Well guys, good news! I've written up the last remaining Pack episodes. All that's left now is to answer any review questions and add the Top Gear stuff, and hopefully I can get them out fairly quickly. And then...oh, Season 7. For the record, Buster's character is a joke, it's not meant to be taken seriously.
AaronCottrell97: Yep! He's really fun to write for.
Reality Rejection Service: Indeed...I wonder what Edward is going to say to that.
Bronze Shield: Indeed! He is our last hope!
Game-Watch: Indeed. Edward's going to have a few things to say about that.
MattPrice01: Oh hell no, she'd blow everything up! ...Which considering the state of the world right now...well, insert your own political joke here. XD.
JD145: While I do not watch them AS regularly as TFS, I really like LittleKuriboh's stuff. He's very funny, and as he's British, he's usually fairly in tune with my own jokes and stuff. I also enjoy SAO-Abridged.
UGX7: Who knows? ...Well, I do. But still, you'll have to wait for that.
Radical Sandwiches: Indeed!
Tomas K: Oh I don't know. Might go and ruin the Dreamstone. Or Thunderbirds. Heh. Hope that means you enjoyed?
AceHoneycomb: Interesting! A bit weird (But then again, who am I to say that?) but intriguing. A lot of those sound like potential ideas that I had for the characters, but then I just decided to exaggerate most of their canon personality traits. The Hatt stuff sounds really funny though. The interesting thing about Season 8 onwards is that I have little to no memory of any of these episodes. I didn't watch them much, but at the same time, I didn't watch much of Season 7 for a time, and I still remember bits of that. Misty Island Rescue is something I'm really looking forward to doing! And I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for the comment.
CUE THE...less than impressive theme music.
THE PAST.
"Hooooooooly hell, who the hell's been tearing up the forest!?" Toby stared around in bafflement. "Somebody's got some splaining to do! ...Ow, okay, pain in my side, I'm going to get out of this spin-off before they make me be the token 'character that everyone recognizes' for an episode. I'm coming, Henrietta!"
And off he went, out of the story.
Isn't he lucky?
Trees were down and fences had been blown over after yet ANOTHER storm on the Island of Sodor. And thus, the Pack had been required to go around and pick everything up. As opposed to every other time, where it was the job of the engines to do that. But hey, you have to sell a series somehow, right?
Kelly and Isabella had been clearing fallen trees since the crack of dawn, and the crack of Miss Jenny's whip. That was a joke. She didn't need a whip. Her voice was harsh enough as it was.
Elsewhere, Ned and Max were removing a landslide. Percy was also there for some reason. That reason being Carlin, who was beginning to remember why it was he had gotten divorced in the first place. Relationships like his and MIss Jenny's was beginning to seriously weigh him down. He began to wish for the days of travelling through time as opposed to just travelling up the road to get milk for the ungrateful Miss.
Nelson was taking Oliver to help clear Henry's tunnel. Nelson wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't gotten an episode to explain who the hell he was and what he was doing in the series without being established, but he figured that he'd get some screen time in this episode-
HA! Of course not.
And as for the rest of the crew, Thomas had been sent by the Fat Controller to take them to the football ground. To...convince a few players to pay up. No, I'm just kidding. Can you imagine Hatt working as a gangster? His syndicate would crash and burn before it even got a hundred pounds going. Miss Jenny kicked down the door, slapped her latest servant across the face, grabbed her dog and stormed towards the train.
"The feck are ye doing waiting!? We've gotta leave immediately, ye fecking dishwasher on wheels! The car-park's covered with fallen trees! Why the feck the football pitch is next to a ruddy lumber yard, I will never know!"
"And it's the big game-"
"I'M TALKING, YE FECKING BLUE BILGERAT." Miss Jenny coughed. "So yeah, big game tomorrow, yadda yadda yadda, toxic male masculinity's going to stink up the whole place if we don't shift our arses and plonk them into digging mode!"
"WE SHALL HAVE TO MOVE QUICKLY!" said Jack, who was trying to sound like the leader for some reason. Kelly, Monty and Buster gave him very odd looks indeed, so he shut up. Buster rolled forward.
