#he's like yeah we have so much food! and coal! and steam engines! we have central heating we don't need no one to come rescue us :)

[elmonstro]

Sir John Franklin looked pretty chill about their resources and possible rescue mission for someone who had to eat his own boots in his last arctic expedition...

[huntingingoodwill]

accessory to matrimony - part iv

part i, ii, iii

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a/n: thank u sm for the support for this it blows my mind how nice you've all been about it ily :) sorry i took so long on this one i was just working on my other fics for a little! (check em out wink wonk) idw to make this note too long but i have to mention this will probably be the last chapter at least for a little while. this fic was initially supposed to go to a darker place but now i'm not sure if you'd all want that lmao? i just need some time to think about how to continue, or if i should continue. i'd love to hear your thoughts and the askbox is wide open and gaping like a wound! ew. but send asks. i hope you guys like this one a little fluffy a little cheesy a little lovey dovey yeah? please consider interacting if you liked it and tysm for reading ily!!!

Like all rooms in Arrow House, the dining room was cavernous, and you could hear the echo of your fork clinking against your plate as you knocked your food around, watching a sprout roll off the edge toward the empty chair across you. Alone at dinner, again.

It had been two weeks since you moved in. Your chests of belongings were fully unpacked after Tommy had gotten a couple of unfortunate Peaky boys to lug them up to your shared bedroom. You had become comfortable living with each other.

You kept yourself busy, rifling through the books in his library (you soon realised Tommy wasn’t illiterate, but he did have miserably poor taste in literature) and writing to Eddie, not only to keep in touch, but also helping to operate the family business from your new home.

You and Tommy had grown closer, slowly, living together. Like on your wedding night, you slept in the same bed, and you had gotten used to the comforting weight of his arm around your waist, the warmth of his chest under your hand, his heart beating beneath your palm.

You liked living with him, looking forward to the conversations you had. Every small smile he gave you made your stomach flip. But though you were gradually getting to know each other, there was no doubt he was distant. He often came home late, and a bit ruffled up, or kept himself huddled behind his desk, staring at his papers so long you were sure anyone else’s brain would’ve started leaking out of their ears. You wondered how he was fuelled to work so much. Maybe if you opened him up you’d find a little man shovelling coal into a steam engine inside his stomach. Because he certainly wasn’t getting that energy from a regular diet.

He joined you at meals sporadically, mostly to smoke and pick at his food as he looked at you. His presence was a concession, one that you enjoyed, but you did wish he’d actually feed himself.

Your appetite had dwindled a reasonable amount, too, hunger replaced by a sort of vague longing and emptiness you couldn’t place. What was wrong with you?

“Mrs Shelby, Mr Shelby is asking to see you in his study.” You peered at the housemaid. She still looked at you suspiciously sometimes, her first impression of you and Ed messing around outside Arrow House never fading. You wondered how you could use that to your advantage. Hide in closets and scare her by jumping out of them as she walked past? No, you wouldn’t be that cruel. Might be semi-entertaining, though.

You thanked her and stood, trying to ignore the wave of excitement that washed over you. You picked up Tommy’s dish, fixing him a plate of food before hurrying to his office.

You knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

You had been in his study a few times since the wedding to deal with matters of the merger, but it still felt strange. Just a couple of months ago you had met him here for the first time, and now you shared a bed and a last name.

“We must stop meeting like this, Mr Shelby.” You teased. “I brought you dinner.”

He glanced at you quickly, a flicker of a grateful smile playing on his face before returning to it’s serious expression.

“Thanks, Mrs Shelby. Now, I’ve a ledger from our partners in Camden-”

You exhaled sharply, annoyed. “Tommy, I understand the importance of our work, but I also understand how bad it’ll look when they find my husband starved to death in his office only a couple weeks after I’ve married him.” He looked at you through his glasses, cocking an eyebrow. “Let me handle the account and take a break.”

“Later, (Y/N) -”

“Thomas, I’m-”

Two quick knocks rang out, causing the two of you to stop your bickering, your heads snapping toward the sound.

Arthur and John’s smiling faces peeked out from the crack in the door.

“We interrupting?” John smirked as he leant against the doorframe.

“Yes. Fuck off.” Tommy snapped, an air of annoyance radiating off him. Say what you wanted about Tommy, at least he was direct.

“You,” Arthur strolled into the room, pointing at Tommy. “Can stay here pissing yourself over the Camden account. But we won’t let you take our sister-in-law hostage.” Arthur joked, clapping his hands over your shoulders and pulling you out of your chair. “What do you say, (Y/N)?”

“We’ve brought the goods, too.” John grinned, revealing the bottles of liquor he was holding, enough to kill a small mountain lion, a legion of chickens, or to seriously inebriate a party of four.

You looked at Tommy. No harm having a quick drink with John and Arthur. His irritated glare annoyed you, the food growing colder by the second. Stubborn bastard.

“Sure.” You smiled, linking your arms with the two of them. “Mr Shelby, you may join us if you like. Your choice.” You marched out the study toward the den with your brothers-in-law in tow.

Tommy sighed, exasperated. Fuck it. He threw off his glasses, trailing after the three of you reluctantly.

“Welcome to the party.” Arthur laughed, giving him a smack on the back as Tommy begrudgingly slouched in the far corner of the room, grunting in response.

“You play cards, (Y/N)?” John asked, shuffling a deck.

“I’ll warn you, I cheat.”

