Hello all! Just before I get to the reviews, let me just state that this is a literal transcript of my reaction to learning what episode is next. Consider that for the first two seasons, and then the fourth, I had a general idea of where each episode slotted in.
"Well, that's A Better View For Gordon done, I've got a comedy episode done with, now, fingers crossed I've got a nice dark episode next so the storyline doesn't clash- Oh bugger, it's Lady Hatt's Birthday Party."
Hence the reason why the Bertie scene is probably the most bizarre decision I've made thus far, and I'm counting the fact that we're currently in a storyline whereupon George Carlin has encountered Bagpuss. Because at the very least, I understand why I included that! My mind boggles. On another note, a rather short bit of story at the beginning to be got out of the way, before a big chunk of it next time. The Trouble with Trees is a good mix of comedic and dramatic, so fingers crossed it won't clash as much. But, for the record, writing for Willo the Wisp is amazing. As a fan of Kenneth Williams, trying to write his voice is hard, but very rewarding! I also have referenced two characters who I wanted to reference, but struggled with. And yes, most of the people mentioned in the 1996 flashback are real, and are known for their work in kids entertainment. I am a geek. XD.
Reviews now!
TrainManiac- Ah, I'm glad someone got that! It was an idea I had looking up Gordon's 'brothers' as it were, and how Spencer is technically the cousin of Scotsman and Gordon. Therefore, I think it's canon that Mallard and the remaining A4 class engines are also related via Gresley, as cousins. Plus, it gives me more of a chance to introduce some real life engines into the mix, and considering what I've written of Gordon and Scotman's relationship thus far, I thought it'd be nice to give Gordon a relative with whom he has a good relationship. Thanks for the kind words!
Game Watch- Probably! That is a very fair moral. Ooooh, the Clangers! I am rather excited to reference them, even if I am still trying to work out how. But they will be referenced! Again, thanks!
Reality Rejection Service- The Island of Sodor keeps karma in business! Hope you're enjoying!
MattPrice01- Aw, thanks! It's lovely to have nice feedback, and that one line is probably my favorite of anything I've written thus far. I hope I don't let you down in the later chapters!
CUE THE THEME.
...
"Good morning, sir! Happy birth-"
"Ye finish that sentence and I feed ye to the Fakes."
"Understood, sir." sighed Reginald, Captain Zero's first mate. He had tried on several occasions to engage his employer in some sort of conversation other than 'Making Money' or 'Taking Over the World' or 'Judge Judy' but to no avail. And above all things, the Captain loathed the mention of his birthday. Rumors were that he was rather sensitive about how old he actually was.
"Happy birthday, Captain Zero."
Zero turned around, about to give the person who had dared to make this flippant comment right to his back a fist...when he turned very, very pale.
The Fat Director stood there, giving what could be considered a smile. Somehow it didn't quite seem like one, though. Zero was no expert on positive human emotions, but he was pretty sure that smiles were supposed to be positive things.
"You were about to tell me something, weren't you, Captain?"
"I...maybe."
"I see. What were you about to tell me?"
"I was about to say...t-t-thank yer."
"You are welcome." The Fat Director somehow managed to take this sentence and make it sound positively threatening. It was a sentence that sounded so genuinely wrong that it sounded like it needed it's own restraining order. "Now, I was wondering what to get you for a birthday present-"
"Oh sir, ye really needn't have bothered-"
"I thought long and hard about it-"
"Oh did ye!?" bleated Zero. He had the feeling that the Fat Director's considered presents included a very large contract that required the signature to be in blood, a sheep's head and an invitation to head to the Bermuda Triangle for a holiday.
"And I wasn't quite sure what it was I was going to find. But then, of course, I figured it out."
Zero waited for a few minutes for the Fat Director to finish his sentence.
At which point, something very odd happened. In one of the burned sections of the Other Railway, where no-one went anymore, there was a bizarre sound, like the crackling of a great fire, and before the eyes of all, a portal began to open up. This was similar to the one that Marklin had seen back in 1995, but bigger, and judging by the way stray tendrils of the energy was lashing out, a great deal more unstable.
The Fat Director clasped Zero's shoulders and began to walk very fast towards the portal. "Come now, Captain! How about it?"
"I'D MUCH RATHER A CAKE-"
And then they were gone.
...
Once Carlin had recovered his nerves, and had awakened, he was surprised to find Mr Benn in deep conversation with their strange party. Benn quickly explained to Carlin that he had convinced Noggin that both he and Carlin were the last members of one of the old viking tribes, similar to the Nogs in that they too had shunned William the Conqueror as their king, and had preferred to return to their own land, away from the prying eyes of the world.
