Season 7...Wow. To think we're finally here. AND OUR FIRST CHAPTER IS A BIG ONE.
A few notes before we begin. Thank you for your kind words regarding the Pack spinoff. I think it's fair to say that it's no one's favorite piece of Thomas related stuff, but I think that my take was fairly decent.
Now as to the season proper. We're entering the last good season of the show for quite some time, and even then, this one suffers a fair bit by comparison to the others. I'll give it this in that it has more of a spread of characters getting focus, instead of just Thomas, Percy and James getting most of the attention. Also, the music and sets are wonderful. But there are problems with it, not least the large amount of stock footage. We are also going to be getting into some pretty big story stuff here, more so than Season Six. If that was Season 1 when compared to the first volume, this one is a lot like Season 2. On an unrelated note, the order I am using is based on the original UK airing order, instead of the production order a la Season 5.
Some people may be curious as to the change in Captain Zero as a character. Originally it was planned to carry the Fat Director over into the main role as antagonist. However, because I felt that dragging out HIS character who be a bit too much, I went with Zero instead. His accent getting toned down was a way to make him a bit more of a serious character, and because I'm going to have enough Scots going forward. Luckily, you have John as your designated silly accent man. And rest assured, the problems with having John be Zero's son ARE GOING TO BE ADDRESSED. In this season specifically. The final note on this character is that the scene at the end, where he and John meet for the first time, is the continuation of the scene at the end of Percy and the Haunted Mine.
AaronCottrell97: Right on.
Reality Rejection Service: So you should. It was very bloody.
Bronze Shield: It's time to get back to the stuff people actually care about!
Game-Watch: It's taking me a bit of a while to get used to writing Emily, so I hope you enjoy what you see of her.
MattPrice01: Von Stig is a Norris. I.E, kind of stupid. You will learn more about what Zero is up to later, but the Top Gear lot aren't coming back as of yet.
JD145: Oh, you will learn more about them at some point. XD.
GreatWeestern1522: Yes. While they don't know the specifics, they have been told the gist of it.
UGX7: Indeed. The answers may be coming sooner than you'd think.
Radical Sandwiches: INDEED, GOOD SIR. INDEED.
Kamen Rider Necrom: IT BEGINS.
Hughie99: Interesting! I've certainly got a few ideas in mind for Murdoch and the like, so I hope you enjoy it!
CUE THE THEME!
Right after the wrap party for the sixth season was finished, filming for Season 7 was ordered for the following week. Those who had left early to meet up with family members had to rush back quickly, cancel plans in the case of those who were closer to the Island, and just get stuff in order. Cameras were set up everywhere. Any footage shot for the Pack spin-off was quickly shoved into the vault, and all cameras were taken off the building sites planned and put elsewhere. A rather tired Angelis was dragged out of bed every morning, had a tape recorder shoved into his face and was told to "Get on with it."
The engines weren't in much better straits.
"AGAIN?!" whimpered Percy, who had been looking forward to a few months of relative calm. "But...But we need a break!"
"Well, we're not getting it." Gordon was blunt and to the point. He was nursing the remains of the hangover from the wrap party. "Well, Edward? Get to work then."
"...Excuse me?"
"You know. Doing all the menial stuff, while we stars-"
"Shut up, Gordon." Toby said, wearily. He saw where this was going, and he really didn't want to have to explain to the police why Gordon's remains would be splattered all over the turntable, should the blue engine keep mouthing off.
James sobbed. "I CAN'T WORK UNDER THESE CONDITIONS!"
All in all, it was a fractious time to be an engine.
...
And so the first day of filming dawned. The Red Balloon, it's cult still worshiping it, drifted along and acted as an overhead camera.
It was a beautiful morning on the Island of Sodor. Thomas the Tank Engine's blue paint sparkled in the sunshine as he puffed happily along the line with Annie and Clarabel.
He was, as per usual, feeling very bloody pleased with himself.
As he puffed through the tunnel, he glanced back to have witty banter with Old Broad 1 and Old Broad 2, as he had affectionately decided to think of them as from this point on. And as he looked, he realized-
"Wait, who the hell are YOU!?"
