**The Great Race: 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 afterwards admit that she's superior and that he was wrong to underestimate her, and most especially he will have to admit she is the true number 1 tank engine, and do so publicly for everyone on Sodor to witness, whether he likes it or not. And so the race occurs an hour later. (both characters are cocky, the story doesn't include any other engines besides them until after the first part of the bet is finished) (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)

The sun rose brightly over the Island of Sodor, casting soft rays of light upon the quaint countryside that was home to a host of engines, each with their own stories, adventures, and sometimes, rivalries. Among these engines were Thomas the Tank Engine, the jolly blue tank engine known as No. 1, and Rosie, the vibrant pink locomotive whose cheerful demeanor often masked the struggles she faced. For the past month, Thomas had taken it upon himself to remind Rosie of her place. Whenever they were together, he would make snide remarks about her lack of speed and strength, belittling her performance on the tracks simply because she was female. "Maybe if you spent more time chuffing along the rails and less time worrying about looking pretty, you'd be able to keep up with me!" he would jeer, his laughter ringing across the yards. These constant jabs finally reached a tipping point. After yet another day of teasing, Rosie decided enough was enough. She had learned to take pride in her performance and knew she had what it took to give Thomas a run for his money. So, with a determined gleam in her eye, she proposed a race. "If I beat you," Rosie stated firmly, puffing out her chest, "you will have to admit that you were wrong to underestimate me. You'll let the workmen paint over your number 1 and put it on my side instead. And everyone on Sodor will hear you say that I am the true No. 1 tank engine because I'm simply superior—whether you like it or not!" Thomas's cockiness flared. "And if I win?" he retorted, eyes sparkling with mischief. "You’ll have those workmen change your lovely pink paint to any other color. Maybe something dull, like gray! I mean, who would wanna ride behind a pink engine?" The stakes were high and both engines were brimming with bravado. They decided on Knapford Station as the finish line, with a winding track stretching across the lush island, dotted with fields and sleepy villages. An hour later, they gathered at the starting point under the watchful eyes of the sun and a cheering crowd of passing birds. "On my whistle!" Thomas called out, trying to ignore the fluttering in his boiler. It was far too late to back down. "One... two... three!" And with a powerful blast of steam, the two engines surged forward, matching speed for speed. Rosie zoomed ahead with a calm grace, her wheels gliding over the tracks. She never allowed Thomas’s words to get into her gears—she was focused and in control. Her pink paint shimmered in the sunlight, a vibrant reminder of her strong spirit. Thomas strained to keep up, puffing hard as he glared at Rosie’s swiftly disappearing form. His competitive nature kicked in. “I’ll show her!” he thought, as he pushed himself harder. But with each chuff, he felt more exhausted, while Rosie simply powered along, confident in her speed. As the race wore on, the gap widened further. Rosie effortlessly tackled slopes and bends, weaving through the countryside with a rhythm that filled her with joy. Meanwhile, Thomas's enthusiasm waned as he struggled. Although he tried to remind himself that he was the favored No. 1, Rosie’s swift movements began to wear down his bravado. “Come on, Thomas! Keep it together! You can’t lose to a pink tank engine!” he urged himself, though the words felt weaker with each passing mile. The sun bore down, and he felt the weight of his machination—bullying Rosie only made this race feel more important than he ever intended. As they approached the curly tracks that twisted toward Knapford, Rosie had a tremendous lead. Thomas could see the station spires in the distance but had to battle the burning in his pistons and the shame that coursed through him. He huffed loudly, trying to summon a final burst of energy, but the narrowing distance only compounded his weariness. With a final stretch visible ahead, Rosie powered ahead, glancing back at Thomas as she laughed joyfully, “Goodbye, Thomas! See you at Knapford!” Her cheerful voice rang out, invigorating her as she flew past the final set of curves with a laughing chime. He puffed and wheezed, feeling defeated yet again, unable to catch her. “Just wait till I—” but his words trailed off, swallowed by the vast tranquility of the landscape. Minutes later, Thomas rounded the last corner and saw Rosie's gleeful smile as she pulled into Knapford ahead of him. The station was alive with anticipation. The bustling workmen and passing passengers watched with wide eyes as Rosie triumphantly crossed the finish line first, tooting her horn in celebration. Thomas finally arrived moments later, panting and weary, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Well, well…" she laughed, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Looks like the rules were clear, Thomas! You owe me your number one!” His face fell, the realization flooding through him. The workmen gathered around, chuckling and pointing, eagerly waiting for Thomas to uphold his end of the bet. “I can’t believe I let this happen…” he mumbled under his breath. With a heavy sigh, Thomas turned to the crowd, feeling the weight of his loss settle like a thick fog. "Alright, Rosie," he grumbled, trying to mask his hurt feelings as he dared to meet her cheerful gaze. "I admit you’re... superior. You are the true number 1 tank engine." The words felt stale on his tongue, and as the workmen approached with paint and brushes, he stood resentfully still, fighting back the tumult of emotions that surged within him. Rosie beamed, her victory brilliant and bright, while Thomas sulked in the knowledge that he had lost the race—and his pride. As the workmen started to paint his number 1 away, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever cease to underestimate those who were different from him again. But for now, he could only linger in the shadows of his defeat, while Rosie glided proudly into a new chapter as the true champion of Sodor.