"Well... This is rather interesting..."
"You're putting it lightly..."

That was the first conversation between the Doctor and the Brakefather.

All of them, ponies, engines, and the godly entity were resting a bit further from the portal, the engines parked under a grove of beeches. More of the other worlds machines were coming out from the portal, steadily, some pulling or pushing out trains (with a few unfortunate middle engines). Beside the first arrivals: Derek, Diesel, Spamcan, Old Stuck-up, Bowler, 'Arry & Bert, the Brakefather, Pip & Emma, Cromwell (& Mr. Bottomsly), and, of course, Steamie - so, beside the usual scum, a LOT more were coming, continuously, and without any sign of stopping.

More engines parked beside them. Most of them were diesels, but there were also quite a few steam engines, and few other, diesel-like engines, but they made a low droning sound with a repetitive, obtuse clanking noise. Some of them had weird, fragile-looking metal structures on their roofs, usually in pairs, while others had protruding metal parts on their boogies.

"What sort of engines are those?" Derpy asked. Thankfully, both her eyes were aimed at the general direction of the odd machines.

"Those are 'electric' engines." Bowler explained "They're the third big branch of enginekind. You see, instead of running on diesel fuel like us, or... Uuugh... Running on coal and water like steam engines, they collect electricity from an overhead wire system above the rails, with those furling apparatuses on their tops, called "pantographs"..."

"Or..." Derek added "They collect the electricity from a so-called "third rail", which is located next to the real rails they roll on, usually higher than ground level." he began to smirk "Heh, I'm not sure WHERE they are getting the power right now, since there isn't any strip of wire or third rail in sight, but hey, we've just rolled here without using rails."

This was partly true.

The dimension-hopping device Derek had brought an arseload of (on the Thin Git's beer money, if you recall the last part) was specially customized for locomotives, allowing them to easily roll on any surface, as the machine generated a perfectly fitting stripe of rail just underneath their wheels.

"Bloody brilliant. these rail generators, aren't they?" said a cheery voice. It belonged to one of the newcomers, a Rail Blue colored Class 47 'Brush type' diesel, with a yellow cab. It's fair to say, that he showed the truly vast imagination of his creators, as his name was simply 'Brush'. An interesting feature of this particular engine was his mustache - he had one, trough not out of facial hair.

In the middle of his face (located lower than what was the design's standard) was a large, empty, rectangle-shaped black spot, with two lamps on it's sides. It was presumably made so that his headcode could be literally highlighted, but no-one has ever seen him with one.

Brush was a cheerful, curious fellow, yet, as many of the senior members of the Mainland Railway system, or Barrow Regional Transit (or, the Other Railway), he was similarly "mature" as his peers. Yet, he was one of the few engines who still had (retained) his optimism, and, most importantly - still did work, full heartedly, and on time, which was completely unlike any diesel, moreover, unlike any type of railway vehicle if it's the bloody OTHER Railway we're talking about!

"I have to agree with you, Brush, old chap!" Stuck-up smirked "They are most comfortable, and provide a certain freedom that COMMON rails never did!" he continued, daydreaming.

Noticing the dreamy look in the express engine's eyes, Diesel snickered.

"Thank Goodness we've NEVER worn clothes, otherwise, well, I don't know what SORT of display you would of did in front of us..."

As the others laughed, Stuck-up snorted angrily.

"Don't be obscene, Diesel! Besides, GOD knows what YOU'VE been up to in the back of the shed with those SMUTTY magazines you have stockpiled there!"

An even stronger cackle burst out from the engines, as Diesel reversed a bit, looking very embarrassed, eyes darting around angrily and suspiciously, on his colleagues. This, however, caught Rainbow Dash's attention.

"Really? What SORT of magazines you have there, Diesel?" she asked with a smug look on her face...

"Well, THAT'S a good question! So, out with it, Diesel!" Cromwell smirked "WHAT sort of magazines you fancy in particular?"

The jet black shunter's eyes darted around, looking from face to face, meeting his colleagues' suspicious and malicious expressions. Feeling like a cornered dog (which he was), he finally blurted out:

"P-PlayTrain..."

BUT, just as his associates were gathering their breaths for another uproar of guwaffs, his devious, triumphant look returned.

"But you should ALL know that well by now, considering MOST of you had already asked for me to lend some in the past, and usually returned it with grease spots on them." he grinned, then added with a cheap Aussie accent "NOW who's th' wanka'?"

The other engines reversed, looking more than a bit ashamed. Even the mares felt a blush coming to their faces after such revelation. Fluttershy, however, seemed oblivious to the obvious, matter-of-factually innuendo.

"PlayTrain?" she repeated "That's an odd name for a magazine..." she pondered "I mean, I heard of other magazines with similar names, but whether they were... Smutty, or... Oh." she realize, and gasped, blushing in a deep shade of red "OH MY!"

She passed a disbelieving look at the engines, all of who looked away in brisket - something which they haven't felt for years, given the life they were living - and naturally, some felt that this was an offence.

"WHA'? Eve' us ENG'NES 'ave needs!" Spamcan retorted.

"We undahstand, bu' that raises a question..." Applejack replied, her blush turning as red as an apple "Do engines...? ...Can engines...?"

The engines looked back it her, now perplexed, prominent eyebrows rising everywhere.

"What she means is... You know..." Rainbow Dash tried, flushing madly as well "Do you guys...?"

"Do what?" the Doctor asked, oblivious. Derpy, who was watching the awkward situation with a soft blush and a wry smile, now facehoofed, and whispered into the Doctor's ear. In a matter of second, the Doctor was blushing like crazy as well.

