**A Race to Remember**

Prompt: (Thomas The Tank Engine And Rosie The Tank Engine) Thomas and Rosie decide to race each through Sodor to see who arrives at Knapford first. Thomas had been bullying Rosie all month long undermining her skills just because she's female, so the dispute was set. Rosie tells him that if he wins she will have the workmen get rid of her pink paintwork and change her paint color to any different color but if he loses he will have to have his painted number 1 logo erased by the workmen and have them paint it onto her instead and admit she's superior and that he was wrong to underestimate her every day, whether he likes it or not, additionally he will have to admit she is the true number 1 tank engine. And so the race occurs an hour later. (both characters are cocky, the story doesn't include any other engines besides them) (no reconciliation, comeuppance, and ends with the loser reluctantly holding up their end of the bet and quietly sulking afterwards) (Rosie Wins) (Rosie wins the race entirely unfazed while Thomas slowly catches up to her completely worn out and embarrassed)

On the sunny tracks of Sodor, the air was charged with excitement as two colorful tank engines prepared for a much-anticipated race. Thomas the Tank Engine, bright blue and cheeky, puffed with an air of confidence that belied the tension swelling between him and Rosie. Rosie, the pretty pink tank engine, had long been the target of Thomas' relentless teasing. His mocking chatter about her being a “girl engine” had finally pushed Rosie to the brink. “Alright, Thomas,” Rosie declared, her voice steady as the breeze ruffled her paintwork. “Let’s settle this once and for all!” “Settle what?” Thomas shot back, feigning innocence as he chuffed with bravado. “Your inability to keep up with a real engine?” “Enough with the teasing!” Rosie hollered, her gears whirring with indignation. “Let’s race to Knapford! Winner gets to choose a consequence for the loser.” Thomas grinned, his competitive spirit ignited. “And when I win?” he challenged playfully. “What do I get?” “If you win,” Rosie replied, her voice dripping with defiance, “I’ll have the workmen change my paint from pink to something boring, like gray or black. But if I win? You’ll have to paint over your number 1, give it to me, and admit that I’m the superior engine!” Laughter erupted from Thomas as he imagined the scene of himself being reduced to a number 2. “Admit you’re superior? Not in this lifetime! But challenge accepted!” An hour later, the sun hung high, casting its warmth over the smooth tracks of Sodor. Both engines lined up at the starting point, their wheels trembling with anticipation. “Ready, set, go!” Rosie shouted, and off they raced, escaping the bounds of their previous banter. Rosie shot away, gaining ground with remarkable speed as Thomas struggled to keep pace. “What’s the matter, Thomas?” Rosie called back, delight lacing her voice. “Can’t keep up with a girl?” Gritting his teeth, Thomas puffed faster, determined to prove her wrong. “I’ll show you who the real number 1 is!” he yelled, forcing his wheels to churn harder, his blue paint glinting in the sunlight as he tried to close the gap. It quickly became evident that Rosie had an edge that Thomas hadn’t anticipated. She glided effortlessly along the tracks, her engine humming with grace. The curves of Sodor seemed to embrace her, and she maneuvered them with ease, while Thomas floundered behind, struggling against the curves and the weight of his pride. “This is embarrassing!” Thomas thought to himself, his face heating up as he heard Rosie’s triumphant laughter ringing through the air. “I’m the fastest engine on Sodor—I can’t let her win!” But despite his efforts, he found himself slowly realizing that his bravado was beginning to falter. As they approached the halfway mark, Thomas felt the burn in his wheels and the strain on his engine. He took a quick glance at Rosie, who was now breezing around a bend, leaving him behind like a colorful blur. “Come on, Thomas! You can do it!” he encouraged himself, forcing himself to push harder, but the effort was sapping his energy. He could hear the rhythmic clacking of Rosie’s wheels getting further away, and he felt a flush of humiliation creeping over him. “I can’t... I won’t let her win!” With a desperate burst of energy, Thomas charged ahead, but no matter how he pressed on the throttle, the cheerful pink engine remained steadfast and unyielding. “Wheee!” Rosie called out, her joy evident as she sped along. “Catch me if you can!” Eventually, the track straightened out, and to Thomas' dismay, Rosie overtook the final stretch towards Knapford without a hitch. The quaint station came into view, and all he could do was watch as she crossed the finish line with flair, her whistle blowing triumphantly. “I did it! I won! I’m the true number 1!” Rosie cheered, spinning in delight as she slowed to a stop. Thomas, on the other hand, was panting hard. As he finally crossed the finish line, weariness settled like a heavy weight in his chest, and he felt the familiar red flush of embarrassment coat his cheeks. Rosie turned back to face him, her joy palpable. “Looks like a deal’s a deal, Thomas! Time to paint over that number!” With a heavy heart, Thomas resigned himself to his fate. “Fine,” he mumbled, his voice low as he watched the jubilant Rosie basking in her victory. “You win... I’ll have the workmen do it.” Rosie’s laughter echoed brightly through Knapford, but her victory dance was short-lived as she caught sight of Thomas’ expression. “You still look like you’re sulking, Thomas!” she teased, but her tone was gentle. “I’m just... disappointed,” he whispered, eyes downcast, the weight of his loss settling over him like a dark cloud. Still, as the workmen approached with their brushes and paint, he couldn’t shake the realization of just how much he had underestimated Rosie. She might have been pink and smaller, but racing against her had shown him a competitor he could no longer ignore. With a reluctant sigh, he stood still as the workmen wiped his number away, feeling more humbled than defeated. Rosie’s number was sharp and pristine, a vibrant manifesto of her victory. As the last brush stroke settled on his blue side, he felt the sting of the paint layer replacing the proud “1” that had defined him for so long. But amidst the disgrace of it all, he still couldn’t deny the respect bubbling deep down—a respect for the engine that had careened ahead, leaving him far behind in more ways than one. “Congratulations, Rosie,” he grumbled, the words a mere shadow of anger hidden beneath grudging admiration. There was no joy in his voice, but maybe, just maybe, he’d begin to see her in a different light. Even if it was just the way her pink gleamed under the Sodor sun.