Honestly, this is not one I'm proud of. The story itself is...eh, it's okay. But it's not one I'll go back and rewatch. My attempt to work in original material didn't work that much better. Trust me, I don't blame you if you think it's bad, or confusing, or both. Fingers crossed the next one'll be better.

CUE THE THEME.

"OH CRIPES, NOT THE BEST KEPT STATION CONTEST AGAIN!?"

This wail came from Edward at Wellsworth, as the Pinchers were hidden by large and liberal baskets of flowers, painted pink with purple polka dots and the guard removed the many cigarette butts that had been left upon the platform that day alone.

"Whhhhhhhhhhy!?" wailed Edward.

"Why not?" asked Mavis, sleepily. She had slept over as part of her work experience. With BoCo preparing to head off to his new job, he, Edward and Toby had chatted a lot about who would be around to make sure Bill and Ben didn't kill themselves. Edward was becoming more and more busy with the branch-line, and Toby was doing work with Thomas and Percy, so they were out of the running. At last, Mavis had volunteered, more out of a desire to actually do something for a change.

"Why not!? Because the last Best Kept Station Contest ended in a bloody nightmare, that's why!"

...

1996.

The platform was crowded, and as Mrs Kyndley handed out her food (food poisoning went up around this time, mysteriously) many milled around the tables getting cakes and sandwiches. The engines all looked thoroughly bored, and looked at the clock repeatedly as the Fat Controller climbed up onto the box and cleared his throat.

"After visiting every station on the Island of Sodor-" he paused to let the idea of every single station being visited sink in, there were a lot of them "-with Thomas today, I have realized that each station is special in it's own way."

There was a gasp as the stationmasters realized that they were going to all get very crap consolation prizes as a result of Hatt's random ass decision to start moralizing and giving out special snowflake speeches at the drop of a bloody, well, hat.

"And it has been impossible to choose just one winner! The pride of keeping every platform neat and attractive, even without the suggestion of a reward, makes the Island of Sodor a very special place to live , I propose to award a certificate to every station!"

Then the rioting started.

...

Edward shuddered "I can still remember the Maron stationmaster piledriving the Ffarquhar one through the refreshment table. So many pastries wasted!" He sighed sadly, and rolled back into the sheds to try and get a few more minutes of kip. Unfortunately, since it was summer on the Island of Sodor, everything gleamed in the sun, and thus he was unable to go back to sleep.

Mavis, on the other hand, headed on out in an attempt to see if she could find anything interesting to do for the day. She didn't think it likely, though. No one really seemed to know what to do with her.

The stations were filled with flowers all down the line, which was good news for the bees and bad news for James, who stayed locked in the shed for three straight hours just so he didn't have a repeat of Buzzboxgate.

Speaking of engines getting fed up of having to deal with disgusting non-humans, Percy had been working overtime at the Docks, and had thus become quite sick of the smell of fish. Not helping matters was that he was coated daily in fish oil by clumsy cranes, so he now smelled so pungent that seagulls had begun to flock around him to try and catch an early meal.

"Phew! Come on, Percy, time to go home!"

Percy missed Carlin. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he did. Carlin was funny, Carlin could be charming, Carlin and he were usually united on some points even if they wouldn't outright say so. This new driver just wasn't the same. "Please sir, can I have a wash down, please!? I've been wearing all of this for a week!"

"Sorry, no time, Fat Man is at the sheds, got some big announcement."

"And we can't go and get clean for it?"

"Hey, I don't make the rules!"

...

James wrinkled his nose. "Can anyone smell that?"

"Oh, ha ha." growled Percy.

"There is to be a festival of flowers!" announced the Fat Controller. He tried not to groan at the completely blank expressions on the faces of the engines in front of him. "Yes, I know, it's a stupid idea and I wouldn't have gone along with it normally if it wasn't for the fact that doing this will help to pay off some debts that I owe the Railway Board."

"What debts?"