The red coaches, having no face and being not alive, did not answer him. Thomas came to a rough stop, thought for a moment, and then remembered that he had gone off in a massive huff after Annie had made some comment about him still being a man-engine-child even now. And then when he had backed down..."Oh, they are never going to let me live this down!"
...
"We're never going to let you live this down!" cackled Annie as Thomas quickly dumped them into the yard and hurried towards the station, red coaches still behind him.
"Shut up! Shut up! SSSH! Ahem! MORNING SIR! How can I-" And then he caught sight of the newest acquisition of the railway. She was beautiful, gleaming paint and a big shiny brass dome. She was, in short, a looker in engine terms.
All right, Thomas, if you're to make a good impression with this engine, you must be subtle, and clever, and very, very charming.
"HUBBA HUBBA! COR BLIMEY."
"Smooth." said the Fat Controller. "Thomas, meet Emily. Emily, meet the idiot who has his own TV show.
.Despite this...stellar start, he swallowed slightly. "Apologies. I was, er, thinking about something else. Hello!"
"Hello to ye too, ye randy git!" Emily said with completely sincere cheerfulness. Thomas wasn't sure whether or not to take that as a compliment or not, so he simply smiled his usual bland, inoffensive smile.
Get used to this, it happens a lot.
"Emily, get your coaches in order! You and your driver must learn the line! Which we are doing now, for some reason, instead of waiting for the lines to be more clear so there's less chance of you having an accident."
"Do I have to?!"
"Yes."
"...Ah. Yes sir." Emily headed off in the general direction of the yards. And by general direction, I mean she took a shortcut through the nearest wine merchants. Thomas watched her go with his eyes firmly fixed to Emily's tender.
He was impressed.
By what we'll leave up to your discretion.
Then he realized how creepy he was being, had his driver slap him across the face and tried to get on with his day.
Oh, if only he could have been that mature for the rest of the day.
...
"Have all the coaches MIGRATED!?"
"Apparently so." said Emily's driver. They had spent the past three minutes discovering that there was apparently some sort of large coach famine going on, to the point where the only two coaches available to them were Annie and Clarabel.
It's not a choice that anyone would really take, given the options, but it was a desperate time. And a very desperate measure was required.
"These aren't yer sort of coaches!" said the driver, who suffered from Sudrian Driver Fatigue already after merely spending two hours on the Island.
Annie and Clarabel felt insulted.
"OOOH WE'RE INSULTED!" screeched Annie.
"Are we?" said Clarabel, who was a bit slow on the uptake.
"Yes!"
"Oh...how dare he say we'll do?! We're better than that! ...Not by much, admittedly, but still!"
"AND WE'RE OFF!"
"Oh, yes, apparently we're not allowed to speed. That's...That's a thing we can't do."
"But how will tha rest of the Island learn how AWESOME I AM if I dinnae do anything!?" There was no answer forthcoming for Emily, so she merely puffed carefully along the track. The coaches were grumbling as they passed the watermill and over the three tiered bridge. Emily was beginning to wonder if there was something in the water here.
As she would later learn, it wasn't a case of what was in the water, but what wasn't.
Thomas was not having a good day. He had been spat at, kicked in the side, mocked and told that he was looking like an Edward who had been shrunk in the wash. And that was just by his agent. So as he returned with the red coaches, he was already in a bad mood. So seeing Emily could only make his experience better.
Or so he thought.
"Hullo, ye duck faced badger!"
"Hang about! THOSE ARE MY COACHES! YOU ROTTER! MINE MINE MINE! Gimme them back!" Thomas was aware that he was being a massive hypocrite considering that at least for three quarters of the year he pretended to hate them so that they'd just leave him alone for five seconds, but at the same time, being a dick was not something he was alien to.
Emily was very selective about her hearing, so she continued on her way. Insults were the 'you doing all right' where she was from. Pretty natural, all things considered. She happened to pass Edward as she went through Henry's tunnel.
But so busy was he thinking about all the things that were going wrong at the moment that he ignored her completely.
