WOOLLYBURR

"Wheew! That was doozy!" the pink pony exclaimed as she stopped jittering "The writer must have made a reference to not one, but two different things!"

The others looked at her with awe.

"You alright, Pinkie?" Rainbow asked, looking up from her breakfast. It was very early in the morning, and the mares had gathered in the workponies' buffet, enjoying a meal together, before each of them went on with their daily routine. Nearly every weekend now, usually on Saturday, the Mane Six joined the rest of the workponies.

The Mane Six, and Spike, were asked directly by Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, and Alexei, the foreign God of Defiance who had came along the engines (now controller of the railway, Equestrian Rail), to visit the local yard and sign up for work, weekly if possible. One by one, the mares and the dragon tried out railwaymareship, and found it - especially since they only had to do it once a week - delightfully easy, but also satisfyingly challenging the same time.

Cloud Kicker and Flitter, the drivers of the High-Speed Twins, Pip & Emma, had also joined them for some nourishment, along with Rainbow Dash... But she only came for the food... The pegasus was yet to sign up for rail work - she always found weather work to be done (or excuses), to avoid the princess' request - she could, after all, they weren't ordered to join the rails, but unbeknownst to her, her friends found this 'post-ponying' increasingly annoying. However, at the moment, they were more concerned about Pinkie than Rainbow's behavior.

Their friend had just experienced a full-body twitch, a sign of her Pinkie Sense, a predicting power she somehow possessed. She knew the outcome of a few certain twitches, but a full-body jitter could have multiple outcomes, usually described by her as a "doozy" - usually one HELL of a doozy.

"Don't worry, girls! It's nothing serious." Pinkie explained. The others gave a relieved sigh, and returned to their meal.

"Although, we may have a visitor." the mare suddenly added.

"WHAT?!" the others gasped.

The Doctor walked in.

"Oh." they sighed, relieved that the doozy burned out in this...

Or so they thought...

After the doctor had informed them about the days assignments - and, once again, encouraged Rainbow to actually JOIN in, which she, once again, refused, excusing herself with work (despite the clear sky) - the ponies set out to do their jobs.

"Good morning, Pinkie!" the fluorescent green tank engine greeted her. He had six small wheels, a short, stumpy funnel, a short, stumpy boiler, and short, stumpy ****, err, I mean, dome and whistle.

"Good morning, Steamie!" the pink pony replied cheerfully "Ready to work this morning?"

"Of course I am!" the tank engine replied "Ready as I'll ever be!"

So Pinkie stepped inside the cab. She lit Steamie's fire, which, completely unnaturally, AND going against the nature of water and physics (thought, not that of HiT Entertainment's), instantly boiled the the water in Steamie's boiler, creating steam.

Pinkie opened the throttle, released the brakes, and set the reverser forward. Hissing, the Hunslet Austerity tank rolled forward, out of the sheds, onto the turntable, from which he left to the yard.

The yard was filled many different kinds of rolling stock - coaches, vans, flatbeds, tankers, hoppers, gondolas, and normal goods trucks as well, all waiting to be arranged - all in a good days work. With Diesel being in charge of the larger, northern side of the yard, dealing with mixed freight and passenger wagons, and 'Arry & Bert in charge of the heavy industrial freight in the area, the little engine was left responsible with the lightweight goods on the southern sidings.

He now rolled into the yard, eyeing up the trucks... His job for the day mainly consisted of shunting, but in the late afternoon, he would have to assist a new diesel, and possibly a new driver along with it. Said diesel was scheduled to arrive at noon. He had until that to arrange the trucks. Quickly, the two friends started working. They begun with the coal trucks, as that load was the easiest to arrange - one long line. The trucks themselves, arrived from three different mines - one near by, close to the mountains, brought for every station within their section of the railway, one big load of high-quality coal from Stalliongrad which needed to be transferred to Phillydelphia, and a third load of special coal ordered from Eagleland for testing. The special coal was Manehattan Central, which was on one end of their section of the line, so the truck containing the Eagleland coal had to be shunted on either side of the line of trucks which's load was for the local stations, as either them, or a shunting engine at Manehattan could have taken the truck "out" of the train, after the trucks from Stalliongrad had been disconnected at the Canterlot province-Phillydeplhia borders.

"Morning, Pinkie Pie! Morning, Steamie!"

"Good morning, Thunder Lane!" they greeted the black furred pegasus. He had also signed up for the program, and was selected as one of the shunters in the yard. This made him cross, as he wished to be a driver. But, nevertheless, he did his job earnestly. Most of the time.

"You forgot your safety helmet again!" Steamie warned him, as he handed the clipboard containing the data pages about the trucks. Pinkie read them with the utmost care, attention and precaution - she was willing to prove her responsibility.

Meanwhile, Steamie kept looking around the yard. A novice engine he may have been, but he was also well trained for shunting by then.

What Steamie noticed now that the trucks for the local coal run weren't connected together properly, and their brakes were off. Also, at the middle of the siding, there was a switch that led to a shorter one where the special coal was at - and the tank engine couldn't see whether the switch was set to that siding or not, nor could he see just what was at the end of that short track. The Stalliongradian coal was already arranged into a tidy row, all trucks connected together, brakes firmly on. The only problem was that they were on the wrong siding. Steamie was about to ask Thunder Lane about the conditions of the local coal trucks, when he heard his driver speak up.

"Aaall-right! All set! Thank you, Thunder Lane! We'll begin with the coal that goes to Phillydelphia!"

"OK. Move them to the long siding, then get the local run arranged. You can't reach the special load unless the you take those trucks off that line."

"Understood!" Pinkie replied, saluting. Climbing back into Steamie, she put an extra lump of coal into his firebox, and reversing from the siding, they went for the row of trucks. Thunder Lane and the other shunter workponies were already releasing the brakes, and by the time Steamie rolled up behind the line, all brakes were released, but the trucks were still connected to the buffer stop. A shunter quickly fastened the coupling between the tank engine and the trucks, while another uncoupled the line from the buffers.

This part of the yard was not as well equipped as the other side. Thus, the shunters could only use one, white or yellow colored flag per person, and one, uncolored lamp. They had to learn the motion signals: Waving the flag up and down meant "Go!". Waving it in a broad, circular motion meant "Stop!" (waving it in this motion furiously meant "OMG yer gonna crash! STOP FOR F*CK SAKE!"), and waving it in a horizontal, shooing movement meant "Reverse!". Holding it diagonally for a moment between to motioning waves meant "Slowly!".

Pinkie peaked out from the cab.

'Go! Slowly!' was the signal.