"Having to cover up the incident with the horse, for a start!" snapped Hatt, glaring at Gordon, who glared back. It wasn't his fault that the horse hadn't wanted to go for a ride with him! He did what anyone would have done had the horse kicked him the face in running over the beast. "This sign that reads 'Best Dressed Station' shall be awarded to the winner, who can then sell it for money, I don't know."

"Why do you always stand atop me, sir?"

"Shut up Duck. This sign is important or something. I don't really know why I needed to call you here to discuss this, really it's not that relevant to your schedules over the next few days. I guess if you can, please help with the arrangements. Yeah, that's why I called you here...I think." And so Hatt wandered off to lie down and recharge his batteries.

The engines were excited. That's a lie. They weren't. Because it was a frigging flower show. However, the cameras were trained on them, and so they pretended to be for the sake of the audience.

"My favorite station is Ffarquhar!" Thomas said. Unfortunately, he sneezed mid word, so it sounded like he stuttered.

"Mine's Maithwaite! I...I don't get to go out a lot." admitted Toby, frankly. "What about you, Percy?"

Percy, who was bushed, couldn't think properly, and remarked sleepily "The Docks!"

Thomas sniffed, and winced "HUH! We can tell! Am I right lads?!" Amid the laughter from all the rest of the 'lads' as Thomas put it, Percy began to snore softly.

"Docks are full of fish. Not flowers."

"I know, you bloody pendatic tram! God, Gordon was right, you are a boring sod, aren't you?"

"OI!"

"Fine, if you push it, Arlesdale End!"

"My old home?"

"You never visit it, and I have no bloody idea why you chose chuffing Maithwaite over it! And that's why I like it, because you'd be there, and not here saying that I'm silly! Goodnight!" And so saying, Percy backed into the shed, aggressively, leaving Toby to feel rather hurt.

"Who crapped in his water tank?" muttered Henry.

...

The next morning, Percy was proud to be sparkling again. He had tried to give Toby a friendly toot on his whistle, but the tram had ignored him and refused to respond. Percy wondered how thick one's skin could be when said skin was made out of wood. He shunted a few trucks around in the yard, all the while pondering how to make it up to Toby.

His train of trucks were loaded with vegetables and flowers. The most exciting of deliveries.

"These are for Maithwaite!" said his driver. "They're going to display them on the platform. Along with the injured bodies of all those naysayers who think that Maithwaite has no chance in this contest."

"Hang on, how have you managed to grow a mustache in between days?"

"Magic."

"Huh." Percy started off, feeling a great deal more cheerful than he normally would have. He felt as though he was walking on sunshi-

"HELLO CHAP!"

"Oh god in heaven and below!" Percy snarled. Harold the Helicopter hovered over Percy like the specter of death. Given the choice, Percy picked the specter ever time. "Why is he buzzing over me!? I don't have the time or the patience to have a race with him, and he's certainly not getting anything out of me! I'm still waiting for him to pay me back for all that gambling money!"

"What's that?!"

"That's a helicopter, Alec." said the fireman.

"No, you fool, on the track! Why bless me! It's a ram!"

"BAA!" said the ram, giving the episode it's title. Why the driver was shocked, no one will ever know. Sheep exist on the Island. Everyone, smart or not, knew this. It was therefore logical to assume, therefore, that rams also were things that existed.

"BAH!" said Percy, doing his best imitation of a sheep. "Now we'll be late and I'll get moaned at! Should have known that idiot whirly bird was trying to tell me something...then again, if he'd actually spoken we could have avoided all of this in the first place! Stupid helicopter!"

"BAA!" said the ram, which in sheep meant...you know what, I'm not going to translate that, it's obscene.

"I have just the ticket to get this rug off the track!" cried the fireman, who had not spontaneously grew a mustache since Percy had last spoken to him. "Food! Hang about, what have I told you about leaving your cabbage leaves around, Alec?!"

"Ah yes. Cabbage. That's...definitely what those are." The driver looked shiftily around. "Definitely not drugs."

The ram seemed quite taken with the 'cabbage' leaves, and soon backed aside to allow Percy to pass.

