#James and jasmin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eosr-by-muxse · 1 month

Text

Two Ends of the Shed

May 1925

The Adventure Begins (2015)

Word Count: 4,114

James realizes that by listening to outdated engines, he'll end up like them: broken and soon withdrawn.

The yard at Barrow-in-Furness was as busy as ever. Engines came or left with their goods trains. LYR 920 was one of them.

The congested yard surprised him and the rest of the locomotives under the newly formed London, Midland, and Scottish Railway. It was only the middle of January, and the Amalgamation had gone into effect at the beginning of that year, 1923. Despite that, he still hadn't been repainted and given his new number. His original brass plaques with the deep green background were still on the sides of his cab, and so were the words "Lancashire & Yorkshire" in bold, bright yellow with cyan shadows painted on his tender.

He was waiting for his goods train to be filled. When he arrived, it hadn’t been filled halfway with whatever goods he would be delivering, so he had to stick around. All he could do was stay put and look around, leading to eventual pouts of impatience, while his crew waited inside his cab.

And that's when she came in.

The small six-driver spotted the larger tender engine with four leading wheels and four driving wheels from a distance. She was painted Deep Indian red with Indian red and black lining, and her eyes were bronze.

LYR 920 furrowed his eyebrows as anger boiled within him. The engine looked uncannily similar to one from the Furness Railway, who was loaned to the Lancashire & Yorkshire Railway in 1914. Though he had never spoken to the engine, especially after the near collision, he heard enough about the engine. Said engine turned out to be hostile, differing from her initial reclusive personality.

Shortly after, however, he learned that her class was demoted to regular passenger service after she left. The rumors were that the class was currently working mixed-traffic work.

Serves her right! he thought then. Give her a struggle! Engines like her aren’t meant for hard work like mine!

So the minute the ex-Furness Railway engine stopped beside him, he tensed but stood his ground. His bulbous nose scrunched up. Steam seeped out of his nostrils and through his lips as his jaw clenched, prepared to bite if necessary.

The larger tender engine peered at him with a smile. "Hello!” She took notice of his frown. Her eyebrows shifted in concern. “Is this yer train?” The ex-Furness Railway engine gestured to the train she'd backed up to, thinking that was why he was upset.

“No. I've already got mine,” he replied nonchalantly, mimicking the Furness engine’s gesture. A way to insult her subtly. “How's life as a mixed-traffic engine?”

“It's quite nice actually,” she replied, though thrown off by the question and how the engine spoke as if he knew her. “It's dirty work but it's no’ bothersome… somewhit. Whit's yer name?”

“Don't worry about it."

"But thon's rude!" she insisted.

The goods engine scoffed. Ridiculous. “Oh, you would know, alright.”

Like a deer caught in headlights, the other engine froze. Her steam got hotter to the point that LYR 920 felt suffocated just standing next to her. “Excuse me?” she asked in a threatening. tone.

“Fess up! I know you’re Alice!” LYR 920 claimed, dismissing his crew, who smacked his backhead. Their protests, telling him to quit it, were fruitless. “Don’t act stupid and not recognize me!”

Fury flashed across her face, leaving as soon as it came. “Din’ ye dare speak o’ her like thon,” she hissed, her voice full of prey’s venom, before exclaiming. “We dinnae look yon same!”

Oh dear.

“She’s dead!” she continued, the fire sparked within her eyes, roaring at the smaller engine. But before she began ranting, her fireman climbed out of the cab and onto her running board, rushing towards her smokebox. Her words caught the attention of nearby workers, who initially ignored the confrontation between the two engines.

He whispered soothing words, calming her down, and didn’t dare touch her smokebox. Just stepping on her running board was all his feet could tolerate, the heat from her boiler spreading to the rest of her metal parts.

Once her steam wasn’t suffocatingly hot, she asked, “Whit is yer name?”

Weird was the only word, and an understatement, the smaller engine could use to describe her behavior. Both he and his crew were bewildered, even more so with the sheepish, apologetic smile her fireman gave them before the latter rushed back to his engine's cab.

Yet, LYR 920 answered.

Might as well.

