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mean-scarlet-deceiver · 4 years

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Traintober Day 13: “Lonely” (D5702, D5714, and Crow)

Oh, the Metrovicks think they have problems? Well, they do in fact. But now they’re about to get hit with the heavy. Call it perspective.

Snippet only. The tone isn’t really all that bleak, but nevertheless:

tw: death, mortality

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D5702 and D5714 had no idea what the orders were supposed to mean. They supposed they couldn’t possibly be as bad as some of the other engines gleefully predicted… at least, they put up a good front of dismissing all this as rubbish.

Their drivers were not much help. They spoke basic, too-ready encouragement, about how they were to be reunited with their whole family all in the same place, and to have their motor problems fixed once and for all.

It sounded nice… but they were still losing the work they loved. During such a period is never the one to ask an engine to hunt silver linings. On the contrary, they were starting to develop considerable skepticism about the chances of them ever catching a real break.

Then, too, D5714 had also caught their northern-end driver applying for a program to train staff on a new model of ‘Deltic’ diesels.

So the brothers went unusually quiet, even for them. Naturally, their last week went smoothly as silk. It always did seem they were able to perform well when it made absolutely no difference.

Their last day was spent showing the new Derby-Sulzer locomotives around, and then they had to give up their night train to them, left in the dark on a siding next to Crow. They were told kindly enough to rest for the next day’s journey, but after a whole day in idleness they hardly expected a simple run to Barrow to tax them. It was just as well. They doubted they should have slept, even if their motors had been turned off, and they had been free of Crow’s presence.

Not that Crow seemed particularly crowy. There was not even a single I-told-you-so.

“Well, hummers, I s’pose this is good-bye,” she said calmly. “You know, don’t you, that you’ll never be returned here? I hope your shop sorts you out proper, and you get another shot at service. But don’t hold out any foolish false hope to come back on the Condor.”

“That,” said D5702 coldly, “remains to be seen.”

She gave him a tired grin. “I reckon I was three years old once, too. It’s nice, when you still know everything. Well, maybe so, Metrovick. Maybe so. You have a look in your eye there, sometimes, Oh-Two—I’d stay out of your way. Anyway, the only thing I know for sure is that this is good-bye. Maybe you’ll come back. But I am going to die tonight. I’ve made up my mind to, you see.”

D5714 and D5702 exchanged baffled glances. Then both their expressions closed off. They had already been the butt of far too many games and tricks in their short lives, and now by instinct they sealed themselves away, as Crow chatted on quite unhurriedly.

“I’m sorry you two will have to wake to it, for you are decent lads, and I reckon you’ve not seen a dead loco before—at least, not seen one you’ve known alive. It’s a bit of a fright, the first time…”

(Both the brothers got flashes of half-built and half-dismantled engines and ships from their workshop days... and with their motors running they couldn’t help a quite visible little shudder, as they eyed Crow warily.)

“But I’d rather do it with you two than alone, or among fresh strangers,” Crow went on, untroubled. “And I reckon I’ve the right to be a little selfish, on the night of my own death. You just remember that it’s not as unnatural as it seems. It’s not unnatural one bit. What’s unnatural is when they condemn a loco before they come to the end of their life… that’s more convenient for everyone, but it ain’t natural, even when they do their best to be kind about it, and make sure the engine is quite out and unconscious… ‘s humane enough, I s’pose, but it’s not near so natural as letting the spirit depart when it’s good and ready. To say nothing of all this scrapping mania lately! Some of it is done in such a rush, you just know they can’t really be… well, anyway. Myself, I think I’d rather suffer but have the thing done quickly, anyway. But this is the very best way of all, and I’m going to get it. Tonight. I can tell, somehow. I’ve laid hold of the trick of it, I reckon—it’s not really about me ‘moving on’ at all. It’s really about me staying put, and letting the world turn on without me. That’s the trick of it. Less about moving… more about stopping. I’m all right with that. I love the world tonight, d’you know that? I’ve had a grudge against it for years. But tonight I’m awful fond of it. I’m just not… curious. I just sort of know it will get on all right without me, and I reckon my ego has finally recovered from figuring that out. I almost like this whole big world too much to stay in this silly little body. Maybe I’ll lose it all—but maybe for once I’ll get to see it all proper, too, the whole thing of it. That would be grand. It’s worth taking such a big risk, to be able to sort of grasp it all.”

“Crow—”

But D5702 gave D5714 a warning look, and D5714, though annoyed, capitulated without fuss.

D5702 didn’t really think that Crow was going to die that night. That was just a bit of dramatic flair from a bored and increasingly morbid engine… although, to own the full truth, Crow's had never been a histrionic personality.

But they all knew that her date soon would be set, and it seemed to D5702 that she could be indulged, this once.

Anyway, what did it matter if they believed this was her time, if she believed it? No one who even merely fancied they were dying should be left to feel lonely or unheard.

D5702 himself had never lacked the companionship of at least one of his brothers for a single hour of his life. He couldn’t fathom it, being as lonely as Crow must have been here over the years, many and many a night.