Percy had no such excuse when she arrived at Smelly-by-the-sea. He just plain ignored her out of solidarity for Thomas and his temper tantrum. When she whistled hello, no one really answered her properly, for no reason as far as she could tell. She was beginning to get rather peeved off.
Later, the Fat Man found Thomas and gave him an order. "I want you to go to the docks and pick up new coaches. ...Well, I say new coaches, they're just some of the 1984 ones with a slight bit of readjustment. But that's practically new anyway!"
"New coaches!? But siiiiiiiir, you need to tell Emily-"
"Really useful engines don't argue! ...Is what I keep trying to tell myself."
Thomas growled and set off. Already he could feel the accumulated wisdom of working with a bunch of idiots like the Pack begin to melt away back into his usual mixture of angry ego and hurt pride. He practically stomped out of the station in righteous anger.
...
"Oh wow, I'm actually allowed to speak!?" Oliver gasped. "It's a miracle! ...Why is everyone looking at me like this is my last season?" He coughed. "Ahem! You there! With the big wheels!"
"Eyes up front, mister!"
"What are you doing with Thomas's coaches?"
"Ohhhhhhhhhh so that's why he was being a wee big bonnie baby!" Emily gasped. "I'll apologize just ta get this farce over with!" She sighed. She wondered if Thomas had calmed down at all.
He had not.
"DON'T WANT NEW COACHES! DON'T WANT NEW COACHES! STUPID GIRL WITH HER STUPID COOTIES." Thomas was having a rough day.
The rest of the day followed with both Thomas and Emily missing each other by chance more than anything. Along the way, Emily began to wonder if the Island was usually this boring. Nothing of note had really happened thus far, which was strange considering the rumors that seemed to circle around the whole thing.
And as Emily drew past a signalbox, a workman with a red flag waved her down. "Oliver's not cleared the next signalbox, and they're starting to get worried! Little twit's probably started telling a cow about being saved from scrap and so forth! Can you just move yourself and see what's going on? And then kick him UPSIDE the arse for me."
"That mebbe physically impossible for me to do, but sure." As she moved ahead, into the yard, Emily could see that Oliver had broken down on the new crossing that had been built only a few days ago. He had the face of one who was steadily getting peeved of having to be helped out of situations like this. Then they heard Thomas's whistle. He could see Oliver, but despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop in time.
Apparently he'd been going at mach speed beforehand.
Oliver made a sound like a demented goose having sex with a camp hen, and shut his eyes, waiting for the end of it all. Emily quickly rushed forward and rammed into Oliver's backside...not like that! With a huge effort, she shoved him and herself off the track, just as Thomas raced across the second line, narrowly missing them both.
"i am not getting paid enough for this." sighed Thomas's driver.
...
The Fat Controller praised Emily. "Well done, you were a very brave engine. And so forth."
"The bravest! Though not as brave as the time that I escaped from-"
"No one CARES, Oliver!" The Fat Controller took a deep breath. "It gives me great pleasure, and a weight off my wallet, to present you with these two new coaches. Apparently we're giving everyone something unique instead of just letting them do any old job, I don't know any more, I feel old."
"Thank ye, sir?" said Emily, who privately thought the coaches were as ugly as sin. "Oh, and er, Thomas. Sorry I took Annie and Clarabel. Ye can keep them. They are VERY loud."
"They are. And I'm sorry I was such a jerk about it."
"And I'm sorry I wasn't in MORE OF THE EPISODE!"
"Hi James."
"Who was that?"
"Oh that's James. He's a dick...he'll probably try and flirt with you."
"Ah. So bog standard, then?"
"Yeah."
"Friends?"
"...Sure. I mean, if you want to be more-"
"Don't push yer luck with me, shortie!"
"SHORTIE! WELL I LIKE THAT!"
Emily loves her new coaches. And being part of the Fat Controller's railway.
At least we assume she does. Most of the negative stuff is getting edited out, apparently.
She's also met the rest of the main cast. But that, as they say, is a story for next time.
...