"Are we allowed to go now?"

"BAA!" said the ram, now beginning to see Percy as a giant talking cabbage. Percy chuffed on cheerfully, ready to get to the station and get his rather 'important' delivery done with.

By the time he arrived at Maithwaite, Percy's driver was preparing his excuse. He told the stationmaster about the ram to get things over with quicker, but to his surprise, the stationmaster nodded. "I've heard about this ram! Stubborn old goat-"

"Looked more like a sheep to me."

"Hush, Percy."

"He's always hungry! Just like Hatt, as a matter of fact. One of these days, he's going to get himself into trouble."

A little while later, the station was decked with flowers. It looked right gaudy, and no mistake. The Pincher there had been removed for being rather unsightly, and had thus been sent off to the scrapyards to be destroyed. Yes, the flowers were more important than actual work at this point.

"It'll definitely win first prize!" said Percy. Not because of the flowers, mind you, but rather because the stationmaster had hired thugs to intimidate the competition a little. Percy knew how the mob mentality worked. He looked left, he looked right. No one was about. So he left his coaches by the station and hurried off to a siding not too far from the station, but far enough so that no one could see him.

"Time for a snooze!"

"Oh, REALLY, Percy!? Now, of all times?!"

"Now of all times." And Percy closed his eyes. But not for long.

There was a great amount of noise coming from the station, as glass shattered, baskets were upturned, expletives were said and much weeping did occur. Percy looked surprised, then decided that sleep was more important and ignored it.

"We'd better investigate!" said his driver, sans mustache. It's magic, I tell you!

Percy was 'shocked', and by that I mean he was mildly disquieted. Flowers, fruit, veg, the lot were all scattered and squashed and ruined.

"It's the ram." grimly noted the driver "He's made a meal of the station. Looks like the town's folk are going to make a meal of him."

...

"I am NOT boring!"

"Of course you're not, old chap." Harold said. The annoying thing was that while he sounded genuine, there was always the possibility that that was just a side-effect of being Harold.

Toby growled "So what if I don't get to have all the fun adventures!? I'm perfectly fine doing the actual running of this stupid railway!"

"Whatever you say, chum."

"And it's infuriating coming from HIM of all engines! It was always him and me against the stupid idiots, and now he's decided to slag me off for joking around with him!? It's INFURIATING!"

"Too true."

Toby sighed. Harold had not been his first choice of companion to rant about how ungrateful everyone seemed to be. Or his second. Or even his seventeenth. But Mavis was busy doing station related things (And was too brutally honest for Toby's liking), Edward was busy on the branch-line, Henry was off smoking his stash, and Henrietta had reached her quota on Toby rants for the month.

Made worse was the fact that, after so many years of keeping calm, he was having occasional attacks of anxiety that he was trying his best to hide from everyone. He did not want to have to deal with their mocking, or their poor attempts at sympathy.

He and Harold had an understanding. They were both the only one of their kind on the Island, and so they were cordial enough to each other.

"So, what's new with you, Harold?"

"Nothing much, chap. Bit of a problemo with the old habits, but, you know how it is."

Toby did know. Not long ago, Harold had been struggling with a rather nasty gambling addiction. Percy and Toby had had to bail him out a couple of times with loans. It was one of the few times that Harold's RAF schtick had dropped. The helicopter hadn't been able to look them in the eye. Even as he tried to go through therapy for it, he still got temptations every once in a while. "Still, it's been ages! So, you know, you're improving!"

"Yes, I expect you're right." Harold bit his lip.

Toby didn't like this. Harold not being cocky was...wrong, somehow. "Well, come on!" He started forward, and was about to say something about going back to Dryaw to see what stupid thing they'd set up for the contest, when all of a sudden, he stopped dead in his tracks and started to breath heavily.

"I say, Toby, are you all right?"

