The Works Diesel mentioned here is (You guessed it) another character from the Railway Series that I doubt will ever be adopted to the screen. You know the cover of Christopher Awdry's book James and the Diesel Engines? That's him on the front! As the Steamworks hasn't yet been built in my timeline, and won't be for a bit, the Works Diesel'll be filling in the role for the moment. And of course, it's time for more obscure character spotting. The trucks mentioned at the end are all from the Railway Series as well.
Also, quick note, I am using a new system for the Scottish twins, which is to run the dialogue I want through a Scottish translator for kicks, to make it funnier. If it's not to the liking, I'll switch back to just using my own judgement.
CUE THE THEME!
"So, I'm already to go?"
The Works Diesel nodded, or as well as he could nod, given that he had no such thing as a neck. He ran the Crovan Gate Works, or was at the very least the mascot of the place. He never said a word, but was rather friendly to all he met.
Oliver was lowered down off the hoist, and let out a satisfied sigh. He had been to the works to be mended. After the trucks had shoved him in the turntable well (He remembered it like it was last season) he had been suffering various cramps and ailments that constantly needed to be checked up. This was supposedly the last lingering pain that needed to be fixed.
Now, supposedly, he was as good as new. But the trucks had him worried, not least because of how much they seemed to be against him as a whole. Here are just some of the highlights of Oliver's last year!
-Briefly ended up smacking face into wall following shoving contest with trucls.
-Proceeded to get tipped into the sea, following confrontation with trucks.
-Taunted repeatedly, and subject to many graffiti attacks by trucks, including the infamous 'Ollie SUX!11!'. The ones are not a spelling mistake.
-Referred to as Ollie repeatedly.
"I'd rather not use them!" he mused as he passed through the Works Diesel's plastic fake scrap.
"That's okay! cackled a truck. "We'll use you!"
Oliver sighed, and continued onwards, passing Gordon, Henry and James, who were busy discussing their latest idea for what to do whilist bored at the bar.
So, what have you got for us, Henry?"
"Well, I got these from that young Rheneas dude, you know?" Henry's driver placed down several packets of...something, it was unclear what. "He told me that it was totally dank, and wasn't whack in the slightest. I took that to mean that it's perfectly safe. Apparently you can see God when you take this stuff. And I thought that, seeing as I am experimenting with the more Naturalistic version of Buddhism-"
"You lost me." James admitted.
"-because I'm all about trying anything to see if I can gain a understanding o the universe, I was thinking I'd put some in my drink. The two of you are free to come along if you want. And, er, Edward too. But don't tell him. He's...rather iffy about this alternative religion stuff."
"Well, it's a boring day anyway." Gordon grinned. "Ah, what the hell?"
"Yeah! Mix it in our drinks!" James nodded. "I'll, er, get Edward over here, somehow."
...
Unfortunately for Oliver, he was on the wrong Island if he wanted to avoid trucks. They were all gathered together in a yard not too far from Callan. They had began to sing songs, rude and loudly, which was the only way that trucks sang anyway. S.C Rufey, or Scruffy as he was better known, a private wagon who had risen to notoriety following his manipulation of Bill and Ben that had ended up with a piece of shrapnel embedded in Edward's face and the docks on fire, had risen to become their leader, and was now conducting brightly.
"Oliver's no use at all!
Thinks he's very clever!
Says that he can manage us!
That's the best joke ever!
When he orders us about
With the greatest folly
We just push im down the WELLLLLLL!
Pop goes Old Ollie!"
Thomas, Duck and Percy were most offended and cross. Not just at the insults thrown Oliver's way. The tempo was all wrong, the singing was incredibly off-key, and all that made them want to dash their brains out against a hard stone rock. "BE QUIET!" They would bellow at random intervals, while Oliver tried to get his trains ready. But they couldn't be everywhere, and everywhere they weren't the trucks began again.
They needed to work on their song, clearly. It has been hypothesized by many well known scholars of very advanced degrees that clearly the trucks have the mental capacity of dung. Thus, they only know the one song.
...
At last, the engines gave up. They decided "Sod our friend, I'm pooped, he can sort it out." and went to get drunk. They put it a little nicer to Oliver, though.
"Sorry Oliver, we can't give a crap anymore."
