CUE THE THEME!
...
Edward heaved and hauled the burning wreckage of several unfortunate (Or, depending how you looked at it, lucky) trucks back to the scrap yard. BoCo was still at Wellsworth, giving both Bill and Ben hell about how it was wrong to burn down things. This was the seventh time that Edward could remember having this talk with them about it. That he could remember suggested that he had banged his head against the wall so many times that eventually the memories had faded. Their excuse, that they had seen a nasty wasp and were only making sure it did not cause harm to some poor unsuspecting soul, was not their best. In fact, it was on another planet compared to their best.
It was morning, and the Fat Controller had kindly enough allowed Edward to take a break once he had eliminated the last remains of the trucks, to enjoy the fresh morning breeze and also to relax himself after such a long and tiring night, fighting fires.
As he came to a stop beside the scrapyard, he was interested to see the remains of a old generator being loaded onto a truck by one of those people who Edward recognized, but didn't quite know the name.
Gaz?
Gonzo?
Gotch?
Gotch, that was it, Gotch was loading what looked to be a old, rusting green generator onto the back of his lorry. He glanced around carefully, and then clambered on-board, starting off with a bang.
It may have been Edward's eyes, but for a moment, he almost thought he saw a face on the generator. He shook himself. Too long a night.
He then happened to glance at his driver's newspaper. His eyes boggled. His mouth dropped open. "THOMAS!?"
...
On this morning, Percy was feeling very, very, VERY impatient indeed. As opposed to all the other times when he was a beacon of patience for all to admire. Sarcasm, as you can tell. He was wearing a new coat of paint, and he longed for everyone to see it. He was trying to emulate what made James so successful.
And by successful, I mean annoying, of course.
The other engines were still dozing, like the lazy sods they were.
"Driver should be here by now!" Percy complained "What's he doing!?"
"Sleeping, or on a boozer. Either way, shut up." Gordon muttered, his eyes barely creaking open.
Percy went into full blown panic mode "BUT! BUT I'LL BE LATE! The coaches will be waiitng,the passengers will complain, the Fat Controller will decide he has no more use for me, I'll be sent to the scrapyard and THE DIESELS WILL TAKE OVER THE WORLD! WOE! WOE FOR PERCY!"
"Get a grip." Henry said, reluctantly wide awake and glaring straight at Percy. "Shockingly enough, you are not the center of the universe, you'll survive. All of us here have done far worse than be late for one train."
"Speak for yourself." muttered Toby.
"It's still early." added James. "No one's up this early except for silly little green engines who can't learn to keep their traps shut."
"That's a very small pool of engines." remarked Percy.
"You just want to show off."
"NO I DON'T, MR KETTLE."
"Never mind Percy." Thomas said at last, when the arguments between James and Percy got so loud that it was ruining his contemplation on his favorite subject, namely how awesome it was going to be once he became mayor. "It'll soon be time to do work, you freaky little engine, and then you can go out and be the proud little flagbearer you are, but be careful, you may run into danger and Duke is not here to save you."
"Duke?" Toby rolled his eyes, and muttered this in very scornful tones. "You mean our hero?" A large picture of Duke hung on the shed wall, drawn by someone named Tasha Stone.
"The very same!" Thomas grinned, and Toby turned pale, realizing he had fallen for a typical trap of Thomas's. "Driver told me the story, listen-"
"Was that a threat!?" gasped Percy, as he dissolved into a flashback.
...
Long ago, when Peter Sam was still called Stuart, and Sir Handel Falcon-
...
"HOLD UP!"
Allcroft looked up at Angelis, mildly peeved. "Yes, Micheal?"
"This is, er, wrong? I think? Because have we actually established yet that they're now called Peter Sam and Sir Handel? I don't think we have. We've just been referring to them by their original names for the most part!"
"It's not in your job to care, Micheal." Asquith remarked. Angelis flipped him the bird.
...
-they worked with Duke on his old railway. Also some yellow idiot who definitely won't be important later on. He was Scottish and soon sent to a quarry to work. He won't be coming back. No siree. Would I lie? (Yes, yes I would)
But Falcon still had a lot to learn. Like how to count past a hundred, and also how to keep his trap shut in delicate situations. It was debatable to this day whether or not he learnt the last one at all. The Manager came to see him.