Even Alexei was slightly red in the face, pulling on the neck of his coat and coughing.

"Do you... Oh, how to put it...?!" Twilight was redder than anyone else, and her mind was once again scrambled, as she searched for a way to ask the uncomfortable, yet inevitable question in a light way... A correct way.

"Do wha'?" Bert asked, now curious.

"Errrr... Oh, you know..." Rarity muttered, turning her head a bit, sheepishly, fidgeting with her hair "Do... Stuff..."

"Oh, we do LOTSA' stuff!" 'Arry replied, unamused.

"Indeed?" the white mare asked back, her blush turning deeper.

"Yea', we shun', we pull trains, d'liveries, ya 'no', th' usuall stuff..."

The Traveler was getting tired of beating around the bush.

"No!" she snapped "What they meant is, DO. YOU. GUYS. Couple?!"

That seem to have gotten trough, as the engines' eyes went wide, apart from Bert, who still looked bemused.

"Uh, yeah, we do c'ple to tru'ks an' coaches, wha's wi' tha'?"

"Idiot!" 'Arry growled at him "They meant "COUPLIN'"!"

"Oh!" Bert muttered "Tha' figures..."

"Weeeell... Uuuum..." Diesel uttered, searching for words...

"Errr... You see..." Derek began, but went no further than that...

Another diesel, a Class 33 in an old RailFreight livery, plucked up courage:

"We... Do..." he began "But... It's... You know... It's complicated... We'd rather not tell you... It would mess up your mind.

"Ah, THANK YOU, Burbock!" Derek sighed, visibly relieved - That was very clever.

"No prob." the grey diesel replied.

With THAT awkward question out of the way, the mares and the machines continued their discussion.

"So, in short, what is your world like?" Twilight asked.

"In short?" another diesel, a green and cream colored one with a warning panel yellow face, asked after an angry snort from it's squashed, triangle-shaped nose, his nostrils flaring out a bit as he did.

"In short?" he repeated, with the same false, sonorous voice "Bloody crummy, poorly maintained, cheap as flippin' 'ell, and as enjoyable to live an work on as a leprosy crematorium, to say the least."

"It is the exact opposite of this beautiful, thought, slightly unrealistic land." another diesel, a maroon colored Class 52 with cream windscreen and window frames took the floor, speaking in an lordly, yet, petty bourgeois-esque voice, thought not unkind. He glanced at the mares with a tired and sad, but also calm and gentle look, his Grecian nose raising slightly as he grimaced a bit.

"Imagine a concrete jungle." he spoke softly, his graying, wavy eyebrows rising up a bit "Tall buildings and asphalt covered roads, making the ground look like it's made of stone, weed growing out of the cracks of the pavement, and where the ground is clearly shown it is nothing more than filthy mud or dirty ballast, infertile and uneven. The air is thick with exhaust fumes, cigarette and chimney smoke, the sky is always cloudy, the weather intolerably cold and moist, and everybody is either irritated or miserable."

"AND, they're not even trying to help it!" a raspy voice added, as it's owner, a Class 40 in an ugly dark olive color rolled forward. Excluding his roof, buffer plates and boogies, his body was in this same color, including his face. His hawk nose jerked upwards slightly, as he also grimaced, is if he had an itchy face. His thin, shortly cut eyebrows frowned in an indignant scowl, he continued in his raspy cockney accent.

"Our so-called creators and masters are the most horrid bunch of scumbags that you'll EVER come 'cross - and God have mercy on you if you do! They're greedy, smelly, hateful, megalomaniac, bipolar, nihilistic egoists as cruel as a pandemic. They're also quite feeble and pathetic on their own, but once they got their machines and buildings in front of them - like us, for example -, they become the unstoppable annihilators that is worth destroying for them."

And with that, the three diesels finished, they lined up beside each other, as living displays of spitefulness, fatigue and scurrility.

"Well... Thanks... For the info..." the purple unicorn replied, after a long pause "...And you are?"

"Rhodders." thus the yellow faced.

"Matthias." thus the maroon one.

"Brock." thus the snot green.

"And I'm Vac! - another, rattlebrained voice added.

The next minute, a with a deep and loud whizzing and rumbling cacophony, yet another diesel, a Rail Blue Class 50 (strongly resembling a Class 31) rolled towards them, stopping beside the three with an ear-splitting grating noise, his engine backfiring before it turned off. It was a wee engine, to be frank. His cabs were completely yellow, his window frames black, his roof light gray, ending in a boxy shape above each cab, with two great big lamps facing forewards on each sides. His face expressed naive, gleefully unaware cheerfulness, with a broad, yet, soft smile, a sharp and long nose, and two big eyes, one lazy, but the other having a clear, great pupil which shined with expertise.

"Excuse me? Did you said your name was... "Wack"?" Rarity asked, bemused.

The other three diesels gave a tired sight.

"No..." Rhodders muttered in a tired manner "Actually, he's called 'Hoover', after the noise his air filters used to make, but we all call him 'Vac', as in, 'Vacuum cleaner', because it sounds so much like... "Wack"..."

"An' he's a wackey one, Ah presume." Applejack added, eyeing up the infantile-looking engine "Ah have th' feelin' he an' Ditzy will be good friends..."

"Well, not as "Wackee" as Steamie..." Brush replied, shuddering slightly "Anyways, where's that little lunatic right now?"

"He's hangin' ou' wi'h 'at pin' co'on can'y statue o' a pony!" Bert answered, before quietly muttering "Luc'y BASTARD..."

