**The Great Sodor Showdown: Thomas vs. Rosie**
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 his feelings for her and consider her his girlfriend. And so the race occurs an hour later. (both characters are sassy, 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)
On the picturesque Island of Sodor, the sun shone bright and the rails shimmered with gleaming anticipation. It was a day unlike any other, for a rivalry was brewing between two of the island’s most spirited engines: Thomas the Tank Engine and Rosie the Tank Engine. For weeks now, Thomas had taken every opportunity to tease Rosie about her pink paintwork and her skills, invoking laughter from the other engines—if they had been there, that is. Unbeknownst to him, Rosie had had enough of his snide remarks and belittling comments.
“Ha! What have you done today, Rosie? Bet you spent all morning polishing your pink paint instead of doing real work!” he taunted one morning, puffing around with his number 1 gleaming.
Rosie huffed, determination flaring in her bright eyes. “You know what, Thomas? I’m tired of your nonsense! Just because I’m painted pink doesn’t mean I’m any less capable than you!”
“What’s the matter?” he quipped, rolling his eyes. “Afraid that a real engine like me will always outshine you?”
That did it. In a flash, Rosie proposed an audacious race throughout Sodor, with Knapford Station as the finish line. Thomas, smug and confident, accepted. “You’re on! Just so you know, when I win, I expect you to remove that ridiculous color scheme of yours!”
“Fine! But if you lose, you’ll have to erase your precious number 1 logo and paint it right here on my tender!” Rosie said, gesturing emphatically. “But it doesn’t stop there. You’ll also have to admit I’m superior and apologize for all your bullying. And if that weren’t enough, you’ll have to admit… that you like me.”
Thomas’s eyes widened, then he burst into laughter. “As if that ever happens! You’ll just be another pink engine in the background!”
“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Rosie retorted, crossing her rods defiantly. “Prepare to eat my dust! And your words as you paint them onto me!”
With the stakes set, the engines prepped for a racing showdown like no other. For an hour, they lined up on the starting line near the grand station. The air was thick with tension and excitement as both engines revved their pistons.
“Ready, set, go!” Rosie shouted, and off they went, wheels clacketing against the tracks.
Initially, Thomas surged ahead, his confidence brimming. “C’mon, Rosie! You’ll have to do better than that!” he called back, enjoying the wind rushing past him. But Rosie had her strategy. She pushed herself hard, finding her rhythm and subtly gaining on Thomas.
“Is that all you've got?” Thomas laughed as he topped a hill, throwing a glance over his shoulder only to see Rosie catching up. “You really should’ve taken a different route for this race!”
“Oh, but I have a plan!” Rosie declared. “You underestimate me, Thomas, just like you underestimated the emotional toll of your bullying!”
They sped along the main line, but soon Rosie’s agility began to shine. She took a shortcut through a narrow curve lined with lush trees, while Thomas stayed on the primary path, thinking he could best her with sheer speed. However, the curve allowed her to navigate with finesse, and before long, she’d overtaken him.
“Hey! Wait! No fair!” Thomas shouted, determination flaring anew. He put all his effort into catching up, heart pounding as they neared the bridge over the river, but Rosie maneuvered around him.
Rosie could hardly suppress her smirk as she dashed onward, glancing back at the blue engine struggling to keep pace. “You know, Thomas, if you spent as much time training as you did teasing, you’d be a contender!”
“I’ll show you!” Thomas grunted, gaining a second wind as he approached the last stretch of track leading to Knapford.
But Rosie was not about to let go of her hard-earned momentum. She sailed through the final turns with grace, her wheels gliding over the shining tracks. As she crossed the bridge, she could almost hear the cheers of imaginary spectators urging her on.
With Knapford now within sight, Rosie channeled all her energy. “I won’t let him take this from me!” she thought, pushing herself forward. Her pink paint glimmered in the sunlight, a beacon of her determination and spirit.
And then, she saw it—the station was right ahead! With a final burst, Rosie powered through the finish line, a triumphant hoot escaping her whistle. “I did it! I won!” she exclaimed, her engine humming with joy.
Not long after, Thomas puffed into the station, matching her energy in an entirely different fashion. He stared at her, disbelief coloring his features. “I can’t believe it!” he stammered, wheels clattering out of rhythm for the first time.
“Looks like we have a deal to fulfill!” Rosie announced, puffing proudly, the gleam of victory in her eyes.
Thomas’s face turned a shade paler. “You can’t be serious!”
But Rosie was. It was time for him to hold up his end of the bet. At Knapford, workmen watched with curiosity as Rosie pointed out her demands. “You heard her, workmen! Thomas, go on—time for an apology. And then, let’s paint that number one onto my tender!”
With a sigh, Thomas felt the weight of defeat settle in his boiler. “Fine,” he muttered, the course of pride slipping from his grasp. “I admit you’re… better than me.” His voice was hardly above a whisper but clear enough for the workmen to understand.
“And,” he added, biting his buffer, his cheeks shimmering red with embarrassment, “I guess I like you… or whatever.” There it was, the reluctant admission. But his tone revealed it was no simple concession; it was laced with grumbling.
Rosie’s laughter rang sweet above the clanking of machinery around them. She watched, pleased, as the workmen readied the paintbrushes—her glorious pink tender adorned with Thomas's painted number 1, proving that sometimes, underestimating others could lead to unexpected ends. And as for Thomas, sulking beneath the brightness of Knapford station, he fumed silently, already regretting the bet he wished he hadn’t made.
