A Seed in the Big Easy

by The Blue EM2

Rating: teen
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Tender Taps, Equestria Girls, Sex, Random, Raindrops, Babs Seed, Featherweight, Silverstream
Length: 14998

A school trip goes crazy...

Not long after Christmas, Babs Seed goes on a trip to New Orleans with her schoolmates. But what should have been an ordinary trip goes a bit wrong...

Based on an actual trip I took to NOLA, with some silliness thrown in for good measure. Occurs concurrently with Unstoppable.

Now up to 200 comments!

Published 2019-01-14 07:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2019-01-22 07:09:17 UTC

Walkin' on Sunshine

Babs Seed was having an exceptionally good day.

She had got an A+ on a test she’d thought she had failed, scored a B on an exceptionally hard piece of homework, and got two drinks out of the cafeteria drinks machine when she’d only paid for one. As well as that, she now had a practice with her band, the East Coast Crusaders. Inspired by her cousin, Babs had named the band in their honour.

There was no denying that the visit to Canterlot had done her a lot of good. Gone was the shy, withdrawn teen that had previously roamed the halls of Edison Elementary School. Nowadays, Babs Seed was a confident, cheerful member of the school community, usually with a smile on her face and an energy that had previously been lacking. She had enthusiastically thrown herself into school life, and her presence was usually a mark of approval in any matter. At the moment, she was heading for a practice with the band.

However, although the hint from Celestia had led to the bullies showing some restraint, they still caused her some bother.

“Hey, Bad Seed!” one of them bellowed behind her. “Ya never did answer me on that question in November?”

She looked back, with an annoyed look on her face. “Ya clearly didn’t get the message. I ain’t interested in you.”

“No, you like that cross-eyed klutz of a dancer,” he snapped back, mockingly.

Babs knew he was trying to get under her skin, and every fibre of her being just wanted to punch him. However, she’d been taking a course for anger management, and simply kept her cool.

“Hey!” she barked, stepping toward him with confidence. “That’s not how you talk to my friends!”

“Friend?” the bully snorted with a laugh. “Oh please. Who cares if I tease you a bit?”

“Trust me hombre, that’s a bad idea,” Babs snorted, her face locked into a permanent smirk.

“Well, what ya gonna do?”

Now for the big, heavy hitter. “Tell ya parents about ya bad attitude!” and with that, she leaned straight into his face. In his desperate attempt to avoid colliding with her nose, he fell backward and topped over.

Babs walked away with a grin. “Never gets old.”

Babs walked into the rehearsal room where her classmates had gathered for the rehearsal. Their band consisted of 5 members.

Over on Babs’ left, and tuning his guitar, was a boy with orange skin and purple hair; to a certain degree he looked like a male version of Scootaloo. He had purple eyes, and was wearing a red long-sleeved shirt, and blue jacket, black pants and a pair of purple shoes. His name was Tender Taps, and he was a seriously good dancer, something for which he had been mocked by the same bullies who had tormented Babs. Luckily, she had come to his rescue, and given him the offer of joining the band. He made a seriously good rhythm guitarist as well.

Over by the stage, tuning her bass, was a girl with yellow skin and ice-blue hair. She had blue eyes, a magenta long-sleeved collared shirt and blue slacks, and a pair of magenta boots with blue lining. Her name was Raindrops, bass player for the East Coast Crusaders. She had been a friend of Tender’s for years, and when Babs had mentioned the band, he’d suggested her as a bass player, and she’d fitted the bill perfectly.

At the piano was another boy. He had white skin and two-brown hair. He wore a brown shirt and white slacks, as well as brown shoes. His name was Featherweight, and (I’m sorry to say) was targeted due to his buck teeth and small stature. However, like Babs, he was a seriously good pianist, and was a valuable asset to the band, helping to keep them all in tune.

Finally, sitting at the percussion, was a girl with purple skin and silver-blue hair. She wore a purple blouse and blue shorts, and currently wore a pair of purple shoes. Her name was Silverstream, an exchange student from Rhode Island. Whilst she was originally targeted due to how extremely enthusiastic she was, there was no denying she was an incredible drummer. Whilst there was no guarantee how much longer she would be around for, she was the rock that held the rest of the band up.

Tender was the first to speak. “How’s the day been Babs?” he asked, in his usual calm manner.

“Jeepers, where do I start?” Babs smiled at him. There was a theory there was something going on between them, but nothing was confirmed. “Got a good test back, and got two drinks out of the machine.”

“That’s almost unheard of!” Raindrops laughed.

“I brought it here for us to share,” Babs replied. “A glass would be nice.”

“I’ll do you one better!” Featherweight called, bringing 5 glasses over. Babs shared the coke between all 5 glasses, and picked hers up.

“East Coast Crusaders forever!” she called.

“EAST COAST CRUSADERS FOREVER!” they chorused.

Their glasses clinked together, but it rapidly transpired attempting to down fizzy drinks wasn’t the smartest of ideas.

After they’d finished coughing, Tender spoke up. “So, what are we gonna rehearse today?”

“How about that one by the Primitives?” asked Silverstream.