#ttte fic #ttte fanfic #ttte boco #ttte oc #traintober #fic snippet #... 2020 has been a year for thinking about death #thank you talking trains you've been very helpful to me in coming to terms with people-mortality #anyway they indulge Crow who discusses a bit about one of her old friends and her favorite crew from the '30s #anddd jjjjjjjust when they are getting properly interested in these people it's all #'oh and then my crew was drafted and driver was killed and the other engine didn't last war austerity maintenance. sooo that's been that.'#'... haven't you kiddos fallen asleep yet? would like some privacy here at the end please.'#(7502 and 7514: ..........)#(which is also their reaction in the morning when they find Crow's prediction has also come true and she's dead and faceless)#(but. like. times 10.)#ttte oc: crow #jobeywrites

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mean-scarlet-deceiver · 4 years

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Traintober Day 25: “Wartime” Part 1/2 (Thomas, 124/36)

Okay, enough damn ex-engines. It’s Traintober Day 25, and I’ve been sitting on this for two weeks now.

This is one of those “talky” ficlets that doesn’t really deserve to be in the fic proper. But I have long held the headcanon of Thomas having no memories before Sodor. This is cute but also means that, at some point in the middle of A WAR, Thomas would have to come to understand what the future held for him. (Well, should have held for him. He’s a very lucky little bastard, but he wouldn’t have known that during WWI.)

Breaking this news sounded like a job for #124/36 (125/Edward’s twin, who has also been called over to Sodor for war service). So, here he is, properly appearing for the first time in public!

Also, as you can probably tell, 125′s amiable expectation that Thomas would hate and be hated by 36 once Thomas transferred to Vicarstown didn’t pan out. (Don’t worry. 125′s not jealous. Not at alllllllllll...)

Scene: April 1917. Thomas screwed up an important train this morning, causing Confusion and Delay. But it wasn’t really his fault that the Admiralty is such an interfering and incompetent disaster, and 36 has just told Thomas to keep at it, assuring him that the situation on the rails will be a lot less confusing after the war is over.

* * * * * * * * * * *

“Yes!” said Thomas. “Stationmaster here talks with me sometimes, if I’m all caught up on my work—so, you know, maybe once a month—about what Sodor was like during peacetime, with the holidaymakers coming in summer, and St. Machan’s Day up in the mountains, and how they had just started putting ‘lectric lights on great big Christmas trees right here in Vicarstown—and he says that you can see one of the trees quite easily here from the station. It all sounds much better than things as they are now. I can’t wait!”

“I mean,” said 36, bracing himself, but not shirking the duty to be truthful, “you’ll get to see all that sort of thing down south, at home.”

“What? Whose home?”

“Your home. You’re here for the duration of the war. After they make peace you’ll be sent back to your own railway.”

Thomas was wide-eyed. 36 resigned himself to have apparently been the only one with character enough to have gotten into this with the ‘war-baby loco.’ “To my railway?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” said 36 patiently. “You know your own railway.”

“But that’s not my home,” said Thomas, panic only amplifying. “My home is here. I was steamed to life here. I’ve never even seen the L.B. & S.C.!”

“Don’t you want to?”

“I mean, yes.” Thomas was still blinded with this new idea. “I’ve always asked what it’s like. But. But—I don’t want to see it like that. I don’t want to be sent away! This is my railway really! I’ve helped build this line. And—and my crew is here!”

“Well, you’re lucky in that way, because your crew is from down there too, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Driver and fireman came all the way up with me, on the ship!”

“Well then, they’ll probably stick with you, and go home too.”

“Probably?”

“I mean, they could choose to stay here. You can hardly expect to have the same crew your whole life.”

“I choose to stay here! No matter what!”

36 was getting a headache, but tried to conceal this. It did seem to him unusual that Thomas was in this position, and downright rotten that no one had yet explained it to him. Someone ought to.

To 36’s way of thinking, there was no worse insult or injury than having your own business kept from you.

“Well, you don’t have a choice. The L.B. & S.C. owns you, and once the War Office steps out they’ll decide where you’re assigned. It’s possible that you could stay on here for a bit, if they agree to lease you. But your controller could also recall you, or send you somewhere else altogether…”

“Somewhere else!” Thomas was beyond emotion for a moment, stuck in the realm of shock and confusion. “What do you mean, ‘once the War Office steps out’?”

“Oh, well, the government usually doesn’t give all these orders to the railways. That’s just because of the war. They’ll make peace, and then the railways will go back to sorting most of their business themselves. You know very well that only the original eight tank engines are owned by the North Western.”

“I do?”

“Of course you do! Why do you think they complain about us all the time? Why do you think we’re all painted differently?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I s’posed they just like to complain, and that we all still had our old colors because they’re not allowed to use paint until after the war. It's not like they have any kind of N.W.R. markings either!”

“Well, that is all true enough. But mostly it’s that the rest of us are borrowed—and that, because the War Office told our railways that they had to send someone, and do it for free, too. We’re here only for war service.”

Thomas blinked a bit.