So my shedmates are a few kegs short of a full cellar, but they seem...interesting? Apparently there's some big dark secret going on under the surface of the Island. And it's apparently as long as five seasons and one extremely over-long and over stuffed movie.
Grab some popcorn, lol, it's going to be a bumpy ride!
Emily.
...
ONE YEAR AGO.
The small harbor town of Cockleshell Bay had seen better days. In the eighties, it had been a hotspot for filming, in particular with the child stars Robin and Rosie Cockle staring in a show with the name of the town plastered on it. But now it had returned to a quiet, sleepy little area that mostly was the site of old tourists and the occasional bit of filming of stock footage.
In the bay, a small boat began to slowly chug on in towards the pier. Atop it stood a grizzled old man. Everyone backed away from him, rightly noting that he looked like he would stab you in the gut, flay you and make fine stockings from your remains if you looked at him wrong. His grey beard and hair, his stereotypical blue jacket and grey jumper, and even his permanently set scowl of a face made it clear that he was something of a veteran to the sea.
He shut the engine off, got onto the pier and began to make the trek up to his house. It was a shithole of a place, but it was all he could afford on his salary. Especially since the mother had moved in a few years back.
It was halfway up the hill that he realized that there was a rather beaten up looking car there. And it was three quarters of the way up that he noticed that the door seemed to be hanging off it's hinges. He swore, and began to stride even faster towards it, reaching for his gun. He braced himself, then ripped the door aside and stormed on in.
The front passage was relatively untouched, save for a few handprints. Mucky ones, too. Almost like-
"Well, well, well. You're here. Took your time."
"If it's money ye want, ye've picked the wrong, ye slack jawed jackanape! Me mother's days of spreading her legs are over! Ye've got one chance to get the hell out of here before I send ye to Davy Jones!"
"Oh...then you're going to hate what I've done with her."
He looked down. And saw his mother's head lying at an angle that it shouldn't be.
"How does that make you feel, John? It is John, right? ...Not the name I would have gone for, but it works." The voice was far more conversational than John would have thought it would be in this situation. "You're right. I can tell she hasn't, ah, as you put it, spread her legs in a long time. But hell's bells...I wonder how it makes you feel."
"Nothing."
"...What?"
"Nothing. She's gone. Whoop-de-doo. She was a bitch of a mother, a walking talking barnacle receptacle of a person. Ye better not have touched me loot, mate, or I swear to the sea, ye'll pay for it!" He stepped over his mother's body and stood in front of the robber. There was a long silence where they stared each other down. And then the stranger laughed.
"Well, an honest answer! And a fitting one! ...Good to see you've got a bit of Zero in you after all, lad."
"...Who are ye? Yer's no grave robber."
"No. I am your father."
John looked him up and down and laughed. "HA! As if! I knew Shipley weren't me pappy, but it sure as shit ain't ye! Look at ye! Ye're old, but I'm older! Who the hell would lead with that kind of a lie?"
"No? ...No, that's understandable of course. But there's one thing that might persuade you otherwise."
"Oh really?"
"Mmm. Something genetic. Something that you and I share in common." There was a pause. "ACK! To hell with it! Yon mother of yours was a wee whore and no mistake! Ye're better off without her cramping ye style, so help ye!"
John's eyebrow raised. "That's-"
"Trust me. Incredibly over blown accents? They're a family trait. It took me at least three years worth just to get my own down to something approaching manageable." The stranger smiled. "Name is Zero. Least-wise, it's the name I go by now. And you've got a name of your own too...Sailor John."
"How did you-?"
"When you were in short trousers, I was out there defrauding idiots and reaping rewards that weren't mine like it was an art form...do you have a boat? I've always felt better when talking on a boat. As for your mother and this house...well...we can sort it out."
And so it was that the two men sat on a boat together, a little bit out of the bay, and looked at each other.
"So...where do we go from here, bucko?"
"Simple. I'm going to tell you my life story. It started here, you know...and by the end of it, you're going to have to make a choice."
"Ooooh. Fun." John's words were layered with sarcasm. "What kind of story is it?"