Steamie was near the portal, greeting every engine, rolling stock or nicked, self-aware equipment (that including the rolling cranes from the Ironworks' and the Docks' yards) that came trough. introducing the ever-so-bewildered machines to a wide-eyed Pinkie Pie who stared at them innocently and with deep, sincere curiosity - not eyeing them up mockingly like most people did. It was a very, very, very, VERY weird, yet somewhat, somehow, in some distant way, comforting greeting for them.

"Hellooo, Rats! Nice to see ya! Welcome to Equestria!" the green tank engine chuffed, as a puzzled Two-tone BR Green Class 25 with full yellow ends passed by.

"Rats? That's an odd name." the pink earth pony pondered aloud.

"Back in the days, his class was said to be seen everywhere around the country, so the people said they were "as common as rats"."

Pinkie frowned.

"But then... Calling him "Rats" isn't exactly nice..." she muttered "It's actually quite mean..."

"That's what I thought as well..." Steamie replied "But he said he didn't mind, and everybody else called him like that, so I don't think it's a problem."

It actually was.

Rats hated to be called like that, but nobody bothered to take consideration about his feelings, and they were just plain lazy to call him by his number, even though it was PAINTED on him, with bold, white digits. In the end, he grew tired of correcting the others, so, and because he didn't found any other name that he liked, he went with this name.

Nobody cared.

Nobody cares.

Nobody will.

Rats could live with that.

He even began to hear a certain familiarity, a certain affection, something he could almost take, or half-mistake for friendship, in the voices saying his name.

So, Rats didn't mind.

His roof was gray, anyway.

Back in the bosket:

"So, what's up with Steamey, anyway?" Applejack asked, her head cocked to the side in wonder.

"Yeah, I mean, he's more random and, uh... "Jolly" than Pinkie Pie! I didn't even though that's possible!" Rainbow Dash added, sounding much bothered.

"Umm... I've also noticed that Steamy... Seems to be a bit, ummmm... Off the ground, if you don't mind me saying so..." Fluttershy joined in, quietly.

The engines slowly glanced at Diesel, who took a long, exasperated sigh, then, after groumbling something that was incomprehensible, but didn't exactly sounded polite, he explained:

"First of all, there's a backstory, ahem! In our world, all steam traction, so, steam boats, steam-powered pumps and other machinery, that including steam locomotives, is near completely gone. Time has passed, and newer, more efficient and economical technologies had blossomed out and advanced, pass the power of steam. So, steam machines were mass scrapped, which, in the case of rails, means they were either replaced by road vehicles or airplanes, or by diesel and electric traction - diesels and electric engines, respectively. But, as steam power gained many, many fans over the decades - heck, it may even be over a century - SOME engine works still produce the long fallen kinds, mostly for museums and heritage railways. Now, the world's, unarguably, most biggest ACTUALLY regularly servicing heritage railways is located at our own railway's back door."

Diesel's face turned glum

"Unfortunately for them, but mostly for us Other engines, a peculiar, horrific disease, bringing delirium and dementia, had spread all over the island, bringing down both people and engines, effectively making it, what we call, a "saccharine purgatory". Now, for some odd and funny - and by funny, I mean HORRIBLE - reasons, the local workshops in our regions produce engines that were LITERALLY made for a railway in such mental state. But, after reports of accidents caused by infantile engines on that accursed railway, said workshops offered us a deal: they cover the quite common "financial irregularities" of our abhorred railway, and we, in return, train the chavvy, cheery and downright PSYCHOTIC noobs they send us."

The jet black Class 08 groaned. The other engines' face was blank, clearly, their thoughts were in a completely different place right now. The mares, the baby dragon, and the inter-dimensional God, on the other hand, listened with interest.
After a long pause, Diesel continued.

"Steamie was the first temp, and I was chosen - forced - to be his mentor. Now, it's best I not lie to you..." Diesel began, before grumbling to himself "...As I don't wanna end up raped, sent to the bloody Moon or turned into a questionable pastry..." and then pondered moderately aloud "...Although, a black streak would be an advancement for rainbows..."

"What?" Twilight asked in behalf of all of them, as they all, quite clearly, heard what the coarse engine muttered.

"Never mind." he said quickly, before continuing "So, I won't lie to you: I'm a right bastard, and a complete slacker when it comes to work, and the LAST thing I wanted to do is to spend my time with a cherpy, novice drip that has to know just EVERYTHING. So, I decided to cut my work short, and tricked him to embarrass himself, like a certain painer ta--... ENGINE did it with me, YEARS ago..."

"I know you're out there, Montague..." he thought for himself "...And I still remember... So, just you wait... I'll find ya one day... And revenge will be sweeeeeet.... So sweeeeeet...."

"Um... Diesel?" Derek asked, slightly worried by the grimdark and malevolent look on his colleague's face, which was slowly accompanied by a creepy, EVIL smile which, again, slowly, turned to a haunting grin...

"Huh, wha'?" he blurted out, blinking and looking around. His associates and hosts looked at him in a mixture of worry and fear.

And somehow...

It didn't felt good.

Well, it did felt bloody great, actually, having them cower with him in sight...

But this time...

It just didn't felt... Right...

And that scared him...

He never cared about what was right or wrong - mind though, that he had standards!

He only did work, and ONLY that work, if there was something in return.

But at that moment, he felt, with his (jet black, flat, sharp-edged metal) heart, that he was doing (it) wrong.

"So... What happened with Steamie?" Rarity asked.

The shunter sighed.