“Me too. Let’s play!”

-

The hours ticked by and spirits were high as the four of you downed glass after glass. Even Tommy wore a gentle smile, watching you and his brothers play, the game and your conversation getting rowdier by the second, roaring with laughter at every joke.

Going out drinking with Eddie and your business partners had trained you to drink any man under the table. But John was a formidable opponent, and after Arthur stumbled out the house with John on his back, his head lolling around and slurring some now unintelligible song, you allowed yourself to let go of the cool composure you held in front of them, slumping down into the chair.

Tommy’s face swam into your line of vision, looking down at your flushed cheeks. “Had a bit too much fun?”

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“A perfectly adequate amount of fun.” You slurred, swatting your hand around clumsily, colliding with his thigh.

You heard him hum in response, then felt his arms snake around your waist. You squeaked as he threw you over his shoulder. You felt as though the breath had been knocked out of you as your ribs hit his broad shoulder, and you laughed as he carried you up to the bedroom.

He sat you down on the bed, turning you to have your back face him. His knuckle grazed your cheek. “You’re burning up.” He grumbled. He pushed your hair aside, fumbling with the clasp of your necklace, his fingers brushing against the nape of your neck. “You eat anything before all that drinking?”

He pulled the necklace off, the pearls sliding off your skin as you leaned back into his chest, resting your head on his shoulder as you looked up at him, playfully tracing a finger down the underside of his jaw. “I haven’t eaten, yes. We finally have something in common, Mr Tomathy! I’m on this diet, you see, it just zaps your appetite away!” You giggled, wagging your finger at him.

“Are you, now?” He raised his eyebrow, watching you lift your skirt, fumbling with your garter as you tried and failed to get your stockings off.

“Could you-” you looked at him pleadingly. You propped yourself up on your arms as he sat on the ground in front of you. “And yes... I am. Less of a diet, more of an appetite suppressant, you see. I’m in love!” You sang, throwing a hand up for dramatic effect. “Oh, but he doesn’t love me back.” You cackled, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead. “Isn’t it tragic?” You laughed.

Tommy felt the vise of jealousy tighten around his heart.

“And the worst part is,” you muttered, leaning forward to look at him as he knelt before you. He placed his hand on your chest, gently pushing you back onto the bed. His fingers ran across your thighs as he undid your garter, sliding the stockings down your legs. “I have to live with him!” You exclaimed. His lips twitched as his envy dissipated, pulling your skirt back down.

“Replacing me already? Who’s the lucky bastard?” He asked, watching you whine as you slapped your hand against your back in a violent attempt to unbutton your dress before you pulled on his arm, asking for his help again.

“What’s his name..? Oh, you know, that... Peaky Blinder devil.” You giggled.

He flicked his arm, the stockings whipping across the room and landing in a heap, discarded in the far corner of your bedroom as he moved to help you.

“Which one? The handsome one?” He asked.

“Mhm.”

“That’ll be Tommy, then.” He spoke, making quick work of the buttons on your dress as his knuckles sweeped down your spine.

“But he doesn’t love me.” You sighed, your smile turning a bit melancholy. “Didn’t expect him to. But... would’ve been nice.”

He paused, letting the silence hang between the two of you. The mattress rose as he walked across the room to your closet, pulling out your nightgown.

“Y’know, I happen to know Tommy.” He mumbled, pulling the gown over your head.

“Really?” A smile broke out over your face. Tommy laid you down, pushing a pillow under your head, gently sweeping aside the stray hairs sticking to your face.

“I share a bed with his wife.”

“Scandalous.” You muttered, feeling the lure of sleep as he threw the duvet over your shoulders. He smoothed down the blanket, pressing his hand into the mattress by your hip to brace himself as he leaned over you.

“It is. But I know that Tommy boy well enough. Don’t see how he could resist loving you.”

“You sure?” You whispered, his face inches from yours.

“Trust me.” He spoke. He pressed a kiss to your hot forehead, and you felt yourself grow redder. “Get some sleep.” He pat your knee, putting out the light as he walked out the room.

-

Your stomach growled with an embarrassing ferocity as you sat up to squint at the clock. Four in the morning. You had sobered up a little after a few hours of rest, and you felt thankful the pounding headache you knew would greet you soon hadn’t arrived yet.

Your growing hunger propelled you toward the kitchen and you sat before the ice box, pulling the door open. You felt your thighs press against the cool tile floor through your thin nightgown, and you held your cheek to the large block of ice, sighing in relief. Your eyes scanned the shelves, twinkling in excitement as you saw what you were looking for sitting atop a gleaming cake stand. Cake.

Your mouth watered as you placed the stand on the ground, dipping a finger into the frosting of the cake that sat on it, humming in delight as you tasted it’s creamy sweetness. You had baked it earlier that day, but hadn’t had the stomach to eat it until now. You reached up toward the counter, feeling around for cutlery before cutting a slice, sliding it onto a plate. You stood, knocking the icebox door closed with your hip.

Your bare feet padded against the floor as you ate, ambling back to your room. You stopped in your tracks as you saw the glow of light from Tommy’s study cast itself across the carpet.

You held the fork between your lips, pushing the door open and peeking in.

Tommy looked up. “You should be in bed.”

“That’s my line.”

You sauntered into the room, shoving aside the massive piles of paper on his desk. You pushed yourself up onto the table, crossing your legs as you took another bite, smiling down at him.

