CUE THE THEME!
...
Duke is the hero of all the engines. This is a story about him.
What do you guys mean, "NOT AGAIN!"? Yeah, I know that that this is our fourth story in a row with the same damn scenery and the same damn characters, but apparently we had to make up this twenty six episode season SOMEHOW.
Good news is that Thomas isn't narrating this one. I think.
No he's doing...other things.
"For god's sake, James, how much are you going to put on me?!"
"Hold still, you silly little blue puffball, and it'll go easier!"
Yeah. Let's leave it there.
...
It happened long ago when- Oh come on...fine. When Peter Sam was called Stuart and Sir Handel, Falcon. This would really be effective if only people actually knew who either Sir Handel or Peter Sam were, but no. We can't do things simple, can we?
Many people came to see the mountains and the lakes. Falcon didn't really get that, considering that they could just as easily go to Wales and get exactly the same thing for a far cheaper price and less work to be put upon the shoulders of engines like he. Stuart would then point out that they didn't have shoulders to speak of, and both young engines would begin bickering away, while Duke tried to enjoy his biscuit in peace.
But mostly, these people came to see Duke. Not that the other two engines were jealous. No siree. They'd be the first to tell you that they didn't mind that Duke got most of the attention and love and care despite the fact that on some occasions his mind could be as well organized and put together as a cabinet made by someone who had no concept of carpentry. And they definitely weren't sounding bitter as they said this.
Duke would take them along the mountains and across the lake over many of the same parts of the line that now belong to the Skarloey Railway. Because we needed to reuse the sets somehow. He would always pull his train, even when he didn't feel well, which recently was quite a bit. "I must not disappoint my friends!" He would say, and then puffed on determinedly. His friends would repay his kindness by having coke-fueled orgies in his carriages. They were traumatized for a great deal, the carriages and would never speak of the grave transgression of hospitality .
Now, every morning, Duke had his little routine. He would wake up, have his many wrinkle-reducing creams that he had from rather un-trust-worthy surfaces applied to his face, wonder why his face was burning, rage at Stuart and Falcon about their hygiene and how it was thanks to engines like them that the empire was falling, and then finally, he would take his passengers on a quick little run. Usually, this meant travelling up the old Mountain line, across Hawin Doorey and up to what is now known as the Skarloey lake, named after the time that the engine known as Skarloey got extremely drunk and ended up face down in the waters.
Duke stopped anywhere they wanted, but mostly at the very large picnic areas, where families could eat food in peace, and those who had the orgies could go somewhere a bit more private, and also somewhere where good taste wasn't required.
"Peep peep!" Duke would whistle. "Please be ready when I come back for you, I say! Otherwise you may miss your boat to the mainland, and that would never do, indeed!"
No one had the heart to tell him that they had been coming this way for a year now, and had never seen the mainland. Duke and faces were things that went together as well as peanut butter and murder.
...
One day, Duke didn't feel well. Well, correction, he felt less well even by his standards. As he waited by the station of Cros-ny-Cuirin, he was glad of a rest as he attempted to regain some of his lost steam.
And then, to make his day even better, Stuart wandered over aimlessly and decided that now would be a good time to be what we call today a troll. Duke was not in a good mood even by his own standards, as his driver and fireman had just finished clearing his tubes. Painful indeed. "Hello, Granpuff! You, er, short on puff?"
"Nothing of the sort! Routine maintenance, tis all! This is what REAL men do! We don't whine and cry when Falcon doesn't tell you a bed time story!" Duke was somewhat disappointed to see that the barb, based around last night's argument, seemed to sail over the head of Stuart completely.
"Tell you what!" cheekily went on Stuart. "You're getting old! Really old! Older than the dinosaurs! And older than Queen Victoria!"
"PREPOSTEROUS!"
"We must take care of you in case you break down!"
"Nonsense, you silly little fozzling gibface, that'll be the day!" Duke snorted as he stormed off. Stuart had no idea what he had just been called, which was just as well. Look up Victorian slang some day, that stuff is nasty.
...
But Duke couldn't stay cross for long, as he crossed back over the Hawin Doorey with the last group of hikers and picnickers on their way back home. It was a lovely evening, even if he was constantly reminded by how old he was by the looming remains of Sodor Castle. "Couldn't be better, couldn't be better!" he chanted with joy. His passengers could have disagreed, but felt they needed to give this one to Duke. They didn't imagine he'd last longer.
As he passed the lake, he began to climb. He didn't mind, it was rather fun for him and it made him look like a real hero. "I've plenty of steam!" he bragged to no one in particular. "We'll be up in a couple of huffs, and one or two puffs!"