"My lady, you can totes rely on us to get the j-j-job done, fo'real, we're the playas, we can do anything we set our abso-babozlingly-lutely brill minds to! Isn't that right, homies? Homies? Don't leave a brother hanging!"
"We're not. We're leaving YOU hanging." said Monty. For once, Kelly was in agreement. This was embarrassing. And verging on racism.
"Why thank ye, Buster, I think...but yer not coming within ten miles of that car park. Otherwise I'll have a fecking heart attack every time ye move yer roller!"
"But...but why, G?"
"Me name's not G! This is a job for lifters, loaders, haulers and NOT FECKING TRYHARDS! Yer making us look like a bunch of bloody incompetents- And if ye say anything Thomas, I'll take ye out back and shoot ye! They'll never find yer body!"
Thomas didn't say anything. He believed her.
Buster was sad.
And no one cared.
...
And so, everyone left. Thomas as per usual was left as the designated driver for Jack and Alfie, while Kelly and Monty took the road off towards the pitch, followed closely by Miss Jenny's land-rover. A specially modified land-rover which had the ability to put more fear into construction vehicles than any supernatural being.
If Miss Jenny had fought the Malevolence, then the Malevolence would have soiled itself and given up five seconds in, is what most people believed.
"EVERY ONE OF THOSE BALLERS GOT A JOB!? And I am the only one without said job!? This bites, man! This is not whack!"
Thomas knew that his 'friend' Buster (HA!) was unhappy, as no one likes to be left out. Unless it's murder, in which case, being left out was the best thing for all involved.
...
Once they got to Dryaw FC, the crew began to get to work clearing away the fallen trees. Thomas was sitting there, primarily because he was bored. And he wanted some entertainment.
It was hard to tell where the damage from the storm started and where the damage done by most supporters of Dryaw FC stopped. After all, the battle last night against the Chigley Skins had been a brutal and vicious one. Not on the pitch, of course. By that point, the visiting players of Sodor United had needed more than their pingy-pongy washing looked at.
Elsewhere, Buster moaned aloud "IT'S NOT FRIGGITY FRIG FAIR! I want to help out too!"
"NO ONE CARES!" roared the workmen still back at the yard.
The work, surprisingly, wasn't nearly as hard as everyone had made it out to be, and they were all celebrating when Isabella arrived with the new goal posts. The old ones having been eaten by the goalkeeper of the Chigley Skins none too willingly.
Miss Jenny chanced a look at the pitch. She stopped. And paused. And then looked again.
"FECK ME DOWN ME MOUTH WITH A RUBBER CHICKEN! MOLEHILLS!? That's it! WE'RE GOING TO FECKING WAR, LADS!"
"Don't you think that's a bit of an over-reaction?"
"YER FIRED. AND IF YE LIKE HAVING YE BALLS IN THE PLACE THEY ARE NOW, YE'LL NOT SAY ANOTHER WORD! FETCH ME BUSTER! WE'RE GONNA HAVE A MOLE KILLING CONTEST!"
...
"NOOOOOOOOO-BODY KNOWS THE TROUBLE I'VE SEEN. NOOOOOOO-BODY KNOOOOOWS, BUT-"
"Oh, stop your caterwauling." snapped Thomas. "Come on, get on the flatbed Buster, you're needed. And we've officially hit a NEW LOW. I'd rather be dealing with the ruddy landslide than this. At least watching Max get injured is funny."
"WHOOP WHOOP!"
"NO whoop whoop, Buster! NO!"
"THIS IS WIZARD! YIPPEE!"
"I'd rather go back on the political circuit than deal with this." muttered Thomas under his breath as he took the over-excited steamroller to the pitch.
Buster was quickly set up at the gates, and waited for his orders. "MOLEHILLS! Those fellas be straight up dope to a fly roller like me! It's like a wiggety wiggety whack currant bun! ...Only green!""
"This is offending someone, somewhere." said Kelly, grimly.
And off Buster went. He did his thing, all the while shouting out lyrics from his upcoming new album, entitled 'They See Me Rolling'. It was...an experience.
Even the moles (Wearing striped hats and shirts because ?) were impressed.
"He's good."
"Very good."