He leaned back in his chair, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. He tilted his head to look up at you as he crossed his arms, a hint of amusement in his eyes contradicting his placid face. His hair was ruffled, his shirt unbuttoned. He looked a mess, you thought endearingly.

“It’s hard for me to get any work done with you sitting on my desk.” He mumbled.

“I like the view.” You said, squinting down at him.

He stared at the cake heaped on your plate, a hunger in his eyes. You grinned, scooping up a forkful and waving it enticingly in front of his face, teasing him. He opened his mouth, biting down on the fork almost viciously as he caught it in its path. You laughed as you managed to yank it from his mouth. You reached forward to wipe a smidge of frosting off the corner of his now smiling lips, sucking the cream off your thumb.

The golden light of the rising sun streamed through the windows, and you paused the swinging of your legs as they hung off the edge of his desk, placing your feet on his thigh.

“We better get you to bed, (Y/N).” He spoke, wrapping a hand around your calf.

“Not before I get you a slice of cake.” You said. He opened his mouth to protest, but his stomach beat him to it, growling loudly. You giggled as he sighed in defeat, holding out his hand to help you as you slid off the table, walking toward the door.

You heard him clear his throat behind you. “...Mrs Shelby?”

You turned, leaning against the wall as you gazed at him. “Yes, Mr Shelby?”

“I love you.” He grumbled, almost imperceptibly.

You smiled.

“I love you too, Tommy.”

[masaru2042]

Hippity Hoppity, Stay off Railway Property!

Told as an r/entitledparents style parody.  What the engines really do have to deal with when it comes to entitled passengers.

So, I’m Dana.  I’m a driver of a sapient steam engine on a particular island that was made famous by a preacher writing a bunch of children’s books.  I’m the driver of the NWR #4 who pulls the Wild Norwester, aka the Express, a 4-6-2 Gresley A1/A3 Pacific known as Gordon.  Just a little background for those of you who don’t know who that is.  Gordon was the prototype for the A1 Pacifics designed by Nigel Gresley in 1922.  The only other A1 Pacific built in Doncaster by Nigel Gresley is Gordon’s younger brother Scott Gresley, aka the Flying Scotsman.  The reason why Gordon is now an A1/A3 is due to a rebuilt restoring him to his original shape as ordered from Doncaster, removing his straight Sudrian, white frame, and providing him with a Kylchap double exhaust to optimize fuel and water efficiency.  He also was outfitted with corridor tenders and his Sudrian frame and Fowler tender are now on display at the Sodor Railway Museum in Vicarstown.  

And me?  Well, I’m a transplant from Tennessee if anyone wonders why I’m not spelling in the English style, or using British slang.  Or BR and NWR terminology. And Gordon’s fireman is a funny guy named Josh with an equally funny boyfriend named Brian.  They both act like my big brothers.  And Gordon tends to act like my no-nonsense grandpa...among other things.  But we won’t get into those.

And just in case some of you still haven’t caught on.  Yes, he’s that big huge jerk from the Thomas and Friends show with the models.

Well, during the summer months, we get a lot of vacationers (holiday goers for you in the UK), and yes, lots of tourists.  Thanks to those books and the show, people do come from all over the world to actually see what the real engines are like.  And a lot of time, there’s a lot of dissonance from the fans who are expecting the engines to act like they do on the show.  They don’t. None of them do.  Henry isn’t a hypochondriac that complains about every little thing he’s feeling sick over, he’s in fact a very calculating, and intelligent person who pretty much knows secrets about everyone...even me when I had first come to Sodor!  Seriously, he’s really creepy!  Especially when he’s asking questions in a way to phish for information.  If Henry had a computer and actual hands, I have a feeling he might try to get into every government server on the planet just to see what personal secrets he could find.  Henry should be working with INTERPOL not the Northwestern Railway.

Thomas is very mellow thanks to his age, Percy actually can’t stand it when people think he’s a kid when in reality he’s older than Edward!  And he acts like it too.  The only one the show actually got accurate was James.  Yes, James is very full of himself.  Not as much as he is in the show, but he loves puffing around like he’s the king.  And Edward is pretty much a down to Earth guy.  And Emily acts like that older neighbor your mom knows who’s been around the world and back again and loves asking about your sign.  Yeah, that older neighbor.  The one with the bead necklace, the incense, and flowers in her hair.  I swear to God, she’s been to San Francisco.  Interesting little tidbit, Emily is the original Flying Scotsman!  No joke!

Well, it was a rather steamy and hot, summer day on the Island of Sodor, and yes I know what that sounds like!

We weren’t pulling the Express at this moment, we were actually just doing a tour excursion.  This is normal, it allows the tourists to ride the engines belonging to the “Steam Team” as the kiddies call it.  Something the engines belonging to this “Team” roll their eyes about the label.  And not in the comical way the models did.  The “uh-huh, whatever” kind of eye roll, and just chuff on by, not really caring.

So, it was our turn to take the train around, letting the tourists feel what it’s like to ride one of the fastest non-streamlined steam engines in the world.  And the one who actually did win the Great Race, even if he nearly killed himself doing so...beating out a diesel-electric and breaking his safety valve in the process.  This is something Gordon doesn’t like talking about, despite setting a world record in the process.  But still, we did give the guests a proper ride.  