"Pride cometh before a fall." muttered Duke's fireman.
Soon enough, Duke's puffs changed to wheezes, despite never having smoked in his life. He felt as though he was about to burst. His valves were leaking thick, black smoke, never a good sign for a steam engine. "It's not so easy." he acknowledged. "It's not so easy! But I! Shall! Manage!"
He made it to the station now known as Skarloey Station before coming to a painful stop just beside a water tower. His driver examined him carefully, and as the anxious passengers milled around, the Refreshment Lady began serving snacks. They ate them glumly. It looked like they would be here for a while.
But his guard turned back, a neutral expression on his face. "He's going to take you to the harbor, but he may be just a little late. So two engines are coming to help, you'll still catch your boat."
The passengers sighed in relief. These were visitors from the mainland, thankfully, and so were somewhat anxious.
Duke groaned audibly as Falcon and Stuart hurried up. Stuart buffered up behind the guard's van, and Falcon ran round to the front and was coupled up to Duke, grinning like a loon. "Ah well, Bulldog! Looks like you need to be put out to pastures! Never mind Granpuff! What a shame! Broken down! You really should take care in your old age!"
"Peep peep pip! This is the day!" Stuart chanted as he was coupled up.
Duke wondered if he could reach around and strangle Stuart, before the three of them stared off roughly.
"Are you ready!?"
"Yes I am!"
And away they went.
...
When they reached the station known now as 'Rheneas', the cavalcade split up. Falcon took the remaining passengers of Duke's to the boat, where they would get incredibly drunk, crash into the Fulton Ferry and get arrested for lewd behavior. All in all, a successful evening. Meanwhile, Stuart took hold of Falcon's train with Duke coupled up behind him, this time.
"Fancy me rescuing Granpuff! This is the day, this is the day!" He gloated. Duke began to burn holes in Stuart's back with his glare. The little green engine would not stop as they started "Poor old engine, poor old engine."
What he didn't know, and what his driver and fireman had been keeping very quiet about, was the fact that Duke still had plenty of steam left in him, and his valves sounded worse than they were. A lot like Thomas' probable legacy, really.
As they reached the mountain track, Duke and his driver waited. Until...
"NOW!"
And at that moment, Duke let out a roar and a puff of pure strength as he forced Stuart onward, puffing as if he was pushing the whole train in front of him, plus a main gauge engine as well. And the noise echoed across the valley, so much so that it has been argued that it still does so to this day.
They reached the platform at Crovan's Gate, where a certain star-billing tank engine and two coaches waited. Somehow, during the recreation, he had snuck in. That cheeky little son of a gun. Everyone cheered.
A young child asked his father "Daddy, what happened, they don't usually need two engines!"
"Ah." said his father wisely as he puffed on a pipe. "Stuart broke down and Duke had to help him! Sounds like they had a hard joke as well."
"FIDDLESTICKS!" screamed Stuart, and vanished in a cloud of steam. He didn't actually say "Fiddlesticks" but he said something far worse.
Duke rolled up besides him. "Poor old engine! It's not good Stuart. You can't win!"
"WHHHHHHYYYYY?" wailed Stuart.
...
Back in the present day, everyone was sitting anxiously at home or at one of the bigger stations, where monitors had been provided. The humans watched their screens with anticipation.
Edward puffed up alongside BoCo at Knapford. "Have they announced the candidates yet?"
"You're just in time! Any last minute candidates'll be turning up now!"
"So, who have we got?"
"Well, we've got the Sodor Democratic Party-"
"To be expected."
"-the Tidmouth Labor Council-"
"I can always use some TLC, all right."
"-uh, there's also the Drunken Sailor Party, which I think is mostly going to get through because their main leaders are drunk as skunks-"
Edward nodded. "Yep. But there are two new guys I don't recognize."
"Oh them? They're both new parties!"
Edward whistled. New parties in the political sense on Sodor was a rarity, mostly because the island tended to be governed by old white men who were surrounded themselves with old white men. "Who are they?"
"Well, you see that handsome fellow with the grey beard and the thinning hair? That's Christopher Bedella. He was a figure skater a while back, I think he represented us during the Olympics. And he's the head of what he calls the Equality Democratic Party. His entire speech was how he hoped to bring diversity and equality to the island."
"Well!" Edward smiled. "Isn't that what we all want? Female drivers, men of color in power, less persecution for the homosexuals, I know who Henry'll be voting for. And who is that gentleman over there?"
"Ah." BoCo sounded a little tense. "That, my dear Edward, is John Drampf." Edward started laughing. "Yes I know, almost as stupid as his hair. I mean look at it! It looks like he's sown a mop to his head and just taken away the handle! But he's been gathering a lot of influence amongst the populace for his...interesting views."