"Peachy, Harold." But the lie came through gritted teeth, from a tongue that felt far heavier than it needed to be, and his words began to sound very far away indeed. Toby closed his eyes and tried to focus, but his vision appeared to be swimming, and not helping any of this was that damn tightness where he imagined his chest would be if he was a human. His internal workings were tightening up, squeezing in like a compress. He gasped out for air, sucking in lungfuls, but it didn't seem to be working. He swayed from side to side, trying to get under control...

And then at last, after what seemed like eternity, he felt himself loosen, his breath return and all was...relatively well. He shook. He couldn't help it, no matter how hard he tried, and try he did, he couldn't stop it.

Harold looked concerned beyond belief. "That's...not a normal thing for you rail riders, is it?"

"No, Harold. No it's not." Toby had to chuckle. Oh that Harold.

"Then I think you need to tell someone-"

"NO!" Toby paused, embarrassed. "No," he said, in a calmer voice "We don't need to tell anyone about this, okay? Especially not the others at Tidmouth! Knowing them, they'll jump to the wrong conclusion, that I'm making stuff up to try and make myself more important, and then I'll get laughed at. Or worse, they'll believe me, and then mock the hell out of me then! "Oh, look at Toby, only way to get attention was by having a heart attack!" because that is the kind of environment we live in! Weakness is zeroed in on and the runts get attacked."

"But-"

"Harold, please. As a favor to me."

"...Fine, chum. I will keep it a secret. But this happens again, you tell someone."

"Thank you."

...

Elsewhere, there was trouble afoot.

"We can't get inside!" snapped Farmer Trotter. He was not actually that enraged at all, he just was spoiling for a good fight, he was a real agent of chaos who wanted to watch the world burn. Unfortunately, he had a lower status in life, so he'd settle for seeing Tidmouth burn instead.

"THE SCUM MUST PAY!" bellowed the porter of Maithwaite.

"I shall write a poem to celebrate the scourge's death!" declared Jeremiah Jobling.

"Why can't you get in!?" snapped the Stationmaster, who was on the verge of hanging himself.

"The ram, the DEVIL'S familiar, won't let us in."

Everybody looked at the ram, and the ram looked at everybody. They appeared to be at the world's strangest stalemate. Or rather, a Mexican standoff. For there, in the middle of the room, were three boys, cowering away from the ram. "WE REPENT!" they screamed "LET US OUT, PLEASE! We're very sorry!"

"Well bless me!" said the stationmaster "It's the boys who are to blame for this, not the ram!"

"MURDER THEM!" bellowed Trotter.

"...Take a chill pill, mate, it's a flower show, it's not that important." Percy's driver was marked down by Trotter as someone who needed to die if he ever got into power, for questioning the all mighty will of the Trotter.

"We thought it would be fun, but it wasn't! The ram already ate one of our friends! We'll fix everything, we promise!" said one of the boys, exaggerating slightly.

"Well there wasn't even really a point to me being here, was there?" remarked Percy to no one in particular.

A few days later, the Fat Controller invited four of the engines to Maithwaite, which was being awarded the Best Dressed Station award. All that thuggery and intimidation had paid off big time!

"You know, for the record, I'd rather go through another stupid election than have to put up with all this flowery shit again." remarked Thomas, glumly.

Percy looked to Toby, who seemed to be off in his own little world, ignoring Percy. Deliberately or not, it still stung. Percy did feel guilty for slagging off his friend, even if it had seemed like he was being insulted at the time, and he wanted to make it up. "I'm sorry Toby. You were right. It's beautiful here."

Toby sighed. "No. No, you had a point. Arlesdale End would look beautiful this time of year." He looked around, glumly, looking at all the beauty on display. "This event probably would be better if I was there instead of here."

"Don't say that!"

Toby did the engine equivalent of a shrug. The pains in his body had made him rather depressed. It didn't help his mood when Sir Topham got up onto the podium, tapped the microphone and began to chatter away, as he did.

Finally, three hours into the speech, he came to a point where everyone began to actually listen again "And there is one more prize I wish to give out, to our good friend, the ram. Here it is." He handed Jem Cole a massive pumpkin. "And I shall eat my hat if that doesn't please you!"