Not like I have anything better to do, he thought, glaring at the yardmen still filling up his goods train. Oh for heaven's-

And just like that, he stopped himself. He was getting ahead of himself like an impatient dog. "I don't have a name,” he finally replied.

Again, the larger engine's eyebrows shifted, confused. Her behavior was going to make LYR 920 dizzy if she didn't stop. It was difficult to follow and process. "Ye…” she began, registering his response, “...dinnae hae a name?"

"Nope," he replied. "Not as privileged as the passenger engines."

"Eh?” she squawked, catching the attention of those nearby. “Guids engines can hae names, too!" she argued. The English engine wondered if this behavior was normal within this class. "Whit’s yer number then?"

LYR 920 eyed the other engine suspiciously. "But that's improper from what I hear."

“I said, ‘Whit's yet number?’”

"Nine-Twenty."

"Awrite, Nine-Twenty. Mine is Fourty-Five."

"Nawsense!" she exclaimed with a quick huff. "It's no’ fair thon I huv a name but ye dinnae, sae we shall go by numbers.”

And just like that, a guard blew his whistle before LYR 920 could say anything. The smaller engine felt his driver tapping against his backhead. He bid FR 45 farewell and left for his destination.

Thundering through the Ballahoo Tunnels, the black mixed-traffic engine hauled a goods train to Knapford Harbor. He passed by dull green junctions, the brick stations on the Main Line, and the branch lines. Every time he’d pass by them, he noticed that all but two branch lines were closed. Time had done its thing to some of them, covering rusted iron tracks in mangled branches. Twigs intertwined and dragged everything around it with a tight but fragile grip.

Time had not been so kind.

The more time that passed, the more James wanted to go back home. Home to his friends. Home to his older sister. Home to a place that he knew the most and could traverse easily without having to learn any new malicious trick being played by fellow workers.

It’d been a week since the incident. James refused to sleep on either side of the sheds, claiming the center berth. He was surrounded by the worst. It was either engines talking behind his back or engines who saw themselves above him.

“Slow down, chap!” exclaimed Fred. “Don’t want to burst your safety valve now, do you?”

James perked up. “No, Mr. Quill!” he quickly replied, unaware of how much his frames swayed. Pulling on his brakes, he eased to a slower and safer speed. He heard the raven man hum with approval, despite the thunderous noise of his pistons. A smug grin crept on his face, full of pride.

But as he continued his journey, his rampant thoughts about the other engines raced about. One was violent and a liar, one was an enabler, one was prideful and rude, and another was petty and envious.

He just wanted to go home.

At least his crew came along with him. He was surprised they did.

For once, he was thankful for his old railway's decision.

…

The brick building with the green canopy sunroof that was Tidmouth Station came into view as James continued up the west coast, leaving the green pastures of the countryside behind. He was due to pull the passenger service on the Ffarquhar Branch Line.

As the black mogul pulled into the yard and was uncoupled from his train, he heard a loud steel groan nearby, followed by an engine stopping and someone walking on the ballast. It was coming from the sidings closest to the Big Station. Curious, and with a hum, he wandered over, only to find Edward, sitting idly, and his crew, on their knees and examining the cerulean engine’s chassis. This would've alarmed James and his crew if they hadn't noticed the lack of steam billowing from the smaller engine's chassis.

“Hey, Charlie! Everything alright there?” hollered Mr. Quill as he leaned over the side cutout of James’ cab.

“Old boy’s broken down!” Charlie grumbled without looking up. His engine glanced at the other but stayed quiet, which the latter rolled his eyes to.

Unaware of the present tension between the two, Fred asked, “Want us to take him to the works?”

Bronze and heterochromatic eyes shrunk. Edward quickly looked away, breaking the one-sided eye contact. In protest, James jerked, only to get a flick against his cab.

Damn it!

“Please do!” thanked Charlie, patting Sidney on the back before getting up and climbing into Edward’s cab.

Within minutes, accompanied by grumbles and pouts, James was coupled up in front of Edward. He blew his whistle, startling the workmen in the yard, Edward, and said engine’s crew, before departing for Crovan’s Gate.

