CUE THE THEME!
...
"How's the prisoner?"
One of the guards accepted the mug of tea, took a sip and winced. Other Railway tea was not pleasant in the slightest, but you gained somewhat of a taste for it by the time of your fourth year working at the Other Railway. Eventually, if you stayed there long enough, you'd perhaps even be able to drink it without any reaction at all. Not that you ever did stay there that long. "Well, he's not reacting. He seems to have gone back to sleep again."
"I don't get why the Director didn't want us to...you know, at least give him a little bit of a shakedown. He's just left him there."
"You haven't been here that long. The entirety of 93, he went into this almost coma like sleep. Couldn't wake him up for anything. Honestly, if his fire wasn't constantly lit and you couldn't hear him breathing very softly, you'd assume he was dead. He woke up a couple of months back, and since then we've been told to keep him here and do nothing else."
The two watched the engine wearily look around the siding he was on, before turning his eyes down to the tracks.
"Er...has he said anything?"
"Asked one of the guards if they could get him some bluebells. Don't know if they did. None of the diesels have gone anywhere near him. I think they've been warned off."
"Isn't that a bit morbid? Leaving him in a area where all of these scrap wagons and rotting corpses of engines are hanging around?"
"You haven't worked here long, have you?"
And then the matters went on to more private ones, and soon they forgot about Stepney the Bluebell Engine, who patiently waited and hoped against all hopes that one day, soon, someone would come back for him, like they did the last time.
...
You may recall, in the previous episode, we had a quick chat about Skarloey and Rheneas, and how they were basically very old and needed fixing up. My somewhat flippant attitude can be attributed to the fact that I've basically got to tell you the same little bit of backstory all over again because the episodes were aired out of order. So, without further ado, let's get the latest plot dump out of the way, before we move on to bigger and better things.
Skarloey and the bland milksop known as Rheneas usually managed to co-ordinate a lot of their work so that when the cameras were rolling, they were able to create rather iconic and interesting looking footage. They work on the railway that weaves around the lakes and the mountainside, with coaches that are usually filled with visitors, which inspires the engines for some reason because apparently none of the other engines on the Island have coaches filled with people and do their best come rain or shine. Apparently. They will never let their passengers down, but they are old and, like old people, tire more easily. Or something, I haven't slept in a long time.
So basically, before Rheneas got sent off to get his personality looked at in detail, their drivers came with good news. "There's more than enough work on this railway for both of you. And us. We're not getting any younger and we really need more time to kip- I mean, something to help you out more! Manager's been in contact with Hatt, and two more engines are on their way to help us run the line."
Both were pleased. But what no one could know was that by the end of the month, both engines would need repairs urgently, and thus both new engines were to be permanently bought by the Fat Controller for service upon the Skarloey Railway.
...
"Morning Percy! Edward was good last night!"
"Yeah, Thomas. Almost sounded like we knew what we were doing!"
"Ha ha ha! You're hysterical, Percy!"
"Not yet, but give me time."
When Sir Handel and Peter Sam arrived at their new home, they found that there was much still to learn and understand. Well, Sir Handel found that, Peter Sam merely cooed over how lovely the yard looked in a way that indicated that he had yet to touch down fully on this planet.
"What a awfully small shed!" Sir Handel groused. He was still bitter at how the coaches had treated him, and had decided that from this point on, he was going to treat everything Skarloey related with complete and utter disdain. "This won't do at all! I know my rights! We're...well, I, at least, am much too smart for this old shack!" He harrumphed loudly, as he was prone to do.
"I think it's homely! And nice!" trilled Peter Sam cheerfully.
"Huh. You would. Weirdo." Sir Handel glanced over to the other shed, where Skarloey was waiting, having gotten well and truly plastered the night before to celebrate his eventual rehaul. "What's that rubbish!? One with the face like a truck hit it!"
"I do believe, boyo, that your mother looked like a truck had hit her!" slurred Skarloey.
"Sssssh!" hissed Peter Sam. "That's Skarloey! He's famous!"
"For what? Being useless!?" Sir Handel snarled with viciousness as Percy moonwalked across the tracks for no apparent reason.
"He brought Duke home, don't you remember, silly billy?!" Peter Sam grinned and turned back, whispering conspiratorially to Skarloey even though Sir Handel was still literally right next to him. "Sorry Mr Loey-"
"Seriously, kid?"
"-Sir Handel's upset now, but he's quite nice really!"
Skarloey looked from Peter Sam, to Sir Handel, then Peter Sam, then Sir Handel, before finally settling his gaze on Peter Sam. "Can I quote you on that? Are you sure?"
"Oh yes!"
Skarloey felt deeply sorry for Peter Sam. Not sorry enough to say anything, but he had the feeling that Peter Sam had lied to himself for so long now he actually believed a great deal of the things that he had told himself.
The drivers and firemen headed on over, clad in Skarloey Grey Uniforms, and began getting the engines ready. "Now Sir Handel, I shall get you ready for work!"
