t quite make the connection.”

His Fireman murmured suggestions while cooking a late breakfast on his shovel. Thomas didn’t know what some of them meant. 

“Retty-sense? What’s that all about?” he asked, distracted from the moods he was going through.

“My education is wasted on you,” Fireman sighed, before pausing to take a bite out of his runny egg sandwich. “Nevermind, Driver will tell me off if I put new ideas into your smokebox anyway.”

Driver and Clarabel’s Guard came back from the conversation at the station building, where it was established that Thomas’s footplate crew were to remain with their charming (and fussy) Engine. Both of them were very keen to assure him that both of his faithful coaches would be well looked after. Driver also hastened to get back on the footplate while Fireman was still cooking, before the shovel would be returned to its standard use.

Feeling a little better, Thomas again remembered the remark ‘Common Tank Engines’ and felt his fire burn a smidge hotter, and then a curious sound like alarm from his crew …and their rapidly blackening bacon.

== ==

In the whirlwind that had him successfully sold to this portly new owner, given a name, driven to the Railway and having another half-day to be refreshed in the basics by a nice local Engine, Percy was still quite abuzz in the thrill of it all.

Most of this was decidedly simple, of course. He’d been bought and sold and sent to many and various corners plenty of times before, and this little island being uncharted territory was the trickiest part. Well, and getting used to having a name now, but as long as there weren’t any other Percies then he should be fine.

A blue Tank Engine had appeared, seemingly one of the old guard of the island. He seemed confident, openly scoffing at the Big Engines and bustling off with his new assignment swiftly.

Well, except for one moment. Percy was having his coal and water topped up, as the Number One Engine was given a bit more detail than what Percy’s New Controller had initially offered. Number One’s face wouldn’t stop shifting between moods! It was almost funny to see, but Percy started to wonder what exactly had caused it. Oh dear! Maybe it was the island’s Coal! If that was the case, he’d probably start feeling peculiar before long, too!

Ah, but he was still new here, and it would look better not to make a fuss. And anyway, maybe that only had an effect when one had been on the island for quite a while. He needed to make a good impression, and he’d been tasked with running a branch line!

It may have occurred to Percy that it was a little odd to prioritise a branch line when the Main line was only having a single train in each direction at this time, but his wasn’t to reason why. They wanted him to run the line, so he’d be doing that with gusto.

The crew he’d been given did not appear to be old hands in this part of the island (honestly, they didn’t seem that old at all to Percy), but they swiftly adjusted to his cab and water and bunker needs, so that was enough for him. A Guard emerged from the Coach Who Had Brakes, and strode up to them.

To the crew, he said, “I’m sure you know enough about our Thomas to understand the gravity of this task.” They made affirmative sorts of noises.

To Percy, he said, “These coaches are very well mannered ladies, so be sure to treat them gently.”

“Oh, yes sir! Of course, sir!”

“Have you pulled many passenger trains before?”

“Oh, no sir! Barely any, sir! I’ve done all sorts but I’ve never even seen any coaches like this before, sir!”

His crew groaned. Was he supposed to say something different?

After a talk, where the Guard made several important notes and Percy’s new Driver became rather shorter in his replies and stiffer in pose, while his Fireman barely stopped smirking, they eventually broke apart to return to their respective spots.

A remark made in Percy’s cab was drowned out by the sound of coal being tossed into his fire. Ooh, he was eager to get going now!

He bustled over to meet the coaches. Their names were Annie and Clarabel, but only one of them could see him from this angle. He didn’t know which it was.

“Oh my, who might you be?” She asked.

“Where’s our Thomas?” Asked the other one.

“Good morning! My name is Percy, I’m here to run the Branch Line while your Engine helps out on the Main Line!” he beamed.

“Thomas, on the main line? Oh dear!”

“Oh goodness, I do hope he’ll be alright!”

They were coupled on, and Percy was again too awash in the excitement of this rare new situation to notice they hadn’t really paid much attention to him. His crew seemed to be operating a little slower than was needed, too, but the countryside line had plenty for Percy to look at.