"The trick was simple. I told him to pull a line of trucks, as his first lesson of shunting. Now, what you should know about trucks, or freight cars, is that they're horrid, troublesome, they hate us, they're favoritists and nepotists, and they, under NO CIRCUMSTANCES, can be trusted. Also, they're quite old, most of their kinds are no longer produced, due to safety regulations - no wonder we have arseloads of 'em! The line of trucks in question were the oldest and 'horriblest', and had not been moved for a long time... In fact, they were so old, and so horrible, they've probably NEVER been moved AT ALL! The Thin Git even had them registered as a historical landmark! Everything to bring more gullible tourists, you know... Long story short, he tried to pull them, and when he couldn't, he tried singing to them..."

The engine made a pained grimace, as the agony of the memory sunk in...

"...And what that... That... THING produced trough it's smoke box door crack was... Truly... No, I just CAN'T tell you..." he shuddered "Let's just say, I REALLY don't envy those trucks... Especially since they SMASHED themselves into bits, just to avoid hearing another note from him... Anyways, afterwards, he asked me, "why didn't I told him that he shouldn't even have touched them?". Hmph. "

He paused for a moment.

"I gave him my "big speech of the deepest truth":"

"Because you needed a taste of reality, my complete opposite of 'friend'. You steam engines are ALL the same, especially these days! You're all in your delightful little bubble, as if the world is nothing but sunshine and lollipops and toy shops - it's SICKENING. You wanted teaching, and I thought you the only thing you'll ever need to know: Life's a BITCH, and then, you're scrap! The Real World is tough, dirty, and horribly unfair, and that's on a GOOD DAY! The ONLY way to survive is to be an even BIGGER bastard than everyone else! THAT'S why I did this to you, Steamie! To save you from yourself!

...Well, that, and that I enjoy watching other people suffer! Goodbye!"

Little to minus approval met this recite.

Twilight's face showed a mixture of disdain and disgust.

Applejack looked like she was getting ready to buck something with all her might - with said something being a certain someone's ugly face.

Rainbow Dash had her "NOT. Cool." face on, only amped up with 80%.

Fluttershy seemed to be on the verge of a "Stare"-spree.

Rarity, usually calm and collected, seemed to be struggling not to yell - or roar, more like.

Pinkie Pie, who came back a few minutes ago, and was listening, now looked at the engine is if he had broken a Pinkie Promise - on a regular basis, 24/7, around the year, every year since the creation of the universe so far.

Spike, usually sardonic, now looked more sullen than all the engines put together - and that's saying something, considering only the Thin Git was capable of that so far.

As for Alexei, well...

He shook his head, with disapproving expression, before uttering:

"Typical Diesel. Hates hope, joy, and steamies."

Even his colleagues were shooting looks of disapproval, usually shock or irritation, but some - Pip & Emma in particular - gave him an unearthly cold glare.

He first blankly looked around, then, his poker face broke with an angry frown.

"Now don't you DARE...! Don't you bloody DARE look at me like THAT!" he spat "YOU'VE been mentoring the bloody temps as well, and I've seen ALL of you pull off stunts and tricks FAR more horrid than what I did! And by horrid, I mean, by MY standards! And Pip and Emma, WHAT THE HELL?! As far as I'm concerned, molestation and RAPE is not within work ethics! 'Arry, Bert, don't you guys THINK - ah, who am I kidding? - that your trainee should still be IN ONE PIECE, or at least, ALLIVE after the first day?!"

He then cast his penal glance at the ponies and the dragon.

"And don't YOU think I'll think YOU'RE in the all-clear? PAH! It's exactly the innocent looking little critters ALL should be careful with."

He looked at each one of them, individually:

"So, tell me, pegasus, exactly WHAT are rainbows made of?!"

Rainbow Dash took a step back, her pupils suddenly pinprick-sized, and her eyes filling with hot tears of shock and dread.

"Or what about you? Is it ONLY apples you and your emotionless brother had been slicing in that farmhouse of yours?"

Applejack stumbled back, eyes wide with fear, and her expression being a mixture of anger and disbelief.

"SO, HAVE you EVER considered making leather clothes, fashionista? Perhaps using the full pallet of the SPECTRUM?!"

Rarity's eyes became watery, her head hanging down in a weird sense of grief, as she tried to hold back the tears - and failed.

"And let us not forget the bookworm! So, HOW FAR have you've advanced in your experiments, you lunatic?!"

Twilight heaved back, pupils shrunk and shaking, as a single tear rolled down from her eyes. The incredible, oppressing feeling of terror had taken reign in her heart.

"And don't think I've forgotten you, Butchershy! I just wonder WHY the woodland critters even DARE to come any close to you with that ominous shed of yours. They must smell it from MILES!"

Fluttershy covered her mouth, as if trying to hold back a scream, as her pupils became plate-sized and shiny by the tears. She plopped onto her flanks, feeling miserable.

Pinkie stood foreward, looking less-than-confident, as if her attempts were propelled by vanity. They weren't of course, but that's what it just looked like.

"I'm not s-scared of you!" she muttered, with a cracked voice "Ha! Ha! H-ha!"

Diesel's expression turned commiserative.

"I guess that's alright..." he replied, before a viscious look came over his face "...Considering that YOU should be more afraid of YOURSELF! Isn't that right, Pinkamena?"

Pinkie Pie suddenly found herself in a dark and empty place, illuminated by a single spotlight locked on her. She slumped to the ground, her mane and tail deflating and straightening out, her heart filled with sorrow.

"B-But... That's just... A... A fanfic..." she muttered, desperately.

"...In OUR world, maybe..." the nefarious diesel replied "...But here, it's a mean old rumor. And you know what rumors are like..." he grinned evily, before breaking into a short cackle "MADE ANY DELICIOUS, SINFUL CUPCAKES RECENTLY, EY, DIANA?! HA HA HAA!"

