So I've officially got the 100th review on the story, a mention on the Thomas Fanfic Recs page on TV Tropes (To SteelKomodo, thank you so much, one of my lifelong goals that I thought would never happen has been achieved!) and, thanks to a very helpful update from bigyihsuan I've apparently the longest Thomas story that isn't a crossover on this website.
WOW.
HOW THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN?
You guys rock! I could not do it without you guys and your kindness! This is all for you!
Oh, and for the record, the Refreshment's Lady's, er, quirk as it is? That's a reference to the American narration where, in all his wisdom, George Carlin gave her a really weird accent. It was too good not to pass up.
CUE THE THEME!,
...
"Is Gordon okay?"
"Gordon has been like that since he met Sir Handel."
Skarloey frowned. "Dare I ask why?"
"Well, he hasn't said that much these past few days, aside from "Burble burble" and occasionally whistling maniacally, but from what I can gather, Sir Handel freaked him out by not letting him get a word in, and doing it all in a very...Gordon-esque way."
"So, Gordon was out-Gordoned?"
"Terrifying, I know." Edward laughed. "I've tried cheering him up a bit. I think I'll try stoking his ego next, that usually works when he goes into this kind of state. It's either a complete shutdown or depression, there's no nice in between area."
"So...politics, eh?"
"Don't start, Skarloey. Don't you start. The first debate is coming up soon, and I'm still trying to coach Thomas through it."
"That must be hard, Edward, bach."
"Like pulling teeth from a fully awake crocodile. It's weird too, because I actually thought we'd found a way to fix it as well."
...
A DAY AGO.
"Okay, Thomas, I'll make you a deal, m'kay?" Toby made a rather awkward gesture over to the end of the yards. "Do you see that generator over there?"
"Yes." Thomas said, not liking where this was going at all.
"Well, it's currently hooked up to your buffers. So, you give us a incorrect answer and-" Toby shuddered. "Look, this wasn't my idea. Duck said that Edward trusted him to do things right."
"This is Duck's idea?!"
Duck shrugged. "One way or another. Now, Thomas, if a question about economics comes up, what are we going to do?"
"I dunno."
"Wrong answer." Duck rolled forward and pressed a switch. Nothing happened. Duck frowned once more and hit the switch. Again, nothing happened at all. Angrily, Duck slammed the switch so hard, it broke off and hit Toby in the face.
Something happened that time.
Unfortunately, it was the rest of Sodor's power going out.
...
"And that's why we're now being accused of starting another set of riots." Edward sighed. "You can't win, can you?"
"Ah well, see, he'll probably improve."
"He better bloody well have. I'm going to talk him through this next one until he's sprouting out useless facts from the funnel. Take care of yourself, all right? We want you fighting fight, soon enough."
As Edward puffed away, Skarloey sighed, and turned his attention back to his other problem. Peter Sam.
Sir Handel had been naughty, so the Fat Controller made him stay in the shed for a while. Oh, this wasn't do to with the incident with him coming off the rails, this was a entirely seperate incident all together which shall not be told here. It involved a ice lolly, a rave song and a prize portrait of Sir Topham Hatt's father, affectionately nicknamed Toppers by his chums, a bunch of Bertie Wooster types.
Handel didn't see himself coming out of the shed for another year or so, maybe two tops. So Peter Sam's workload increased somewhat. He didn't mind. As he had to do Sir Handel's work as well as his own, he had twice as many trucks, and many would be the day when engines did double takes at the sight of Peter Sam pushing one lot of trucks at the same time as pulling another lot to different locations.
Jokes about calling him Peter Sampson had ensured, as well as rumors about just who his Delilah was going to be. Soon, Peter Sam was the most eligible bachelor on the island. Mostly because he was seen as a silent, brooding type who rarely spoke a word to any young lasses and a few lads who fancied having a try. Peter Sam didn't even know how to spell brooding, he rarely spoke a word because he was in his own little world, where he constantly went on Enid Blyton style adventures with a group of pixies and talking toadstools.
No one aside from Peter Sam has been to this place in his mind. Perhaps we are all the worse for it.
He was very excited, and the fireman found him very hard to handle. He would then make lame jokes about Sir Handel and handling, which would help Sir Handel's mood a lot. A part of the last two sentences is a fib, can you tell which one? Winner gets...well, they don't get anything. Maybe they'll get a button if they're lucky.