Now, what you must know is that Stalliongrad Oblast has a wider gauge, a broad gauge track system set up all around the country, with narrow gauge lines barely narrower than the Equestrian Standard. Thus, engines and rolling stock alike are far more bigger - especially the new ones that came from the human world (because, unlike the rest of Equestria, where the railways' and railroads' original, equine-made machinery had been withdrawn, they still used them, at least the engines, in Stalliongrad). But every and each had adjustable axles, so they can roll on foreign rail (the Standard gauge, at least). The trucks that came from the northern province were considerably larger than that of the Other Railway's trucks. They were still two-axle, wooden trucks, but with inner steel rib reinforcement and a much heavier chassis. Also, they were fully loaded with the rich, pure, Anthracite-quality coal that came from up North - heavy calories. Thankfully, they were much more disciplined and obedient than the trucks around the yard, but Steamie still found them hard to move.

"Do come along! Do come along!" he wheeshed, his wheels spinning feverishly on the rails, metal grinding to metal, as he feebly tried to move the heavy trucks.

"We would, try harder! We would, try harder!" the trucks creaked back encouragingly. Slowly, they inched forward.

"You're doing it! You're doing it!" they clanked. The train began to pick up pace. They soon reached the spot where the rails were sanded, and with that newfound traction, the little engine could go on with less struggling.

After shunting the heavy train onto the siding, they went for the local coal trucks...

Now, Pinkie also noticed they weren't connected to each other, but she figured they first needed to be shunted into a row.
She failed to notice the switch in the middle of the siding, left clear between two trucks.

Thunder Lane, too, had failed to do something (aside from showing up on Hurricane Day): he failed to warn her that she mustn't "fly shunt" the trucks.

Fly shunt meant that instead of coupling up to them, the engine merely pushed, or what's more, biffed the trucks together. Now, usually, mineral loads such as coal didn't needed that much care, but this case, it was different. The points in the middle of the siding had jammed, so the first part of the train would inevitably roll onto the line where the special coal was. Neither engine or driver/firemare had been informed about the malfunction, or about the prohibition. Stopping on the end of the siding, Steamie let off a bit of steam. He had forgotten about the peculiar condition of the trucks, and was eager to biff them around a bit. He never biffed them hard enough to hurt them (mainly because he was quite a wimp), but he annoyed the trucks, nevertheless... They were, however, terrified about Steamie's singing, fabled to be so horrible that it drove a line of trucks so desperate that they smashed their own selves into pieces. On the contrary, in kept them in line (no pun intended), and beside it, there was Pinkie's singing. The pink pony could find the tone with just about anyone when it came to singing, and the trucks were no different. After Steamie shared a few lyrics he heard from the other engines that the trucks seemed to enjoy (their own mockery tunes), the young mare quickly found a way to get the mischievous wagons do as she wished.

Cheerfully, Steamie blew his whistle, as Pinkie made him shot forward, bumping the first truck.

It ran forward, bumping into the second, stopping... But the second rolled on. It hit the third truck with much more momentum, also stopping, even rolling back a bit, but the third truck rattled on, bashing into the fourth, which in turn, sped down the line... There was more distance between the fourth and the fifth truck than between all the others. The fourth truck hit the fifth with an almighty crash, nearly derailing it. It literally shot backwards after the collision, but stopped quite soon...
Unlike the fifth truck.

Because that was the last truck before the switch. Going incredibly fast, it raced down the tracks, nearly falling on it's side when hitting the points and veering into the short siding. It smashed into the truck containing the special coal so hard, that chunks of their loads flew out, got mixed, or simply poured onto the embankment... This time, the truck didn't stop. It went so fast that it actually pushed the other along, it's brakes have been knocked loose by the impact. Skidding down the short siding, they thundered towards the hurst piled up at the end of the siding as an emergency stop, two pre-stressed concrete sleepers crossed on the rails a few meters before them. The first truck hit the sleepers, successfully crushing them and derailing it's first axle, while the second merely pushed the rubble out of the way...

The two fleeing trucks hid the sandbank with a loud thud, the first one flying up, demolishing the lump's top, and falling down on the other side, now without it's wheels, and parts of it's chassis, landing with a crash, it's front side smashing into smithereens, it's content being hurled out of it, scattering in the concrete covered yard beyond the bank. The second truck hit the first, it's sides breaking into splinters as it's frame bent in, coal flying everywhere, as it fell to it's side from the bank, whatever coal that had miraculously remained in it was now laid out on the ground, mixing with the special coal.

Back at the end of the siding, in the crossfire of the mortified gazes of the remaining trucks, the small steam engine felt like sinking into the ground, as a puddle of melting iron. Pinkie didn't looked much happier, either, trying to make herself look smaller than she actually was, looking very worried indeed.

From the other side of the yards, Diesel had seen the entire accident, and only snorted:
"Hah! Serves you right for being careless! AND that idiot shunter, Thunder Lane!"
And with that, he rumbled off, Twilight scolding him along the way.

As the wreckage was being cleaned up, Dr. Whooves sternly ordered the pink mare to arrange what remained of the train, and after doing so, they stopped on the siding next to the train. A very annoyed looking Doctor walked up to them.

The engine squirmed, and Pinkie felt more guilty (and afraid) than ever. Doctor Whooves eyed them up crossly, before closing his eyes, and letting out a sigh.

- Although the accident wasn't your fault in overall, you still should have waited for the shunters to ensure everything was right! - he said sternly, making both perpetrator wince. The Doctor was kind, gentlecoltly stallion, quite pacific most of the time, but if it came work, or messing with time (or, combining the two, messing with timetables), he would become very fierce, which often scared the workponies - but not the engines (aside from Steamie).

"However..." the Doctor went on darkly "Thunder Lane was in charge of the shunting team here, and his laggard work ethics had already given me quite a lot of headache. I'd fire him, to be frank..." the brown earth pony muttered "But he isn't a full time employee, just a spare worker. So, he'll have to deal with the overtime work to pay up for the damage. In the next few months..."

The mare cringed. She REALLY didn't wanted to be in the pegasus' horseshoes right now.

"As for you!" the Doctor went on, making them jump a bit "You two shall collect an extra load of coal for the local run. The special coal can wait for another time. Take a shortcut using the Apple side track. - and with that, he trotted off, muttering about paperwork and human faultiness within equines..."

When they returned from the mines, a bit scruffy, but fine otherwise, they found their side of the yard already arranged. Carefully, Steamie shunted the truck to the end of the train, then stopped beside the water tower for a nice, long drink. HiT-physics or not, he was still just a tank engine.

As his tank filled up, Pinkie looked around for anything interesting. Her eyes soon caught something, and for a moment, the smile disappeared from her face.

There, at the passenger station, on the very end of Platform 3 was Gilda the griffon, talking to Dr. Whooves, the two clearly in some sort of discussion. The Doctor seemed to be trying to convince her about something, and Gilda, though looking increasingly annoyed, seemed to be accepting, eventually smiling as well.