"So why are they here? Why are all of them here?"
"You've got to understand, Carlin, that this isn't too long after the Battle of Hastings for them. Now, there's a great deal of arguing over who should be king. They're all over the place, pretenders to the throne. When they spy someone even more powerful than them, I reckon that's the only thing that can get them to work together."
They turned, to see the strange jester who leaned on the door casually. He grinned and gave a little wave. "Sorry. I'm, er, Alias. Trust me, I know what it's like. Skillful lying, by the way. You've got Noggin and the priest convinced all right. Not sure about Willo, but I'm pretty sure that Catweazle knows about you lot. You can tell, sort of."
"Who are you?"
"Your sort." Alias scratched his head. "A time traveler. Farther on, mind you, than I think you are. I'd say...90's? You have that look about you." Alias smiled. "I came here for the same reason. Strange time disturbances. Unfortunately,y my ship got stuck in the magnetic poles and it scrambled me a little. Trapped me back here." Alias glanced back towards the Island. "Funny, isn't it? It's not attacking. Don't think it even knows we're here."
"Oooh, are we talking secrets!?" Willo drifted through the wall, with a very maniacal leer etched upon his face. "I do say, I wasn't expecting it to be so fun!" He grinned rather sharply.
"That's rather hard of you."
"Oooooh, matron, stop." Willo shrugged. "I'm rather used to horrid stories of dreadful folk. Gallows humor, you know." He sniffed, through a rather magnificently large nose. "Besides, I am envious of the living, you know. Very envious. If it weren't for the frightful din, I'd probably be cheering on this dratted Malevolence."
"Was there a point to this, or are you just here to mock?"
"Ooooh, I'm always here to mock, Alias. No. That Meredith of yours, queer chap that he is, insisted that I inform you of some harebrained scheme to take down the brute."
"Oh yes?"
"Yes, he and that crackpot of a sorcerer, Dogferret or whatever his name was, have come up with this thing that, he claims, is all the range in the future." Willo tutted. "It'll all end in tears."
Far away from this, watching from the sidelines, the Fat Director and Captain Zero waited. The latter was rather chilly, but the former gave no sign of any discomfort. He gave a rather odd smile.
The first move was about to be made.
...
One summer's day, Thomas and Percy were idling in the station, doing very little as per usual. Percy was wondering if maybe he could earn some sort of pocket money going back to work as a bartender at the Sidings. The technology had improved a great deal since the 80's, so all he had to do was push a button with his buffers to pour the beer. It could work. Thomas was wondering if it was too late to see if he could go and run for Prime Minister.
Bertie the Bus pulled up, shocking everyone because Bertie had been on the piss for most of the previous year and had only just started going to alcoholics anonymous for an unfortunate incident when racing Thomas once again. All that oil abuse had finally caught up with him, and many had been surprised when he had run down that gaggle of nuns, rudely declaring "PISS OFF, I'M MORE POPULAR THAN THE HOLY GHOST!" in a very John Lennon-esque manner. And after a night of being locked up in a bus-shed, Thomas had ended up paying for him to go through rehab.
No, none of the other engines understood what the hell was going on either. Point was, no one was expecting Bertie to be back out so soon.
"Have you noticed something?"
"Yes, Bertie. I've noticed that the sun is shining, the birds are singing, you're here, Percy's here, no one's died yet- Be more bloody specific! What sort of something!?"
"The Fat Controller! He seems different!"
"Does he?!" Percy frowned. "I did see him staring at the clouds this morning. I just thought he was remembering that charity skydive he did a few years back."
...
1996.
Sir Topham chewed his nails rather nervously. It had been the idea of someone or other to invite some of the most memorable children's show presenters to raise money via plummeting to the ground at extreme heights. So far, Rick Jones, Valerie Singleton, Peter Purves, Charlie Chalk and, via unpopular vote, Mr Blobby had made the jump. There now remained just three left, including Hatt himself.
"So, for the record, you'll be going first, to show me how it's done?!"
"Of course!"
"Would we lie?!"
Hatt looked concerned, but turned back to gaze at the ground, very far away. So he didn't quite notice Rod Hull and Matthew Corbett look at each other, then at Hatt, then back at each other, then to their respective hand puppets, before shoving Hatt out of the plane.
"So..." remarked Matthew. "Back to the ground?"
"Back to the ground."
Luckily, Hatt managed to land on something soft. That being Mr Blobby, who had to be rushed into intensive care. And nothing of value was lost.
...
"I wonder why?"
"Perhaps he's trying to remember how he landed safely?" Thomas suggested. "I mean, how he isn't dead is a blooming mystery. He's probably just upset because the bun shop is closed for the week."