"It's my fault, I suppose, for falling in that turntable well!" Oliver said, bitterly. It's lost a bit in the transmission of the episode, though.
"Yep." Thomas smacked his lips. "Well, come on Percy! Back to the grindstone!"
Toad the brakevan felt rather sorry for Oliver. True, he was a idiot most of the time, but he was Toad's only companion from the Great Western, and he knew that deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, DEEP down, he had a good heart. And so, as Henry and James finished their last jobs for the day so that they could go and get high, he waited patiently to speak to Douglas, who was the engine who took him out the most save Oliver himself. They had a good bond, surprisingly.
He waited so patiently that he had no idea that he had waited over ten hours, for it was morning before Douglas crept into the yard, clearly a little worse for wear following last nights session of booze.
...
And speaking of worse for wear, the four engines looked at their drinks. Edward hadn't been informed of what was about to happen, all he had really been told was that this stuff was supposed to give you quite the kick once you had some of it. The driver had opened the packets and and poured the contents into each drink. He turned around as the engines continued to chat about something or other. Unbeknownst to him, the fireman wandered into the bar, looking for something or other, spotted the nearest drink to him and took a long large gulp that emptied the cup.
"Well!" Henry said, cheerfully. "Here's to us!"
"To us!" intoned Gordon, James and Edward, who took a long hard sip from the straws. Henry beamed. He had been rather selective with the truth around Gordon and James. Some would call that a lie. Some would be mistaken. It was not a lie, it was just that telling them that it was less about helping them relax and more about getting them to open their minds to his point of view would seem weird when they inevitably pointed out that he had had to drug them to do so. He had taken several types of drug since his fascination with the simpler life had begun, partly for medical reasons, and partly because he wanted to understand Mother Earth in a way that few engines-
It suddenly occurred to Henry that his own straw was surprisingly empty. He smacked his lips, and peered down at the cup, which was empty. He frowned, turned to the fireman and stared in awe-struck horror as he finished stripping down to his boxers and began pole-vaulting with great abandon. Henry had no idea where to even look! The driver stared, slack-jawed and with his tongue almost flopping out of his mouth. He turned to Henry. "What the hell was in those packets!?"
"It was something that the Barrow University gave Rheneas to give to his friends to test out!"
"Oh yeah, genius, and what's your hypothesis?!"
"That I've made a REALLY, REALLY BAD MISTAKE?!"
"WELL NO SHIT SHERLOCK! Where's-"
Henry suddenly realized with horror that the three engines besides him had vanished. He could faintly hear Edward cackling (And there was a problem right there, because he had never, in all his life, heard a cackle from Edward) in the distance, and so, hoping to perhaps make sure that nothing bad happened, rushed off after him.
As he did so, Douglas finally entered the yard to find Toad musing quietly to himself.
"Morn tae ye, Toad! What's th' problem? Ye look raither glum."
"I'm worried, Mr Douglas." said Toad, glumly. "This disrespect of engines, when is it going to end? Will it ever end?"
"Who knows?" Douglas agreed grimly. "Ah heard that dobber scruffy's th' cause ay aw thes. th' hedonistic so and so-" A dobber is the Scottish (Or at least, the twins used it) word for a bastard, but Toad didn't know this, and so was most confused. He decided to just carry on.
"Yes, well, I've got a plan, Mr Douglas. A very clever one, if I may be so bold as to admit to feeling pride in it. May I stay here today instead of going with the last train? I wish to help Mr Oliver, we are both Great Western and must stand together, even if he can be a bit-"
"Foolhardy, croose, dumb as several bricks an' occasionally a real tosser?"
"I was going to remark that he could be a bit difficult, honestly, but I suppose all of those things as well."
"I'll take ye to him." said Douglas. "But he's ower smar' for the wurrk ye ha in mind."
"...Okay, Mr Douglas, are you doing that on purpose?! I think you are! You're making your Scottish accent even more Scottish just to mess with me, no offence intended, but I'm pretty sure you are!"
"Ach, m-ME!? Ye cannae be serious." Douglas flushed. He hadn't expected Toad to catch on so fast.
...