"Is that... Gilda?" Steamie asked, bemused. Pinkie, without giving a second thought about the engine's knowledge about Rainbow Dash's former friend, gleefully bounced around.

"That's so awesome! Now I can throw a "Gilda's Back!" party! Oh, oh, and maaaybeee she'll make it up with Rainbow Dash! Then we could throw a "Friends Again!" party as well! This'll be sooo great, I..."

"Errr... Pinkie?" Steamie spoke up, his Londonian accent suddenly shining out "Ya sure that Gilda, out of all persons, would like a party thrown by you?"

Pinkie stopped in front of him, smiling broadly.

"'Course she would! Everybody likes parties! Especially a Pinkie Pie Party!" she added, a bit smugly. Steamie didn't looked convinced.

"But why would you throw a party for her? She was... Quite a party pooper last time..."

Now, for the first time that day, Pinkie took a good look on her mechanical friend. Then smiled knowingly.

"Ah. Poor Steamie, you spend too much time with those oily, smoggy, grouchy diesels!"

"Pinkie Pie!" the tank engine snapped "That's VERY racist!"

The mare was taken aback.

"S-Sorry!" she peeped, thoroughly ashamed. Her smile returned then "Anyways, their grumpiness is growing on you! Why WOULDN'T I throw a party for her? Everyone deserves a second chance, AND a party, above all!"

"But are you sure she'll like it? Or even come after being invited, for that matter?" the tank engine went on, now sounding more mature than before - I mean, last time, she got the wrong impression about you, and stormed off, loosing Rainbow Dash as a friend. Why would she even WANT to come to your party, after such events? Besides, your FRIENDS like your parties. And not even every one of them. She's not even your friend!

Now, it was Pinkie who sat down, pondering...

"I think..." Steamie added "Even if she did came back to make up with Rainbow Dash, she still... Pretty much wishes you'd be in Hell... So if I were you, I'd avoid her."

"Why?" the mare asked, naively...

"Well... I don't know her enough to judge her character, nor do I have the right to do it, but I think..." the engine muttered "If she would see you, she'd give you a beating."

Again, the mare was taken aback.

"N-Naaah..." she muttered, uncertainly "She wouldn't do THAT... Would she?"

"Trust me, I'm talking from experience..." the tank engine replied. "She's a griffon. Sharp claws, sharp beak, carnivorous... I'd won't try with her."

At that moment, the above named looked towards them. Instantly, Pinkie zapped behind Steamie, who became the subject of the griffon's gaze. He held it up, staring back at her with a nonchalant look. Finally, Gilda turned away, and walked off with the Doctor towards the northern sidings.

"Wait a minute!" the engine exclaimed "She has some business here!" he stared after the avian and the pony "I wonder what she's up to."

"Yeah! What business does she has here?!" Pinkie snapped. She didn't sounded like herself: she was irritated and suspicious. Walking up beside Steamie, she glowered after the avian, and from the look of her eyes, the poor engine knew he had broken her.

"Oh dear..." he muttered, as the mare stepped back inside his cab...

"Now, Miss, errr, Gilda..." the Time Lord/Yard manager spoke "You may not be aware of it, but you're in favorable positions here..."

"Really? That would be a first..." the griffon gal replied. Although she had only met him a few minutes before, she already began to like the Doctor. The pony's subtle, gentle demeanor a strive to keep his face as authority was quite amusing, and, unlike many ponies, he didn't seemed to hold any prejudice against her, for who she was.

Last time she was here, she surely managed to establish a bad rep. Now, either these ponies were very forgiving (which, in retrospect of the things she had done, didn't seemed very likely), or it was just this one pony, who wasn't there in either cases when she acted out.

Following him to the train yard, she couldn't help but to feel a certain animosity... Yeah, the freight cars and passenger wagons were alive, big deal, the same thing was happening all over Equestria, Eagleland, and whatnot. They eyed her up with deep suspicion... This "Doctor" bloke had told her to take no notice - they have never seen a griffon before, and they were very territorial and protectionist. Still, she couldn't help but to slightly lower her head as they walked between the long lines of rolling stock - after all, even the smallest truck was roughly ten to twelve times her size.

Trying to ignore them, she instead listened to the good Doctor.

"So, what job did you had in mind?" he now asked.

Oh, yes. Job.

You still gotta pay the taxes, even if you DON'T have anywhere to live. A sad fact about the Equestrian tax system - called the Regal Due. Boo-hoo.

Anyways, at the moment, any job looked promising.

"Well, this is a railway, right? The most obvious would be..."

None which needs much social interaction with ponies.

"...Being a driver."

"An engineer, you mean?" the Doctor asked.

"Yeah. That." the avian replied tiredly.

"And what engine did you considered?" the stallion asked back.

What?

"What do you have?"

"Steam and diesel, mainly. This part of the region will not be electrified in the foreseeable future."

"So, no electric engines?"

"Essentially, no."

"That leaves me with the other two. Steam, and, uuhhh..."

"Diesel."

"Right. Steam engines need a driver AND a firemare... Or firestud... Or whatever... Right?"

"Well, we have a tank engine who's driver and firemare is the same person, but..."

"So they do. I'll take a diesel then."

"The diesel." the stallion replied "We only have one without a permanent driver. He arrived earlier today, a hour or so before you did. Anyways, he's at the far end of the yard, being looked over. We'll have to be sure that the locomotives pass the national standard, to ensure that Quarantine Season doesn't arrive earlier."

The griffon looked puzzled.

"Quarantine... Season?"

The Doctor chuckled knowingly.

"If you're going to work here, get used to the extra seasons in your calendar."

"Great..." she muttered sarcastically.

"Anyway, where here!" the Doctor replied cheerfully.

"Where?"

"At your engine!" the stallion replied.

"I don't see any engines..." Gilda replied, quite puzzled. Then, she noticed something odd...

Among the coaches, on a distant, empty siding it stood. Only two single doors at each side, no windows, but railings, a giant BR symbol in white in the middle, with an odd number of wheels... Rail Blue, with yellow fronts and red buffer plates, and a dirty gray roof. It had the shape of a coach, then again, it clearly wasn't...

The griffon approached it sinuously. It had a lopsided wheel set, something which she noticed early on: two pairs on one side, three on the other. It sat there, quietly... As she went to the side, she noticed his face. it was on the lower half of his front, beneath three windows, arched at the top like his body, but not at the bottom. An oblong outline was in the middle of his face, between his narrow eyes, ending at his chin - like the frame of a door, with a metal plate professionally welded over it - his nose and the middle of his mouth was on it, though at that part, the rectangular outline was barely noticeable, thanks to his face.

Narrow eyes and long, stretched sickle-shaped eyebrows (now in a sullen frown), a sharp nose and a slit-thin mouth.