“Sure!” Babs replied, slinging her guitar off from her back and starting to strum.

“That was fun!” Featherweight smiled.

Babs looked back. “We need to make the parts tighter if we’re gonna perform that live. We were a little outta sync durin’ the Middle Eight.”

“Nobody's gonna notice!” Raindrops called. “Besides, we oughta get a chance when we go to N’awlins.”

Babs was surprised. “N’awlins?”

Now it was Tender Tap’s turn to be surprised. “You haven’t heard? There’s a school trip to New Orleans leaving in a few days!”

“Fuck!” Babs cursed. “I’d really have wanted ta go on that.”

“There may be still be a few spaces left,” Silverstream said to her. “I’m certain you’ll get on.”

“Of course, she will!” Featherweight added. “6 days in the Big Easy, comprehensive tour schedule, performance options, all meals paid for, and bed in the heart of the City, on Charters Street!”

“Sounds awesome,” Babs nodded, as she put her guitar away, and closed the case. “See ya guys later.”

“See ya then!” they called to her.

Babs arrived at her home in the afternoon, and walked in through the door to see her mother in the kitchen. Since we last met them, Mrs Orange had changed jobs in order to spend more time with her children. It still paid well, but the hours were shorter, so she now had more time to cook.

“Good evening Babs!” she smiled. “How are ya?”

“Fine Mom,” Babs answered. “I was wantin’ ta ask ya somethin’.”

“What about?”

“There’s a trip goin’ off to New Orleans in a few days. I’ve no idea how I’d missed it, but my friends are goin’.”

“You want to go with them?” Mrs Orange asked. “I understand. You 6 do practically everything together!”

“Yes Mom, but...please?”

Mrs Orange sighed. “Yes dear, you may. You’ve been a good girl for the last few months and deserve a treat.”

Babs hugged her mother. “Thanks!”

“No problem. Now, don’t you have someone to be callin’?”

Babs froze in shock. “The Skype call with my cuz’! I forgot!” She shot upstairs, and switched her computer on, opening the app and connecting to her cousin’s account.

Apple Bloom’s face appeared on the screen. "Howdy Babs!” she said.

“Cuz’!” Babs replied.

“Ah know it’s only been a month since Christmas, but it feels like ages since Ah last saw ya!”

“I feel the same way too. Besides, I get the impression the build-up to Christmas where you are wasn’t too much fun.”

“Yeah, bein’ accused of cyberbullin’ wasn’t mah high point.” There was a pause. "How are things in the Big Apple?”

“We got four members for the East Coast Crusaders,” Babs replied. “We’re soundin’ pretty good now, and we’re goin’ to NOLA in a few days as part of a trip.”

“Ah hope ya like the food! Ah’m told it’s extremely spicy!”

“Spicy? Forgetaboutit! You’re talkin’ to a girl who eats Mexican with no cream!”

“Yer brave!”

“How’s life with Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle?”

“It’s been great fun. We’re goin’ on a school trip to the CCR yards to see how they operate things tomorrow. It looks fun!”

“Time for dinner!” called a voice in the distance.

“Sorry, that’s Mah. See ya later!”

“See ya cuz’!”

Over dinner, Babs told the others of the trip. They were a little surprised.

“Seriously?” Sunflower asked. “Why don’t I get to go on trips?”

“Because your grades aren’t good enough,” Mosely Orange reminded her. Babs had not just gotten happier, but her school performance had surged. She’d gone up 2 entire grades in most of her subjects.

“You’d have more trips if ya weren’t focused so much on yer nails and hair!” Babs joked.

Mrs Orange began laughing. “And we’d have more cash in our pocket!” But her face went serious. “But that placement on the Black River and Western Railroad wasn’t cheap either.”

“But Babs got some practical skills out of it!” Mosely answered. “She fixed my motorbike engine as a result.”

“But boy was she mucky afterward!” Sunflower added.

“That’s why it’s so fun!” Babs laughed. “What’s the point of livin’ if ya don’t get a little mucky?”

That evening, Babs took a shower so she didn’t need to the next morning. Sunflower hammered on the door.

“How long are ya gonna take?” she called.

“I’ve only been in here 2 minutes!” Babs shot back.

“Well, hurry up!”

Babs smirked. She began to sing, LOUDLY!

“Babs Seed, Babs Seed, what we gonna do?

Got a bully on our tail

Gotta hide, we gotta bail!”

“NO!” came the cry from Sunflower. “I’D ONLY JUST GOT THAT SONG OUT OF MY HEAD!”

Author's Note

Well, here we go again...

Any of you ever been to NOLA?

Jackson Blues

The experience never changed, despite Babs’ best hopes. Flying had always been a torturous experience for her, but at least last time she’d been on her own.

This time, however, there were two teachers, and more than 20 students, all roaming about the cabin and asking questions.

“Can I swap seats with you Raindrops? Please?” asked one of the girls.

“I want to sit with my friends, so no,” Raindrops replied. She was next to Silverstream and Featherweight, and behind them were Babs and Tender Taps.

This girl walked over to Babs and smiled. “Can I swap seats with you?”