"Interesting?"
"Well, he and his party, Sudrian's First, have been talking up a great deal about dealing with the threat of radicals in the community." At Edward's blank face, BoCo clarified. "You know, immigrants. Those who were not naturally born here. You know, foreign people."
"Ah." Edward frowned. "So, what, he's saying we should be reducing people coming in?"
"Not just that. He's held a great deal of protests among areas of Tidmouth and Suddery that have a great percentage of Muslim people. That, and he's been driving up a storm about some of those who work down by the docks."
"Bloody hell, have he and Bulgy met-"
But this conversation was rudely interrupted by the arrival of...well...of a beat boxing wielding tank engine. Thomas practically bounced onto the stage, as the crowd went wild, the other leaders of the party stared in shock, amusement and, in the case of Drampf, sudden realization. The tank engine was making James look practically subtle, sequins, amethysts, emeralds and rubies glowed around his paintwork, boiler, dome, funnel and cab. If anyone shined a light on him, he probably would have resembled a disco ball. His face was beaming to the brim with smugness.
Edward's mouth hung open in shock. BoCo blinked several times, as both noticed Gordon, Henry, James, Percy, Donald, Douglas, Duck and Toby (The latter both looking very, very uncomfortable) standing behind him only a few feet away.
"Those SONS OF BITCHES!" Edward howled. Everyone turned to look at him, as he turned beet red.
"SODOR ISLAND MAKE SOME NOISE!" Thomas bellowed into the microphone, and the crowd responded mildly. "THAT'S RIGHT! I AM HERE!" He paused dramatically. "TO THROW MY HAT INTO THE RING!"
Silence.
"The hat! INTO! THE RING!"
Nothing. Thomas turned around and shot Percy with a glare. Percy gave a quiet gasp and Carlin hurriedly threw a very large hat down. "YEAH!" bellowed Thomas, and Edward was pretty sure by this point that he had taken some serious drugs in order to do this. "This, is my party! My party speaks for the right of the average engine, the average Joe, the man on the street-"
"What the hell is he going on about?!" BoCo muttered loudly to Edward.
"If I knew that, I would have the secret to life and the universe!"
"Er, Thomas, could you sign here?" weakly muttered the announcer. Thomas grinned, and had his driver get out and write down the words ''Engines for Equality Party' upon the form. "And, er, I'll need a last name."
Thomas paused, and then muttered something to his driver, who rolled his eyes, but wrote down at the bottom of the page, where it was required that a signature was needed: Thomas D Tancangine.
Edward slowly closed his eyes, and had a vivid vision of the island going up in flames and screams. Thomas sitting in Tidmouth Shed, playing the fiddle (Or trying to), while Gordon and Percy continued to argue whether or not tender engines shunting was really that big of a deal, James applying his many, many coats of fabulous paint even as the fire began to consume him and Henry trying in vain to put Toby out, while the tram engine resigned himself to his fate of burning to death with Henrietta.
...
That night, at the sheds, Edward stormed in grumpily. The celebrating Engines for Equality Party (To be referred to from here on as the 'Thomas Campaign' for that was what the media had already called it) went silent. Edward stopped, and grimly glared at Thomas.
"Okay. So, you went against my very specific instructions not to go near this bloody rat race of a political event. Okay. So what I assume is going to happen is that this is going to turn into a bloody sideshow for all involved. People are going to get so caught up in the spectacle and razz-ma-tazz that you're showing, no small thanks to you, I imagine, James, that they're going to forget that your policies may not be that good." Thomas opened his mouth. "Let me finish. I never get involved in politics as a matter of personal pride. I vote occasionally if I see someone that I think is not worthy of the position, but for the most part, I leave that sort of stuff to those who know how the mind of certain humans work. In this case, however, I believe that there would be a disagreeable outcome regardless of whether or not you win or lose, without someone making sure that you don't go fully over the top."
Thomas frowned. "So what you're saying is?"
"If you don't have one, and even if you do, I am putting myself forward as your spin doctor, as your script editor, as the yin to your very, very yang-ness." Edward grit his teeth. "So let's start talking what the hell you want to achieve with this."
"HOORAY!"
Edward rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised at you, Toby. What made you want to go along with this?"
"Benefits for coaches. Plus, I didn't really have a choice in the matter. Gordon said he would pay some of the trucks to beat me up."
Edward shot a glare at Gordon, who nervously laughed. "Well there'll be none of that. If we have to run this race, we're going to do it the best way we can. Now-" Edward settled into his shed. "Let's chat."
...