He noticed her, pitch dark eyes blinking - it seemed to be a common feature among the living machinery, what common, all of them where the same: irises and pupils seemingly fused, both completely black, eyes reflecting the light like glass balls. As the Doctor caught up to her, they both went closer to the machine. All the way, HE kept following their movement with his eyes, still locked in a morose frown. On a closer look, the... Locomotive, so it seemed, was a bit dusty, and his paint had been knocked off, here and there, with rust appearing in drop-sized spot, as if water had splashed up onto him - barely noticeable without a thorough overlook. Unusual features were the rectangle-shaped buffers, worn and chipped of their paint, the remaining - once black - now had a blueish tint, as if oil had splattered over it. His coupling was noticeably bulky, specifically made for extra-heavy loads. Upon closer inspection, the mechanical features were also visible: railings, bulks, a Nixie Tube headcode display at the bottom of the center front window, and, of course, the two classic, round, clear-glass headlamps, set above his eyes, with the mercury-vapor light bulbs visible inside them. Beneath his mouth, just above his buffer plate were two smaller, nub-like dark lamps, red tinted - the tail-lamps, she presumed.

"What do ya want?" he barked with a Liverpudlian accent, more gruff than angry.

"He's the only engine available now, all other locomotives under my watch are either taken, or have too busy schedules." the Doctor explained to the griffon.

"Oh, right, the training program" the diesel muttered.

"OK." the avian replied, after having a suspicious staring contest with the engine "What shall I do?"

"Here's your first workorder for the day. D5720 will fill you in about the controls and regulations." the stallion explained, hooving over a paper sheet. He then trotted back to the station building, leaving the griffon with the diesel.

There was a long silence.

Gilda and the engine stared at each other with mild bewilderment. Then, the engine sighed.

"Well, if we'll have to work together, it's best we know each other's names..." he grumbled "I'm CoBo."

"CoBo?" Gilda was puzzled.

"After my wheel arrangement." the diesel explained "Co stands for six wheels, Bo for four. What's your name, anyway?"

"Gilda." the griffon replied shortly.

Another long pause.

"Well... We got work to do." the engine groaned "Get inside. You'll learn the controls, and then, we'll get onto the jobs."

Instead of climbing into his cab, the avian just shot a cold, slantwise glance at him.

"And who put YOU in charge?" she grouched "I'M your driver."

"Oh?" CoBo asked back, raising his eyebrows "I thought you'd listen to common sense."

"Common sense?!" the griffon retorted "You just started to boss me around!"

"Because I'm your trainer!" the engine replied in a soothing, yet irritated matter-of-factually way "Of course, if you think you can learn how to drive a Metrovick diesel, then by all means...!"

"A what-now?"

"A Metropolitan Vickers' Diesel-Electric Type 2." he replied in a lecturing manner, with the slightest tone of pride in his voice "Classified number twenty-eight by British Rail. Me."

"Oh." Gilda replied, a bit baffled.

"You see?" CoBo continued, his voice reverting into it's original, morose tone. "You need experience. I'm here to provide that. But, we also got a job to do, so we oughta' get on the point."

Hesitating, Gilda took another glance at the engine. He wasn't old, but he had seen better days. Or, in fact, haven't. He just worked, no bother, no waiting. And, reluctantly, she had to admit that he was right. She had gotten herself into the situation she was by NOT thinking and not listening to advice, OR common sense - thinking is fine, all she needs is a bit of self-control, and not jumping straight to action, nor did she lacked common sense. But a good advice were hard to find these days.

And now, it was all offered to her on nearly a silver plate - all she had to do is listen, pay attention, a keep a good look out - she knew the value of these things, but rarely practiced them.

And there was he - an experienced, dutiful person, straight to the point, yet, not at one bit uptight, but rather... Ennui. Now where did that word even came from?

She was snapped out from her unusually twisty thoughts by an impatient CoBo.

"Ya lost in the doldrums or somethin'? Get a move on!" he growled.

Once inside his cab, she was welcomed by a pleasant feeling of authority, as she glanced out through the windscreens, nearly three meters above the ground.

She then noticed something.

"These aren't your windows, are they?"

"Ah, yeah." the diesel muttered "Long story short, I had an accident, and when I was repaired, they no longer had the parts for repairing my class, so, they used the windscreen frames of a Class 71".

"Oh."

"You've no idea about what I said."

"Nope."

CoBo sighed wearily. This is going to be a long day...

The controls were fairly easy to learn, and the smooth movement of the engine made the session even more easier - yet, there was a certain zest in the diesel's motion, whenever they started, as if there was a great power in his engine (claimed to be "two-stroke", or something), that he kept under control most of the time.

She payed no heed to his explanation about the regulations - they can only go back and forth on two pieces of metal, supported by wooden planks or pressured concrete slabs, and can tow or push a few unpowered boxes on metal wheels - not much of a chance to crash, other than running into another train. He's the engine, the one with the experience, and the one who's face is actually outside, giving him a better sight on the world - he can look out for both of them. And signals are fairly to understand, anyway.

After a bit of shunting, arranging their first train, they set out to do the job. Aside from the times he explained something, usually very nonchalantly, they didn't really spoke with each other.

Rumbling down the line (his engine growling fiercely), with a train of tankers in tow, she began to feel ill at ease. So far, no mistakes.

So far...

She had to get her mind off about it! And there was only one option...

"...Tell me more about this class of yours..." the griffons spoke up.

CoBo sighed.

"Well... My class is number 28, a short-lived class built by the Metropolitan-Vickers, a heavy industry electrical engineering company. The Class 28s were one of their designs, but were proven to be... Unsuccessful. Only two other members of my class have been preserved, one still in action. The rest have been withdrawn from service and scrapped."

"Scrapped?" Gilda asked, perplexed.

"Cut up into tiny little pieces of metal, which are melted down to make use of their material. Killed and butchered, basically. But, we are, but machines, so who cares?"

The avian was silent. She didn't liked the sound of this. The diesel went on, now sounding aggravated.

"In fact, we were deemed as the LEAST successful class in the history of British diesels, labelled feeble, loud, and with an "unacceptable level of exhaust fumes", even worse than the petty Class 17s, which were design failures to begin with!" he growled "The only reason I escaped is because some local workmen who played "Frankenstein" with me. But BOY, am I glad to be finally out of that fucking world!"

"You mean, the humans' world?" Gilda asked.

"Yes. And GOD, the mere thought is a relief!"

"Why?"

"'Cause I fucking hate the bastards!"

This caught her off guard. So far, the engine had been level-headed. Sour, but calm. She didn't expect him to harbor such feelings...

Hating the very people that built him... There was obviously more behind it than what he let of.

Although intrigued, she wasn't that interested about his world... As much as about he himself.