To dissect that for a moment. This moment raises two very important theories. The first being that somehow, three moles popped up from the ground and the humans, rather than just leave them be, decided for no apparent reason to give them all tiny hats and scarfs to wear. Then the moles for some reason decided that yes, this seemed like something they wanted to do. Never mind why said people would have tiny hats and scarfs on them, unless their child was Tom Bloody Thumb!
Secondly, that underneath the Island of Sodor at present there lies a large mole civilization that allows them to appreciate the fine art of ruining their lovely holes, and for some reason includes knitting as a job that certain moles have to carry out, for how else did these bastards get the hats and scarfs!? It makes one wonder whether or not there's some sort of caste system in the HQ of the moles. Are there mole strippers? Mole prostitutes? What's the general consensus on mole clothing? Is it like the Pluto-Goofy situation where one dog is a relatively normal one and the other walks on two legs, wears clothes and has enough jobs to get into HILARIOUS accidents-Oh dear, I think I've overthought this slightly too much.
...
ACTUAL EXISTENTIAL BREAK.
...
Buster's smoke, by the by, was steaming proudly, and white and feathery...just...take our word for it. Because you can't see it here. Also despite this, his troller was still perfectly clean by the time he had finished. Almost like that wasn't dirt at all. And he was finished.
"WELL DONE!" said the coach. "Well, now you all get to bugger off, we're going to play!"
"EXCUSE ME?!" Miss Jenny stormed up. "I've been very restrained by not killing one of those FECKING MOLES because ye told me we wouldn't get paid! The least we get out of this is watching yer shitty team play a shitty game for shitting free! YE SHIT."
"The game's starting soon, I'd make up your mind quickly!" snapped Isabella.
Everyone congratulated Buster for a few seconds, and then ignored him. Even Miss Jenny, who palmed him off with a simple "YER REALLY USEFUL NOW BUGGER OFF!" but as Buster was a simple vehicle, he nodded and smiled dumbly.
And then he was taken home while the rest of the Pack hurriedly made their escape from the incoming footballers.
Dryaw won, by the by.
...
THE PRESENT.
Richard Hammond was beginning to wonder if it had been worth getting up today. He wondered that a lot when travelling with the Dickhead and the Slow Prat, but in this case, it was stronger than it had been before.
Jeremy arrived soon after. "Magnificent!" he said, beaming as he saw Oliver and Von Stig going at it like cats and dogs. "This is the stuff that Britain is made of!"
"Give me my car back."
"No."
"...Give it back!"
"No! It's, it's-"
"What need do you have for it-?"
"I don't have a car!"
"So? Take James's!"
"And listen to all that absolute rubbish he's got on there? I mean, we can't all be spokesperson for Supermarkets, can we?!"
"OH DON'T BRING THAT UP- What smells like pies?" Jeremy grinned at that, and opened up his-Richard's, he had to remind himself, boot. Richard gasped. "How many pies are in there!?"
"All of them."
"...Where is James, by the by?"
...
James May was cold, uncomfortable and growing steadily angrier at everything. He was very tempted to take the scooter and rev off into the night at a reasonable speed depending on the limit. But unfortunately, he was a man of principles. Like waiting at a red traffic light.
He was going to pummel Clarkson when next they met.
...
The battle was still going strong. Oliver's arm had been upgraded in the years since the first filming of the Pack. Now, he could change it without the need for anyone else. His claw, which he had dug into the side of the plane, quickly began to deconstruct and then reconstruct into a massive drill. Snarling, he swung it at the cockpit, landing a direct hit at the glass and drilling deeper and deeper in.
Norris Von Stig let out a sound that might have been a snarl, knocked off his music choice (Let's Go to Misterland by the classic 70's band, Myster-Men) and punched away the remaining glass. Switching the tank-jet to autopilot, he staggered out and glared down Oliver.
The knuckle-dusters glinted in the sunlight. For a moment, it was like a western.
"EN GUARDE!" roared Oliver, his arm changing now into a fencing sword for some reason.
Blade clashed with blade, Stig kicking Oliver in the face every chance he had, and the vehicle for some reason having a real issue fighting back.
At which point, the autopilot threw a fit and began to dive down towards the city.
Everyone assembled went, as a collective, very pale. And then began to scream.