This one's going to be a rather comedic episode for the most part! Hope you enjoy!
Cue the theme!
...
On a clear day, when the sky is blue, and there is just enough breeze to blow the clouds away, you can stand on the big hill over-looking the valley and see Duck and Oliver busily working on their branchline that runs via the sea.
You can also see it on a murky day, when the sky is red as a clear warning of the armageddon, when there is no breeze and down on the actual beach as well, but the preceding sentence was far too picturesque to pass up.
Of course, busy is a relative word on the Island of Sodor. One could argue that a snail was busier than whatever the hell happened on Thomas's branch-line on Wednesday's. No one got anything done on Wednesday's. Especially Thomas. For whatever reason. But even by the admittedly low standards of the Island, Duck and Oliver were very, very busy indeed.
They were proud of their matching coats of gleaming color. The gleaming color was green, in case any of you were blind. Some argued that having the same kind of paint color was nothing to be proud of considering just how many engines had similar shades, but Duck then quietly reminded them that they were all idiots and that if they were going to pick anything to give them a lecture on, paint would not be the first thing that came to mind.
Oliver often talks about the time that Douglas saved him from scrap. Because really, conversation of the Great Western rapidly enters a circular fashion due to the fact that one engine (Duck) was clearly holding things back and the other (Oliver) had had nothing else really interesting to talk about for the past few years that wasn't scrap related.
"If it wasn't for his help-" Oliver would say, as Duck focused his attention on something that was perhaps a tad more interesting, though he'd never admit it "-I might have been caught when I ran away from the scrapyard."
Duck liked Oliver. He really did. But he was beginning to note a rather interesting pattern over time. Every so often, Oliver began omitting certain details from the story. For example, the fact that they had been caught because Oliver had point-blank ignored Toad's advice to stop and ask for directions. And the fact that they had had some lucky help from Edward and Toby and had not, in fact, just gotten away by their own luck. And that it wasn't as if they had found Donald the instant after they had ran away.
Duck vaguely wondered it, by the time they reached 1993, Oliver's story would involve him entering the Other Railway with enough grenades to set off a ferry and breaking out tens of thousands of scrap engines, all the while screaming like some mad engine version of John Rambo.
He tuned back in just in time for Oliver to finish his sentence "-And I would never have come back here to live on the Fat Controller's railway."
Duck whistled approvingly. It was all you could really do to sound polite.
...
That night, some of the engines gathered in one of the larger sheds, located in Knapford Yards. There was to be a busy few weeks of it, and so they had all been drafted in. Edward, Toby, Donald and Douglas had managed to get out of listening to Oliver's stories via having to do actual work.
The other engines all wanted to know about Oliver's adventures. It had been a long time since anyone even remotely exciting had dropped in and actually wanted to talk to them in donkey's years.
"Amazing." remarked Henry, actually referring to the hooting of the rarely spotted Sudrian Owl at that moment.
"Oliver-" said James, sensing a opportunity to get the tank engines on his side "-has resource!"
"Do those go on chips, James?" Percy asked. It was hard to tell sometimes whether or not Percy said these things to be flippant or out of a genuine curiosity.
"And sagacity!" Gordon put in, also wanting to dispel any myths about him being classist.
"Those go with onions, right?" Percy leaned over. "What does that mean?" he hissed to Thomas.
Thomas rolled his eyes. He had no idea what sagacity meant. His word a day calendar had not reached that far yet. But he was willing to take any chance to show how clever he was, so he picked a random definition out of the air and prayed it was the right one. "It's about being clever and wise."
"He is-" finished Gordon, having bored every other engine to sleep save for Oliver and James, who was used to listening to people drone on for hours and hours (Himself, mainly) "-an example to us all."
...
Surprise surprise, I'm sorry to say that Oliver became very puffed up in the smokebox. He also became big headed as well. The smoke-box thing mostly meant that he occasionally burped a little too much. I'm actually not sorry to say that, because quite frankly-
Been handed a note saying that I can't slag Oliver off too much because of merchandise. Huh.
"Henry says I'm amazing! He's right!" He said as he whooshed along. Oliver clearly didn't know Henry nearly as well as he thought he did. On that very day, the Fat Controller arrived at Tidmouth to meet Oliver and give him a job. Anything to get him to shut up for ten minutes and not bore him to death. The Controller, that is, not Oliver. He wouldn't bore himself to death.
"You're, er, doing well! Now you must learn how to look after trucks!"
"Must I?"
"YES! You must!"
...
Every wise engine knows that you cannot trust trucks. Now,, this may seem a racist statement, until you learn the fact that the trucks costantly broke the nose of anyone offering them kindness with no strings attached, and that only by making sure to show strength of character did you assure that you didn't die a painful and miserable death in a field somewhere, with cows eating mud off your buffers.
As mentioned previously, it was a busy month, so all the engines had been drafted in to do dirty work. Gordon, Henry, James, Duck, Oliver, the Scottish Twins...Edward would have joined them, but Bill and Ben had been reluctantly called up to assist in Wellsworth again, and he had his buffers full there as well.