"Falcon! I'm pleased with your work so far! Now you must learn a difficult part of the line-" The Manager didn't mention that he was giving this job to Falcon because out of all three of the regular engines, he would probably be the one easiest to replace should things go wrong "-that we call...the Mountain Road!"
"Why sir?"
"Well, we call it the Mountain Road because it's a road...on the mountain. Do keep up, Falcon."
"Thank you sir!" Falcon said, delighted. He had yet to begin reading Marx and Lenin, so he was still in what they would probably refer to, in Russian of course, the docile sheep phase.
"So tomorrow, when you have a new coat of paint and you sign several documents that claim you were aware of the risks and that we can't be held responsible for any crashes, Duke will explain everything before you go on it. This'll probably take a good three hours, so you'll have to get up right and early if we're to get the passengers ready in time."
"But-! The manager left, and Falcon was left to stew. "Pah! That old fusspot! Who wants to live forever anyway!?"
"We do!" shouted his driver and fireman, alarmed that Falcon might deliberately throw himself off the mountain just to spite Duke. This was not a unreasonable assumption to make, given what you are about to see.
...
The next day came. As next days often did. Duke was now reaching one of the last sections of his 'tour guide' spiel. He had already taught Falcon that mountains existed, what the tallest mountain in the world was, what the shortest was (A molehill located a few feet from their shed) that engines usually didn't climb mountains unless they were from something known only as Culdee Fell and that pancakes tasted great with syrup on them. Finally, he approached the actual point he had been called in to discuss.
"Listen, this mountain road is difficult. I shall lead!"
"No way, oldie! How can I learn the route if you're lumbering ahead and blocking the view!"
"How will you learn when you're dead?"
"Are you threatening me?"
"Suit yourself. Never mind the view though, look at the track."
And from there his mind went to his happy place. What said happy place is has never been discovered. A dissection of Duke's brain has yet to take place, mostly because that would be somewhat annoying for him, having only just been rediscovered.
Eventually, they started off with a small train filled with sightseers. Falcon led the way as they puffed out from their sheds and the surrounding area, into newer and stranger pastures. He had to ignore Duke repeatedly muttering "Look at the track, never mind the view, cockles and oysters, cockles and oysters." and so maturely responded with "Fuss pot, fuss pot! Fuddy duddy fuddy duddy!"
This mature and witty discourse temporarily ceased as they reached the tunnel. Their speed had grown slower and slower with each section of track, under the driver's agreement that none of them wanted to die any time soon, contrary to what Falcon was thinking.
"Don't dawdle!" snapped Falcon.
"No hurry. No hurry." said Duke, as he stared in wonderment at the butterfly resting on his buffer. As they finally got to the tunnel, after moving at a pace that a snail could overtake with a mild jog, Falcon realized suddenly that he and tunnels didn't get along. It would have been nice to learn this before he entered the curved blackness, which he couldn't see barely anything.
"I want to get out! I want to get out!"
"Same here." muttered his fireman.
As they exited the tunnel, it happened. One moment, everything seemed relatively normal and sane, and the next-
Well.
As Falcon's fireman clung desperately to the cab, and his driver tried in vain not to begin screaming hysterically as he clawed at the rails, Falcon suddenly realized that he very much wanted to live forever, as he hung dangerously over the edge of the mountainous cliff. Duke, meanwhile, held on with all his strength. It has long since been implied by legend that the mountain was aware that throwing Duke off the cliff itself would have resulted somehow in the destruction of said mountain, and that he was too stubborn to take it lying down.
"Eh, what what, what's going on there, Falcon? Hanging around, eh, indeed?"
"DUKE. DO. NOT. LET. GO."
"Stop shaking then, old boy! Can't hold you if you shake, doncha know?"
Falcon tried to stop shaking, but it was rather hard considering that his driver and fireman were running about in his cab howling "WHAT DO WE DO?! WHAT DO WE DO!?".