“They assigned us these seats for a reason,” Babs replied. “If we’re all in different seats, they won’t be able to assess where we are.”

The girl simply sulked and walked off.

“Besides,” Tender spoke up, “I like this arrangement.”

“Course ya would!” Babs laughed.

The booking-in experience had been chaos, to say the least. 30 students constantly rearranging and not standing in alphabetical order had frustrated the staff to no end. They had through (eventually), even if some people didn’t seem to understand how to talk to Security. However, that wasn’t helped by the fact the one Babs got was rather jovial, which she had no idea how to react to. She’d answered his questions completely straight and was eventually let through.

After quickly grabbing something to eat (timings were a little tighter, so she simply got a burger and fries), she’d had to dodge fast moving commuters in business suits, as well as the pigeons known as her classmate's intent on ‘borrowing’ her food without giving it back.

Eventually, they had boarded the flight, Delta Airlines 2479, and started playing musical chairs with the seats. Which brings us back to the present.

There was a loud click above them, and Babs noticed the seatbelt sign had illuminated, so quickly buckled hers up. This was promptly followed by the flight safety brief she had seen a million times before.

Take-off had been fairly uneventful, and their luggage was safe down in the hold. Upon reaching cruising altitude (and Babs successfully avoiding being sick) the in-flight intercom activated.

“Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen,” said the intercom. "This is your Captain speaking. We have just lifted off from JFK, and are due in to Louis Armstrong International Airport at 1:40 PM. Local time is 11:00 in the morning, so please reset your watches. Flight time is estimated to be two hours and forty minutes.”

As previously, the seatbelt sign switched off.

“Around an hour before landing, a light lunch will be provided, and hot and cold beverages will be served during the flight. We at Delta hope you have a pleasant trip.”

Tender was looking out of the window. “Wow! He cried. “Look at that! New York looks so tiny!”

Babs laughed. “You’ve never been on a plane before, have you?”

“No,” Tender replied. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever left the New York area. But it’s amazing! It’s like looking at a scale model.”

“There’s the Hudson!” called Featherweight.

“Could you lean forward a bit?” asked Raindrops. “I can’t see the view below.”

“Can you see Rhode Island from here?” asked Silverstream.

“Not from this altitude,” Babs answered. “It’s too small!”

The others laughed, whilst Silverstream went crimson. “Very funny,” she answered.

But then, below them, the city of Philadelphia flew by them, and like true Americans, they saluted the flag.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident,” began Tender Taps, “that all men-”

Babs and Raindrops glared at him.

“-and women are created equal, that they are endowed with certain unalienable rights, that amongst these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”

“That’s good!” Featherweight added. “Memorised any other documents?”

“I’ve got all 10 Amendments of the Bill of Rights in here.”

“Do the Gettysburg Address, please!” Silverstream squealed. In many ways, she reminded Babs of that friend of her cousin, Sweetie Belle.

Tender Taps smiled. “Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

“Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

“But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate—we can not consecrate—we can not hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

There was applause in the cabin. “Bravo!” called a passenger.

“You should run for Congress!” called another.

“Thank you,” Tender Taps replied.

The flight touched down on time, which was nothing short of a miracle. The passengers were keen to get off, and the 5 friends filed through the terminal to baggage reclaim.

This was were some problems became apparent. Each student had been given a colour coded tag to identify their case, but this system rapidly broke down as it emerged several students hadn’t bothered to apply theirs.

Babs pulled her case off the turnstile before another student grabbed it. “Hey!”

“That’s my case Babs!”

“No, it isn’t, mine has a blue tag on it!”

“It is!”

“It isn’t!”

“It is!”

Babs got tired of this, and laid the case down, opening the top to reveal her name tag.

“Unless your name is Babs Seed, I suggest goin’ and findin’ yer case!” she snapped.

Silverstream lugged her case over to Babs, followed by Raindrops. “Who’d have known a task as simple as collecting a case would be so difficult?” she asked.

“God only knows,” Raindrops replied.

“How I’d be without you!” added Featherweight.

The five of them stood up. “Hey,” asked Raindrops, “we all brought our instruments, right?”

Babs, Raindrops and Tender had their guitars on their backs.

Featherweight laughed. “The piano was a little unwieldy.”

“At least most places will have drumkits,” Silverstream noted.

“Everyone!” shouted one of the teachers, Jelly Roll. “Listen up please! We will be catching a hired coach to our hotel on Charters Street. Follow me and Mr Royce!”

Tender Taps laughed. “I can’t be the only one to find that funny, right?”

“What’s the joke?” Raindrops asked.

“Mr Rolls and Mr Royce. Don’t you get it?”

“Er, no,” Babs admitted.

“Rolls-Royce! The famous car manufacturer and aero-engine research corporation.”

A lightbulb went off in their heads. “Ohh.”

They went outside into the freezing cold, and boarded their coach, which set off into the streets of New Orleans.

Mr Royce stepped up to give the students the history lecture. “Good afternoon everyone!” he called. “As we travel into the city, please take notice of what I am telling you.”

Silence fell almost immediately.

