#this is ttte

Dripping

The Present Day - 2024

“Chaps,” Thomas said one evening as he arrived back at the sheds. “What is ‘the drip,’ and how can someone have it?”

“No.” Percy said firmly. “We’re not doing this again. It was stupid last time and I won’t be made the fool a second time.”

“This week.” Toby murmured under his breath. 

“What was that?” Percy glared. “Was that a constructive comment telling Thomas that we’re not playing dictionary games in public ever again?”

“Thomas, in what context did you hear that?” Toby ignored Percy. 

“I don’t know,” Thomas explained. “It was a group of children standing on the platform.” 

“Oh, so it is like last time!” Percy was irate. “We. Are. Not. Doing. This. Again!”

Thomas ignored him too. “They were talking about someone getting a new jacket, but it didn’t seem to be a bad thing. I think it was a compliment.”

“So it’s a compliment now?” Toby was curious. 

“Maybe.” Thomas looked pensive. “They could have been trying to be mean, but I didn’t get that sense. The boy they were talking about wasn’t even there.”

Percy wondered why he continued to like them all as much as he did. “Just, just, stop, you two. This is idiotic. Just ask the kids in the morning when you take them to school. Then we’ll know.” 

He paused. “Wait. Have Henrietta ask them when you take them to school, Toby. Then we’ll get the actual reason.” 

“I’m taking them in the morning, thanks very much.” Thomas said cheekily. “So I’ll ask.”

“You?! Since when do you take the kids? Since when does he let you?” 

“Since they’re resurfacing the main road tomorrow.” Toby said. “All the children are going by train because the buses are too big for the detour. “Unless you would like to take Henrietta, Victoria, Annie, Clarabel, and one of the big main line through coaches on the first down train tomorrow?” 

Percy quickly backpedaled, much to everyone else’s amusement!

-

The next morning, Thomas scanned the platform for someone he knew. He didn’t have Toby’s encyclopedic knowledge of the line’s children, so he had to wait for someone… there! “Rachel! Rachel Kyndley!”

Rachel Kyndley was definitely too old to count as “children” - she was commuting to the University in Suddery, for goodness’ sake - but Thomas definitely didn’t recognize anybody else.

“What’s up, Tommy?” She said, blissfully unaware of the question she was about to be posed with. 

“Do you know what “drip” is?” Thomas asked innocently. “I’ve been hearing children talk about it, and I don’t know what it means.”

Rachel made a series of facial expressions, before burying her head in her hands. “Who said this to you and why?”

Thomas explained what he’d heard, and Rachel took a long blink. “I’ll be back in one second.” She walked away, towards the carriages. 

A minute later, she came back with a younger boy in a blue satin jacket with “MIGHTY MORPHIN POWER RANGERS” written across the front. “Is this who they were talking about?”

“I believe so,” Thomas said after a moment of thought. “They said his jacket “had the drip,” but I don’t know what that means.”

The younger boy made an indescribable facial expression. “Rachel, I’m not doing this.”

“Yes, you are, Roy McColl.”

“No!”

“This is your fault!”

“Mine?!”

“If you don’t help I’ll tell your sister!”

“And I’ll tell yours!”

The two stared at each other. “Fine!” “Fine!”

The young boy started first. “So, what d’you wanna know, Thomas?”

“What is drip, and how do you have it?” It really was not a difficult question, and if they took much longer they’d be late setting off.

The boy - Roy - took in a deep breath. “It’s my jacket, see? It’s got drip, which means that it looks real fly. I got that rizz right now.”

Rachel looked defeated. “Roy. Think about what you just said.”

“What? It’s the truth, innit?”

“You explained a word that he doesn’t know with two other words that he doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t know what rizz is?”

“I don’t know what that means!”

“Uhghh, fine.” He thought hard for a second. “Drip is… like when you look real good, innit? Like you’ve got some clothes that look real nice, gives you a bit of a swagger. Fly is sorta the same thing but it’s like what old people say - maybe more good looking and not a swagger thing, understand?”

“If you think that old people say “fly,” you’re going to have a rude awakening in about five years.”

“I thought that only helicopters and airplanes could fly,” Thomas chipped in unhelpfully. “I guess I’ve learned something.”

“Roy…” Rachel glared. 

“Alrigh’ fine!” He recoiled. “So fly and drip mean that you look real nice and fresh. Like, you look good and all that.” He explained again. “You got me?”

“Okay…” Thomas said carefully. “What was that other thing?”

“Am I really gonna tell Thomas the Tank Engine what rizz is?” The boy said quietly. 

“You brought this on yourself…” Rachel said darkly. 

Thomas looked on expectantly. Seeing young people get so flustered about this sort of thing was one of the few perks of getting old. 

“So, rizz is when you got that charisma, that charm, that style. You know, if you ever wanna get with someone, you might wanna rizz them up, be a real gentleman about it.” Roy said it with an ever-increasing look of dread, as though he had never heard the words spoken aloud until they were out of his mouth and unable to be retracted. Rachel Kyndley looked like she wanted to die on the spot. Inside his cab, Thomas’ crew were in hysterics. 

Thomas wasn’t sure if he should be worried or impressed that this explanation made sense. “So, drip and fly are similar in that they mean you look good, and rizz is when you’re particularly charming?” 

