It was a sunny day on the Island of Sodor. Warm, summery clouds floated high in the sky, and all the engines were looking forward to the summer season.
The heavy summer season couldn't come sooner for Bill and Ben, who were currently bored in the marshalling yard at the docks. They had been sent there by the Fat Controller, to whom they were on loan for the upcoming busy season.
"Hey. Hey. Bill. I have an idea." Said Ben, regarding his twin with a cheeky glint in his eye.
"What is it, Ben?" Inquired Bill, quietly glad for the break in the monotony.
"My driver was trying to complete an anagram puzzle in the newspaper the other day. I was thinking that perhaps we could make some anagrams of our own."
The sadistic look in his brother's eye made Bill break out into a matching grin, "Sounds like fun. What do you wanna make anagrams of? People's names?"
Ten minutes of silence followed as the twins tried to think of the best candidate for their inaugural anagram. This silence was broken by Ben's sudden choking.
"Are you okay?" Bill asked, slightly concerned.
"I've got it! The Fat Controller!" Ben spluttered.
Just then, the large blue form of Gordon approached the twins. Gordon was in a rather sour mood, having been assigned a goods train while Henry was having his day off. Upon seeing the twins, his frown somehow got deeper,
"Ohh, not you two!" he grumbled, hoping that his delivery would be unloaded as quickly as possible; the last time he'd been at these docks with Bill and Ben, the hellions had threatened to dump his body in the sea.
Momentarily broken out of their reverie, Bill and Ben looked up at Gordon innocently, "Oh, hello Gordon. Fancy seeing you here. Do you want to play a game with us?"
To Gordon, this seemed like a scene straight out of a horror movie, "No thank you!"
Bill and Ben metaphorically shrugged, and turned their attention back to each other, "Anyway, the Fat Controller. What can we make out of 'Sir Topham Hatt'?"
At the ponderous expressions adopted by the twins, despite himself, Gordon found himself curious about just what this 'game' entailed, "What are you two up to? Plotting against humans now are you?"
"Not at all Gordon. We're trying to think up anagrams of people's names." Bill replied honestly.
"I've got it! 'Hit prat Thomas'!" Ben exclaimed.
There was momentary silence before the two of them began howling with laughter. Gordon too found himself chuckling at the little blue engine's expense.
"This is indeed a good game. May I introduce it to the other engines at Tidmouth this evening?" Gordon asked.
Pleased at the prospect that not only was this rare praise from Gordon, but that their unique brand of anarchy would spread, Bill and Ben agreed.
"Great! Well, I'd better be off. Good day, twins." Gordon began to depart with his now empty trucks, chortling to himself all the while about 'hitting the prat that was Thomas'.
What he didn't hear, however, was Ben turning to Bill and snorting, "Gordon the Big Engine. 'Inbreeding gone goth'!"
The twins howled with laughter at the unfortunate anagram of the big engine's name.
Back at the sheds that night, Gordon indeed demonstrated the twins' new game to the others. The other engines immediately seized the opportunity to have a go at making anagrams of each other's names – the more politically incorrect the better.
Thomas meanwhile was still fuming about the anagram of 'Sir Topham Hatt', "I am not a prat!"
"You are a bit." Henry said sympathetically.
"Well, Thomas, if it makes you feel any better, on my way back here, I thought of one for your name." Gordon was always bad at hiding his mirth, and he looked positively ready to choke while pausing for suspense, "Thomas the Tank Engine – 'heathen smoking at ten'!"
The other laughed as Thomas frowned, until Henry butted in moments later with, "Or 'a neon meth kitten shag'!"
The others broke out into hysterical laughter, but Thomas' frown deepened, "Oh ha ha, guys. Drug-induced bestiality – very funny."
"It is!" Percy agreed blithely.
"Well, uh, what about James then?" Thomas tried to change the subject, "I've got, uh…"
"'Hid green enema jets'!" Emily burst out.
"Emily!" James whined, "I don't want enema in my name!"
"What's an enema?" Percy inquired innocently.
"We'll tell you when you're older."
"What? But I'm-"
"Maybe we shouldn't tell Percy that his is 'incrementally he pegs'." Henry whispered to Gordon. Gordon agreed sagely.
"Why don't we try Emily now?" James suggested, for once not liking the attention being on him, "Emily the- hey, what is your full name?"
"What do you mean?" Emily asked.
"Like, if the Reverend Awdry had written a book about you, what would the title have been? Emily the _ Engine?"
The engines collectively pondered this question for a couple of minutes, before coming to the realisation that their friend had no official name.
Emily was rather glum about this.
"Maybe we should stop this now." Edward began, having tolerated this foolishness for long enough. He was old and wanted to sleep.
"Okay, 'hinted unwed age rebel'." Henry snorted.
Edward retaliated by continuing the game until later into the evening.
Unbeknownst to the engines, however, was that the Fat Controller was pulling up in his car. He was on his way back from taking his mother and his wife out for dinner, and thought it would be a good idea to drop in on the engines and brief them for the morning's work.
As the three humans approached the sheds, they were met with the noise of the engines clamouring to talk over each other. Opening one of the doors slightly to let himself and his family in, he was met with the unmistakeable voice of James, boisterously declaring, "Ooh, I've got one for Dowager Hatt!"
A few of the others had caught sight of their boss and eyes widening, tried to shush the red engine. It didn't work.
"No! You're just jealous that I thought of it first! Dowager Hatt – 'tart who aged'!" James crowed. He then wondered why the others weren't laughing with him, when he heard the crunch of gravel, "Oh God, not again."
"James! What did you say about my mother?!" The Fat Controller boomed. Lady Hatt looked horrified, but Dowager Hatt bizarrely looked unfazed.
"I-I-"
"We were playing an anagram game, sir." Edward answered in his friend's stead, "It was all in jest."
"Yes, but when it comes to mocking my elderly mother, that is where I must draw the line!" The Fat Controller exclaimed, "James, tomorrow you shall-"
"Oh Topham, really! It was just a game! And besides, you didn't know me when I was in my prime!" Dowager Hatt flicked her permed white hair.
James didn't know whether to recoil at the prospect of punishment or the thought of Dowager Hatt in her 'prime'. The Fat Controller certainly recoiled at the latter,
"Mother!"
The engines silently agreed not to play this game anymore.
Meanwhile at Arlesdale End, Henrietta was pondering the game that she had caught wind of from Mavis, who had been working with Bill and Ben all day.
"'Ten tit bra hegemony'!"
"What was that, Henrietta?" Toby the Tram Engine sleepily asked.
"Nothing, dear."