“New Orleans, as the name suggest, was originally settled by the French and named in honour of Orleans in France. and to this has an extensive Cajun population. However, there is also a diverse African-American community here, due to the influence of Baratarian Pirates. In 1803, the city was handed over to the United States as part of the Louisiana purchase. Then, in 1815 the city was attacked by the British as part of the War of 1812.”

He paused for dramatic effect. “But our heroic troops, a mixture of white, black and Indian soldiers under the command of Andrew Jackson, drove them out of the city at Chalmette. We’ll be going there on the last day of the trip. In 1862, the city was seized from Confederate Control and became a key Union supply base.”

Mr Rolls then took over. “In the 1920s, the city was a hotbed of Jazz, and this was what helped propel it to international stardom. But more significantly, it was where the Higgins LCVP was invented.”

“What’s an LCVP?” asked a student.

“Landing Craft Vehicle Personnel,” Babs told him.

“It was this remarkable craft that made so many amphibious landings possible,” continued Mr Rolls. “New Orleans is still recovering from Hurricane Katrina, but the pioneering spirit that embodies the city is still there today.”

The coach entered the city proper, driving through the dense streets and heavy traffic before stopping in front of the hotel. As they got off and prepared to offload their bags, Babs suddenly spotted something moving on the street, and pulled her phone out of her pocket.

The object in question was a streetcar! It rolled up the street at speed, toward the next station and rumbled over the junction toward them, running quickly and then rolling to a stop behind the coach. The streetcar was painted red, with a cream roof, and clerestory valances along the top of the roof. It was mounted on two bogies, each with four wheels, and the windows were painted yellow. They had two overhead power connectors rather than pantographs, and were an icon of the city.

The city had once had over 20 lines, but had been cut to just one (St. Charles) by 1990. However, the city reopened several of them, and once again did these magnificent machines race up and down the streets.

Babs was so amazed by this sight that she didn’t notice one of the boys sniggering at her. “Oh look!” he snorted. “Babs’ is gonna piss herself over a lump of metal!”

Babs swung round. “Hey! You can’t talk, given the fascination you have with that lump of plastic and silicon in your hand!”

The boy, rather wisely, beat a hasty retreat. Featherweight stepped over to Babs.

“Hey, these look like the ones you have in those Canterlot photos you showed me!” he said.

“That’s because, I found out, Canterlot ordered several 2000 series streetcars as well. Boy are they good!”

“Beats having to use a car or taxi,” Raindrops admitted.

“Can we go indoors please?” Silverstream asked. “It’s a bit cold out here.”

In they went, and were issued their key cards and rooms. The 5 friends were on floor 3, split between two rooms. The girls were in room 301, the boys in 302. They almost immediately ran into a problem. Raindrops touched the lift button, but nothing happened.

“It’s not working!” she protested.

“Well, push it again!” Tender suggested.

That didn’t work either. Luckily, a member of hotel staff saw their problem, and came over to assist.

“You need to put your card on the button for it to accept,” she explained. “It’s a security measure.”

“Thanks!” Babs replied.

Up they went, and into the rooms they walked. Their jaws dropped when they saw the rooms.

Each room was very roomy, and consisted of a small kitchenette, two or three beds, and a washroom.

“Each part of this room is the size of a usual hotel room!” Silverstream exclaimed.

“That it is,” Raindrops nodded.

“Still, an improvement over the Hotel Pennsylvania, eh?” Babs laughed.

“Do not mention that place again!” Raindrops despaired. “Let’s put our bags down and head back to the lobby.”

After unloading their cases, the girls decamped to the lobby, where they were gathered together by the teachers.

“Listen up everyone! We will now be heading into New Orleans proper. We are walking through the French Quarter, and will then spend some time in Jackson Square.”

So off they went, winding through the vintage streets and past the beautiful old buildings with cast iron railings and flat ceilings. Whilst Silverstream was looking around in amazement, Babs kept her head on the swivel. She knew enough of cities to be sure to stay aware.

They arrived in Jackson square, which consisted of a garden with a huge statue of Jackson himself. At the back of the square was the Cathedral, and buildings flanked proceedings. There were also musicians wandering around, playing every now and then.

But Babs was suddenly wary, looking around her.

“Babs?” asked Tender. “Is something wrong?”

But Babs was lost elsewhere. There was a man with yellow skin and brown hair wandering toward her. “Hey!” he called. “You wanna take look inside?”

“No,” Babs whimpered. “How did you get here?”

“You look like the sorta person who would need one of my wares,” he smiled.

“No!” Babs cried. “Leave me alone!” with that, she ran off into the crowd, toward the Mississippi river.

Tender immediately set off after her.

Babs was almost in a dream. How had that boy followed her here? She pushed through the throngs of people and sprinted straight across the streetcar lines-just seconds before the barriers descended. She ran up the stairs and stopped by a set of cannons to catch her breath, the icy cold air hurting her lungs.

She looked back. “At least he can’t follow me here,” she sighed.

“Babs!” called a voice. She saw Tender run over to her. “What was that about?”

“It was one of my bullies!” she replied.