Best way to describe Gordon gliding down the rails.  He’s basically like an antique expensive roadster.  You can tell the moment you tap your foot on the gas that he’s gonna floor it and show you what speed really feels like.  Not your grandma’s station wagon, I’ll tell you that!  Gordon, much like all the other engines, is always kept up to specs.  He pretty much runs as good as the day he popped out of the factory.  You wouldn’t have guessed that he’s nearing 100 years old.  Unlike his brother who is feeling his age no matter how many rebuilds he’s had.  If you haven’t come out of the coaches noticing your body made a dent on the seat, Gordon feels like he hasn’t done his job in making you feel his speed.

That is the power of a Gresley Race Horse.

We were cruising around, well...the train equivalent...and given that Gordon has two corridor tenders now, we could cruise for a long while.  Though we did have to stop a few times just for the passengers to get out take pictures of the scenery, that sort of thing.  Only this particular excursion was allowed to stop on the line.  Gordon was of course outfitted with special lamps to show that we had such permission to stop and were given proper notifications from our conductor of when it was safe to stop.  And when we stopped the guests were ordered to either stay in the coaches, or stay back from the train and rails themselves for safety reasons.  

No standing on railway property, basically.  

No standing in front of the engine on the rails.  

Do not get in the way of workmen and crewmen maintaining the engine.

We were making sure that folks understood this.  

If they got off for pictures, they were only allowed to be on the grass.  And only when they were ready to return to their coaches were they allowed to approach the train again.

Any questions they had, they could ask any of the service personnel and attendants.

And we all had radios.

We stopped, pulled over onto a siding.  And just in case he needed it since there was a lot of stopping and starting and that’s when he uses a lot more water than when he’s running, we stopped on a siding near a water tower.  Josh was filling up Gordon’s canteen and I turned on that little electric fan I clipped on above my station.  It ran off of Gordon’s dynamo too, and I was grateful for it.

I grabbed a cold bottled water from the cooler we had stashed near the main tender and pressed it to my forehead.  Already I could hear some of the kids asking “why doesn’t Gordon produce smoke from his funnel?” or “why does he smell like fish and chips?”  And well, that made me laugh.  A few months ago, Sir Topham Hatt converted Gordon into a waste vegetable oil burner.  So, that explains the fried food smell.  Honestly, it was a good thing because it often made the passengers even more hungry, which means they’d buy more food off the food cart in the Express.  Josh liked it too, he didn’t have to shovel coal anymore, just playground sand with a tiny, toy shovel into a little opening in the firebox to help keep the fire tubes from getting clogged from the oil being atomized.  And Gordon liked how much cleaner he ran.

I heard a few oldtimers snort about how that’s not a real steam engine anymore because of the oil burning rather than coal and then hear Gordon personally retort back: “You better tell Duck that, then!  The GWR went to oil in the 1940s due to coal shortages!  And don’t get me started about the poor caloric contents of today’s coal.  The wasted veggie oil actually is better for me.  Even Welsh coal is barely usable now.  No wonder the BR switched to diesel the way it did.”

And that’s why Gordon’s a WVO burner, folks!  And if any of you are wondering, yes!  He can run off of diesel fuel if he has to.  Which he did once, and no, unlike in the show, the real Gordon doesn’t bitch about the smell or look down upon diesel locomotives.

Well, enter our entitled family.  

I wasn’t the one who first spotted this family doing something they were instructed not to do by the attendants in the coaches.  That was Josh.  Gordon, on the other hand, was concentrating on what the maintenance workers were doing.  Tightening a lug nut, checking the mechanical lubrication injector, the lubricant levels, his exhaust steam injectors.  Clearing any debris out of the way, checking the fuel levels on the coaches.  Yeah, the coaches are diesel powered now.  Hatt went all out!  Servers were handing out drinks to the workers and the passengers.

I heard Josh call out: “Oi!  You can’t stand on that!  Step away from the track!”

The mother said: “We’re trying to take a group photo!”

I felt the cab tilt to the right just slightly.  Gordon’s attention was now on the family as well.

Josh: “I said, you can’t stand in the middle of the track.  Get back on the grass!”

I went to the fireman’s side of the cab, stuck my head out the window to see a very plump family, a rather large man, his equally large wife, and their cherry-red faced, plump kid in a horizontal striped T-shirt.  I also could see the patches of sweat under their armpits.  They were sweating more than I did just by stepping out of their coaches.

Then, Gordon spoke up with that big, booming, baritone voice of his.  Seriously, he should moonlight as a radio host, he’s got the timbre for it!

“You heard what my fireman said, stay off the rails!  It’s for your safety.”

Well, I hopped out the door from the cab and wiped my hands on my jeans.  

The family wasn’t willing to listen to Gordon, no matter how commanding he made his voice sound.  The father was standing on the grass with his smartphone out, taking a picture of the boy and his mother standing in between the railroad ties.  He was angled in such a way to include Gordon in the picture.

“You should smile!” said the entitled father.

Gordon growled and just sneered.  He wasn’t having any of it.  And if I hadn’t set the main brake, he’d probably jut forth just to scare the entitled mother and entitled brat off the track as a lesson.  I could hear a clacking sound, though, Gordon was flexing his friction brakes against his wheels, his way of tensing his muscles in his frustration.  His jaw was set, his teeth clenched, and his brow furrowed.

“Hey!” I called. “What the hell do you think y’all doin’?  Get off the track!”

I don’t think they liked my east Tennessean accent because the mother just turned and looked at me with disgust.  Like she was looking down at some dirty farmhand.  