A strangled noise from the platform said volumes, and his crew were now bent over in laughter.

“That’s almost -” Whatever Roy was about to say was cut off by the guard’s whistle. “Oh, well looks like I’ve gotta go-” 

“Nope!” Thomas’ driver gasped out between chuckles. “If you don’t get this right now, we’ll never know for certain. Get in here!”

“I don’t think that’s strictly necessary-” Rachel started. 

“You too lassie!” the fireman chortled. “This is the funniest thing I’ve heard all year!”

“I-uh, well-” Rachel hemmed and hawed, wondering if she could do a runner and then call in sick.

“Oh, come on dearie!” Said Clarabel, who had been watching the proceedings with amusement. “We’ve all been so curious!” 

“Oh my god.” she whispered, and followed Roy into the cab with a sense of impending doom.

-------------------------

Later

A few days later, Thomas headed off to the works for his annual inspection.

“Nothing’s too wrong,” The manager of the steam shop said as he went over the list. “We do want to get you in for a new coat o’ paint, though. Starting to look a little tatty ‘round the corners.”

Thomas was not one to turn down a new coat of paint, and so a few hours later he was being sanded and stripped of his old paint, ready for the new coat. In the corner of the paint shop, a few of the workers were hunched over an old Ford Anglia, polishing it to a strangely-sparkling finish. 

“Allrighty,” the paint shop foreman said, entering the room with a few swatches of paint. “We’ve got some new variations on the old blue and red. See, this one is going to show up much better in bright sunlight, while this one is - well, we’ve managed to get a hold of the retro-reflective stuff that they put on road signs; might make you a touch easier to see in the dark, if we do the red lining with it.”

Thomas looked at the samples, before turning his attention to the car in the corner. “What are they doing with that?” he asked. “It’s so… sparkly.”

“Oh that?” The foreman said. “It’s someone’s project. I think they’re mixing in pearl with some metallic blue. Really makes it shine, doesn’t it?”

It was shiny even from across the room, and Thomas felt an instant, impulsive attraction to it. “Can you do that to me?”

The man was taken slightly aback, but nodded. “Sure we can, but, are you sure? It’s not exactly something that you can take off once the novelty wears off.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine!” 

---------

Later still

A day later, they rolled Thomas out of the paint shop to a flurry of camera shutter noises. The paint shop crew had jumped at the chance to “tweak” Thomas’ paint, and he sparkled in the sun like a pearlescent gemstone. 

The younger members of staff were especially pleased. Most of the time they had to work within the constraints of “history,” and “tradition,” and “but I’ve always been this colour,” so seeing their creativity on full display was very rewarding. 

“Wow,” Thomas said as he inspected a picture of himself. “I look great!”

“You really do, mate.” One of the painters said as he took a selfie. “We gotta see if we can get Gordon or someone to do this.”

“Oh, he’ll never go for it,” Thomas rolled his eyes. “I don’t think he could handle this level of drip.”

Dead silence followed this. 

“What?” Thomas looked around. “Did I say it wrong?”

“No, and that’s the scary thing.”

--------

Later still

Thomas’ new paint was the talk of the Island for several days. Most of the opinions were positive, however some engines had a less-than-complementary view on the situation…

“Who does he think he is?” James grumbled to nobody in particular at the big station. “Gallivanting around in this shiny paint like that, it’s likely to cause an accident!” 

Gordon, at the next platform, raised an eyebrow that said volumes, but otherwise stilled his tongue. 

“Oh please!” Tornado said from the platform on the other side of James. “He looks so good in that paint. I’d say that you’re just jealous.” 

“Jealous? Me?” James retorted at a suspiciously high pitch. “I’m just pointing out the obvious here! If everybody keeps looking at him they’re bound to run into something sooner or later!”

“And it’ll be worth it…” Tornado whispered in a sing-song voice, leading her crew to roll their eyes in unison. 

“Don’t mind her,” Said the driver, who Gordon idly noted was one of the youngest girls he’d ever seen on the footplate. “She’s just blinded by Thomas’ incredible drip.”

“Completely rizzed up.” agreed the fireman, who looked like a child. “Totes delulu.”

“Mood.”

Any further conversation was cut off as the signal dropped, and Tornado steamed away, lost in her own imagination. 

James continued on indignantly. “And that’s another thing! People just keep saying things about him like they’re supposed to make sense!”

Gordon looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Nobody will tell you what any of it means, will they?”

“No!” James wailed. “And I have no idea why!” 

“One wonders…” Gordon said snidely. 

“Oh, as if you know what an “on point drip” is!” 

“I have better things to worry about than the idle slang of children.”

“Oh, so they won’t tell you either!”

“I never said that!”

“Oh really? Then please, professor, educate me on what drip could mean in relation to Thomas! Has he sprung a leak?!”

Just then, Edward emerged from under the station canopy, and drew up to the signals. “What, Thomas?” He said conversationally. “Personally, I think he looks fly as hell, but then again I’m a boomer, so I could be tripping.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but the signal dropped. “Ah well, gotta bounce, TTYL!”

And he puffed away, grinning widely. 

Gordon and James took about three seconds to process that. 

“Edward, who taught you those words?”