"Anyone would think he wanted to work!" Sir Handel would grunt. He would be given very odd looks for this. Mostly because a engine saying that was a little like a fish saying "Anyone would think we needed water to survive, the way we stay in it!" it was...well, it rather went without saying.
"All respectable engines do!" said Skarloey.
"YOU BLOODY BOURGEOISIE!" snarled Sir Handel.
"What?"
"Nothing!"
"Peter Sam, keep calm and you'll do well, so you will!" Skarloey groaned aloud as he eased his aching joints. "Maybe soon I'll actually get that overhaul I keep getting promised."
Peter Sam was in such a state that he couldn't listen. He hadn't listened, matter of fact. He had blacked out the second he had stopped moving for a moment. He had been drinking a lot of caffeine.
...
He collected his coaches, all of whom liked him a great deal more than Sir Handel (This was no real deal though. They liked a rabid dog who foamed at the mouth more than Sir Handel, because at the very least, the rabid dog could be thrown bodily out of the coach if they got too bad) and headed off towards Crovan's Gate to get his next set of passengers.
Somehow, the faster he wanted to go by the Skarloey lake, the slower the journey became. Or maybe that was just because his driver had yet to recover his glasses for his near-sightedness, and was thus progressing at a snail's pace.
He whistled to Thomas, who was running through the long list of things he had to answer at the debate that night, and received a whistle in return as he pulled into Crovan's Gate. He fussed to the platform, as Henry waited impatiently by the side.
Henry had been briefed by Edward that it was likely that, should he encounter Peter Sam, he was not to do a Gordon and let him railroad him (Pun not intended). Not that Edward expected Peter Sam would be that forceful in personality anyway, but considering that Gordon still was struggling to comprehend that another being such as himself existed in such a small form, it wouldn't hurt Henry to be informed. For kicks, Henry's driver had placed a Gordon mask on his face. it looked odd, to say the least, to see what appeared to be a green Gordon there.
"You're late." he remarked to Peter Sam. "Won't do, youngster. I can't be kept waiting! I have important things to do! Chakras to open! Debates to avoid! Cassettes to listen to! If you're late tonight, I'll go off and leave your passengers behind!"
"Yeah?! Well your face smells!"
Henry shook his Gordon mask off. "Ah hell, what do they put in these things? Smells like a abattoir. Point still stands, young un!" And he snorted away. Secretly Peter Sam was a little worried. Even in Cloud-Cuckooland, the idea of making his passengers late was...a not good thing. Not for long though, did he dwell upon this. The guard blew his whistle, and waved his green flag. Peter Sam set off, singing a little song happily.
It wasn't a very good song, but it shall be put here so that you can all shake your heads and sigh over it.
"I'm Peter Sam, I'm running this line
I'm Peter Sam, I'm running this ine!"
He had yet to get past the chorus. It needed work. A lot of work.
Also, he passed Rheneas along the way. Either Rheneas or his stunt double, that is. Probably his stunt double, causing a great deal of continuity problems. We'll fire him after this series, because this is just getting ridiculous at this point.
"What a laugh this all is!" Peter Sam said to his imaginary friend, Periwinkle the Fairy of the Woods. He trundled along, content to enjoy his mental adventures with the Famous Five, drinking lashes of imaginary ginger beer...it was a good life. The coaches were enjoying themselves too, they were growing fond to Peter Sam, even if he did seem to be every crayon short of a full box.
...
At last, they made it to Lakeside, a little port that was generally the point where most visitors headed off down the mountain towards Knapford Harbor or Brendam Docks. There was a small cafe not too far away, named Neptune Refreshments, named after the God of the Sea because of the prices for good food that only gods could afford. The Refreshment Lady who worked there was...quirky. She often put on a Italian accent to sound more culinary inclined, frequently insisted on leading a rousing chorus of 'My Old Man's a Dustbin' to the bemused passengers, and had a large magnet with which to drag back anyone who even so much as tried to walk past her shop without getting something.
