Season 3 boys and girls! Ah, Season 3. Back when adapting original stories pre-Andrew Brenner was actually done well...sorry, tangent. Also of note, this will be the last time I use the narrator-Asquith interplay at the beginning. I plan on doing something different for the rest of the work. Anywho, cue the theme!
...
You're late.
Sorry, sir. Got a little lost on the way. Who knew Shepperton was so hard to get to?
Oh fair enough. Now, there's the script. Read it.
Righty-ho!
And be careful Angelis, you've got big shoes to fill.
...
Dear Mrs Allcroft.
Thank you for your charming letter. My newly married wife and I were most gratified to hear from you again after so long, and we understand why you could not attend the wedding.
Our apologies go out to Mr Mitton. I watched TUGS and while I can say with great certainty that they missed a trick there, I felt perhaps the tiniest bit relieved that you and he will be returning to our Island for the first time in over four years. I must say that it is a surprise that it did take this long to comission a new series, but I've heard that Angelis chappy you've got is a rather good voice over artist, so I'm not panicking on that front.
What has happened since last you came? Well, we've seen a bigger expansion of the Island, and we also received a few boats from the Bigg City Port that have taken up permanent residence here. Our Island is thriving with more passengers than ever before, and not only that, our engines are getting more and more grumpy. I fear that we shall have to get some new ones in soon.
Which leads me onto the engines in question...oh dear. They didn't take the cold war ending very well.
...
DECEMBER, 1990.
It was a cold winter's morning on the Island of Sodor. It was probably a cold winter's morning in a lot of other places in the world, but on this particular day we shall focus solely on that Island. The wind was bitter (Like James over the death of his singing career) and the ground hard (Like Gordon's face upon hearing that Henry was once again going green) with frost.
Thomas and Percy, sitting in their berths at Tidmouth, were cold and cross. This was not surprising, considering that instead of steaming up, their crews had headed over to the nearest fire and were warming themselves up. Since the end of the previous season, Thomas had become older and, if not wiser, certainly more experienced. Thus, it was he now who grumbled angrily whenever he wasn't ready. This time he had been up rather early, and had decided that that was the most regrettable thing he had done since recording a cover of 'Free Nelson Mandela'.
The less said about that, the better.
"All I want-" he huffed "-is a warm boiler! And maybe a hot cup of cocoa! That bloody firelighter knows that, or he should, he's the one whose been lighting my fires for so long! He's late! He's probably having that wife of his over the couch!" Thomas had certainly become a bit more coarse since the second season, which had come about due to his increased exposure to the quarry and the workers there.
"Well, you're right that he's not late!" sighed Percy. He had also become far more rebellious, having cause the great incident of 88 when he had painted James green for a laugh. It had not ended well, and James had spent the rest of the year seething over revenge. Which he eventually got by pushing Percy face first into a coal hopper. It had been a experience that Percy was desperate not to repeat. "This cold weather woke us up early. Or maybe you did with your hollering."
"I do not holler!"
"So what are you doing right now?"
Gusts of icy winds sent snowflakes scattering all over Thomas, before swooshing round Percy. It was not weather to have good humor in, and both engines looked as though they were attending a funeral rather than waiting for work.
"Why don't we talk about something else!?" snapped Percy at last.
"Yes! Like how funny we look when our funnels turn to icicles! Well, yours does."
"That's not funny!" Percy snapped. "Maybe we'll stop being cold if we talk about something warm! Like sunshine! And steam!"
"And firelighters." muttered Thomas. "Also, Barbados."
"And- And-" Percy paused, and instantly in his head he could see himself wearing a football scarf, cheering on Sodor United. "SCARFS!"
"Scarfs?!" Thomas was amused at last. "That's what you need Percy! A big woolly scarf that'll cut off the circulation. That way, it'll shut you up." Thomas was only teasing, but Percy's eyes were now filled with obsessed mania, as he ranted on about scarfs until the firelighter came at last.
...
The Fat Controller was enjoying hot porridge for breakfast and the fact that he had enough money to insulate his house. It was great being a member of the upper class.
He was looking forward to taking important visitors on a tour of the railway. These important visitors were investors and creditors, all of whom were looking to sink a lot of money into the Island.
In fact, he had even pressed his special trousers. Or rather, had had his butler do it for him.
"I shall put them in my trunk, and shall change into them just before the photographs are taken!" he said to Alice, his wife. She grinned and handed him his suitcase. They kissed and he hurried off to catch his train.