Soon Toad was explaining his plan to Duck and Oliver. The former was somewhat sceptical. "Bloody hell, Toad, that's something that might be beyond Oliver. I'm not sure you should have suggested it. I've been looking into this Scruffy's past. He was the black sheep of the Truck Families for some years now. Even back when the heads still had power, before that incident with the barbershop, they were always rather wary of including him in activities. He was sly, but lazy. He prefers to sit back in the yard and gloat like some old villain from a Saturday Morning Cartoon than really get into action. But the fact that he has survived this long tells me that he could be worse than he looks."
Oliver interrupted. "No, Duck, you're wrong! My pride, which was salvaged from the escape from the scrapyard-"
"DID you escape from the scrapyard, Oliver, I had no idea?!"
"-has been dented for long enough! I must do this, not only to reclaim my lost honor, but also because it's all my fault that I am in this predicament, and if I let it continue now, it shall only worsen the attitude that these trucks have towards you. I must put my error right!"
"Oh, stop being a ham." snapped Duck.
"I meant no disrespect, you understand."
"Of course Toad, I know that! We have been through some hard times together, such as the time that we escaped from scrap and...and...well like that time we got away from scrap, and driver agrees with both of us. We need to nip this in the bud now."
"You're not going to back down, are you, Oliver?"
"No I am not! It is time that I became resourceful and sagacious for real!"
"Very well." sighed Duck. "I can't stop you, but I can advise you one thing. The train itself doesn't need to be shunted until about three in the afternoon. Delay on starting off as long as you can, and I shall arrive with the passengers to give you back up, should you need any."
"We've cleared it with the stationmaster."
"Very well. My passengers need me, so I'll head off. But don't forget the tip that Stepney gave about sand. Spread as much of it on the rails to give yourself maximum grip when dealing with those bastards. Good luck!" And so saying, Duck rushed off towards his train, already fretting himself silly.
"Goodbye!" said Oliver. He was also fretting himself silly. He suddenly wondered if it was worth heading to the bar to steady his nerves. He then changed his mind as he saw Henry dragging back a thrashing Edward, who had briefly decided that he had wanted to be a bird and had nearly jumped straight off of the nearest cliff.
...
Later that day, Oliver marshalled the worst of the trucks together into a long line, two by two. He felt quite a lot like Noah as he did so, except Noah hadn't escaped from scrap- At which point, his mind proceeded to violently pound itself into the ground. Even it was getting tired of the references.
"That's the way Mr Oliver. It takes longer this way, but by doing so, it makes them less likely to cause any mischief for you until you've actually got the train started. And if you leave that little sh-I mean, er, monster, Scruffy, until last, then you have him behind you and you can bump him if he starts any nonsense."
"Are you sure this is wise, Toad?"
"No. But it's better than doing nothing, isn't it, sir?"
Duck arrived as Oliver backed down with Scruffy. The workmen coupled up the private wagon and the engine, and Duck gave a cheerful whistle to give him some encouragement.
"Hold back, hold back!" whispered Scruffy, gleefully. "And pass the words to the others! You boys don't need my help anymore! You take it!" Scruffy relaxed. He saw his job as having been done. They needed to show up this engine, and they could do that without his help. That way, no one could blame him for when Oliver's inevitable mistake was made. The giggling only fuelled his ego, which swelled to a dangerous size.
He wasn't as clever as he liked to think. Oliver knew what he must do. His wheels gripped the sand that his driver had laid down, and with a fierce growl, he gave a great heave. The trucks yelped, but not as loudly as Scruffy. "OH!" he shouted, gasping at the sudden pain. "I DON'T LIKE THIS! Ohhhh I really should have thought this through!"
The trucks still held back, digging into the rails even as Oliver strained and tugged as hard as he could. The couplings tightened, and Scruffy began to feel as though he was being stretched on some immense rack. Oliver wasn't going to back down. The trucks weren't going to back down. He was trapped.
"STOP! STOP YOU BLOODY IDIOTS!"
The trucks paid no attention.
"GO IT!" shouted Duck, trying and failing to check his excitement. "Well done boy! Well done!"
"OOOH!" screeched Scruffy, his face screwed up in agony. "OHHHHHH!" There was a slight splintering noise. "I'M COMING APART!" Another noise now. "I'M COMING APART!" A louder noise. "I'M COMING-"
There was a rather nasty tearing sound, which echoed around the yard, as Scruffy did indeed come apart. His entire body seemed to disintegrate, as his sides toppled to the ground, spilling sand and construction materials everywhere. Half of the truck, the one with his face, had been completely torn from the other half and was now lying at a horrific angle with a face that was spurting a lot of a blood-like substance.