...
The reason, like Percy, was simple. It was Lady Hatt's birthday, and no, I don't know her exact age. Sir Topham Hatt had therefore spent most of the morning wandering around in a deep, deep panic because he hadn't actually remembered it was her birthday until the night before, and had thus had to rush out and find her a present as soon as he could. He then had to wear his fancy, non-railway related clothes around the house as it had rained viciously the night previously, and he didn't want to get his nice new suit wet.
"It's perfect for my party!" gasped Lady Hatt. She didn't tell him that it looked exactly like his old suit, because that quite frankly would get her a rather sullen Hatt at the party. "You'll look splendid, Toppy!"
"Er, thanks, dearest." Hatt could have sworn that this was his old suit, just with a bit more of an effort put into ironing it. But he shrugged, and gave the brightest smile he could. "And I shall wear my finest hat just for you!"
"Not the jester hat with the bells on it?"
"...No, darling, my top hat. ...What's wrong with my jester hat, anyway?!"
"Er..."
She was saved a rather awkward talk by a loud bang, indicating that Bill and Ben had somehow managed to accidentally blow another fuel tanker up, right next to his car. Swearing, Hatt reached into his pocket and used the new fangled cell phone to order the operators of the Pinchers to arrest the twins. This was done by the large hands grabbing hold of the twins and refusing to let go at all costs until BoCo could arrive.
"Your birthday is a rather special occasion"
"Indeed! So don't be late, like you were last time, Topham!"
"I shall be spick, span and right on time!" Hatt grinned, feebly, aware that he had just damned himself. He left for his office in rather a hurry. So much of a hurry in fact, that he failed to check his car for any problems that might have been caused. He put his new suit on, admiring it in the mirror.
"You look fine, sir!"
"Alonzo, you know I'm taken. But I'm promoting you to Head-Stationmaster for sucking up to me so well!"
"YES!" said the stationmaster. "You'd best be going!"
"Indeed! Right, okay, so the engines are all busy, or they should be. I'll take the car!" He swaggered out, whistling cheerfully.
"Is it reliable!?"
"Certainly!" called the Fat Controller, over his shoulder. "Why wouldn't it be!?"
In retrospect, this was a really bad decision.
...
With Duran Duran blaring in the background, the Fat Controller was loving life as he belted out the tunes at high speed. He floored it as he rushed past James, who was taking the express, and past all of his engines. Most of them put on the appearance of hard work the second that they spotted him, only to slacken off as he vanished into the countryside, where the rails didn't run.
Up the hill he went, cheerfully mangling the words to 'Hungry Like The Wolf'. It was only then that he spotted a large hole in the road. "OH SOD IT!" He declared in loud tones, hitting the brakes so hard that his foot went through the floor. He was too late. The wheels skipped into the hole and rocked the car so hard that, combined with the damage done earlier, it wouldn't move for anything.
"Bother!" said the Fat Controller. Well, he said it much stronger, actually, but let's not split hairs. "Puncture as well! And if I bother trying to change it, which is a fruitless effort in itself, I shall get my suit dirty and that would never do!"
Just then, with a loud blast on the hooter, Caroline trundled up, being driven by a new driver. He wiped his brow and stood on the side of the road, hoping to attract their attention. The driver would have just tried to ignore that Hatt was even there and go past, but Caroline was looking to improve her lot in life, and she saw Hatt as her ticket to a more high class and deserving owner. So they stopped.
"I've got a birthday party to attend! It's my wife! Can't be late, so can I please budge in?"
"Well sure ya can! I will try mah best, sir!"
The driver gritted his teeth. He had the awful feeling that this wasn't going to end well.
It didn't. Caroline didn't like going fast, and made it very clear. "I'M HOT!" she bellowed. Not helping matters was that Hatt was, er, a very taxing weight to have to manage atop of going fast. "Mah engine is about ta overheat!"
And it did. Very loudly. The driver sighed, and buried his face in his hands. He had only had Caroline for a fortnight and this was already his seventh time he had had to call for assistance.
"Told ya'll so!"
"BOTHERATION!" said the Fat Controller, again, in much stronger terms. "Well, that's me done. Think I'll just go lie down in a ditch and wait for the vultures to start-" He frowned as a rather high pitched whistle sounded. They were nowhere near the rails at the moment, so where that was coming from, he had little idea.
And then, coming up from behind, came a very familiar and very cross steamroller. George looked to Caroline and let out a loud scoff. "Call yourself a car!? You're a bloody disgrace to the road and the cause!"