The trip was silent.

…

Much to his dismay, James had to fill in for Edward. Grumbles and pouts sputtered from his lips as he huffed about the yards, shunting trains left and right.

“How could an engine break down from work like this?” he grumbled as he aggressively bumped a truck into others. His whining was loud enough to catch the ear of his Express service co-worker.

“It was about time,” Gordon replied. His response startled James, who’d been unaware of his presence.

Once James composed himself, he asked, “About time?”

“Edward is old. The four-leader, four-driver may have been the newest, the best, the pinnacle standard… but those days are over. They have been for a very long time.”

“That doesn't mean he can't do basic shunting,” James argued, leaving out what he wanted to say. This engine was talking to him as if he didn't know. For goodness’ sake, he was friends with an entire class of 4-4-0s, or the 7 of the 8 that remained, that is, and his former co-workers of those 4-4-0s from the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway were still going.

Gordon scoffed. “Tender engines aren't meant to shunt, little James.” He ignored James’ little “Why you-!” “The yards are much too small for a tender engine to shunt about.” He rolled closer towards James, and the venom of his voice thickened as he continued. “His days are numbered. That’s just how it goes. He may have paved the way for engines like me,” he boasted, “but his importance will cease to exist. There is a reason why the Fat Director continues to bring on better engines. Engines that are meant to be and will be better.”

Though James wanted to be furious, he couldn't. He wouldn't straight up admit it to the egotistical express engine beside him but Gordon was right.

For one, as much as James didn't want to admit it, afraid of putting down his older friends, 4-4-0s were losing importance. James heard this happen time and time again in the other three railways, before and after his rebuilds. The Atlantics quickly came in, followed by the Pacifics, claiming the prestigious express passenger services of their predecessors. Six-drivers, like he once was, were taking the goods services as quickly as they were given to the 4-4-0s, simply because that was their job. 0-6-0s were made for that job, as opposed to the 4-4-0s, who were designed for express passenger services and any other more important trains.

His friends and former colleagues were lucky that their railway refused to follow those examples, opting for the small-engine policy of the old Midland Railway.

But how long would that last?

The simple fact of the matter was that newer whytes were better and more efficient. 4-4-0s were slowly becoming a second option and would eventually become the last.

And while his previous owners dismissed his experimental rebuilds as a waste of time and deemed him a failure, the Fat Director did not. He must've seen value in him. Why else would the young gentleman buy him? The praises he would receive for his “splendid performance” only proved it; the Fat Director's words, not his own.

He was wanted because he was better. He was bought because he was better.

With that in mind, James spent the rest of his day with no complaint and pure pride.

…

Days passed by the time Edward returned from the works. James saw him ease into the yard, the lack of steam still prevalent, and halt. Bronze eyes inspected the area until he perked up once they landed on James.

As quickly as he could, the Edwardian-styled engine puffed over to the Edwardian goods engine. The latter immediately veered somewhere else but the former persisted and followed.

“James, may I speak wit’ ye for a moment?” Edward asked as he caught up to the other. He could feel the anger fuming from his steam. It was suffocating and unwelcome, and Edward couldn't blame him.

“What?” James replied, annoyed. His natural brash tone seeped fury in it, startling Edward.

However, the smaller engine pressed on. “I want tae apologize for no’ tellin’ ye why ye were in the yards in the first place.”

James scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I still don’t get why you thought it was necessary to do that.”

“I didnae want tae hurt ye.”

“Ha! Well, guess what? You. Did,” he snapped.

The smaller engine stayed put. It was easier with his crew holding onto his brakes. “I-I ken! And I’m truly sorry.”

“Say sorry all you want but I’m not taking it!” huffed James, blasting steam directly at Edward.

The little engine yelped and jerked at the sudden heat spewed at him, knocking his crew off their feet. Once his crew lost their grip, Edward was able to back away. Just enough to get away from the heat irritating his metallic-like face.

As Edward’s eyes fluttered and his freckled face scrunched, James rushed off without another word. Besides his pistons pumping, the yardmen could hear James’ crew scold their engine, audibly upset. Their protests were in vain, however, as James left the yard without stopping.