“That was some store owner,” Tender replied. “The others are worried where you went.”

Babs had no idea how to react. She didn’t need to though, as Tender pulled her into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” she said sadly. “He looked like one of the boys who beat me up in Canterlot, and I guess I just panicked.”

Tender nodded. “Hey, would a ride on the Riverfront line help calm you down?”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Absolutely. It’s what friends do.”

Babs broke from the embrace and smiled. “Station’s just that way. We don’t want to sit next to the window though.”

“Why?” Tender asked.

“This is a 453 series. No climate control, so they are very cold in winder and can get very hot in summer.”

“You know practically everything about these machines, don’t you?”

After a most relaxing ride on a streetcar, and a superb dinner (which was gumbo and a Po’boy with fires for Babs) the evening schedule consisted of a visit to the New Orleans Museum of Transportation. It was full of vintage machines, several SD-40s, a GP-38, and of course a multitude of steam engines, largely nondescript 2-8-0s that were ten-a-penny in the US.

But one exhibit was of particular interest. It had a long nose and heavy front end, with two bogies each with 6 wheels, and two pantographs, one at each end of the engine. The cab sat in the centre, with small windows to enable the driver to see where they were going. In a crest on the front end, the number 4859 was clearly displayed. The engine was painted dark green, with yellow stripes, and the sides of the engine proudly bore the text Pennsylvania.

Babs looked at it in amazement. “I’ve seen this before!” she said. “In a movie or somethin’.”

“These engines have appeared in more adverts and films than any other American electric locomotive,” said a voice behind her. A kind old man with white hair looked at her, smiling.

“Name’s Lionel Jeffries,” he said. “I was one of the last drivers of these babies. GG1s, the Pennsylvania called them.”

“What’s a Pennsy engine doin’ down here?” Babs asked.

“It’s on loan from Harrisburg. These were the longest serving electric locos in history. January 28th, 1935 to October 29th, 1983. Almost 50 years continuous service. And so much more reliable than the modern locos.”

“Why did they withdraw them?”

“They were getting' old.” Jeffries wiped something from his eyes. “And there was some talk about PCBs. Not a single one has run since, and it’d be a massive amount of work to get one operational again.”

He smiled. “But between you and me, I’d love to see one run again. You young kids have got the strength and vitality to do it. Us old guys don’t have it no more.”

“Babs! We gotta go!” shouted Mr Royce.

Babs turned to him. “Thanks sir.”

“Not a problem. Now run along and have fun.”

After getting back to their hotel room, Raindrops picked up her remote. “I wonder if anything good is on TV at this time of night?” she asked, as she hit the on button.

“We are looking at the worst railroad disaster in the history of California. A speeding, out of control train, loaded with toxic chemicals, is bearing down on Canterlot.”

“Wait, what?” Babs asked. “That’s where my cuz’ lives!” She grabbed her phone and dialled Apple Bloom.

No response.

“Wait, listen!” called Silverstream. “Something else is happening!”

“But we have just learned that another locomotive is chasing from the rear. A plan has been devised to stop the runaway train. The basic plan is to couple the engine to the rear, at speeds of around 70 miles an hour, and then bring it to a stop.”

“That somehow sounds familiar,” Raindrops noted.

Babs sighed. “I need to give my parents a Skype call. Keep me posted!”

After firing up her laptop, Babs opened the app to see her parent’s faces.

“Good evenin’ Babs!”

“Mom, Dad, can you call Apple Bloom’s parents?”

“Why?”

“There’s some talk on the news of a runaway train approachin’ Canterlot. Cuz’ ain’t answerin’ her phone.”

“We will call, don’t worry. How’s your day been?”

“It’s been good thanks. Flight was uneventful, and we took a look around the Transport Museum. Even got a personal talk with one of the patrons.”

“That’s wonderful! Now don’t stay up too late, you got a busy day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I need ta turn in. See ya tomorrow, love ya!”

“Love ya too sweetie!”

Babs got changed for bed, and hopped under the sheets, followed by her friends in their own beds. Before long, the three friends were fast asleep.

Author's Note

One of my longer ones. Hope you enjoyed it.

A Sidewalk named Desire

Morning arrived, and Babs pulled herself out of bed and looked out of the curtains. She was rewarded with a glorious Louisiana sunrise. Even though it was only 7 in the morning, the city had already woken up, with streetcars and automobiles already rolling around as people headed off to work or to do their daily chores.

There was a murmuring from the beds next to her, as Silverstream and Raindrops pulled themselves out of bed as well. “What time is it?” the latter asked.

“7 in the morning,” Babs replied.

“Oh gosh!” Silverstream cried. “We’d better get going!” and with that, she sped off in the direction of the shower before anyone could stop her.

Raindrops shrugged. “I suppose that settles the question of who’s going in first.”

“But second?” Babs added. “There’s a challenge.”

Babs went in second, as the water helped to wake her up in the morning. The three of them got dressed, and headed for the elevator. Or rather, they would have had Silverstream not forgotten the key. Once that issue was rectified, they headed downstairs to see Featherweight and Tender Taps had already got their breakfast. Cool Jazz was playing over the speakers, getting them ready for their day.