Eventually they reached a junction that joined with the main line and had to wait. A blue engine rushed up, soon revealed to be the Tank Engine. When he caught sight of Percy, again his face shifted so suddenly it was quite comical, though this time the coaches behind Percy started to call out.

“Thomas!”

“Oh, Thomas! Hello!”

But Thomas (as his name seemed to be) couldn’t stop, instead whistling twice before disappearing down the line.

== ==

Percy was sitting idly, chortling to himself by remembering some of the silly behaviour of the Big Engines that Edward had told him. How the ringleader, Gordon, had had a jammed whistle once after being so stodgy about the etiquette, and that time his safety valve burst. What a joke! And there were less tales of the other two, but it did further prove to Percy, at least, how daft they all were. Strike indeed!

Whyever would Engines need to strike? Or humans, for that matter?

His crew were walking back towards him, not as content as he was here in the sun. There was an indistinct din in the distance, probably more people, but Percy hadn’t a clue what that lot were trying to say. He’d merely tuned it out ages ago, but it did seem to have redoubled around the same time his crew reappeared. How queer!

“Well, Percy, old boy–”

“Young, surely? He looks like a baby!”

“That confirms you ain’t polished him like you said, his builder’s plate is right there! He’s old as the hills!”

“Oh! No I’m not!!” Percy cried, nettled.

“Anyway. Well Percy, intermediate boy that you are, I hope you enjoyed your work on this Branch line–”

“Absolutely, sir! I have indeed!”

“Let me finish. Hope you enjoyed it as it looks like things will be back to normal soon. For a loose definition of Normal, anyhow.”

Percy’s face fell. “Oh sir, I won’t be going back to the Mainland, will I?”

“You dolt! You’ve got him upset now!”

“Oh, shove it. No, Percy, you’ll be the shunter at the big station, like you were that first day. THAT’s what I meant.”

“Oh, splendid, then!”

“Yeah, wonderful. But it’s something, ain’t it? Puts bread on the table.”

“Br…red? Why are you painting your table?”

“I’m still not convinced he’s not a newborn, ‘ere.”

Percy was too busy beaming, the Big Station was exciting a prospect. So many trucks to play with, the high glass canopy where light danced down, more coaches –oh, and he supposed more engines too. The same daft trio who’d caused all the mess? Well, they oughtn’t be too bothersome after this, making a fuss over nothing as he’d been told.

The two coaches he’d been pulling had been nice, but Percy did quietly wonder how long they were for this world, with how much that Guard had talked about pulling them gently and carefully. Hopefully the other rakes he’d assemble on the main line would take a playful bump or two… not too much, of course, Percy still had to profusely thank the Controller more for these exciting new tasks, and being sent back before then wouldn’t do.

== ==

The two tank engines didn’t get to swap stories with one another, their crews went on different rosters as relief shifts were shuffled and contracts were looked at again. Percy saw the blue Tank Engine looking much more Well, his face calmer than he’d ever seen it, and Thomas saw the green Tank Engine with flushed cheeks and a smile of gleeful anticipation. But it was fine, they weren’t likely to see each other so often they needed to take that much notice, did they?

“Annie! Clarabel!” Thomas beamed, not even hesitating before backing onto them to make their iconic Train.

“Thomas, are you quite alright?”

“Yes, you must be exhausted, on the main line like that, an Engine of your build?!”

“Ohh, don’t worry about me! I’ve been fretting over you two, did that green fellow treat you alright?”

“Oh yes, Percy was fine.”

“Percy was a very polite sort. Maybe a little slow and cautious.”

“O-ho? Too slow for your liking?”

The coaches fell into the comfortable, delightful pattern of quarreling with Thomas about his running too fast, and he chided them for being fussy old things. 

At the Big Station, Gordon watched from a siding, as Percy pushed a coach rake into the buffers. The coaches all made indignant sounds with the bump.

“If only little Thomas could see Sense,” he bemoaned. “But maybe this little green one is far cleverer than even I had accounted for. It seems he had restraint enough for those two to not have been converted into matchsticks. But I suppose that’s something to be grateful for…”

[gadgetini]

so alive

[nartothelar]

experts

[theflyingkipper]

Traintober Day 8: The Ferry/Impact

Some deckhands try in vain to secure Victor before he falls.