Once his vision cleared up, the small cerulean engine frowned. His brow scrunched and his nose twitched as frustration bubbled within his boiler.

…

James thundered down the Main Line with his goods train, still fuming from what took place at Tidmouth. Fred kept an eye on his steam pressure, which went crazy for a bit, as George, a dirty blond Englishman, tried getting his engine’s attention. His attempts were fruitless as the mogul engine crossed the Vicarstown Bridge and dismissed the tapping against his backhead and cab. From there, the pair let their engine be.

The yardmen at Barrow-in-Furness were startled by James’ loud three-chime whistle, having gotten used to not hearing it for over a month, as it announced the engine’s arrival. The shrill had gotten the attention of all the engines there. All of them bore LMS in yellow on their tenders and were painted in either black or red. One engine in particular, who had been humming about as she waited for the yardmen to empty her train, perked up at the familiar sound. Slowly, she shifted her frame, dipping her cab end slightly, to get a look over the other awaiting trains.

Meanwhile, James was led to the same area she was in for the workmen to disembark the goods. He pulled up two tracks left of the engine, facing north like she was, and came to a sudden halt.

The sound caught the other engine’s attention, and she immediately peered over. Once she saw him, she gasped, “Fifty-Six?”

The black medium-sized tender engine froze before flipping his smokebox door open to face his right side. His eyes landed on the bronze-eyed engine, and excitement bubbled within him. She was a Class 21 from the Furness Railway, about the same size as he was, and painted LMS Crimson Lake red. Her old number, FR 45, was replaced with her LMS number years ago.

“Thirty-Eight!” exclaimed James.

“It’s sae guid tae see ye!” exclaimed LMS 10138. “How’s Sodor, huh? How is it?”

“Oh! It’s- uh- interesting!” he replied, lying through his clenched teeth with a fake grin. “No other railway quite like it!”

“I told ye! We both did!” she recalled cheekily before chuckling.

“You certainly did!” he strained again, joining her laughter.

Once their laughter died down, LMS 10138's expression changed suddenly. She looked at James with suspicion, making the modified Class 28 nervous. While she was sweet to him and their friends, she was truly a menace to not be messed with. It was then that James realized how foolish he was to think she wouldn’t notice his mood. She was the oldest survivor of her sisters, keeping a hawk’s eye on them as much as possible.

“It’s no’ goin’ sae well, ain’t it?” she asked, leaning towards him.

Despite feeling nervous, James admitted to it. “No, it's not.”

“Whit’s goin’ oan?” she asked softly, her tone now different from just before. “Dinnae tell me it’s those Pacific engines.”

“It’s not them,” replied James. “You and Fifty-five were wrong about them. If anything, they’re nicer than the other two.”

“Nicer?” repeated LMS 10138 before laughing in disbelief. “Ye’re jokin’, richt? Those Pacifics were yon worst of the North Westerns."

"Well, they probably manipulated you into thinking that, Thirty-Eight."

Her eyebrows furrowed, scrunching her face. "Or maybe thon's whit those Pacifics huv done tae ye," she retorted.

"I'm not stupid!"

"I didnae say ye were!" huffed the crimson-red engine. "I'm jist worrit for ye… er-" She peered at his tender. "North Western Six?"

"It's James," corrected the North Western.

"Pardon? Ye huv a name?" she inquired as excitement practically sparkled from her eyes. "Och, ye huv a name!" cheered LMS 10138.

Pride filled the black tender engine's boiler. "Oh, yes I do!" he boasted. "Now can I know yours?"

"Nah, thon would’nae be far tae the twins and Fifty-Five," she replied.

James pouted and thought. As the workmen continued emptying his trucks, an idea struck him. "What if we gave them names?"

"Whit?"

"We can give them names!" exclaimed James. "Who said that only people could give us names?"

LMS 10138 hummed. "Ye huv a point,” she replied after considering it. “A very guid ane! Let’s go tell ‘em.”

“Right now?”

