'You'll NEVER Have a Place on this Railway!'
Super Ed stormed out of the shed. He hadn’t a clue where he was going, but he wanted nothing more to do with the residents of Tidmouth.
He pulled into a big yard where he noticed a familiar, filthy red engine working.
James was sorting trucks in the yard. All he wanted was something dull enough not to be too taxing, but demanding enough to keep his focus - something to keep his mind from wandering back to how awful everything had become.
Plus, The Ffarquhar engines always appreciated their yard already being in order when they arrived.
Unfortunately, James's solitude wasn't to last.
“Working late, are you?”
James scowled at the Electro-Diesel.
“See, this is the difference between you and Super Ed. Super Ed does not need to stay out so late to get a job done. Super Ed-”
“I know your fucking name!” James snapped. “You really couldn't have picked something less becoming of a mid-life crisis?”
“You're one to talk. An engine from the Victorian Era with such gaudy paint reducing himself to shunting trucks in the dead of night?”
“I'm not from the Victorian Era!”
James rammed into another truck, sending it hurtling across the yard - missing Super Ed by mere inches.
“And you are no one to talk about gaudy liveries - which mine is not. I'm not the one with honest to god lightning bolts like some moving film advert!”
“Super Ed's livery is iconic!” The Electro-Diesel fired back. “It isn't the same flat two-tone colours everyone else has, and it certainly stands out against all the green diesels this railway has!”
The two engines stared each other down, both tempers flaring. The roar of thunder closed in overhead as the sky lit up in flashes.
James kept a level gaze at the Electro-Diesel. He reminded him of Gordon - only at his worst. The new engine was self absorbed, overly flashy, and trying much too hard to be something he wasn't.
Super Ed wasn't a nuisance. He wasn't annoyingly brash and eccentric.
He was everything James hated about himself.
Hate. It was always said to be such a strong emotion. James had used it to describe his feelings towards troublesome trucks. He'd used it when Edward kept him waiting a few times too many. He thought he knew it when Gordon and Saint kicked him around back when he was the station pilot.
But here, now, staring down the haughty, belligerent engine that'd turned half the island against him with his presence alone, James felt he truly understood just what it meant to hate someone.
“Well,” James said, darkly, “it certainly suits you. It's overly flashy, and it's a fucking eyesore. It reeks of someone so insecure that they have to refer to themself in the third person just to force anyone to remember their name!”
Super Ed recoiled. James pushed further.
“The other diesels at least know what a proper livery is supposed to look like! You, though? You look like an identity crisis in motion! And you don't act much better! For all the talk, the only thing you've done well is turn engines away. I hear engines are getting sick of you, and I don't blame them! Everything was so much better before you showed up! Why don't you save us the trouble and go crawling back to the Other Railway? We both know that generator shit isn't gonna last forever. Take your electric systems, take your lightning shtick, and FUCK. RIGHT. OFF!”
“You'll NEVER have a place on this railway!!”
Super Ed snarled. All of a sudden, he was advancing - quickly. James had only seconds to react before the Electro-Diesel slammed into him, sending him hurtling across the yard.
James cried out as he was forced backwards. A loud scraping sound nearly drowned out the strikes of lightning. A tanker lurched and nearly left the rails as James struck it with the side of his running plate.
A long, jagged scratch appeared on James's side as part of his valence contorted upon impact.
The red engine slammed hard into the buffers at the end of the siding. The buffers, old and wooden, felt weak against his weight. It felt as though any more force would've destroyed them. Behind them was nothing but dirt and discarded coal.
James was panting hard. Moisture stung his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in a fight. He knew Super Ed outweighed him. The Electro-Diesel was faster, bigger, and stronger.
“You're just as old and weak as you look, Little James.” Super Ed sneered. “You-”
The yard suddenly filled with light. Both engines winced at the painfully bright light. A whistle cut through the growing storm, loud, shrill, and fierce.