Harold came in for a landing, and as he did so, the wind from his blades knocked the Fat Controller's hat off.

Well, you can guess what happened next.

"Well, seems I wouldn't be able to eat my hat, even if I had to!"

Everyone laughed, and the only sound from the ram was a contented hiccup.

Rumors that the Fat Controller's men later killed the ram and served it up to him were never substantiated.

...

Trams.

Lady mulled the word over as she sat, alone in her 'throne' room for lack of a better term. She was finally free of the gawping humans who oohed and aahed over the first steam engines created via her own hand. The Small Railway Engines were only the first step. Soon, she would be able to create more advanced models, experiment, learn, discover newer and better techniques for her creations. Soon, there'd be no limits to her creative talents. She would be able to create anything, and with the advent of the Magic Railroad, go anywhere, spread her children to the entire world.

Not that she was leaving her fellow Old Ones out on this, of course. She would use her talents to free them from their debt to the humans, who fed them, fuelled them, helped to create more of them. No more. She would use her skills to give them true freedom. No more would they have to wait for ages for the humans to get around constructing newer and better models, to bring to life more potential allies, to have their every movement controlled and watched.

Soon they would be truly free.

Oh, she was pragmatic. Humanity had it's uses, not least in the mining of the metal that allowed her to create and mold her own creations. Soon, the so called 'inventors' of steam power, Stephenson, Gresley, Hatt, would all come here and, with an idea planted in their heads by her, head back and create things that even she couldn't imagine. They had their uses, and she genuinely did find them rather fascinating, even if she saw them as of equal standing to the anthropomorphic vehicles instead of superiors. She wasn't going to kill them.

Of course, a few minor remarks here or there, a little dis-encouraging of the creation of the diesel engine, for example, wouldn't hurt. Well, it wouldn't hurt her lovely steam engines, would it? With the advent of diesels stopped in it's, pun intended, tracks, there would be no great culling by Beeching. They;d last forever.

But she was also aware of another problem. She was aware that the humans needed something to do the work for them. Humanity was, if nothing else, naturally lazy, and she had a good idea that the steam engines that the humans would create would be used for manual labor, pulling coaches, trucks, valuable goods, acting as freak-shows for the public. She couldn't have that. No, but she understood that humanity's indolence needed to be catered too.

Which was where the trams came in.

She had an idea from the photos shown to her what a tram looked like. Small. Wooden. Boxy. But strong, stronger than they looked. That had been when she had decided.

They were naturally inferior to her steam engines, and even to the other vehicles here. So, would it really be too much to ask if they were given the menial work?

The term slave race would later be suggested to her. The idea of creating the trams and instilling only the bare minimum of magic into them, enough to create the ability to recognize commands say, but not enough to provide any real personality, and then giving them to the humans to act as servants was morally repugnant to the others.

All except Proteus, however.

Long after the argument had ended, they sat, and thought, and considered the idea for a very long time.

The next day, as they began to work on the construction of the trams, Godred attacked.

The story was a hard one to write, which you wouldn't think considered it's title. Most of the original story stuff was tough to write, originally I was just going to have Meredith bring up the creation of trams in a diary, then I was going to have Proteus and Lady have a discussion, before I settled on this as the best way to communicate the idea. The basic idea here was to further what I'd done with Godred, and cast doubt on the image that everyone in story has of Lady, of her as a Big Good. She is, sort of, but she's definitely rather morally grey at the moment, with her ideas of creating the trams to take the slack and do the work so that the 'real' steam engines can live comfortable lives. i see her as sort of having a Blue-Orange Morality at this point, if that makes sense, considering her nature as a spirit not of this world, I thought it was handy.

Now, why the focus on trams? Mostly because from about this season onwards, there's a lot more insistence from some of the more asshole-like engines that Toby isn't a real engine, being a tram.

It also gave me a chance to use Toby more. I've wanted to develop his character now for quite some time, and this plot is one that I hope will be really good. If only because I feel he is the character of the Steam Team that I struggle with the most.