“Aye!” she replied, nudging her frame to her left. “The twins and yer sister ur here, too!” With swift movement, LMS 10138 popped her smokebox door open, jerking her body to the side. The motion, unnecessary but natural, grabbed her crew’s attention. “Can we please see ‘em?” she asked her crew, who pulled themselves back up from the sudden jolt.

While most crew typically didn’t bother acknowledging their engines, the eldest of the remaining Larger Seagulls was lucky that hers were willing to. “I dinnae see why no’,” replied her driver as he peered over to James’ crew. “Ye up for it?”

“Might as well,” replied Fred. “We’ve still got a good while before we leave. Come on, chap!”

James cheerfully whistled, joined by LMS 10138's bright FWHEE-EEP!, sounding remarkably like her class’ nickname-sake. Both engines, once uncoupled, left the area in search of the other three. Much to their luck, the twins and James’ sister were waiting to depart with their goods trains. The twins were to head back up north while the other Class 28 was to head down south. The oldest of the twins caught sight of the Larger Seagull and “Class 29” heading their way. “‘Ey, look!” he exclaimed, catching his brother and the Class 28’s attention. “It’s Fifty-Six!”

“Fifty-Six?” repeated the Class 28 as she perked up and flipped her smokebox door open. “It is him!”

“Fifty-Five! Fourty-Six! Fourty-Seven!” piped up James as he came into audible range. “Were you about to leave?”

“We should in a bit,” replied the youngest twin. “We were supposit tae leave a while ago but somethin’s goin’ oan up aheid.”

“Somethin’ aboot a stallit train,” murmured the oldest twin, LMS 17646. He and the other twin, LMS 17647, were Class 652s of the Caledonian Railway, having been given LMS Black. They followed the same color scheme as Fifty-Five and James did. “How’s it goin’, big man?”

James playfully scoffed at the nickname. Ever since he’d come out of Horwich Works from his rebuilds, the twins drilled in the nickname as, in their own words, “Ye’re the biggest o’ us now, mate!” They weren’t wrong as he was a few centimeters taller than LMS 10138. “It’s… something,” James eventually replied.

His friends became concerned. “What happened?” asked Fifty-Five. “They’re not picking on you, are they?”

“No, it’s not that! It’s…” James struggled to form his sentences but he just couldn’t. “It’s complicated. I don't want to talk about it.”

His friends grimaced, growing concerned for James.

“But I come with news and an idea!” he exclaimed, nudging the Crimson red steam engine.

LMS 10138 announced, “He's got a name! And he thinks we should come up with names for ye three!”

“A name?” exclaimed the three six-drivers, eyes shining with excitement.

“James! Given to me by the director himself!” he puffed proudly.

“By the director?” squawked LMS 10138.

“Ye really are the big man!” exclaimed LMS 17647.

“I'm so happy for you, James!” squealed LMS 12555. “Such a lovely name!”

James beamed with pride. “Thank you!” he replied. “Now, what about names for you three?”

The five engines pondered and proposed names for a while. The disturbance that was preventing the Class 28 and the Class 652s from leaving still wasn’t cleared.

“Whit aboot ‘Katherine’?” suggested the red Larger Seagull.

“Do I look like a ‘Katherine’?” asked LMS 12555.

“Mmm, naw,” replied LMS 10138. “No’ ane bit.”

“‘Lily’?” proposed James.

“She's small but no’ thon light,” said the oldest twin.

“Hey!” exclaimed the black Class 28. “At least I didn't get something like ‘William’ and ‘Billiam’,” she mocked, sticking her tongue out while being careful not to curl it up.

“Aye, I wonder who'd come up wit’ such names,” the youngest twin wondered loudly, eyeing James.

“Now that's just mean,” huffed James.

“Those were pretty bad,” LMS 10138 noted.

“Fine! What about ‘Jasmine’?”

The others stayed quiet before looking at LMS 12555. Her brown eyes sparkled with adoration. “Jasmine…” she repeated. “I love it! Jasmine!”

“Then ‘Jasmine’ it is!” exclaimed the oldest twin.

“Now what aboot us?” inquired the other.

“Well, I'm out,” replied James. “What about you two?” he asked the newly named engine and the other whose name was still unknown.