On the note, like many urban hotels, breakfast was self-service. There were cereals, and cooked meats, and yoghurt. Silverstream was a little perturbed.

“Where’s the fresh fruit?” she asked.

“They don’t do that here,” Raindrops reminded her. “It’d go off in these temperatures.”

“At least there’s sausage and bacon,” Babs added. “I hate to imagine how my cuz’s friend’s sister would react to the fact there’s no salmon.”

Silverstream gasped. “NO SALMON?” she cried. “THIS IS... THE! WORST! POSSIBLE! THING!”

Raindrops shook her head. “Good grief.”

Once breakfast was concluded, the tour group marshalled to go on a tour of the French Quarter. They excited the hotel and headed across the street into the old winding streets. Even at this time in the morning, the bars and restaurants were full, and the halls resounded to the thunderous noise of honky-tonk pianos and small jazz ensembles. It was a wonderful sound, mixed in with the cool air of the January morning and the light reflecting off the roof of every building.

They saw many buildings, including one that was notorious for housing ghosts, the home of the NOLA Collection, and a handful of homes built in the Spanish style. These homes were of particular interest to Mr Rolls, who spoke about them to no end.

Featherweight looked at Raindrops. “Does he ever talk about anything else?”

Suddenly, a trumpet flared up in the distance.

“Listen!” called Tender Taps. “West End Blues, Louis Armstrong, 1928.”

“It’s pronounced Lewis,” Babs informed him. “He wasn’t French!”

“Irrespective of that, he was one of the greatest trumpeters who ever lived, and the public face of African-American music for decades alongside players like Chuck Berry, Duke Ellington, and Fats Domino.”

“Shall we dub you ‘the walking encyclopaedia’?” joked Silverstream.

“Uncyciclopedia,” Tender replied, “which is like online encyclopaedia called Wikiped.”

Babs sighed. “I honestly wonder whether the reader will even get that.”

“What?” Raindrops asked.

“Just breakin’ the fourth wall.”

They stopped on another street, where Mr Royce addressed the group. “Everyone,” he said, “pay attention.”

He indicated to the road in front of them. “This road was the original route of the Desire Line. Opened in 1920 and closed in 1948, it was immortalised in Tennessee Williams’ play, A Streetcar Named Desire. Subsequently converted to a bus route, there are currently talks to reinstate the line in its entirety, though how well that goes depends on the performance of the Rampart line.”

Tender turned to his friends. “Yeah, somehow A Bus Lane Named Desire doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“Did you know that the route quoted in the play is actually impossible?” Silverstream said excitedly.

“What was it again?” Raindrops asked.

“They told me to take a streetcar named Desire, transfer to one called Cemeteries and ride six blocks and get off at—Elysian Fields!" Babs told them.

Silverstream started speaking again. “The Cemeteries line didn’t go to Elysian Fields at all. The Desire Line actually crossed Elysian Fields Avenue on the way to Canal Street. There you could board the Cemeteries Line, which itself never ran through Elysian Fields.”

“I did not know that,” Raindrops added. “But apparently the idea of calling Streetcars by their route names is something Williams made up. Desire Line doesn’t make for a memorable title.”

“The rest of the group’s movin’ on!” Babs called. “Let’s go!”

After a talk about the French Quarter from the National Park Service, the crew went for lunch. Truth be told, their lunch (muffulettas) had been prepared beforehand, so it was simply a case of picking it up. And delicious they were!

The cheese and salami mingled with the olive and sauce perfectly, leaving an absolute explosion on the taste buds.

“I’ve never tasted anything like it!” Raindrops said.

“It’s apparently characteristic of the city,” Featherweight added.

“Funny, because it has all the hallmarks of Italian,” Babs noted.

“True,” Tender noted. “But you’re the expert on that.”

“Sorry?” Babs asked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re half Italian, aren’t you?” Tender asked himself. “If not, then no offence.”

“I’m not half Italian,” Babs corrected him. “I’m half Italian-American,” putting particular emphasis on ‘American’.

“Ah,” Tender replied. “Sorry for any confusion.”

“No worries,” Babs answered.

“But before any of that, we are all Americans,” Silverstream added.

“Agreed!” they called.

“But there’s no denying that this is delicious,” smiled Raindrops.

Nobody was in a position to disagree.

They followed up a most filling lunch with a trip to the Mint. The Mint was a large, imposing building which had once been one of a handful of places allowed to make US coins (hence mint). The National Park Service was busy converting the place into the Jazz Museum, which housed artefacts such as vintage pictures, original suits worn by the performers, several pianos, and even a live performance space, where the group listened to a band playing a number of Jazz standards.

After that, they popped back to Jackson square to partake of another N’awlins tradition.

In Jackson Square, on the side next to the promenade on Decatur Street, sits a small open-air café. This establishment is an icon of the city, and goes by the name of Café du Monde. People flock there to try their most famous product.

These are called Beignets, roughly synonymous with fritters. Usually served with sugar, they are a delicacy that have gone unchanged since 1862.

