A/N To the one who wanted me to do Autumn's Thanksgiving, it's on ice until November, so I can write about my other TTTE OCs selected for this fic and my other fics that are coming starting August. I'm starting with Janie. Unlike the Autumn chapters, the Tales OCs will be in first person. Because Janie's personality type's a therapist type, I made her an engine therapist. I've only shown her as a teen or an older, retired lady, so this fills in the gap and is set in it.
I'm Janie and this is my story. Because of comforting my engine friends starting as a young girl, like Thomas when he lost all his siblings, I decided to become a therapist for sentient engines. Engines don't always have the easiest life and since they've got no hands, I ask them "Want me to dry your tears if you cry in therapy?", if the engine's crew aren't around. If the engine's crew are around, they handle it when the rain comes. Whether it's the crew or me, we just wipe away the tears and don't talk beyond telling them to let it all out. People's therapists, once tissues came to the world and came into use for crying, may have them near the client's chair, so they're available and out before the client starts to cry. Depression can happen to engines. Contrary to what people believe, depression may not always involve tears, but it can. There's a numb type and a crying spells type. Now, I shall tell about some engines I've had to deal with, though if they're ones I dealt with as a therapist, I can't tell their names or their railway's name.
I started comforting my first engine friend, Thomas, as soon as I was old enough to climb on his buffers and dry the tears from his eyes. Because I live in Knapford, I rode the rails of his branch line for the first time when I was just a baby. One day, I, age 9, found Thomas looking very sad, so I climbed on his buffer beam, saying, "If you need to cry, go ahead, because I can handle it if you cry your eyes out. I feel how sad you are, so let the rain fall.", and he began to cry, sobbing and sniffling. I pulled out my handkerchief, rubbed his cheeks and then held it to his eyes. He cried more, so I just said, "Cry it out. I shall keep wiping your eyes." I had a soaked hanky, but my friend was happier after pouring his heart out to me. I had to wipe my eyes with my sleeve, because he was so unhappy. I'm an empath, so I feel bad when my friends are unhappy. I'm extremely sensitive to my world, so I cry quite easily.
As I got older, I continued to be friends with Thomas, feeling sad when he hit a car and cried his eyes out. I had to wipe my eyes when I knew how sad he was about those people dying. I also comforted him after he lost his siblings. His tears left me with a sodden handkerchief and brought me tears, so I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. I decided to become a therapist for sentient engines because of my experiences comforting engines, because I quite liked it and wanted to make it my work.
In my years as an engine therapist, I've worked with many engines with an ocean of pain in their mechanical hearts. Sometimes, their stories brought tears to my eyes. Though I can't tell you their names or their railways, I can tell their stories. One time, I had a therapy patient, a female engine on a heritage railway, just arrived and she had a rough life before. Her branch line closed, so she was almost scrapped, but they didn't get to her. She was quite shaken by the dreadful experience of being in the scrapyard, sobbing into my hanky in her therapy when I saw her without her driver. Her fireman called her "cry-engine". I had a male engine cry and wail into my hanky during his therapy because he had to watch his older sister's scrapping. I just listen to them and with their consent, dry their tears if it's just the engine and me when the therapy happens. Sometimes, it's a five-hanky day for me, if I see enough therapy clients without their crew around and they all let themselves go. In therapy, when they cry, it goes like this. They cry, a member of the crew if any are around or I, if not, wipes their tears, then they cry more and that crew member or I keep wiping until they finish their cry. The driver's got a cloth just for the engine's tears, but a steam engine's fireman or I just our hankies. When an engine cries, it's like when I cry except they don't get the runny nose. They just shed big tears. Most engines allow me to dry their eyes, but I always ask, just to empower them. One engine was surprised, because no one except her crew and other railway workers there ever wanted to wipe her eyes and face. I'm getting old, so I shall have to slow down soon, cut down on my job, then eventually retire, perhaps to an old age home.
A/N This is set when Janie's an older lady, somewhat, but not retired yet. Just at an age where she's thinking about retirement plans.