He then turned his gaze to the last equestrian standing.

"Ah, and you there, dragon boy... Hmmm... We'll see, what'll time prove: personality, or race? Occasion, or history? Your love..." he smirked, savouring the moment "...Or your GREED?"

Spike just stared, his body becoming rigid, as he wept, a horrified, sad expression growing on his face...

"Okay, that's quite enough, Diesel!" Derek interrupted, sounding quite angered.

"Yeah, calm the fuck down, you maniac!" Bowler added "Sure, we did quite a few mistakes--..."

"Mistakes?! MISTAKES?! You nearly DROWNED that engine in BLEACH!"

"I mean, errors, but we all live in the same place. You know, how the saying goes: Such as life!"

"Exactly my point! After ALL we've been trough and put EACH OTHER trough, I don't know what you find so blooming hurtful in what I did to that little sod!"

"That's it exactly! That it was YOU that turned Steamie into a clinic case!" Stuck-Up replied "NONE of us went as far as THAT!"

"What?! I thought you already KNEW...! Never mind. Anyways, NONE of us?" Diesel retorted, shooting a glance at the High-speed twins.

"Well, truth as it is, I still don't understand WHAT these mares have ever done to you!" Derek snapped, his anger catching the black shunter off guard "I say, you own an appology to them, Diesel!"

"E-Exactly!" Cromwell replied "You don't answer someone who opens his or her hands - or hooves - to you with generosity, to offer you his or her friendship, with mental and moral terror!"

After listening to all the reasons, Diesel did something he rarely does:

He reconsidered his act.

And then, he took a deep breath...

"Oh, all right, alright..." he grumbled, before turning to the ponies "I'm sorry I've upset you like that, but I can't just stand and bare people look at me reprehensibly for things I can't fully be blamed for! You don't even fully know us! And you don't know what OUR world is like, either... Well, actually, you do, as I've told you: rough, dirty, and horribly unfair. And yes, that's on a fairly good day. We are, but born like this. All of us." he said, glancing over his associates with the faintest, mere hint of compassion "It's not OUR fault, that we are such awful engines! We are a product of our environment!"

"Indeed." Stuck-up added "Just TRY to spend a week, working for the Thin Git, on the Other Railway! You'll be as morose and harsh as us in a matter of hours."

"Our worl' is a shi'y place, whe'e ya HA'E ev'ryon' else's guts, an' we HAV' t' see each othe' EV'RY DAY! An' we 'aven' eve' MENT'ONED tru's, co'ches, O' pass'ngers!" Spamcan joined in.

"You see, dear ponies, we all have our fair share of manure every day. We live in a place where everyone else rather dies, and our only sole purpose in life is what we're built for: work. And everyone around us claims it's better NOT to work, to have others do the job for you. And naturally, these people are the greatest examples of their words!" Bowler grumbled.

"You see it now?" Diesel asked "It's shit, isn't it? But, that's our home. And that's our life. We can't chose it. ESPECIALLY we. You're having a bigger share of luck there. Bigger than our's, anyway." the shunter noticed he wasn't helping, so he changed his tone "So, why worry about a few horrid rumors. I have a feeling this world is not as sugar-coated as I've expected, so a little notoriety will only help you." he finished.

And, after a small pause:

"You're not angry at me, are you?"

"...No..."

The engines' eyes shot fully open.

"WHAT?!"

"I m-mean... W-we would've r-reacted the s-same way..." Twilight's voice was still shaky, but she slowly regained the precious confidence she'd lost. And with that, came a wry, small smile "W-Well, not the SAME way, b-but... Similarly..." she muttered, smiling gently.

"Yeah..." Rainbow Dash was being careful not to sound sad "Not as harsh... Not THIS harsh..."

"All in all..." Applejack continued "But not QUITE th' same..."

"Apology accepted." Fluttershy replied, her tears already dried up.

"That's good to hear." Diesel replied, smiling a gentle, honest smile. It made his face lighten up, and look nicer.

"You know what THIS recalls for?' Pinkie suddenly asked, her mane back in shape "A PAR-TAAAY!!!"

But as the confetti and balloons flew out, the High-Speed Twins interrupted:

"Yes. A MODERATE one." said Emma.

"Indeed. A MATURE one." said Pip.

"Huh?" Pinkie replied "Moderate? Mature? How is THAT fun?" she asked, looking puzzled.

"Oh, it has it's joy." Stuck-up replied. "But first, do you have any... Beverages?"

"Drinks? Sure." Twilight replied "Wait, what sort?"

"Hmmmm... Weeell... That of the alcoholic kind?" Cromwell asked.

"But we aren't allowed to drink any yet!" Fluttershy replied, but upon noticing the disapproving looks coming from the cyan pegasus and the orange earth pony, she asked "Are we?"

"Well, don' worry, we are." Bert smirked "An' I suggest ya brin' sum ligh' stuff fo' ya'self, then."

"So... Booze, is it?" Applejack asked, before pondering "Weeeell..."

A good 20 minutes later, she returned, doing what seemed to be impossible: rolling an ENORMOUS barrel, as long as Old Stuck-up, Spamcan, and Bowler coupled together, and as wide as Pip and Emma, back to back.

"I hope ya'll like cider. - the earth pony called out - 'Cause then ya'll LOVE Zap-apple cider."

After moments of recovery from the heavenly sight, the engines' grin grew wide.

"Ho' do ya li'e THEM apples?" Bert snickered. 'Arry's mouth was too watery for him to speak.

"Well... This'll be an interesting party..." Steamie muttered, coming back from the portal "By the way, everyone's here!"