I guess Gordon saw that face too, because the moment she made it, I heard a low groan from his wheels.  He sounded like he was trying to fight against the brake keeping him motionless.  The moment we met, he’s been rather overprotective of me.  It’s cute.  I could always count on him to have my back.  There was an expulsion of steam from the sides of his cylinders.  And he was rearing to open up his cock valves wide just to give them a good blast of hot vapor.  

But the mother stood firm.

“We’re trying to get a photo!  Now go back to your food cart, little missy!”

“Release the brake,” Gordon whispered, tilting towards me.

“No,” I said.

“I’ll run them over.”

“No you won’t.”

“They’ll be a bloody smear on my buffers.”

And they would once he started off.  Gordon had a lot of torque in him, he could start off in a burst like a motorcycle if he wanted.  And the last thing anyone wanted was 200 tons of locomotive racing for them.

“It’s not worth it.”

“How dare that harpy talk to you in such a manner, Dana!”

“It’s fine, sugar,” I said, laying my hand on a buffer. “Just breathe.”

He said aloud: “That’s my driver!  She’s not a serving girl!”

I heard the father laugh: “Girls can’t be drivers.”

I get that a lot!

And the clacking sound returned.

“You’ll ruin your pads doing that,” I told Gordon.

“And I’ll need to be looked over for hypertension,” he said. “Because I can feel the pain in the back of my smokebox already.  This woman…and her oaf of a husband...”

“Just breathe...in and out, Gordon.”

He took a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth.  It wasn’t helping, though, as I could still hear the clacking of his brakes.

Josh had jumped down from the canteen and walked over.

“You heard what they said, off the rails, please.”

They actually listened to Josh.  I tend to get that a lot.  They don’t want to listen to me because they think I’m some food cart lady, despite not being dressed like one, but Josh...he looked like he belonged where he was.  So, he had a more air of authority than I did.  I guess it was my accent and how I try to put on that Southern sweet tea charm, you know.  So, they don’t take me seriously.

I’m a redneck to them, that’s all they care about.

Obviously, they were done taking pictures.  

Then, the kid turned and darted for the switch.

Points on the rails are set by switches that are either manually moved into positioned, or automatically moved into position, or done so from a signalman’s box.  Here, considering the remote location of this particular siding, the point had to be set by the conductor with a lever at the side of the railroad track after the conductor got the OK from RMC (Railway Mission Control) that the track was clear for Gordon to proceed.  Though this siding was on the mainline, it was quite a ways from a signalman’s box, so that’s why it had to be switched by hand from the conductor.

And yes, I realize they’re called Guards in the UK and Sodor.  But I did say I’m from the US...so...conductor.  And Gordon loves correcting my terminology.

Well, that kid bolted for the switch, and started messing around with it.

Gordon, me, and Josh all lurched forward.

“Step away from that, kid!” I shouted.

“Don’t touch that!” bellowed Gordon.

“What are you doing?!” Josh shouted.

The point was set so that any train needing to pass this siding could.  But the boy grunted and turned the point, setting the switch to the siding.  This would allow Gordon to exit the siding back onto the mainline.  And that was a bad!  This meant any train coming through would derail from the track being set improperly.

“NO!” all three of us cried.

I darted forth and tossed the kid from the lever.  Considering I worked with steam engines for a good portion of my life, I was pretty muscular and toned.  And I could toss around guys bigger than me with ease.  The kid hit the ballast and obviously skinned his elbow.  But I wasn’t worried about that.  My concern was the switch.

Whatever train would be passing by, could very well be derailed!

Who cares about a little brat and his skinned elbow?  But the EM was furious.

“How dare you assault my baby!”

Baby?  That lard of a kid looked like he was 8 years old!

And Gordon was cross. (Because of course I had to put that there.)

“Baby?” he asked. “Your little piglet just very well might cause a terrible accident!”

There was vitriol dripping from his words.

“He’s only playing!” called the mother. “Let him play!  He’s not hurting anyone.  He’s a good boy.”

“Get that crotch goblin away from the switch!” Gordon bellowed out. “Wesley!”

Crotch Goblin.  God I love you, Gordon, I thought.

Wesley was our conductor.  And he was a bit of a pushover especially with how Gordon boxed the poor kid’s ears with that voice of his.  Wesley was kinda new to the job and most of the times he was regulated to excursion duties.  Rarely did he ever serve on the Express due to his inexperience.

I could see him fiddling with his whistle, trying to straighten his hat.  He was a mess.  All the while, I was jerking back and forth trying to get the switch unstuck and set back correctly.  These switches sometimes got stuck because of the heat.

“Y-yes, sir, Mr. Gresley,” said Wesley.

Just a little fact that many of y’all don’t know.  You think we’re the ones in charge here?  The show seems to make you think that, don’t it?  Nope.  The engines are.  Especially engines with seniority like Gordon.  And he made sure everyone on his team knew it.  And again, the kid’s a pushover.

“Go help Dana with the switch!” Gordon barked.

The boy was already bawling like it was the end of the world.  And entitled mother was leaning down to comfort him.  The noise was enough to attract the other passengers to the commotion.

“What happened?” asked Wesley.

“Kid pulled the lever,” said Josh.

“She assaulted my baby!” said the entitled mother.

“I should have you all fired!” the entitled dad shouted. “And that metal monstrosity scrapped.”

“I beg your pardon!” Gordon rounded. “Don’t spit indignation at me, sir! Your piglet has endangered lives.  Wesley, is there a train coming?”