...
Elsewhere, Percy was chanting to keep himself cold "I WANT A SCARF, I WANT A SCARF, I WANT A SCARF." As he crossed by the canal, he began to work hard, feeling his fire burning nicely and the huge amount of steam pumping through his system. But he was still unable to stop thinking about scarfs. Perhaps because EVERYONE seemed to be wearing them.
"OH YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" he snapped as he pulled up alongside Henry. "My funnel's cold, my funnel's cold, I want a scarf, I want a scarf NOW!"
"Rabbish." Henry said, affecting a thick scouse accent in mockery of James. "Engines don't wear scarfs! Unless you count that convention that Douglas went too a while ago. Didn't think they'd take him. But he did make a pretty convincing Tom Baker."
"HA!" Percy said. "You're so unfashionable Henry! Besides, engines with proper funnels do! You've only got a small one!"
Henry bit down a number of remarks as Percy puffed away. Mostly to do with how you use it.
Everyone at the station was excited. The Fat Controller had removed his hat and was waiting anxiously for his trousers. If he didn't get dressed soon, it was going to look really awkward.
The trousers were in a trunk among a big load of baggage, which were being pulled by two porters who had gotten the job mostly because they had fathers in the railway inspectors guild.
They were taking the trolley across the line, and were walking backwards to make sure that nothing fell off. This was problem-matic in and of itself, and it really made Hatt wonder why it was he hadn't installed some sort of bridge to help them cross over.
Percy was still being his cheeky self, as well as in a world of his own. Carlin always shut off steam before they entered the station, because he didn't want to do more work than was necessary. Percy wanted to surprise the coaches by coming in quietly and giving them a bump.
He was really running out of ways to be cheeky.
But the porters didn't hear him either. Or see him, for that matter.
The cart exploded as Percy ran over it, and sent boxes and bags hurtling everywhere.
...
"What was that?"
"Ignore it Duck. Probably wasn't much."
...
And then everything tumbled back down.
For the next few minutes, chaos reigned as people tried to wipe jam off their faces, made sure it wasn't blood and stared in horror at their belongings strewn all over the tracks.
"Ohhhhh." groaned Percy in pain and in horror of what he knew was coming.
It was not the most dignified appearance of a engine. Nor of the passengers, who looked as though they were extras in a zombie movie.
Sticky streams of jam trickled down Percy's face, staining it. A top hat perched upon his lamp. And worse of all, a pair of trousers coiled around his funnel. The trousers were now a sodden mess of jam and snow, so high had their ascent been.
Everyone was very angry. And loud. In fact, it wasn't entirely out of the question that a riot may take place. The Fat Controller seized the top hat and part of Percy's lamp iron. "MINE!" He declared angrily. "PERCY! LOOK AT THIS!"
"Yes sir." whimpered Percy, trousers wrapped around his face like a bandage.
"MY FORMER BEST TROUSERS TOO!" raved Hatt as he foamed at the mouth.
"Yes sir! Please sir!"
"THREE BAGS BLOODY FULL SIR! We must pay the passengers for their spoiled clothes and GROVEL for their forgiveness! AND MY TROUSERS ARE RUINED! FOREVER! I hope this'll teach you not to pay tricks on the coaches! AND KEEP THE BLOODY TROUSERS!"
Carlin hurried back in, having looted what little un-jam covered belongings he could find.
Percy went off to the yard and felt very silly. And on the way, he met James, grinning like a loon.
"Hello Percy! SO you found a scarf, eh? But legs go in trousers! Not funnels!" James chortled as he thanked himself for taking that Biology class. He puffed away to tell Henry the news.
Percy bit down his lip and cursed James and Henry several times internally.
...
That evening, Thomas and Percy were resting and shooting the breeze in the shed, Carlin having taken away the trouser and given Percy a good rub down. Not what you think it is.
"Firelighter's promised to come early tomorrow!" Thomas said cheerfully. Percy shot him a look. Henry arrived seconds later, he'd enjoyed taking the visitors around and now felt sorry for Percy too. Relatively.
"Driver says weather will be warmer tomorrow!" He said cheerfully. "You won't need a scarf Percy!"
"OF COURSE I WON'T!" snarled Percy. "Engines don't need scarfs! They need warm boilers and drivers who have eyes! Everyone knows that!"
"Man." marveled Thomas. "What a year this is going to be."