The noon turned afternoon over time, and then, to evening...

Celestia had just lowered the sun, and the party was still on the move.

A drinking contest had started up between the mares, and between the mares and engines... The Traveler, claiming that as a god, he shouldn't drink, just sat down, quietly watching the events...

Applejack usually had the strength for drinks FAR more stronger than cider, but ZAP-apple cider was no simple drink. Her opponent was the grimy goods engine, Spamcan. And he drank with gusto. This cider of some sort was fairly good, had a nice kick, and warmed him up inside, delicately. The Class 46 never had problems with alcohol, and he was a heavy drinker, anyway, tough, that may be because he was a diesel, had fuel tanks FAR bigger than a pony's belly - or entire digestive system.

By this point, the orange mare felt bloated, and she could literally hear the liquor slosh inside her after the slightest movement. With a rather loud, impolite burp, she plopped onto her flanks, groaning dreadfully... The diesel laughed rudely, before he called out to her.

"Oi, wha's up, pony? Can' ya ta'e a drink?"

Applejack's initial reaction was to accept the next wave of this long-stretching challenge, but as she stood back up, she actually FELT her stomach sway back and forth with a gurgle... Letting out another, smaller burp, she slowly sat back down, rubbing her stomach with a hoof.

"A-Ah don't know, sugahcube..." she moaned "Ah feel too full..."

Spamcan smiled at her in a big-brotherly-fatherly way, before spitting out the hose which he used to drink the cider from the tanker truck shunted beside him.

"Then I guess I shoul' ca'l i' a fi'ish fo' t'day." he replied, before belching loudly, which was followed by a long flame flaring out from his exhaust chutes "'Scuse me." he grinned, in a way that even made the soon-to-be-stiff-drunk earth pony chuckle.

A dark figure tried to reach the hose. It's hooves were just at it's tip, when...

"NO!" Applejack snapped, and swiped the pipe away "No, Rainbow Dash, you can' have any cider! Your home is up in the air! The last thing we need is to have you stuck in jail, OR in hospital..."

"Or in a coffin!" the goods engine added.

"...OR in a coffin, because of drunk flyin'! No way, sarge, not on MY cider!"

"...Cider..." the cyan pegasus whimpered with puppy eyes.

"Sorry, lass!" D199 replied, smirking mordantly "We'e too DRUN' fo' THA' t' 'ave effec' on us! Bu' don' worry, WE won' fly! Heheheheee..."

This gave Dash an idea.

"Actually..." she began "I'm sleeping at Fluttershy's tonight..."

"All the better!" the orange pony replied "Then you'll ESPECIALLY have to stay sober! 'Shy had already had her fair share!" she continued, pointing towards a very merry-looking yellow pegasus, resting on the ledge going around a certain green and yellow Class 17's engine blocks.

"Oh, I say, this cider sure is yummy!" said Derek, cheerily. Unlike most Other Railway engines, he didn't had a problem keeping in track of how many ethanol (or methanol) he devoured, and also, had a bigger alcohol tolerance than what most engines would have expected (on the other buffer, drunkenness hit him like a ton of bricks).

"You said it. *hic* Hihiheee..." Fluttershy squirmed, a strong booze-blush spread across her face, as she leaned against Derek's engine...

"Oh my. Miss Fluttershy, I believe you had quite enough."Derek scolded her paternalistically.

"Nuuu, just a little more..." the pegasus replied between another *hic* and chuckle...

Upon seeing that, Rainbow Dash's face fell, and she slowly flew between the two hazard-striped shunters.

"OI! Ya two ain' dri'in' t'nigh'?" the goods engine asked them.

"No' t'nigh'!" 'Arry replied "'Der' moigh' be sum wor' t'morrow."

The rainbow-maned pony approached them.

"Hey guys..." she uttered, moping "Can I bunk here?"

The Iron Twins exchanged looks.

"Sur', go a'ea'." 'Arry replied.

"Ya can slee' i' one o' ou' cabs." Bert added.

"Thanks, guys." Dash replied, smiling slightly, before flying into Bert's cab.

It was as grimy on the inside as it was on the outside, with the control panel all greasy, and the floor littered with cigarette stumps and one or two plastic cups, and the floor covered with ash, soot and damp dust. The worn leatherette seat, on the other hand, seemed to be very comfortable... After a bit of fumbling, she found a lever that turned the seat into an rudimentary bed. Lumpy, and too small for a human, it was perfect for the bereft pegasus.

She slumped down, and fell asleep instantly.

Little did she know, that the twins only dared to rest after she had began snoozing.

The party rocked on, moderately and maturely, as it was requested. Only half of the engines were pissed already, most of the trucks were down, the coaches had only began.

Old Stuck-up, the senior express engine of the railway, was among his (tipsy) express coaches, who were busy chatting with each other. The diesel was also well over a few 'botties' (especially since he was drinking from drums), and was keeping eye contact - at least, trough his monocle - with Rarity. The white mare was also done with a few shots by now, her glass refilled every now and then by an eager Spike, until she sent him to rest (as he nearly broke the barrel when he buckled, falling asleep).

Afterwards, she was refilling the glass herself, whilst having a conversation with the posh engine about royalties.

Both of them were quite fuddled by now, but they kept good control of it, otherwise, they'd long by then would of became the laughing stock among the others.

"I'm telling you, dear, our Princess Celestia is truly as benevolent and noble as everyone says so. True, there ARE these horrid gossips going around, buuut... Also, there's Prince Luna, and she's just the exploratory statue of innocence! Well, even if a bit forceful at times..." the fashionista pony finished with a smirk and a snorting giggle.