“The Express, Mr. Gresley.”

“Damn…” Gordon seemed to deflate and the color left his cheeks at the sound of a familiar, high-pitched whistle. “Henry’s coming!  This is the Flying Kipper all over again.  Hurry!”

Oh, god...I heard the stories of Henry’s crash.  Of course I knew of it from the books, and from the show.  But the real story was much more gruesome.  Awdry may have said that his driver and fireman survived for the sake of the kids, but that was far from the truth.  They were dead, both of them.  The driver’s head was bashed into to Henry’s controls, thrown from his seat. Henry’s pipes were covered in his driver’s blood. The fireman died moments later, crushed ribs and internal bleeding from the impact.  And Henry was lucky to have survived at all to be rebuilt into a Stanier Black 5.  He was a changed “man” after that.  Much sterner than when he arrived on the island.

“Sir,” I shouted. “You’re about to force an engine who just lived through a horrible wreck involving a point set wrong to relive that nightmare again.  And endangering everyone he’s currently pulling in his coaches.  When this is over, I’m making sure Hatt kicks you and your family of pork rinds off the NWR.  Have fun takin’ the bus for now on!  Or walkin’.  Y’all look like you need a good exercise anyhoo.”

The bus on this island was terrible.  Just a little FYI.

Already, Wesley was radioing the conductor on the Express, hoping to get Henry to slow down before he derailed.  The whistle was even louder.

Josh and I were pulling the lever as hard as we could.  A creak, and at last the lever budged.  The point reset to allow Henry to pass through safely.  A final whistle and the green NWR #3 came speeding on passed Gordon with the Wild Nor’wester.  I collapsed upon my butt and gasped, sweat stinging my eyes.  Josh did the same, patting me on the back.

“You all right?” he asked.

“I will be,” I said.

The conductor still held onto the entitled father and entitled mother, and they held onto their sniveling kid.  While he was holding onto his elbow.

“Wesley,” I said, looking up at the conductor. “Escort those three to the brake coach and keep an eye on them.  The first station we’re stopping at, I want them off the train and in the station master’s office.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “This way, please.”

“I should have your job!” the entitled father called.

“Get the first aid kit, and wipe the little porker’s booboo,” I said.  I slowly rose to my shaking feet. “I should leave y’all right here!  Have you hoof it to the next station.  Maybe if I’m lucky, y’all be arrested by our security guards for trespassin’ on railroad property!”

“Leave them here,” said Gordon. “Especially for that sodding ‘scrapped’ remark!”

I really didn’t give two shits about Gordon’s language here.

So many of Gordon’s brothers had been scrapped thanks to the modernization of the British Railways.  So, of course he would take that insult quite personally.  

“You hear that?” I continued. “Gordon wants to leave you stranded.  And I’m inclined to agree with him.  But I’m not petty like y’all are.”  I turned to him. “No.  Follow the rules, Gordon.  As much as we hate it.  Turn them into the station master and they’ll be banned from riding any of our coaches again.”

“I suppose that shall suffice,” he said.  It didn’t sit happy with him, though.  And it was understandable why he said that.  Gordon’s jaw was still tensed, set tightly.  I reached up and patted him on the running board and he seemed to unwind just a slight, his frame coming to a rest.

“Wankers,” he at last said to relieve any emotional steam still pinned up inside. “The lot of them.  Completely gobsmacked those types exist.”

“Yeah,” I said with a huff.

“You two finished taking the piss, or are we getting this bloody train a-moving?” Josh asked.

Gordon and I laughed.  That finally got the last kink in our collective spines untied.  I took a deep breath and rounded Gordon, only to climb in on the driver’s side.  We waited for Wesley to come back.  He no doubt already ordered the other crewmen to keep an eye on our entitled guests.  He maybe a pushover to us, but not to the passengers.  Especially the unruly ones.  He took out his pocket watch, glanced at it, and then dropped it back into his pocket.  He pulled out a radio, calling for the signal to switch the points.  The passengers were already on board.

A few of Gordon’s valves began to move just slightly.  The cock valves in his cylinders opened up with a hiss.  I pinched the brake lever and pushed it forward and Gordon clenched his friction brakes to compensate.  Then, the conductor whistled and signaled for the all clear.  Gordon steamed forwards slowly, relaxing the brakes.  As he pulled up, Wesley took hold of the railing and climbed into the cab.  

Gordon sounded his low whistle twice and he was off.

And if y’all are wondering about what happens to the points after the train passes them.  It is weight sensitive, and there’s a mechanism that puts the points back once the train clears it.  The conductor normally will see if the point had reset by the signal’s position.  And it did.  Only the lever got stuck, not the mechanism itself.

By the time the train pulled into the station, there were security guards waiting to escort the entitled family to the station master’s office for a stern talking to.  On the other platform was Henry with the Express, waiting to load his passengers.  I suppose he noticed the security guards escorting the still bickering entitled family, because he spoke up.

“Gordon, what the bloody hell happened?”

“You almost had another wreck, Henry,” Gordon replied. “No thanks to that family of pigs over there.”

“Eh?  What were they doing?”

“Messing with the points.”

“So that’s what my driver was acting all frantic about,” he said. “I thought the man was having a heart attack.”

“Nope, you nearly had a wreck like the one back in...what was it…‘36?”

“Was ‘35, actually.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Gordon said. “1935.  Bloody snowstorm.”