"A very, very strange one. It's got blood, sex, talking trains, cartoon characters being real and a whole lot of tonal inconsistencies. In short, it should be your cup of tea. Anyway. Once upon a time..."
...
COCKLESHELL BAY, 1918.
"...Strewth, you're old."
"Piss off!" The man in the wheelchair took a long puff of his cigar and glared at the large boat. The hospital wasn't too far from the port, and as such, they had allowed him to talk to this supposed figure from 'the government'. Not that he was enjoying it. "Had to bloody do it, didn't I?"
"Oh, calm down me old mucker. That's what the Brits say, right?"
"I'm BLOODY SCOTTISH!"
"Heh. Same thing nowadays. ...Family dead, right?"
"Yeah. Ruddy nuisances they were. I'm glad to see the back of them!"
"Ooooh, I like you already. Just a little note though. That won't look good at the funeral. Now, let's see. Ah yes. John...hang on, last name's a bit smudged. Ah well, it doesn't matter. Naval record isn't great, but it's not awful either. Nicknamed Zero because of his lack of action. Injured during attack during the Battle of Jutland and you've been here recuperating since."
"Yes, ta for the exposition. What do ye want?!"
"...There's a space come up in a new project we're working on. Woodworm Wilson's raised the idea of some...League of Nations to make sure shit like this ain't gonna happen again. But while that's being argued over, the Yanks and the Geordies have come with a grand idea to promote piece. Area not too far from the coast's in need of renovating. The Bigg City, it's called. The Brits will assist with the construction of several vessels of all shapes and sizes, off American plans and designs, and then send them off to assist the new population."
"Brilliant. Rock on. Where the hell do I fit in?"
"You're a businessman. At least, before all this. You were quite good at it. Whipped your daddy at it, at least. There are businesses there that could use the extra push. The tugboat, for it's size, is the most lucrative craft afloat. And you'll have your selection of the ships...after someone else has already taken the most trustworthy ones, mind, but I don't see that as being a problem for you."
"...Tempting. What do ye get out of it?"
Johnny Cuba smiled. It was incredibly sinister to see. "Oh, you'll know when the time is right."
...
BIGG CITY PORT.
The two men sat and looked at each other for a moment. Neither one was sure just what it was that the other was thinking, though they had some idea. The man currently wearing the dark, muted colors of his organization scoffed loudly at nothing in particular, while the far brighter looking man glanced out at the sea, lapping against the supports.
At last, Captain Starr spoke.
"How long have you been back?"
"About a week. Mebbe more. Hard ta tell." Zero looked at Starr cautiously. "Ye got off early?"
"Honorable Discharge." Starr tapped his cane. "Bloody sniper. Didn't realize how quickly I'd miss it though. The sea's calling to me." He glanced back. "I'm here to call a truce. Our war was started in times when business was our main concern. But after the war we've both been through-"
"Sounds ta me like yer throwing in the towel, Starr!" snarled Zero. "Sides, the rest of me family is dead now. I'm not. That say anything ta ye?"
"That you are being ridiculously unpragmatic. That you are too foolish to move with the times. That you're doing this-"
"Because I can win. And I will."
"With that tramp steamer's help, I suppose?" Zero didn't flinch or widen his eyes, but there was a sudden feeling of coldness to the air that had not been there before. Starr pressed the advantage. "You would be surprised how fast talk spreads here. I got here because I earned it. The war effort would have required a lot more of said effort if I hadn't have stepped in. And you got here because...well, some Australian sod managed to pay your fees."
"...Ye be careful with yer words, Allan. Don't want ye to...well. Accidents can happen."
"...Goodbye. I doubt we'll be seeing each other like this again."
Starr limped out. After a moment, Zero stood up and quietly adjusted the large loudspeaker that carried his voice to the fleet waiting outside. "Well well well, ye lucky shites! It's time for us ta get to work! And fast! ...Things are about to heat up, and I don't want any of ye backing out now! Captain...Captain Zero'll brook nay mutiny! ...I'm getting to the top. One way or another."
TO BE CONTINUED.