And then things, if possible, got worse.
Somehow.
As they linked Duke and Falcon together, and placed blocks down in front of Duke so that his wheels didn't slip, the driver glanced at Duke's tank. "Oh hell- WATER! Duke needs some water, quickly!"
With little hope in mind, his driver was prepared to pull his trousers down and, er, provide some water of his own, but luckily they had come a cropper right next to a convenient cottage. Soon, all the passengers were assisting, handing down jugs, buckets, kettles, saucepans and occasionally bathtubs until Duke's tank was nicely filled up.
And then, with a great deal of effort and strength, he was able to pull Falcon back onto the rails. Then they started off once more, Duke doing most of the work, as Falcon appeared to have gone into a catatonic state.
At last, they managed to make it to the nearest station without anyone dying, which was a small miracle in and of itself. The Manager was waiting nervously at the top station, and the fact that both engines appeared to be, for the most part, still intact, cheered him no end.
Many passengers vomited up their lunches. But they also praised Duke for his work that day. "Your Duke is a hero! He stood firm like a bulldog, and wouldn't let go! A really smelly and senile bulldog, but a bulldog nonetheless!"
Falcon was grateful too, having come out of his mental breakdown. "Thank you for saving me, Duke, don't know why you bothered after I was so rude."
"Any time, old mucker, and you had just had a new coat of paint! Bad for morale if you'd ruined it by falling down the mountain, don'tcha know?!"
...
"-And that's how Christmas was made."
"Shut up, Thomas." James muttered. At that moment, a wide-eyed Edward hurried up, dragging a series of limping trucks behind him. "Where's the fire, Edward?"
"You're hysterical, James. Thomas, I have urgent matters I need to clarify with you!"
"Sure, what's the problem?"
"Well, see, it's about the newspaper, they're, er, they've gotten hold of a rather stupid story that could cause you some potential embarrassment over the coming days. I knew at once that it wasn't true, but I wish to check with you so that I can denounce this character assassination personally!"
"Certainly, what is this rumor?"
"Honestly, if it wasn't so blatant that they're reaching for stupid stories about you, I'd 'd got the idea that you had some bloody hare-brained scheme to set up a political party and run for Mayor!"
Thomas laughed. Edward laughed. They laughed together. "Haha- Edward, I am!"
Edward stared.
In the back of his mind, the various cogs that ran together to make sure that his mind remained in tip top condition to deal with the inanity of life, stopped momentarily. His own personal cleaning crew hurried out and began to search for faults in the system. At last, after what felt like hours but was only three minutes, they got them working again, and words began to flow to Edward's mouth once more.
"HOW- WHAT- BUT-"
"Awesome, right?!"
"I tried to tell him." muttered Toby. "But would he listen? Nooooo."
Edward's brain had become specially equipped over the years with nearly every witty comeback line that he thought a good engine would need to use whilst working on the Island of Sodor. He had remarks for hurricanes, flash-floods, trucks going insane, the Fat Controller going insane, James situations, Gordon situations, Henry situations, Bill and Ben burning down anything, a sudden uprising of electrical trains, a sudden uprising of tractors and the fact that they were going to be the only thing bar the cockroach that would survive a nuclear winter.
Thomas running in a political campaign had no such comeback.
"Thomas." he said, his voice dangerously calm. "I'd rethink this. This is idiotic. If this fails, you'll be made a laughing stock. Not only that, but you'll drag the rest of your cabinet with you-" Edward nodded to the shocked expression on Gordon's face. "Yes, Minster for Travel Gordon, they listed all of you. Minister of Environmental Concerns Henry, Minister of the Treasury James, Assistant Mayor Percy...please, just...just think on this. You can't run this island and do your work at the same time. Matter of fact, we can't even do our own work half of the time. Just...don't. Don't do this."
He paused. "By the way, why are you all out here?"
"Er, for work?"
"It's a bank holiday."
Everyone glared at Percy.
Not Thomas though. He had a plan. Drop out of the race? He had just started. Tomorrow was the day that all parties announced that they were running. He had until mid-day tomorrow to make a splash.
He intended to.