“I should know, I was out in it, unfortunately.  Then the Thin Clergyman decided to put my rebuild at 1951.  Don’t know why he’d did that.  That was getting close to the year Beeching was proposing his modernization plan.”

“Dreadful man.”

Gordon never liked Richard Beeching.  With good reason.

A whistle from the platform sounded and Henry got his signal to move on.

“See you back at the sheds, Gordon!” he said with a whistle, pulling out from the station.

I came walking out onto the platform, stopping right beside Gordon’s smoke box.

“I think I’m gonna go home, prop my feet up, get out a tub of chocolate ice cream and watch a stupid chick flick tonight,” then I turned to him. “Wanna join me?”

“Well, you did leave that tub of ice cream in the freezer back at the sheds,” he said. “What stupid chick flick do you want to watch?”

“How about Sex in the City?”

“Oh, that’s a ripe cabbage, isn’t it?” Gordon asked. “Brilliant.  We can both yell at the movie.”

“Hey, Josh, wanna join us?”

“Nah,” he said through the window. “Dinner night.  Brian’s cooking.”

“Have fun with that,” I said. “Hey, you make sure you share some leftovers.  You know how much I love Brian’s cooking.”

“And how much I love smelling it,” said Gordon. “I swear, if it kills me, I’ll figure out how to eat, someday.”

“I promise, Gordon,” began Josh. “I’m sure he’ll have some leftover wasted vegetable oil.  We’ll put it in the strainer and give it to you.”

“Good enough.”

Well, we all returned to our posts and continued the excursion.  

Movie night was fun too.  

The next day, we were back on Express duty.  Sir Topham Hatt came to tell us that family was banned from any excursions and any service on the railway.  Like I said, regulated to riding the bus for now on.  They were also severely fined.  Like severely, made to do some community service as well.

Funny note on that family, apparently, it wasn’t the first time that hog brat messed with the switches.  We stopped for a connection with the Skarloey Railway.  And in came Sir Handel with his passengers.  Word got around quick about the family.  And Handel knew all about it.

“They pulled that stunt with us here on the narrow gauge,” said Sir Handel. “The fat twat of a boy started messing with the points.  Rheneas saw what was happening, screeched to a halt as best as he could...and derailed.  No one was hurt, thank heavens.”

“Why the bloody hell was that family allowed to ride my excursion train, then?” Gordon asked. “If that boy pulled the same stunt as before?  And caused a wreck.”

I was out standing on the walkway between the narrow gauge track and the standard one, looking dumbfounded by what Sir Handel had said.

“The little piggy bolted away when he heard his mum calling him,” said Richard, Handel’s driver.

“Aye, greasy bugger, that one,” said Handel. “Before the security could catch up, I suppose he must’ve gotten on your train, Gordon.”

“What the actual fuck,” I said, shaking my head.

“But the security cameras caught him in the act,” said Richard. “I suppose after the second stint he caused, that was enough to ban the whole family.  He was also causing some mischief with the Smallies too.  Was trying to tip over poor Mike, calling him a toy.  Mum encouraged it too, saying ‘he’s only playing’.”

“Bloody strong, if he could attempt to tip over Mike,” said Handel. “Smallies may be small, but they are heavy.”

“Each of them weigh as much as a car,” I said.

“He could tip over your Mustang if given a chance,” said Gordon.

“Like I’d let him have it!”

Gordon chuckled.

“The Small Controller kicked the mother and her brat out,” said Handel. “Filed a report on it.  Then, they came here.  And started more trouble.”

“And then they came onto my train,” said Gordon. “Lovely, isn’t it?  We have a connection with the Arlesdale Railway.  Should let the Small Controller know we got the brat and his parents banned from all of the railway.”

“I’d say for that boy, he’s…” began Handel. “How do you American’s say it, Dana?  He rides the short bus, seems like?”

“That’s what we say, Sir Handel,” I nodded in agreement. “And his parents probably spoiled him rotten because of it.”

I took a glance back and noticed all the passengers were finally filing on board.  Turning around, I slowly trotted back toward Gordon’s cab.

“Thanks for the info!” I waved, hopping back in. “We’ll let Mr. Duncan know we had a visit from the Terror Piglet.”

Both Sir Handel and Gordon broke out into a chuckle at the name I gave the kid.

Sad fact of some parents with children that have developmental problems.  Sometimes, they just spoil them, let them do whatever they want.  Don’t bother to correct their behavior.  And this case was one of those.  I suppose my name for the kid seemed mean.  I should blame the parents more than the child for bringing him up like that.  But considering the havoc he raised, putting people and engines in danger, damaging railway property, little regard to what he was doing, and his parents encouraging the behavior, to relieve my stress, the “Terror Piglet” seemed to stick.  Judge me for my own behavior, but the kid nor his parents get no leeway with me.  I didn’t exactly have a perfect childhood either, but I did learn enough about real life not to act like a “twat” as they say over here.

Along the way, we managed to find that wretched family.  There they were, standing at a bus stop in the heat, sweating like the hogs they were.  The entitled brat looked up and started to bolt for the fence, ready to lunge himself over.  Which would be trespassing again.

I called out: “Hippity, hoppity! Stay off railway property!”

Gordon gave two short, very short, very poignant whistles as he blew on by them.  Being around Gordon for so long, I began to learn what certain whistles meant depending on how the engine sounded them.

Gordon basically flipped that family the bird in the only way an engine could.