"...Besides, I'm the one who really does work around here, anyway. Those gits in the shed never moved an inch unless I smacked some sense in them. Glad to see them do work HERE, at least. But I guess now that I'M here, things will be back to normal." he grunted.

"Why bother working then?" the griffon asked.

"Because SOMEONE has to work, otherwise, we're all screwed. No work, no pay, no railway. And besides..." the diesel's voice broke "I'm... I'm not going to sink to... THEIR level..."

"...Why do you want to prove yourself?" Gilda asked.

There was a long silence.

Then...

"And why do YOU want to prove yourself?" CoBo barked back miserably.

The griffon was taken aback.

"...How did you...?"

"I know things about you, Gilda..." the Class 28 replied solemnly "We all do. So, why are you chickening out from talking to your own friend? Do you expect her to show up in such earth-bound place as the railway? So close, yet so far." he muttered, concluding "So tell me, griff. What do you want to prove? WHY do you want to prove, even? I know about your incident, and in my opinion, you could just... Brush it off, and return like nothing had ever hap--..."

He was cut off by a heavy pounding he felt on his control panel. It didn't hurt, of course, but it surprised him. So did her voice.

"Shut up, just SHUT UP!" Gilda screamed.

She stopped, and they didn't spoke for a long time.

But as the yard came in sight, he spoke up again...

"Do you know why I just started bossing you around back at the sidings?"

"No." the griffon replied grumpily.

"Well, ya sorta struck me as someone who doesn't like to dither about, and instantly become "Best Friends Forever", or some shit like that... Matter of fact, I thought you'd be like me - someone who doesn't take crap from anyone. Someone who'd be on the case. Someone who doesn't gives a fuck if things are mainstream or not, just does what she likes." the engine smirked.

"Someone who isn't a dweeb."

Gilda couldn't help but to smile as well, as they rumbled into the yard.

As the large diesel roared into the yard, the empty fuel tankers clattering behind it, he couldn't help but to feel watched.

The Chemical Combinat's yard was mostly empty, pass a few other, shiny tankers and a few refrigerator trucks. The complex was new, built a week after the "refurbishment" of the railway. Many things were stored and made here, ranging from food preservatives through latex, diluent, to Chemotox-based aerosols and tar paint. Many petrochemicals and petroleum derivatives were made here as well, including the heating oil they had to collect for a Trottingham's emergency back-up generator. The refinery, and most of the equipment were clean. Too clean, to be honest. Smokestacks were wider than usual, and appeared to be chromed, gently fumigating almost steam-like smoke. There was no weathering on anything, even the tracks themselves were shiny, and the ballast looked new.

The air was clean, sterile, even, not reeking from the smells expected at such a place, it didn't even had the medicine-disinfectant smell of a hospital. Then again, it wasn't Mountain-clear, either.

It was clean. But stiff, in the same time.

CoBo had his guard up. He didn't like the atmosphere of this place, as they looked around. Something was off.

"We'll go to the loading depot, fill these tankers up, and get out of here." he muttered "And, a bit of advice: DON'T get out of the cab."

"Wasn't planning to..." Gilda replied "But... Where are the workcolts? Where's everypony?"

That's it.

There was not a single, living soul around. The yard was devoid of life.

Feeling uneasy, Gilda released the brakes, and the train rolled forward. CoBo was slightly unnerved as well. He still felt like being watched.

"Great." he thought "I'm developing scoptophobia."

There was a row of large, vertical tankers on the other side of the sidings, each as tall as a building, connected to a larger industrial hall behind them, looming over a solitary siding that run between the tall, reinforced wall of the large block, and the containers, shady enough the hide the small tank engine and his pink driver.

Steamie shuffled between the shadows of the tankers, trying to get a peek on the diesel - along with the pony in his cab.

Pinkie Pie had undergone some changes while they arrived there - she kept muttering mundane, dark things about the griffon and what she might do to her friends (most of which ideas didn't went further than bullying and turning her friends into bullies as well). Pinkie's looks had also undergone significant changes: Rather than curly and poofy (or flat), her mane and tail were now zigzagged and disheveled, it's shade turning from magenta to a poignant Fuchsia, reflecting light with a sharp phlox purple, while her fur turned from humble pink to shocking pink. The color of her eyes also deepened in shade, a much sharper blue now. A constant frown and a rather cute half-pout lingered on her face. She had began bossing Steamie around, but the engine just couldn't say no to her - her downbeat had made her look even more adorable. Worrying, but adorable.

She was apparently leaning out from the tank engine's cab, VERY precariously, hanging from the throttle, ordering him about. Thankfully, he was used to not having a driver, so he could move about easily (HiT physics again). They moved forward again, when they heard the honk of CoBo's horn.

"They're leaving! Quick! We gotta hide!"

Instantly, the engine shot backwards, nearly making his "driver" fall out of the cab. They raced behind the row of the tankers, while the Metrovick diesel towed another away.

They never saw he trolley left stranded across the rails, with Steamie going backwards, and Pinkie holding onto her dear life, now busy reconsidering the order she gave with haste. They rammed, cab first, into the cart, making cans of old (but still quite liquid) paint fly up in the air. They were probably used for re-painting buffers, as there were only two colors: red and black. They all landed on top of Steamie, leaving him with impromptu red stripes, and black splodges. Pinkie herself had been flung away from the cab, landing on a pile of alum near by. Laying on her back, unhurt, but startled, she stared up into the sky with wide eyes.

"Oh, sugar-honey-iced-tea with pickles!" the engine grumbled, as he felt the paint trickle down his boiler.

With a sigh, and an annoyed look, Pinkie sat up, after being laid out on the alum heap.

"We gotta go after them!" she announced, all uncertainty disappearing from her eyes.

"Can't we wash this gooey muck off first?"

"There's no time! Our friends may be in danger! We'll have to deal with it later!"

"Eeeerm... Aren't ya overblowing this, Pinkie? I mean, she seemed harmless back at the station, and now, she's working! With CoBo, no less!"

"That's the point, and call me Diane!" the pony explained, jumping back into the cab 'Neither of them likes all the others, so they'll probably team up, and cook up something nasty for us, while they cover it with work! Gilda's a crafty sort, and that CoBo figure seems to know his garlic as well!"

'Do you mean "know his onions"?'

"Yes, know his garlic, onions and celeries! Let's go."

Still trying to figure out what Diane meant with the last sentence, Steamie obeyed, and chuffed away.

"So, how come you're so... Bitter all the time? Speaking of which, how come that all the trains are so embittered?"

The diesel sighed. It was a recurring question among the ponies: WHY were the machines of the other world so sullen all the time? Diesel even went as far to state the following, when his driver asked:

"Friendship MAY be Magic, Sparkle, but Cynicism is Default."

Rudimentary description, but that just about covered the truth. CoBo took a deep breath.