The trucks stared in horror. Toad found it all remarkably funny. Gallows humor was a big thing for breakvans.
"So Oliver." remarked the Fat Controller, having turned up to watch the fireworks "So you don't know your own strength, is that it? Should put you in the circus with the elephants."
"Er, yes, sir." said Oliver, wisely realizing that keeping his mouth shut was the best option.
Hatt turned to Scruffy. He looked a little better, but not much so. Most of the blood had been cleaned away, so Scruffy was just lying there, a broken wreck. "As I thought, rotten wood, rusty frame. You should have been refurbished a long time ago." Hatt shook his head. "But, er, don't tell the trucks that. I'd rather not see them try and get out of work that easily. So maybe if we put you back together and not give you such a career limiting name, you'll make something better of yourself." He turned on his heel and marched away.
...
Henry had found James drinking turpentine out of the cans at the Works, and had dumped both he and Edward there to be looked after by the Works Diesel. Now, all he had to do was find Gordon. How hard could that be?
It wasn't, actually. Gordon was very easy to find.
Stopping Gordon, on the other hand, was a different matter.
Henry had just enough time to attach himself to the back of Gordon's tender before the express engine, now so high on whatever drug it was that he had put in the drink, shot like a dog being fired out of a cannon fueled on nitroglycerin.
"GORDON STOP!"
"GORDON GO!"
"GORDON, NO-"
"GORDON, YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"
Several cows looked up as a very fast blue blur pulled a rather fast green blur behind him. They blinked and returned to their grass.
"-ESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" Gordon continued screaming as he hurtled towards Edward's station. Henry slammed on his brakes and stared in bafflement. He had half of Gordon, namely his tender, and therefore had to watch the pride of the line go hurtling forward into a siding and through a wall.
It was a long trek back to the Works to dump Gordon there. Along the way, he passed what remained of S.C Ruffey.
"Today's been a rough day for all of us." He remarked.
"You ain't half telling me, pal!" growled Scruffy, as best he could.
...
Nowadays, Oliver only takes the trucks when the other engines are busy. They really, really like having a turntable that works, you see. On another note, Henry only takes drugs by himself, after the three engines came down from their high, realized that they had been doing something stupid and began hitting the crap out of the big green engine as punishment.
But back to the original point. The trucks are always quick to warn each other. "Take care with Mr Oliver, you play tricks on him, he'll tear you in half and you'll never be the same truck again!"
S.C Ruffey has been rebuilt, has learned his lesson and says nothing at all.
Well...in theory.
There are two rather interesting postscripts to this story, that would have caused Duck to be very interested, had he not been preoccupied with the events that came during the Battle of Callan later that year.
The first concerns the fate of the private wagon known as S.C. Ruffey, or as he was more commonly referred to, Scruffy. He was repainted later on to look more like a normal open-topped truck, and was later donated to several areas where mining took place. He proceeded to cause a large amount of chaos that will be documented another time. But later on, after the incidents not only there, but of the events concerning a certain Magic Railroad, some trucks whispered that they had seen a very shadowy figure come to Scruffy in the middle of the dark of night. This shadow resembled a steam engine, talked in a voice that dripped with oil and evil and promised him great things, if only he would assist them with something rather important.
The second was the more immediate concern. Scruffy's injuries and humiliation did not a martyr create. The angry trucks saw it as giving the engines another victory, yet another bogeyman to deal with. But some of the elder trucks, trucks like Rickety, Fred Pelhay and U.L.P, who had taken over to an extent as heads of the truck families, suddenly came under new management. A single breakvan, scarred and never seen, even by his closest advisers (Those three trucks) and calling himself by the very familiar name of 'The Spiteful Breakvan' used their clout to become the new and leader of all non-coach rolling stock across the Island. Whether this was the one destroyed by Douglas or merely a pretender was not known. What was known was that he was tough, vicious and had great charisma. He must have had that, to put one single, solitary thought amongst the remaining trucks that would drive them througout the coming years. The knowledge of what that thought was soon spread to the other engines, who shuddered and viewed the coming years with great distaste and even a little bit of fear.
And this thought was simply this:
Give them HELL.
We say it again.
Interesting.