"Oh will you!?" snapped Sir Handel, rudely. His driver was used to this, and so ignored him. "I'm tired! Let Peter Sam go, he loves it! Look at his dumb little face, he's so HAPPY to be here!" Peter Sam didn't hear this, for a rather pretty butterfly drifted into view and took most of his attention.
"No, you're going out and doing work. It's why we bought you."
In retrospect, his driver would later admit to himself privately that he could have chosen a better point in time to finally make a big stand on his principles. As Sir Handel clanked away, Skarloey was left with the sensation that maybe, just maybe, getting out of the sheds and into the works for a bit wasn't such a bad idea after all. Peter Sam, meanwhile, stared longingly at the butterfly floating high above the rails.
...
Sir Handel clanked and fussed away to the coach yard, where he was coupled up to a set of coaches. He didn't like the look of them at all. At the moment, Sir Handel was still in the midst of his 'Being a Giant Tosser' phase of life. "Whatever next!? These here aren't coaches, they're cattle trucks!"
"Oooh!" wailed the coaches, some of whom smiled smugly at each other as if to say 'See, we were right to bump him' "What a horrid engine!"
"I don't get any better! Come on!" Sir Handel started off roughly. "It's not what I'm used to!"
And so, as he puffed over to the station, he fumed and ranted internally, while his driver and fireman wondered if they could get a less stressful job defusing mines. And just as he rolled up, he became aware of Gordon's arrival. As did everyone else when the big blue berk bellowed "LOOK AT ME, PRIDE OF THE LINE HERE!" and rolled in, whistling triumphantly. As a prank, someone had swapped his whistle for that of Oliver's, so the effect was slightly ruined.
"Hello, who are you?" Sir Handel, never one to use social niceties except in extreme situations, bluntly asked.
Gordon gave a appraising look at Handel. "Gordon. Fastest engine alive. May have heard of me. Who, little engine, are you?"
"Sir Handel! You're an express engine, aren't you!? So am I, though you wouldn't think it to see me pulling such miserable looking cattle trucks! Do you have some- Oh, I see you do. Very swanky. Alright for some, I suppose. We must have a chat, but sorry, can't stop, we must keep time, you know?"
As Sir Handel puffed away, Gordon stared after him, speechless and stunned into silence.
"What?" he squeaked. "What just happened?" He repeated these four words for the rest of the day, having been driven into a existential crisis over discovering a smaller version of himself.
...
Clouds of steam filled the air as Sir Handel puffed along the line. Both driver and fireman coughed and spluttered and reached for their gas masks, as Sir Handel began rocking so severely that they thought for a moment they would follow in their grandfather's footsteps and be hurled off the mountain. As they reached the top station, he was still fuming magnificently.
And then his driver spoke the words that he'd come to regret every night in his nice, warm, padded cell at Sodor Asylum. "We'll leave the coaches here and fetch some trucks the quarry?"
"TRUCKS!" screeched Sir Handel.
"Did I stutter?"
Sir Handel handled this very maturely. By acting like a spoiled child "I WON'T! SO THERE!" He stormed off, and promptly fell off the rails in what was later deemed to be the stupidest crash ever on Sodor by a large margin, which says quite a lot about his attitude at the time. He sort of went wonky halfway down the line and fell off the rails.
You come up with a better description.
"Told you!" said Sir Handel smugly.
"No. No you didn't."
...
As the driver was taken away to a nice and secure unit of the Sodor Asylum, Peter Sam arrived with the miniature breakdown train. Sir Handel now felt rather silly. For good reason. To make matters worse, things didn't get better when a very tired and snippy Sir Topham Hatt stumbled out of the brakevan and glared at Handel with such cold fury that for a moment he almost looked less like a fat director of the railway and more like the living personification of vengeance. His message to Sir Handel was bleak and blunt.
"Your shed. I shall talk to you, later."
Then he and the fireman departed upon Peter Sam, leaving Sir Handel to be lifted back onto the rails, feeling a cold sweat take hold of his brow.
"Come on." said the Auxilary Driver. "Let's get you back on the rails. And then I'm going to the pub and crawl under a table."
...
By the time that they had reached the shed, Handel didn't care if it looked shack like or if was a Buddhist temple. He was going to go sleep in there and damn anyone else. Both Peter Sam and Skarloey were watching with interest as he sidled in.
The Fat Controller stepped out of the shadows and growled at Handel. "You're a very naughty engine!"
"It wasn't me, sir! It was Falcon!" This was a classic excuse ever since he had been given a new name, but the Fat Controller didn't seem to be biting.
"I hope I can trust you to behave when you next come out of this shed, three weeks from now!" He stormed off, following by his bodyguards, leaving Sir Handel to brood quietly. And after that, I'm sure Sir Handel will, aren't you?
Why am I even asking you? You never answer. CALL ME!