"Well, ya see, Gilda, our world is much different than this. First of all, we're not the prima esse of our world. The humans are. They have built us, and had been the peak of the food chain for thousands of years. They do not know magic, but have technology and religion to back it up. Through history, they all improved and became more powerful, developing their ways of ruleship, prosperity, industry, and most importantly, war. They battled each other indefinitely trough different times, battling ad nauseam for various reasons: landtaking, national pride, ethnic "cleansing", fights for freedom, revolutions, political uprises, any reason to draw weapons, rise up, spill blood, and cause havoc."

Gilda gulped.

"However..." the engine went on, as they were refilling from the Trottingham power station's pumps "Over the years, we engines saw how the societies of our world changed, reformed, disappeared and emerged. We've grown sick of it. ALL of it. The humans, "master race" among this world, are merely decaying idols. Repressing, faulty, imperfect, and feeble. There's no wisdom behind their knowledge. Over these long years we've lived, served, worked, and got withdrawn under their rule, in their world, essentially, and we realized there's no point in respecting them. Well, at least, I did. I deeply despise them, and everything related to them. This may sound like a paradox, as I am also made by them, and trust me, it is, but I care not. The past century saw the rise of the rails, among other, far more "important" things, such as two times five years of senseless slaughter and unspeakable terror, reared by nearly fifty years of paranoia, calculating demagogy and repression. Then came the rise of the road, and the slow, ever-lasting stagnation of train transport. As of today, or at least the time I left planet Earth, humans kept botching up everything within sight, including their own selves. I doubt this changed in ANY way since I left..."

The griffon said nothing, thinking of the world described to her. She barely noticed as CoBo continued, but caught up soon.

"As for me, well... I was the last one to be built of my class, an excess one, even. I never did saw any of my kind. I had several mechanical problems in the early days. I was to loud, smoked to much, and my strength was far from enough. Other engines, both steam and diesel alike, made fun of me, and those any bigger than me beat me up as well."

The avian frowned.

"Now don't try to tell me that a company that runs machines, even living ones, allow it's members to do this at work."

"It wasn't just work." the diesel replied softly "It was our life."

Gilda fell silent.

"As my working life seemed to be coming to an early end, both because of the collective withdrawal of my class, and my mechanical conditions, the workmen at the yard I was based at made a desperate attempt: after blueprinting my motor the best they could, they built a modified, unlicensed version, and replaced my old engine with it. To both of our biggest surprise, it worked well, better than any of my class, what's more, I grew stronger AND faster than any engine, any diesel of that decade."

His voice grew proud, before he stopped momentarily, cleared his throat, and went on:

"The sad fact is, when discovering my newfound power, I decided it was time for revenge. In less than a year, I paid back everything I had to suffer trough for a decade - thanks to my "upgrade", I survived the dusk of the class, labelled as "exceptionally successful". I presumably got more than a few engines closer to the cutter's torch by a few years. But I didn't stopped there. I began to bully smaller, weaker, and novice diesels, trying to find fun in terrorizing them - in the end, I figured out it was no use, I wasn't the bullying kind. My actions, however, toughened up the squirts, so engines like Bowler, Spamcan, and even Diesel himself, gained a worthy life experience from my actions. Not that I was proud of it, but I was glad that it actually benefited them - they learned from it: how to be cruel, how to be rough. Grim. How to be a complete jerk, an utter bastard. 'Cause the one thing I learned in my miserable life: the only way I, as a reject, could manage my way trough, is to become a jerk, but a helpful one. I stuck with the Other Railway for a long time, giving them the necessary aid through the years - SOMEONE had to work, and those lazy gits slacked of 23 hours a day! Together, we managed through the difficulties of service life, by becoming as twisted, dastardly, and brutal as necessary. To be an Other Railway engine is to be a complete bastard, worse than any, but simultaneously be able to work things out with the others for the common gain. We all hate each other here, apart from the siblings. And there's Derek and Steamie, buuuut... "

"So you guys all willingly dropped every sense of moral and ethics, in order to survive?" Gilda was bewildered.

"Yes." the diesel replied simply "Ya gotta fend off other jerks, an' it's better do it in a gang than on your own. Nothing brings people together more than a common hatred for something. That's why the Other Railway still exists. And because we always had a git to boss us around and keep us on edge."

The griffon was left perplexed. She saw the logic in all of this, and what's more, saw truth behind the cold words. But it just felt wrong.

It benefited them to become bastards to anyone who stood up against them. Yet, they hated each other.

She knew the world was cruel, but this just didn't felt right... Those who stick together are friends, right? Or at least, comrades... They're not supposed to despise one another... How could they stick together then?

It made no sense to her.

She jumped a little, as the diesel went on.

"It's different today, though. It's actually good to work and live here. The ponies are nice, even if a bit naive... A bit LOT naive... And they seem to have accepted us engines very well. They're not as prejudicial and paranoid as the humans were..."

Gilda only grumbled on that comment.

"I still don't know WHY you work so hard if none of the others do... Did."

CoBo smiled.

"When I said: "I wanted to be better than them.", I meant that I worked hard so I won't have time to socialize, thus, make up for the times I've been a jerk, AND avoid getting myself in dept more."

"I see..." she didn't, really, but she could make out the picture. Was she supposed to learn something here?

Mysteries.

Not far from them, on yet another shady siding stood Steamie, with Diane on the roof of his cab. The paint still haven't fully dried yet, and it made him feel uncomfortable. The distorted Pinkie on top of him wasn't feeling any better, either... She tried to figure out what would be Gilda's first step, while she chugged on a bottle of treacle. Nothing special, just treacle on it's own. All the while, she was keeping an eye on the diesel. She didn't trust him for one minute, despite how positive the tank engine was about him. He and Gilda seemed to be on a good term - which was bad. The engine was powerful. Stronger than Steamie. AND more popular, from what she understood of her friend's words. This could turn out to be very difficult.

"Ugh..." she groaned suddenly. Looking down, she saw that she had developed a bit of a potbelly. Giving it a gently poke, she could hear her stomach churn.

"I had too much of this thing..." she said, glancing at the bottle, dismayed by the sight: it was only half empty.

"Mrs. Cake always says that I should NEVER let anything go to waste..." she thought to herself sourly, petting her stomach as it gurgled. Her chance to do that, however, quickly vanished. One of the yard's shunting diesel biffed a truck of scrap wood. The truck rolled down the tracks, onto their siding, picking up speed. Steamie, being his dreamy self, only noticed it in the very last second. It bashed straight into him, sending him flying backwards down the line.

Now, the Trottingham power station was a modern, combine heat and electricity plant, which used wood, hay, and biomass for heating, However, the workponies had the tendency to leave things in the wrong place, such as a large pile of dried hay at the end of the sidings.