Our intrepid heroes made their way here to sample the wonders of Café du Monde.

“Your part of the school group, I believe?” asked the waiter.

“Yes sir, we are,” Babs replied.

“What will be your order?”

“We can’t see any menus,” Tender observed.

The waiter pointed to the back of the sugar box.

“Oh!” Silverstream exclaimed. “Thank you.”

“OK,” Featherweight nodded, “3 Beignets each and a drink is what we’re allowed, if I remember correctly.”

“So that’s 3 Beignets and an iced coffee each?” the waiter asked.

“Yes please,” Raindrops replied.

“Very good,” the waiter answered, and headed away.

“What do you think they’ll taste like?” Tender asked.

“Apparently they’re pretty similar to fritters,” Raindrops noted.

“Babs, don’t your cousins make pretty good fritters?” asked Silverstream.

“That they do!”

“Yeah, you were seriously popular at that tasting session,” Featherweight laughed.

Presently, the Beignets arrived, and did not disappoint.

The iced coffee, however, left something to be desired.

Babs took a swig of it-and the look on her face was priceless as she swallowed it quickly.

“Did you burn your tongue?” asked Raindrops.

“No, quite the opposite! It's hard to describe, being somehow strong and yet cold.”

“Well, down the hatch!” Tender smiled confidently, and took a sip.

He regretted it pretty promptly.

After that incident, and dinner, they headed back into the French Quarter for a trip to Preservation Hall. Preservation Hall opened as a jazz venue in the 1960s, and was a nondescript building with closed windows. Guest musicians had the honour of playing there, but most performances were done with the resident jazz band. And now they were going to hear a truly authentic jazz performance.

As they were led into the venue, Babs suddenly became aware of a problem.

The band leader was talking to one of his fellow players.

“This is bad!” he said. “Our pianist has injured her hand, and cannot play.”

“How are we gonna play with no pianist?” asked the other. “Without a pianist the harmony won’t hold up.”

“Uh, I play piano,” Babs suggested.

The band leader turned around. “How well?” he asked.

Author's Note

What will happen next?

In all seriousness, NOLA is one of my favourite cities in the world. If you ever get the chance, do visit.

Bourbon Street Rock

The lights went dim in Preservation Hall as the band got into position.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome tonight to Preservation Hall!” called the Master of Ceremonies. “Jazz has been played here every single day of every year since 1961, and we have no intention of stopping. Through those doors have passed Jazz legends such as Emma Barrett, Billie Pierce, and George Lewis. Why, before use today may be the Jazz heroes of tomorrow.”

She paused. “But enough from me. Please welcome the Preservation Hall Jazz Band!”

The lights came up, and the band launched off into In the Mood. But to everyone’s surprise, who was sat at the piano but-

“Look!” called Tender. “It’s Babs Seed!”

And indeed, it was. Babs Seed at the piano, thumping out the chords with precision, and maintaining a walking bass with precision. She even put down some seriously impressive solos too.

The band played a mixture of happy and sad tunes, including the old classic St. James Infirmary Blues. Though it was initially strange hearing the styles of New Orleans and New York blending together, eventually it became the most natural thing in the world.

But the concert came to its end with two old classics. “First,” the band leader said, “we take requests. Check the board over there.”

A fellow raised his hand, and handed over a dollar bill, which the band leader put in the group pot. “Do you know what makes this next one special?” he said.

“It’s an American classic?” somebody answered.

“No. It’s special because it’s been paid for.”

Placing his trumpet down, he signalled the others, and began to sing.

“Amazing grace! How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.

’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,

And grace my fears relieved.

How precious did that grace appear,

The hour I first believed!”

For the last verse, he signalled everyone to join in. “C’mon folks! Bring the house down!”

The audience stepped to their feet, and made a most melodious sound.

“When we’ve been there ten thousand years,

Bright shining as the sun,

We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise

Than when we’d first begun.”

Once they had finished, the band leader smiled. “Never gets old,” he laughed. “But we really have to close with a N’awlins classic. Ever heard of the Saints?”

The crowd cheered.

“I think it only appropriate our guest get the honour of lead vocals.”

Babs glanced over, trying to mask the sweat on her forehead. True, it was very hot in there, but she wasn’t sure her voice was suited to this particular piece of music.

But it was too late for any of that, as the band leader signalled them to play. Babs smiled, opened her mouth and simply let it flow;

“Oh, when the saints go marching in

Oh, when the saints go marching in

Oh Lord I want to be in that number

When the saints go marching in.”

This went on for many verses together, then suddenly the clarinettist shouted “Call and response! Come on people!”

“Oh, when the Saints!”

“Oh, when the Saints!”

“Go marching in!”

“Go marching in!”

Oh, when the saints go marching in,

Oh Lord I want to be in that number,

When the saints go marching in.”

It sure was a night to remember. The crowd roared and cheered as the players took their bows.

“Thank you, thank you! We hope you’ll come back and see us again someday!”

Outside, the friends mobbed Babs.

“You were awesome!” cried Silverstream, in her typical excitable manner.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” asked Tender.