Every hour they had to wait a hour by there. Peter Sam had struck up a conversation with a old steamer by the name of Lakesider III, who looked wistful on occasions. He had apparently once been a hard worker at the Bigg City Port, but times had been tough, and he had been forced to...well, be upgraded. Removing his face, his glasses and all other outwards signs that he was anything other than a normal steamer, only the engines knew he talked now.
There was a story behind that. Perhaps another day.
The driver, fireman and guard went off to buy tea and cakes from Mrs Refreshment, as they usually did, and so left Peter Sam alone to doze happily in the sunset.
At last, the waiting was over, and Peter Sam's mind instantly went back to Henry's threat earlier. Panicking, he was even more impatient than usual. He sizzled with it, so much so that actual sausages were cooked that day.
"Peep! Hurry up please, darlings!" How bally awful, he thought, it would be to miss Henry's train! That silly smellyhead will think me a fool!
Most of them got in rather quickly. You didn't argue with a talking steam engine unless you really wanted a death wish. The guard, finished stuffing his face with food, had his flag and whistle ready. The Refreshment Lady had shut up shop, and was heading onto towards the train to get a ride to her house. Then it happened.
The guard said that it was Peter Sam's fault because he was too impatient. He was still eating his sandwiches at the time, so taking things he said with a pinch of salt was a wise idea. Peter Sam argued that he was sure he had heard a whistle. As we have established, Peter Sam and reality do not mix well.
Anyway, he started onwards past the Lakeside Junction.
"OI! STOP!" The Refreshment Lady coughed in embarrassment and reasserted her Italian accent with such thickness that she gave Bella Lasanga from Fireman Sam a run for her money.
"STOP STOP STOP!" wailed the coaches. "You've left Mrs Refreshment behind!"
"LA LA LA CAN'T HEAR YOU!" belted out Peter Sam, who stopped anyway, just in case. "Bother! We are sure to miss Henry now!"
"And whose fault is that?" muttered the driver.
"Yours." said the fireman. "You're the driver."
"Stop the logic, it gives me a headache."
The Refreshment Lady climbed aboard, and they started again. Peter Sam didn't sing any more, mostly because he had forgotten most of the lyrics. All two of them. He hurried along as fast as he could and as fast as his driver would let him.
He arrived just in time to see Henry waiting there, quietly grinning to himself and looking ready to go. "HOORAY! I've done it! Suck it, Jolly Green Giant!" He felt very relieved.
"Not bad, kiddo." Henry grinned despite himself. "Keep it up long enough, you might actually make me sweat." He smiled loftily, as...oh hell, the continuity's great with this one. Er, the Yellow Engine, who was definitely not Duncan, puffed by in the background as the Refreshment Lady summoned up all her false Italian rage. Phew, saved it.
"WHAT-A DO YOU-A BELIEVE-A YOU WERE DOING BY LEAVING ME-A BEHIND!? MAMMA MIA!"
Peter Sam felt great shame for being chastised by a fake Italian seller of food. That's almost certainly a sentence no one has ever written before. "Sorry, Miss Fresh Prince Lady! But Henry said he might leave without us!"
He was baffled when she burst out laughing. "Oi, what a dumb- I mean, MEATBALLS AND-A PASTA! You-a silly engine! Henry canna not leave, he was-a teasing you! He's-a full of it! He's a guaranteed-a connection!" And she chortled off to her mini.
"WELL!" said Peter Sam, indignantly. "HENRY!"
It was too late. Henry had hurried out of the station laughing himself silly.
Peter Sam decided that reality was too mean, and so retreated back to the Faraway Woods, where a tea party with teddy bears was taking place. He preferred his world. It was better than the real one.
...
That night, as everyone watched the (pun intended) train-wreck of the debate, a shadowy figure snuck aboard the steamer known formerly as OJ. He routed around in the cupboards, clawed through the wardrobe, before at last, finding what he was looking for wedged between a copy of 'The Island of Sodor: Its People, History and Railways' and 'MoD on SoDor: What Really Happened?'. A rather worn, but still in rather good condition none the less, small brown jotter. No title. No distinguishing marks. But he knew it was what he was looking for.
He looked around him. "Sorry, OJ. Maybe one day you'll sail again."
And he hurried over, back to Duck and his driver. The fireman climbed aboard, waved the jotter in excitement, and Duck set off to the Little Western's shed, where they could pour over their latest find in complete silence.