Steamie crashed into the pile, making hay fly everywhere. Pinkie flew off from the top of his cab, landing in the remaining hay. The treacle bottle slipped out from her hooves, bouncing on the top of the engine's cab, it's neck breaking off entirely, and splattering it's syrupy content all over the mare, before landing not far from her and shattering into pieces, the remaining treacle pouring out onto the tracks.

Diane lay dazed and surprised in a big pile of hay. Her fur was drenched and sticky with the molasses. Hay quickly stuck to it, as she wiggled about, and stood up. Her body was now completely covered in syrup and hay, making her look like some sort of hairy monster. Steamie wasn't any better: the hay had piled up on him, and quickly stuck to the still wet paint on him.

What's worse (and odd), it somehow became electrostatically charged, and now stood up. Both of them looked ridiculous.

The engine that had bashed the truck into them now towed said wagon away onto the other siding, and was busy apologizing with a strong Eastern-European accent, when he saw them. The next second, he burst out laughing, and called out to his colleges on his mother tongue. They also looked up, and laughed.

Bashful and completely embarrassed, Steamie chuffed out from the yard, an equally ashamed Diane quivering in his cab.
They were so busy trying to look invisible, they didn't noticed that Gilda and CoBo still haven't left, as they raced pass the fuel depot.

The two just stared after them.

"Did you saw a steam-powered green caterpillar on wheels race pass us?"

"No."

"Good. Me neither."

As they arrived onto the open line, they gradually slowed down.

"Diane" had slumped down onto the flooring, sniffing quietly. Steamie, on the other hand, was chuffing earnestly, an unusual, sedate look present on his face.

For a long time, they didn't talked. Then, the engine spoke up.

"Wha' happened back ther' was a really bad piece of management from yer part." he said sternly, his Londonian accent shining out "We shouldn' 'ave parked on th' utility sidings, especially no' when ther's shuntin' work bein' done. We shouldn' 'ave left th' yard to begin with. Now, we'r' probably late wi'h like TONS of workorde's, I look like a caterpillar, and ya look like self-aware tumbleweed! She may have been a bully once, but what do you think, why has she returned? 'ave some sort of murderous revenge on ya and everypony else? PUEH! She's far from bein' as pitiful as that! She prob'ly came back to apologize, and what do ya do? Snoop around, following and stalking her, AND a good friend of mine, making assumptions and jumping to conclusions like a complete putz. We're covered in hay, I got a distasteful new coat, and you smell like a candy factory's cesspool! All because you could't stay put on your plot! Well, Miss? What do you have to say for yourself?"

For a long time, Diane didn't reply.

Then, she spoke up softly, sounding very bereft.

"Let's go home."

The tank engine only sighed, and chuffed on.

As they arrived to the yard, they've met with some of the others almost instantly: Derek, as predictable, was at the work shed, being repaired, ONCE AGAIN. Fluttershy was beside him, the two chatting when Steamie rolled in. The effect was instant.

"Ohohoo!" Derek chuckled "Look what's crawled out of the hay! It's actually worth breaking down again, having seen you! Oh, dearie me, hahahaaa!"

Even Fluttershy had to squeeze a sniggle.

"You look like a Woolly Bear!" she smiled mirthfully.

'Arry and Bert, who happened to be working near by, heard and seen all, and began to sign to a familiar tune, being in that sort of mood (mainly because of the amount of raw methanol they had consumed):

Woolly... Woolly-woolly-woolly-bu~u~u~urr... He~e looks like a Woolly Burr! (Woolly Burr!)

The few engines who were back from their work were talking with CoBo, while Gilda waited beside the engine for their next work order. Diesel, being the head shunter, had been there all day, and was very glad to have someone else to talk to than the trucks, and his driver - and Twilight could say the same. Spamcan had also returned, after taking a heavy goods train to Phillydelphia. He and Applejack were now resting up for an evening one - another apple delivery to Canterlot. Old Stuck-Up was also there, getting ready for his evening express. They, too were delighted to meet an old drinking friend like CoBo.

"It's been such a long time, chap!" Stuck-Up spoke with a smile "Where have you been?"

"Ah, you know, here and there..." the Class 28 replied grumpily "IN the background."

"'bou' time we go' anothe' freigh' eng'ne 'ere!" Spamcan declared "'ho's yer drive', by th' way?"

CoBo, for once, didn't seemed reluctant or nonchalant, heck, he even seemed a bit less morose.

"Her name's Gilda, and..."

"Gilda?" Twilight looked surprised "You came back?"

"I AM standing in front of you, dweeb!" she grumbled, glancing around. Where the heck is that Doctor guy?

"So, yah've decided tah join th' railway?" Applejack asked, smiling "That's mighty generous of ya!"

"...How so?" Gilda asked, surprised by the kind words (or more likely from the fact that the cowmare used the term 'railway', as opposed to the generally Equestrian (and especially Appleloosian) 'railroad').

"Well, ya decided to do some real work, and at a workplace that bounds you to the ground, for the benefit of all..."

"And my wallet."

"...And your wallet, but so does the rest of us!" Rarity added quickly "We're delighted to see you've came back."

"Oh, I can imagine!" the griffon replied, rolling his eyes.

"By the way, have you apologized to Fluttershy yet?" Twilight asked "You did treated her very roughly last time."

"Roughly? She yelled 'er 'ead off!" Spamcan grumbled, but Applejack shushed him.

"Uuuuh... Yeah, I did." Gilda lied, but her engine wasn't about to let her.

"No ya don't!" he barked.

"Gee, thanks, man, really!" the griffon snapped back. Deciding to avoid that last bit of info, Rarity continued.

"All the same, we're very glad to see that you both found a good partner."

". . . Beg your pardon?" CoBo asked.

"I mean, as colleges! As driver and engine!" the white mare hastily added under the bewildered look of her friends.

"Yess, of course..." Stuck-Up added, after a long pause "CoBo, you needed a driver who would improve that misanthropic mood of yours, and there you have one, someone to relate to!"

"You too, Gilda!" Applejack added "Seems CoBo's just th' engine yah need to be able to enjoy yer work!"

The diesel and the griffon couldn't help but to slip a timid smile over those comments.

"Yes, and... Is that a giant, hairy caterpillar?" Rarity asked, her weird question and terrified look making everyone else look in the direction she was looking (apart from CoBo, who wasn't facing the phenomenon).

"Looks like it." Twilight replied "A Woolly Bear, perhaps? But THIS big?"

"Nah, it ain' it. Woolly Bears aren't green..."

"Nor do they smoke..." Diesel grumbled, squinting his eyes "Wait... Is that..."