"I must say, that sounds swell, darling!" Stuck-up replied, with the mere hint of grogginess in his voice "Far better than our scandalous "Royal" family! I've seen more royalties in fast food restaurants than in the Palace!" and he broke into a blustering guffaw.

Gradually, both of them came down with drunkenness, with Stuck-up parked aside from the crowd, his monocle laying on the grass, and Rarity all nested up in the grand, fake fur covered seat in his cab.

"Hehee, I'm quite tanked up right now..." Steamie chuckled, his face red after the many barrels of cider.

"Ya sure are, young'un." BoZo replied.

BoZo was a... Wee engine, to say the least. A rare steam-diesel hybrid, he could be either considered as a unique attempt in locomotive design, or, more realistically, a horrible abomination of enginekind. Being built up from scratch (AND without any sort of planning), from half-worthy parts cannibalized from scrapped engines, he had more leaks than a WAG's head. Strangely enough, while visibly blowing out thick plumes of used steam and diesel exhaust, he still - SOMEHOW - met the emission standards of Britain - that including the smoking ban in public places. As for sight, he looked like a tank engine of some sort, with a long boiler and angular side tanks, a dome that seemed to be a simple metal pipe cut down in size with an oversized beer cap welded on it, a funnel that was truly funnel shaped, and dent on the middle, making it lean forwards slightly. He had six wheels joined by traction rods, and a small pair of wheels behind, to support the weight of the flat-roofed cab. His - very probably intoxicated - designers and creators gave him - very fittingly - a steam horn, which he loved to blow on until he was all out of breath or got arrested for public disturbance.

How, or rather, WHY he even worked was a mystery. He did, and aside from the common leaks and occasional overhauls - or something - he was working fine. I mean, he was only second to Derek in the break-down department.

At the moment, both his fuel tank, his boiler, AND every other part of him were a different liquid should be was filled to the brim with cider. Sweet-smelling gasses and vapors were spreading from his fractions in thick plumes, knocking out everyone around them.

Everyone, except for Pinkie.

It was either the fact that the laws of physics, and thus, normal body physics don't applied to her, or the fact that she was already plastered, forgetting the fact that this wasn't just ANY cider, but ZAP-apple cider, which was known for it's high levels of Rainbow spirit, apple fiber, and ethanol. For the diesels' delight, mostly ethanol.

Saying she was tipsy would been like saying water is wet, the sky is blue, Stuck-Up's a posh twat, Spamcan's a filthy bastard, Derek's a wuss, Bowler's a hypochondriac, 'Arry & Bert are dimwitted thugs, Pip & Emma are bitchy liberals, BoZo's a design catastrophe, Steamie's a sugar-coated, scheming little lunatic (thanks again, Diesel), trucks are annoying little twits, Twilight Sparkle's an obsessive-compulsive book-addict, Rainbow Dash is a tomboy with a questionable sexual preference (at least, from the outside), Applejack's a try-hard applebucker, Rarity's a dress-maniac perfectionist, Fluttershy's shy, Princess Celestia is sunny, Princess Luna is unintentionally anti-social, Discord is stoned, and so on, ed cetera, blah blah blah, yaddy yaddy yadda...

Eh, I'm getting off topic.

So, Pinkie was tipsy like there's no tomorrow, and could do nothing more than to giggle at everything she saw, her face red with party "spirit". And there sure was, at least, ONE thing to giggle about: a queer-looking purple-pink mare with airy, floating mane and tail, she herself floating in the air as well, making funny faces and random noises. She was an earth pony, but she was held up by her slightly inflated flank, while her front was propelled by a green propeller beanie. Her swirly, spiraling pupils darted around randomly, clearly, she was not much as drunk as interested in the weird machines from the other world - she seemed to have a particularly strong interest in Steamie, popping up - or out - at the most random ends of the little locomotive, a jokey smile on her face.

The Doctor had fallen asleep after one shot, leaving Derpy to have a gastronomic discussion with the ever-attentive Vac.

"So you see, the key principal when serving a muffin is - aside from the quality of the muffin itself - the butter. Both quality and amount is important. I'd also like to take this opportunity to warn you. You should NOT, not even in the direst of situations, use..." she shuddered here "...Margarine..."

"Similar things could be said about mignons..." the lazy-eyed diesel replied "While my best advise is to go easy on the icing, I wouldn't stop you from creating new tastes and types. Chocolate mint, with a rum punch filling, for example, if I may use such sayings, really takes the biscuit."

Diesel had parked aside, and was watching the party from a distance. He exchanged a few sophisticated and unsophisticated words with the Brakefather earlier on, and was now watching the others prepared their hangovers. He also had tanker parked beside him, this one actually fitted with a beer tap. His hose was hang on a fork-ended rod that was sticked into the ground in front of him, enabling him to reach out to it with his tongue whenever he felt like drinking.

Deep in thoughts, the jet black shunter was interrupted by a faint purple light... In the distance, he saw the silhouette of a pony, a unicorn, by the looks of it. As it approached, he could identify it's fur color - and thus, it's gender.

"Oh, it's you." he murmured, as Twilight approached him.

"Hello." she greeted him timidly. The Class 08 groaned.

"Ugh, don't be like that." he muttered with annoyance in his voice "I won't bite your head off, or anything."

"Oh! In that case, can I sit here?" she asked. The engine groaned, and rolled his eyes.

"Sure, whatever."

So Twilight sat beside him.

She could've rested her head on the side of the short ladder that led to Diesel's footplate, if she would've dared.