The other engines warned Oliver of this problem (No, that was a lie. The Big Three were currently trying to convince themselves that they were not, in fact, snobs while trying to pass the buck onto other engines) but he took no notice.
No one was surprised.
"You think I can't manage!" he raved as he puffed into the coaling plant. "Gordon knows better! He said I'm sagacious!"
"He said ye were what?" Donald looked confused. "Tha a insult?"
"Look Oliver." said Duck, now on his last nerve and on the verge of snapping completely and using his training to severely wound Oliver in the chassis. "You may be...good gracious or whatever it is you want to call it, but trucks can be troublesome and-"
Donald cut in, amusement very, very clear. "Say nowt more Duck! It's a pity ta be sure, but tha wee silly nut will have ta learn for himself!"
"Thank you! I think!" Oliver puffed away, leaving both engines to watch.
It occurred to Duck that Oliver was very lucky that it was Douglas who had found him, and not Donald.
...
Oliver pulled some loaded trucks to a siding, and pushed a group of empties to the nearest chute. The Ffarquhar Yards were in good shape, but Duck had specifically moved him there out of the way of any real threats to actual work.
Oliver left them there, and headed off for a quiet smoke break round the back. Thomas passed him, and immediately hated Oliver for the fact that he had done in five seconds what nearly six years of living on the Island hadn't done, made him regret giving up smoking.
Then Oliver returned to collect the loaded trucks. He did so at the WORST possible time. They were comfortable, and didn't want to move.
"What right do you have, you Tory son of a gun, to move us?! Don't you poke your funnel in here!"
"We want Duck!"
"Or Donald!"
"Or Douglas!"
It was very likely that they would have gone on listing the various engines they wanted instead of Oliver had not said engine bumped them rather rudely. "Look sharp!" Oliver grunted.
"That ain't the way to speak!" said one truck, hypocritically. "We'll pay him out!"
"But we said we'd work for free-"
"SHUT IT MARV!"
Oliver saw nothing wrong going on as he puffed away, and at first, the trucks were moving smoothly. A better engine would have seen straight away that this was suspicious in and of itself, but Oliver was so caught up in cloud nine that he failed to notice it.
And then suddenly, he felt them push forward.
"Ohhhhh sh-" he had time to say, before they forced him on and on. His driver applied the brakes, but it was useless against the surging trucks, who were now cackling away.
"ON! ON! ON!" They called out.
"WHY! DON'T! YOU! SAY! ANYTHING! DIFFERENT!" hissed Oliver as he fought hard, but they still forced him on and on, forcing his wheels to turn backwards. Up ahead, Duck casually glanced behind him as the turntable swung around to one of the nearby sidings. He quickly decided that getting off the table would be a great idea.
At last, the trucks grew tired and weary.
"I'm winning!"
CRASH.
...
As they say in the business, it was too late. Oliver suddenly realized that staring up at the sky was far less exciting than the astronomers made it sound, especially when you were lying bruised and bemused, bunker frst in the turntable well.
Duck, having recovered from the fear that Oliver might be dead, casually idled over and looked down. He surveyed the damage and decided that the deadpan approach would best be suited for this discussion.
"Hello Oliver. You being one of them good gracious engines once more? Hmm, somehow I doubt even Gordon had this in mind for you. Now, beg pardon, we don't really like this sort of surprise. The twins are going to miss their Turntable until it is mended as well!"
"OH SHUT UP AND GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
"Temper temper."
...
That evening, Oliver was hauled gently to safety. Hatt was cross to say the least at having to get up this late at night.
"I'm sorry sir!" wailed Oliver, making the workmen wince. "I should have listened to Duck's advice...and maybe the other's. Jury is still out on them. I don't feel good gracious, or whatever, I just feel like a twit!"
"Well if the boot fits." muttered the Fat Controller. Out loud, he remarked "Well Oliver. Now you know the damage trucks can do. Though how you didn't know before- And don't tell me it was because of SCRAP!"
"Yes I do sir! I look like a load of scrap iron!"
"Ho ho ho." Hatt said, without humor. "I don't think so. But you need to go to the works to be mended."
"HOORAY! HOLIDAY!" Toad crowed. He had had enough of Oliver's stories for one week. The other engines felt somewhat sorry for Oliver, even as Douglas dragged him off on the Breakdown Train to Crovan's Gate.
"Branch line won't be the same without you!" puffed Duck. "Come back soon!"
"Douglas, don't you dare sell me for scrap!"
"Who do ye think I am? Mah brother?"
...
A few days later, Oliver did come back, much to Toad's relief/disappointment. His coat gleamed and shone in the sun, and he was a wiser engine too. And he never made a mistake about trucks again.
Ha! Can't believe I actually said that with a straight face!
Oh dear, editor's looking annoyed. Merchandise people probably want me head.