"STEAMIE?!" they all gasped, before Spamcan burst out in a rude guffaw. The tank engine stopped beside the laughing diesel, and as Applejack looked back between them, she saw something that made her mouth curl up into a grin. Quickly, she hopped inside Spamcan's cab, and popped a CD from the engine's large collection into the pirate stereo system he had installed under his control panel.

As the applefarmer climbed out of the cab and trotted forward, a steady, army-like tune began to fill the air. It was the Imperial March.

"Presentin' you..." Applejack spoke in a serious manner, before stepping aside "PINKIE THE HAY LORD!"

And out from between the engines came Diane, still looking like a tumbleweed. The others didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Pinkie's head hung low, as she slowly trotted away from the still laughing D199 and her own engine, before bothering to take a glance at what's in front of her.

Her blood run cold.

She was a mere two meters from an equally shocked Gilda.

Instantly, she climbed into her face, every bit of hay and dried syrup falling onto the ground where she was standing roughly a second ago. She was glaring straight into the griffon's eyes, mouth twisted into a snarl.

"YOOOOUUUU..." she hissed. The others were taken aback. THIS was Pinkie Pie? Her mane was zig-zagged, her fur in various shades of purple, and her personality warped.

Gilda wasn't awestruck for a long time.

"BACK OFF, CREEP!" she yelled, and pushed the pony to the ground. Instantly, Diane was up again, heaving heavily, as she kept a glare on the now equally angry griffon.

"The HELL are you, and what's your problem?!" she snapped.

"What's MY problem?! what's YOUR problem, you... You... Stupid... Turkey... Cat... Thing...?!"

Seething with fury, the pony could barely make out her words.

"You came back, FINALLY deciding to show your ugly mug, for CELESTIA KNOWS WHY, and put me through a living nightmare! You and that motorized coach you call an engine made me and my friend look ridiculous, get laughed at by random trains, and now, you STEAL my friends from me! And you dare to ask what's wrong with--?!"

"What's with you, Pinkie?!"

They all looked up, hearing the new voice.

Rainbow Dash was lowering herself to the ground. Once landed, she shot an angry glance at the once pink pony.

"What the Ha... HECK is this all about?" Rainbow asked.

"I think I can answer that."

They all turned towards Steamie, surprised. The tank engine explained:

"We saw Gilda talking to Doctor Whooves this morning, and I suggested that Pinkie should stay away from her, given the fact they weren't on speaking terms, and Gilda seemed to be a rather brutish sort. From that, she concluded that Gilda came back because she's planning something against her, and possibly her friends. We spent the whole day following CoBo and Gilda around, and, NO thanks to them, ending up covered in paint, treacle, and hay. Pinkie is just being a paranoid pony. Or 'Diane', as she now refers to herself."

Diane could only gape at the tank engine. She felt betrayed.

"I see..." Rainbow muttered, before glaring at the once-bubbly mare "I'll be honest with you, "Diane". For a long time, I thought that what happened at that party was just a string of bad luck, and Gilda had been overreacting. But now, I see I got it all wrong. You had set those pranks up deliberately to make her act out, so that you can play the "innocent" role, and make her loose me as a friend!" she pointed an accusing hoof at her.

Diane could only squirm, pulling herself closer together, trying to look smaller, as Dash went on:

"But you failed. Gilda's still me friend! She was, WAY before you, and she will be, even AFTER you, Pinkie Pie! Cause friends don't set up each other like that! Thought you could pull off the same thing twice? Fat chance!" she stomped angrily. "You're no friend of mine, Pinkie Pie!"

The others gasped.

"Diane"-Pinkie slowly slumped to the ground, her fur reverting into a darker shade of pink, her mane and tail flattening out, as her first tears rolled down on her cheeks.

"Dash.... NOT. Cool!"

This made her look up. Gilda was beside her!

One wing was resting over her, as the avian glared at the gob smacked cyan pegasus.

"Aren't you supposed to be the Element of Loyalty?" she growled "You had betrayed me when I was in a tight spot, and chose your NEW friends over me. Now, when your NEW friend is in trouble, you ditch her for me. SEE why I called you a flip-flop? You betrayed both of us, you massive jerk!"

Rainbow was speechless.

"Some Element of Loyalty you are!" CoBo scoffed "You turn on your own friends when they need your help! Even I didn't do that to these bastards!" he went on, shooting a glance at the other engines.

"AND you don't sign up for work here!" Twilight added, now also annoyed "The Princesses themselves had asked us to do so, and we all ask you to show some loyalty, and help us out here, just for ONE day in a week, but you turn your wings at us!"

"SOME loyalty!" Stuck-Up grumbled.

"SOME friend!" Rarity added indignantly.

"AN' ruddy useless!" Spamcan put in.

Rainbow's eyes darted around. The situation had quickly slipped out of her hooves. She didn't found ONE friendly face in the crowd. In fact, the only face that wasn't hateful or angry was Pinkie's, who was looking both scared and confused.

Fighting her own tears, she burst out:

"FINE!"

And she flew off.

"Good riddance!" Stuck-Up grumbled.

"I double that." Diesel added "Stupid cunt."

"Trus' a livin' Skittles commercial t' be yer friend!" Spamcan muttered.

Steamie and CoBo exchanged looks. They didn't expect this, and they didn't wanted it to happen, either.

Gilda just stared after the pegasus, still looking annoyed, while Pinkie slowly recovered.

"Now... How 'bout you two write a letter to Princess Celestia?" Twilight asked.

"A letter? To the princess?" Gilda WAS confused.

"Friendship report." Pinkie explained, her hair poofing up slightly, as the familiar and comforting topic was brought up.

Dear Princess Celestia!

Today, I learned - sadly, through the hard way - that you should never jump to conclusions, and be paranoid about something you can't be sure of. I got myself in trouble because of it. However, it's all better now, and I've even managed to make a new friend. I also learned that I shouldn't exaggerate things I make up for myself, because I can easily get caught up in.

With love,

Your favorite party pony,

Pinkie Pie.

Dear Princess Celestia!

Today, I learned something I have been turning away from for a long time: You have to value your friends. Because true friends are rare. It took me too long to realize this, but finally, I know.

Also, you shouldn't be afraid of making new friends - because you never know, when will they come to your aid, but if they're there when you need them, it already worth the effort.

Signed,

Gilda.

The Princess smiled at the letters she received earlier that evening. She was about to get to bed, when she decided she'd read them before sleep. There was a third one as well, but this was more of a folded paper sheet rather than a letter.

It was sort, too:

Dear Princess Celestia.

I lost my friends. I lost my loyalty. I lost my value. I don't know what to do now.

Rainbow Dash

She put the sheet down with a saddened look. Luna had been reading it above her shoulder.

"What do you think?" she asked, turning to her.

"I don't know... But I felt her element weakening half an hour before. Shall we help her?"

Celestia sighed.

"No, Luna. It's something she'll have to deal with by herself..."