Caroline gritted her teeth and reminded herself that she wasn't yet capable of disintegrating people with merely a withering glare.
"Find yourself a scrapyard, princess, and do one!"
Caroline spluttered, and told George exactly what he could do with his roller. It sounded very painful indeed. George's driver, Jem Cole, was more polite. He had briefly taken up the role of driver until someone could be found to replace Mr Gotch, who had disappeared on rather short notice a few days ago. "Can we be of any help?" he inquired of the Fat Controller.
"Can you get me to my wife's birthday party?"
"Sorry, we have more important things to be doing, but we can take you to Thomas. He's just down the line."
"How do you know?"
"Err..." Jem hesitated. He didn't want to admit that George had been slightly unruly, and had nearly caused Thomas to come a cropper at a level crossing not too far from where the tank engine had stopped. "I just do!"
"Much obliged!"
George smirked, and stuck out his tongue at Caroline. "Ha! Bloody yank!" And so saying, he started off, leaving the poor car to splutter and fume indignantly.
"What about mahself?!"
"I'll send help as soon as I get to the party! Stay there!"
"WHAT ELSE AM AH GOING TA DO?!" she snarled.
Hatt shrugged, and tried his best to settle down and relax. It wasn't easy. Everything about the steamroller seemed to have been designed to make the driver as uncomfortable as possible. George was enjoying himself, as much as he could, as he rolled along the lane, making rude remarks to anyone he saw and using a specially constructed leaf blower type invention created by Gotch to send leaflets of Anti-Rail propaganda towards frightened cars.
There was worse to come for Hatt. Oil splashed everywhere, drenching his new suit and covering him from head to toe. He spluttered and coughed. "If I'd wanted to find oil-" he spluttered "-I'd have joined Dallas!"
And then, impressively, it got worse.
"Help! Something's snapped!"
"Yes! My elastic!" Hatt frowned as the steamroller began to rock from side to side. "Oh...Ohhhhh..." He closed his eyes as George swerved and lurched through a rather large hole in the fence (Got to fix that later, he thought) and fell roller first into a muddy ditch. Sir Topham Hatt shot out of the back of George like a cannonball and ended up sinking deep, deep into the mud.
Soon, only his head was available. He glared at Jem, who tried to grin feebly. "OH BOTHER BOTHER!" Hatt screamed. Again, not his exact words. They weren't too far away from Thomas, who was sniggering away like the mature and sensible engine that he was. He tried and failed to stop laughing as the Fat Controller staggered out. His hat had been squashed, his suit was covered in oil and mud, he gave off a stench no one could identify and his shoes squelched as he staggered around like a drunken penguin.
"Can I help you, sir?" said his driver, in what had to be the single stupidest statement Thomas had ever heard uttered.
"STATION. BIRTHDAY PARTY. FAST AS YOU CAN."
"I'm afraid our fireman has been taken ill-"
Hatt let out a long scream of frustration as he clambered aboard Thomas with a shocking amount of speed, grabbed the shovel and began tossing coal in at lightning speed "I'LL. BE. THE. BLOODY. FIREMAN."
Thomas grinned. Oh this was going to be a good day. Not least because as Thomas started off, the Fat Controller was deluged by a large amount of coal dust and smoke that blackened his face significantly. He entered Kirk Ronan on time, passing James, who upon spotting Hatt, burst into a long laugh that lasted until he got back to Knapford.
Hatt looked at the clock. Just in time. He staggered out, grabbed a huge bouquet of flowers from one of the pots and staggered towards the door with a rather exaggerated limp. He thought only to wipe off his face. He didn't want Mayor Bedella to think that he was witnessing a minstrel show.
"Good luck!" called Thomas.
"GO TO HELL!" snapped the Fat Controller. He took a deep breath and then walked in. His wife was waiting, and as the clock struck three, he stood there, tired but triumphant.
"My my!" Jenny Packard, Alice's old school chum, guffawed. "He's been in the wars!"
"Happy birthday!" Hatt shoved the flowers towards his wife.
"Thank you, Toppy. I knew this was a special party, but you should have told me it was fancy dress!"
Everyone laughed. Even the Fat Controller. Because not laughing at this point would have made the entire bloody trip a waste of his time. And then the party began.
"Oh, by the way, Toppy, you didn't get to meet the entertainment!"
"Oh, really?" Hatt finished off his seventh cream bun in less than an hour and wiped his mouth as best he could. "Where is he? Or she?"
"BLOBBY!" bellowed Mr Blobby, spotting Sir Topham Hatt and giving chase. The latter moved faster than anyone would have thought of him, jumped through the window and spent the rest of his wife's birthday fleeing for his very life.