I'd like to formally announce that requests are officially being closed for the time being. Just for the record.
Cue the theme!
...
"Where's Mr Quackers gone?!"
"Thomas, calm down-"
"WHERE'S MY MR QUAC-"
"HERE! HE'S HERE!"
"Awwwww. You're safe! I'm never letting you go again old friend!"
Mr Quackers squeaked as Thomas lowered him to the buffers. Thomas was rather fussy about having a shower and a bath most of the time. In a rather childish way, he disliked having the soap get into his eyes, and feared that a typhoon would drown him if he was not without his rubber duck.
This made it difficult for the workmen on days where the driver's three year old child wanted his favorite duck back.
Now on this particular morning, Thomas had almost finished his hour long soak when Gordon arrived back at the sheds. His face was like thunder, his speed was almost slasher villain threatening and...well, his smart blue paint was covered with mud.
Thomas stared. "Do I want to-"
"No."
Thomas frowned. "Are you sur-"
"No."
Gordon didn't want Thomas to know that he had actually received this mud via a failed attempt by James to get the engines a proper spa treatment. Failed for him, that is. James was sitting proudly, enjoying the full on body wax, and Henry had left when he realized that he had better things to do with his life.
This, decided Gordon, was the last time he took anything James suggested seriously.
"You look as though you had a mud bath!"
"WHO TOLD YOU!?"
"Be a sensible engine, and have a shower instead! Suits you more."
Gordon snorted, a indicator of just what he would like to turn to at that very moment to stop this incredible sense of wanting to crush everything in his path. "I haven't got time to dawdle over my appearance like some tank engines I can think of!"
"So that alliance meant nothing?"
"I speak of Percy. Seriously. Have you seen him recently? He was thinking of wearing a bow tie yesterday on a coal run!"
"Damn."
...
The wind, having decided that Gordon was to be it's plaything this season, had grown even stronger over the past few days, and was now whipping up like crazy. Gordon entered Henry's Forest on his way to the wash-down, and he tried very hard to ignore the leaves that were now sticking not only to his paint but to his face.
"Phew Gordon!" said his driver, currently being drenched by the water regularly falling into his own face. "Slow down, you crazed lunatic!"
This had the unfortunate effect of making Gordon even crosser. "I'll be dirty and late! DIRTY AND LATE DRIVER!" He hissed.
"That the latest rap album?"
"IT WILL BE."
...
Eventually, he made it to the washdown, and pointedly ignored the stares from those working there. At said washing area, there was a sign reading 'All Trains Must Wash Down Daily'. This was usually ignored by nearly all people and engines involved, mostly because the sign had clearly been written with marker pen in a hurry. But every so often, it was wheeled out on muddy seasons such as this to force the engines to conform and get washed. James, already sitting there smug as ever, had just finished having most of the wax removed from his paint, having been cleaned.
Gordon's expression could best be described as category 2 tornado like.
"Come on Gordon." said his driver. "You'll feel better after a good hose down."
"That's what she said."
This one statement from James took the category up to a level four. "PAH!" said Gordon, and let out a all mighty breath of steam that he had been holding in.
Rumors were that the amount of mud was so much and that it went so high that it could actually be seen from outer space, baffling several aliens and making them wonder if going to Earth was worth it.
"You're-" his driver struggled for words. "-A VERY BLOODY NAUGHTY ENGINE!"
Actually, I tell a lie.
That's not what he actually said.
Unfortunately, there are some standards even the narrator has.
After a long rant, his driver finished off with "James'll have to have another shower!" James himself was suffering a minor panic attack. "You'll have to wait until later!"
"Good riddance!" grumbled Gordon "I'm far too busy to waste time with water!"
This was such a spectacularly stupid sentence that everyone was momentarily struck silent. No one pointed out that without water he was effectively marooned.
...
Gordon finished his journey safely, and he steamed into the big station. He didn't really get why Henry was snickering to himself, or why the Fat Controller was looking at him with such obvious disgust. He backed down and waited to be coupled to the express.
He would be waiting a long time.
"MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS!" declared the Controller. "Gordon, you look like a pig sty with wheels! You can't pull the train in that condition! Henry'll have to do it."
"Oh no." said Henry, with little effort at hiding his glee.
"Gordon! YOU BETTER GET CLEANED UP STRAIGHT AWAY."
Gordon pleaded. He threatened. He wheedled. He begged. He bribed.
...
"MIND MY EYE!" He grumbled a hour later.
The workmen, having had to get clean themselves, took no notice, especially considering how bad his eye looked already.
Eventually, he was finished, and was not happy at how spick and span he was. This was odd. It could be explained, quite simply, by saying that Gordon was, for lack of a better term, a dozy twonk. So for the rest of the day, he pulled and pushed trucks.
This put him in a even better mood.
Can you tell I'm being sarcastic?
He bumped them repeatedly, angrily shouting at each representation of his rage- I mean, truck "THAT'S FOR YOU! AND YOU! AND YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!"
"What did I do!?" shouted a brown truck.
"Trucks will be trucks." said James, feeling in a philosophical mood after watching Gordon constantly get humiliated that day.
"THEY WON'T WITH ME!" Gordon growled. "I SHALL TEACH THEM NOT TO SCREW WITH ME."
Later that day, James was getting ready at the Shipping and Co hanger when Gordon returned. The big blue engine vaguely wondered why James was taking his train from here instead of the normal places...such as a station, but he bit it down. "Careful James. The hills are slippery, and you might need help.
"Thanks, but even if I did need help- WHICH I DON'T- I'd call someone who could actually handle it. Such as...say, Edward? Or Thomas? Or anyone who didn't get stuck on there?" James puffed away. He was unaware that earlier, the same storm that had swept through Henry's Forest had damaged the trees to such a extent that even the slightest breeze could send thousands of leaves scattering. This had been what had happened that day, and even though the breeze and storm had passed, the hill still looked difficult to climb.
As James entered Wellsworth though, he felt utterly confident. The signal showed clear, and James began to go faster. Gordon, following at a distance, pulled to a stop as the last coach vanished.
"I'll do it! I'll do it!" he puffed.
Halfway up though, he was not as sure.
"I'll...er...maybe do it? I'll maybe do it?"
But his wheels slipped on the leaves, and despite his best efforts, gripping the tracks was practically impossible. He couldn't pull the train at all! "Help!" wailed James. His wheels kept turning forward, but he slid backwards down the hill as his coaches dragged him back towards the station. He swore under his breath, and hoped above all hopes that-
...
-Gordon saw everything.
James was not best pleased.
"Ah well." said Gordon in a smug tone of voice. "We live and learn."
"You don't." muttered James.
"Never mind little James, I shall push behind."
"Give me strength."
"I shall!"
...
The hill was feeling pretty smug about it's victory...as smug as a hill could feel, anyway.
And then both engines started up again. The hill and the wind gaped. Surely not two of their favorite punching bags were back for another spin!? Both engines were sweating and panting, James at the front, powering through the mush that had once been leaves and Gordon at the back, snarling and refusing to let himself be defeated once more that day!
"We can do it!" James whistled loudly.
"We will do it!" Gordon called back, encouragingly.
And at last...
They reached the top of the hill. James rushed over it. "Peep peep! Thank you old friend!"
"Poop poop! Goodbye!"
Gordon stayed there for a minute.
So that what it feels like to be Edward.
...
That night, the Fat Controller was bored and went to see the engines.
"Please sir?" asked Thomas. "Can Gordon get his coach-pulling duties back? It's getting on our wick having Henry lord it over us."
"NOT ENDING ANY TIME SOON!" crowed Henry.
"Well, as long as he understands that a good wash-down is essential to every engine, then yes Gordon, you may." He hurried off, realizing that he was late for his date with his wife.
"Of course!" declared Gordon, getting onto his favorite subject. Hypocrisy. "Dirty or clean! I'm a famous machine!"
No one heard but him. They had set the record for falling to sleep the quickest.