“So, after they make peace, everyone but the Tidmouth and Wellsworth engines will go home? That doesn’t make any sense.” Thomas was heroically trying to match the older engine he rather admired, and treat it as a practical problem, instead of quite giving into his dismay at the idea that all the engine friends he had ever made were to be dispersed. “If there’s no one here, who will run the main line?”

“Well, the North Western will have to start leasing or buying engines on their own. I suppose they’ll start by trying to get some of us that are already here. But there’s no way of knowing how all that will work out.”

“So, if the North Western bought me, then they’d be my railway? And I could stay forever?”

“Yes,” said 36, dubiously, “but you must understand, Thomas.”

Thomas glared at him, as the apparently bottomless source of terrible and unwelcome knowledge. The effect was distinctly pitiful. “What must I understand.”

“The North Western is very poor. And you're very valuable.”

“I am?” Thomas was briefly pleased, despite the ruin of his world.

“Certainly. You’re a sound engine, and still almost brand-new—with just enough experience to be proven at some different kinds of work. But you’re also only one engine, and if they can get two or three lesser engines for the same price as you can command then they’ll probably have to do that.” 36 was also quite clear that both Mr. Hobson and Mr. Kane, for once in agreement, felt they had more than enough tank engines already. But even his unwavering sense of duty rather faltered there. To tell Thomas that—to crush all possible glimmers of hope… no, that seemed to be piling on too much bad news at once.

“What do you mean, ‘the price I can command’?”

“How much money it would cost for the North Western to buy you.”

“Money?”

“Of course. You know if they could buy as many engines as they pleased, they’d want to keep you. But that’s not how money works.”

Thomas was squinting. “What ‘zactly is money?”

36 felt eminently unqualified for this one. “Ask your driver about that.”

Thomas made a face. He heard those words a lot. What his driver did when all these dozens of unfathomable inquiries found their way to him, no one on the whole length of the line could imagine. It probably involved a drop or two of the strong stuff, at times.

“But it’s a bit like—oh, I don’t know, a bit like coal. There’s only so much of it. If they don’t have enough—and the North Western certainly does not—then they have decide where it will be the most useful.”

“So money is something people… eat?”

“You really need to find a human to ask about this, Thomas. Point is, when I say you’re ‘valuable’ I mean you cost a good deal of money. More than this railway can afford.”

“What about you?”

“I’m unlikely to stay, too. I’m not so new, but I have an excellent service record, and my railway won’t sell me cheaply.”

“Do you want them to?”

“Well, that hardly matters, does it?”

The sheer unlikelihood of a sale helpfully allowed 36 to never have to come to know his mind on that point. He just wasn’t sure. He hated having been stuck here... yet he wasn’t looking forward to his return.

But Thomas simply couldn’t fathom not knowing what one wanted. “‘Course it matters. Even if it's not your choice, it matters. Do you want to stay or not?”

“That’s immaterial. It’s almost certainly not going to happen. So there’s not much use thinking about it.”

“How can you not think about it?” Thomas said this with the frankness of an engine who was going to think about little else for weeks straight. “Ugh. It’s not fair! I don’t want to be sent away anywhere, just because I’m owned by some place I’ve never seen! I won’t.”

“It wouldn’t be fair any other way. You wouldn’t exist at all if it wasn’t for them.”

“It was Mr. Hatt who steamed me to life!”

“That's of no account. The L.B.& S.C. are the ones who spent a great deal of money to make you, and they deserve either your service or to be paid for it.”

“But Mr. Hatt has made some changes to me, since! So doesn’t his railway have its rights, too?”

“He did those only with the consent of your owners, in exchange for something. And if he didn’t,” 36 added dryly, thinking of 125’s modifications, and how he didn’t seem to be allowed anywhere near the junction these days, “well, then, any losses this railway incurs are his own fault.”

36 didn’t know whether his tone had been too hard for the tank engine to handle, or whether the enormity of the thing hit him all at once. But Thomas began to cry.

It was only a silent, smudged teardrop or two, but as a matter of fact crying horrified 36 nearly as much as it did Mr. Kane.

“Oh, Thomas! You deserved to know, but there’s no need to cry about it. Right now you’re here!”

“But what’s the point in making friends or working, if I’m not to stay?”

“There’s always a point in working,” said 36 severely, and added, as an afterthought, “and in making friends too.”

“Isn’t! It’ll just hurt that much more to leave.”

“Well, you’ll face it. You’re not a coward, are you?”

“No!” snapped Thomas, but then he scrunched his eyes shut, and lost another sooty tear or two.

#traintober #fic snippet #ttte fic #ttte thomas #ttte oc #this scene is TBC with a second part i'll post a day or two from now #it seemed rather a lot to post all at once #... i should pro'lly start making separate tags for the heavy-hitting ocs #36 can be a bit overly cool but to have him in a tag dominated by Stack/Linda/Crow is just... a misfit #anyway #i stand by the headcanon of thomas having no mainland memories #if he did i doubt that smol rural branchline would satisfy his desire to see 'the world' for ninety years before BWBA #(or like eternally if we say BWBA isn't canon whiiiiiiich...)#thomas is just a hometown boi thru and thru and i will hang my hat(t) on this headcanon #ttte: wwi #ttte oc: 124 #jobeywrites

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