Considering what that kid nearly made Henry do yesterday, and the horror that entailed, I didn’t correct him on it.  I only smiled.

And now, my mind turned to more important thoughts.  

Like Brian’s leftovers in the cooler.

[exodusofthesun]

Eternal Rain, Part 2

After twenty more minutes, and one more power down, the man and his daughter arrived at their stop. The school was right across the street, and after walking down from the station, the man knelt down with his daughter.

“All set?” he asked her. She nodded. “Alright, I’ll pick you up after school at 2:30. Have a good day, sweetie.” He gave her a kiss on top of the head, and watched her run through the rain towards the school building. Once she entered the door, he turned and walked down the street.

The coal plant the man worked at was only a few blocks down the road from the school, which made the man happy that he could spend more time with his daughter. He entered the plant, clocked in, and walked to his locker to suit up for his job.

His partner walked up behind him to his locker. “Hey, did you hear? The allotment of coal we can burn has been limited again.”

“Again? That’s the third time in two months.”

The partner sighed. “I know. It has to do with the two plants reopening out near your home. The city has only have so much coal to burn.”

“I know, I know. Well, might as well get to it.” the man said.

The man’s job was simple: help work the turbine where the steam rose from the burning coal. He and others had only so much coal to burn, and thus he generally worked at several other posts, including the electrical transmission. He, his partner, and a couple others worked together as teams, constantly shifting to those positions.

The only trouble was that the job was usually completed early, and the electricity had to be stored before lunch, so that it could be sent in the afternoon.

This day, the job was finished just about lunch time. The man and his partner went to the eating area where some of the workers had already come to eat. The man went to the cafeteria, grabbed a sandwich, chips and soda, and went to sit by his partner.

“So, did you listen to Chicago Rose on the radio last night?” the partner said.

The man took a bite out of his sandwich. “No, we were having some power problems last night. Sounded like it was all over our sector.”

The partner leaned back in his chair. “Well, she said the last TV station was closed down in the country.” He paused and looked at his food. “Just a waste of energy at this point.”

“Agreed.” the man said as he took a drink from his soda. “Did you hear that the Jenkins farm flooded again.”

The partner sighed. “Again, huh. More hard times, then. Did they salvage anything?”

“More than last year, but that’s not saying much.”

The partner nodded. “Where did you hear that?”

“Kansas City Radio the other night. My kid loves the jazz music.” the man said with a smile.

“Ah, that’s right. How is she doing?”

The man placed his sandwich down. “Well, she started school again today. She was happy to go again.”

The partner laughed. “Ah, I remember that age. My kids are no longer interested, the school’s getting them ready for the workforce at this point.”

“They know where they want to go?”

“The nuclear plant on the west side of town. They’re a lot smarter than us, they think the two of them will be able to be engineers over at the plant.” Both men chuckled.

“Yeah,” the man said with a sigh. “my daughter is going to be twice the person I’ll be. Hell, she already is.”

“You still telling her the rain will let up?” the partner said, while taking a drink.

The man looked at his food. “Everyday.”

“Giving her something to hope for. Good on you.” the partner looked outside. “Experts saying that the rain will come down heavier in the winter.”

“It always does. Hey, you remember the drought?”

The partner chuckled. “Almost three years of no rain across the globe. Nowadays, a drought would be blessing. What’s it been, ten years?”

The man chuckled as well. “Something like that.” He looked over the partner’s shoulder. “Here comes the supervisor.”

The two looked over as their supervisor came over and sat down with them.

“Well, looks like they are closing down two of the nuclear plants.” she said. She sighed, picked up her food, and said, “There goes even more power.”

“I’d say that the two coal plants reopening was a good thing, but it costs us coal to burn.” the man said. The supervisor nodded, as she took a bite out of her food.

“Which two?” the partner said, as he opened his chips.

“The one in the industrial area.” she said looking over at the man, who had let out a small grunt of frustration. “The other is on the river. So no, the one on the west side is still open for your kids.” she said to the partner, with a half-smile.

The man smiled. “Anything about the dam down the river?”

“They say it should remain intact, as long as the rain doesn’t come down any harder than last year. The west coast is getting hit pretty hard though, according to the radio.” She paused. “You guys listen to Chicago Rose last night?” The partner nodded, while the man shook his head.

“Well, looks like Russia tapped out their oil. That’s it, there is no more oil in the world to drill for after that.” she said.

“Well, China stockpiled their oil, so they still have plenty.” the man said. “The world has gone down the crapper, hasn’t it?”

“It went down the tubes during the drought.” the partner said, mouthful of food. “Now, it’s simply a wet, cold hell out there.” He turned to the supervisor. “Will we ever get an increase in coal to burn? The city needs more power.”

“I don’t think so. Which reminds me, the rain has knocked out another transformer in the downtown area. We are gonna have to reroute some of the power from uptown to that area of the city.”

The man looked at her. “Why don’t they just fix it?”

“Cause for every one we fix, the rain knocks out another two. That’s why we have the pylons running from the plants directly to the homes. So, just keep that in mind when you send the power down the lines. Anything from the riverside to main street needs some more power. The rest can be sent to uptown. I’ll contact the two coal plants in the riverside district that they need to redistribute their power as well, so that everything is equal.” She grabbed her trash, and got up. “Alright, time to get back to work. Shouldn’t take too long.”

The two men picked everything up, and went to the power distribution center of the plant.