They sat in silence for some time. Twilight felt awkward, she wished to talk to somebody, but if the weird, and considerably mean machine beside her wouldn't talk, neither would she.

But just as the silence grew uncomfortable for her, Diesel spoke up.

"If you're still upset because of my little outburst, then by all means, unload your boring emotional trash bag on me. I couldn't care less. And it'll only be better to you, and la-dee-da..." he mumbled.

The lavender unicorn blinked. Did the locomotive just been offensive and emphatic in the same time?

She couldn't comprehend the idea. This was beyond her concept of cynicism or sarcasm. She couldn't figure out his intentions.

Diesel sipped some cider, face still blank and emotionless, aside from the slight feeling of superiority and the vast, touchable feel of disinterest.

Twilight decided to start again:

"Nice party, isn't it?" she asked, trying to sound hearty "I mean, we followed you guys'... Request..."

"Yeah, you sure did. Smashing party, by the way." came the half-hearted reply "The drink selection could be a BIT wider, though. But I guess I'll just have to get used to it."

"Why? It's not like you're staying here... Forever." the unicorn replied, trying to mimic the diesel's nonchalant mood, and failing miserably in the process. Fortunately, Diesel himself was too unobservant to notice, or care.

"Who knows..." he replied, after a brief silence "Derek's USUALLY not the one to read the small font bit... Although the devices worked out well, SO FAR..."

"Uh-huh..." the purple pony replied.

There was a long pause.

"Diesel..."

The engine glanced at her...

"Why are you... You guys... So sullen?" Twilight asked, looking into his eyes for the first time. All of the engines seemed to have black pupils and irises, fused together, yet, not giving them a "high" look. The light of the night sky reflected in Diesel's eyes as a single spot of white light in the top corners.

"Trough my life so far, I've never seen anything like you guys, and honestly..." Twilight continued, cocking her head to the side, raising a suddenly visible eyebrow "Is there sedative in your fuel tanks... Or whatever you have? Because surely, no one can be THIS bitter and live longer than a day or two."

Diesel sneered.

"Then you better buckle up, Missy. I think I've clearly told you before, that we engines and our personality, our manner, or more likely, the lack of them, and our "work ethics" are, but an accident. We're a product of our environment, raised and blossomed under the less than bothered eye of the Thin Git, living and working on, arguably, the WORST region of the Mainland Railway System, know as the Barrow Regional Transit for business people and rail fags."

Diesel lowered her eyelids, as if remembering.

"Yep. That rotten place where the sun don't shines, thanks to all the bloody factories, heat plants and motorways that cover the air in thick smoke, 24 hours a day. Were the rich is truly dumb and snobbish, where all the chavs thrive. Manners, punctuality and such rubbish rot in the depths of the scrap heap. The budget is lower than a politician's limbo stick. The quality is worse than awful, and all your colleagues are either repulsive, derelict, or downright insane - apart from the occasional wussies and bleeding hearts, naturally.

The engine's gaze turned back to Twilight.

"Our world is different. I've mentioned that before, haven't I? It's cruel. It's crummy. It's shabby and horrid and unfair. People are just a big mass, a sea of faces, all grumpy and smelly. Concrete and smog killing out all the green. And wherever you are, the grass - if there is any - is ALWAYS greener on the other side. And the clouds are only silver lined if the local chemical plant had a leak somewhere. The only way we survived this far is because we're the biggest bastards ever to thread the rails on God's green Earth. And it's not only us diesels, the electrics are just as grouchy and rigid as us, if not more. And those few steam engines that are left are either delirious with near-psychotic levels of euphoria, cranky, or just full of botox and Prozac, and infantile. And even if they aren't they usually have a gutter full of dark secrets from over their long years of hard work - well, in any case, more than absolute, ever-ruling boredom!"

He took a deep breath, and continued:

"The jobs we have are just as bad as everything else, and make everything else even worse. As a result, we're probably the biggest slackers ever to exist, which is quite ironic, considering our sole purpose is to WORK 'til withdrawal. Such as life, I guess. Ranging from radioactive waste disposal runs to the nearest docks to manure delivery from Compost Farms to the Irish border, our work orders are as delightful as repeated enemas, done with sulfuric acid! And I haven't even mentioned the SEWAGE train!"

Diesel groaned in irritation, as Twilight sat silently beside him.

Suddenly, as if guided by an impulse, she climbed up onto the engine's footplate, and, after a moment of hesitation, nuzzled his cool, grey cheek.

After a moment, she stopped, but sat there, still leaning against the ladder going up on his front to the top.

"Well, I can promise one thing: If you're willing to accept this world's normalcy, me and my friends will surely make sure you'll find this place as much enjoyable as... I don't know... Something you enjoy."

"I don't LIKE joy." Diesel replied coldly "Nor do I like hope. But that's very noble of you, Twilight Sparkle."

"You're very welcome, Devious Diesel."

"Wait... HOW do you know my nickname?" the shunter suddenly asked.

Twilight was surprised. Indeed, HOW did she knew? She couldn't tell...

"It just... Came to my tongue?" she replied.

That seemed to settle the black machine.

"Well... If you're feeling as bloody worn out as I am, you'll find a clean seeping bag in by cab. The door's open, and the seat is adjustable. Don't ask why. Workmen aren't allowed to sleep in their engines." Diesel's thoughts trailed off "Yet, this wouldn't be the first time our lowly controller finally decided to spend money, and does it wrong. We aren't called 'The Other Railway' for nothing, you know."

"Why "Other" Railway?" the unicorn asked, on her way to the cab.

The engine smirked.

"That's me to know and you to figure out." he said, sipping into his cider.