“I was thinkin’ ‘Donald’ and ‘Callum’,” suggested LMS 10138.

“What about ‘Barclay’ and ‘Douglas’?” added Jasmine.

“Absolutely no’,” hummed LMS 17646, “but I like ‘Donald’.”

“And I like ‘Douglas’,” piped LMS 17467. “‘Donald and Douglas’...”

The other engines thought, mutters amongst them.

“We like it!” exclaimed the twins.

“So do we!” agreed the other three.

“Come on, Thirty-Eight!” exclaimed Jasmine. “What's yours?”

With a well-meant eye-roll, LMS 10138 replied, “Goldilocks. Ma name is Goldilocks.”

“Oh, like the little golden-haired girl from that story about the three bears?”

“Aye! Even ma nickname is an ‘homage’ tae the story.”

“Hold on,” interjected James. “How do you get named?”

“Well, it's nawthin’ special, really,” the Larger Seagull replied. “When I first steamit, a workman stood in front o’ me, pointit at me and said, ‘This lassie looks like a Goldilocks.’ The same thin’ happenit tae ma siblin’s-!”

“Hey, you three!” hollered a yardman, pointing his finger at the three 0-6-0 engines. “You better get going! The line’s all cleared now!”

“Yes, sir!” piped the three engines.

“Bye, James! See you soon!” exclaimed Jasmine, letting out a fierce whistle and going on her merry way. “Take care!”

“Bye, Jasmine!” replied James. “Bye, Donald and Douglas!”

“Huv a safe trip, James!” exclaimed Donald. Both twins blew their whistles, letting out a soprano harmonic shrill before setting off.

Once the trio departed, Goldilocks piped up. “Well, I best get goin’! I got a passenger train tae pull soon.”

“Of course!” piped James before giving a smug grin. “I got to pull a passenger train, too.”

The LMS-red engine gasped. “Passenger service? Look at ye go! Ye’re goin’ tae huv tae tell us more aboot thon next time!” she exclaimed with a chuckle. “Awrite, I must go noo. Bye, James!”

“See you around, Goldilocks!” exclaimed James as Goldilocks whistled and left. Once she was gone, he grimaced.

It was time to go back.

Lot of stuff happened with this one!

I took one look at Donald, Douglas, and James being under the same railway before James was sold off and went, "they are brothers."

and because why not, have some trivia!

Goldilocks is a lesbian. Jasmine is demiromantic she/they demi-girl. Donald and Douglas? haven't figured them out yet ("they sure do exist!")

Within this canon, all of the names of the Larger Seagulls are derived from fairytales + folklore from England and Scotland. Following Alice Edward ("Alice's Adventures in Wonderland") and Goldilocks ("Goldilocks and the Three Bears") are Tangle ("The Golden Key"), Mhara ("The Sea Maiden"), Fiorimonde ("The Necklace of Princess Fiorimonde"), Daylight ("Little Daylight"), Speur ("The Daughter of the Skies"), and Emmelina ("The Doll that Came Straight from Fairyland"). Yes, Speur and Emmelina are the youngest two built in 1900, aka Edward's baby twin sisters.

Goldilocks and Jasmine, as indirectly mentioned, were loaned to the NWR during the 1920 Locomotive Crisis. An LYR Class 7 (Atlantic) was also loaned to the NWR during that time period.

Goldilocks' face is a reference to the Orange Chinese Engine from BWBA, which is just a modified version of Edward's model with eyelashes and different textures. They look VERY identical from a distance, but Goldilocks has less of what Edward has. Less freckles, less eye wrinkles, less eyelashes, and her nose isn't as curved up as Edward's. I just thought it would be funny.

James and Jasmine (LMS 12555 and 12556 respectively) are the only LYR Class 28s with a Hughes Twin Plug superheater and a Belpaire firebox.

#engines of sudrian rails (shipverse) by muxse #engines of sudrian rails by muxse #my writing #ttte james #eosr goldilocks #eosr jasmine #ttte donald #ttte douglas #ttte edward #ttte gordon #ttte fic

18 notes · View notes