“Hopefully not,” Featherweight laughed, “or else we’d be down a player.”

“Maybe we should organise our own jazz festival,” Raindrops suggested.

“Or perhaps Billy Joel,” Babs noted.

“You are the Entertainer!” Tender began.

“Oh dear,” Raindrops groaned.

Back in their hotel room, Babs set her laptop up for another Skype call.

“Hello dear! How are ya?”

“Couldn’t be better. I’ve added my name to the list of those who’ve played at Preservation hall.”

“What?”

“The piano player went down, so I gotta chance to show ‘em what I can do.”

“Maybe we should rename her Billy Seed.”

“Dear,” said Mosely, "Billy is not a girl’s name.”

“Well, it’d be an improvement on Bar-”

“No!” Babs called. “Don’t say it.”

“We won’t dear. You get some film of the streetcars?”

“I’ll be doin’ a driver’s eye view tomorrow, I hope.”

“We won’t keep you. See ya tomorrow!”

“See ya!”

After closing the connection, Babs got changed for bed, and let sleep take her to the land of dreams.

The next morning proceeded much like the previous one, just there was salmon this time. After a most delicious breakfast, and a successful attempt to dodge autographs, the group walked down the street to the streetcar stop.

And what came around the bend made a most interesting sight for Babs’ camera.

It was painted a deep green, with red lining on the windows and a flat roof, painted grey. It sat on two bogies of four wheels, and two doors at either end of the machine.

These were the original New Orleans streetcars, the 900 Series. Manufactured by Perley Thomas and Company from 1923 to 1924, they had been in continuous service for over 90 years, not ceasing even during Hurricane Katrina. As the line they ran on (the St. Charles route) was itself a National Historic Landmark, the streetcars had to stay exactly as built, which meant no climate control.

On that note, the St. Charles line had been in continuous operation since 1835, a record that remains unbeaten to this day. The old cars had even helped out on the Canal line during the floods; truly old machinery coming to the rescue.

The machine rolled to a stop and opened the doors, and the group climbed aboard. There was a loud bell from the streetcar, and away it went. Rolling round a tight bend, it raced down streets and dodged bicycles. Or should I say bicycles dodged it. As you don’t get in the way of a streetcar!

Tender pointed something out to Raindrops from the window.

“See that huge building over there?” he asked.

“Yeah, the big silver one?”

“That’s the National WW2 Museum. We’re going there on the last day.”

Presently, the heavily built-up section of the city was left behind, and the streetcar rolled through leafy suburbs with well-proportioned antebellum homes and small stores.

“This is like Gone with the Wind!” Silverstream exclaimed.

Featherweight laughed. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

The streetcar came to a stop opposite the zoo, and the tour group disembarked. After a short walk, they were ready to start their tour of the Garden District.

It didn’t get off to the best of starts. As they walked through the Cemetery, they stopped in front of one of the memorials.

“It is standard practice in N’awlins,” the guide said, “to bury particular professions together. These are the firefighters. There are also ones to the Police, and even the Screwers!”

Most of the group burst into laughter.

“Not that sort!” the guide replied. “They worked in the steel industry, mending screws.”

Mr Royce shook his head. “Maturity, please,” he said.

As they stepped forward, there was suddenly a loud squelching noise. Tender looked back-to see Babs had stepped in in a puddle. An extremely muddy puddle.

Her trainers were now wet-no, that is the wrong word. They were soaked! Mud had splashed up her slacks and she looked a bit of a mess.

“Oops,” was all she had to say.

“Don’t worry, we can dry you off at the hotel,” Raindrops said sympathetically.

“Is that practical?” asked Silverstream. “What if she catches a chill?”

Mr Rolls stepped over. “You five, we can deal with it later before we go to the collection.”

As they walked through the Garden district, many homes were pointed out, including one that belonged to a Kentucky Colonel.

“The fascinating thing about this place,” said the guide, “is that the owner wasn’t even military. Under Kentucky law, you can gain the rank of Colonel as an honorary position. The British have a similar concept with the Lord-Lieutenant.”

“That explains Kentucky Fried Chicken,” Babs sighed. She had mostly dried out, but her trainers were still wet.

“Indeed!” called the tour guide. “Colonel Sanders was an honorary colonel.”

On they went, past the street used in Django Unchained (a reference utterly lost on them), and the house said to have inspired the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland.

Then, the tour concluded a few minutes later. Mr Rolls called the group together.

“Alright everyone!” he called. “We’re going for lunch next, and then we’re catching a bus to the New Orleans collection. On the way we shall see the statue of St. Expedite.”

“What?” asked Raindrops.

“In the 19th Century, the Our Lady of Guadalupe Church on Rampart Street received a box marked ‘spedito’, which in Spanish means ‘rush’,” Tender explained. “However, the monks interpreted this as the Saint’s name, hence ‘St. Expedite’, the patron saint of speedy cases.”

“Fascinating!” Silverstream said. “I’m so getting a picture of it!”

“But first, lunch,” Featherweight observed. “My stomach’s growling.”

The Po'boys they had were excellent, and filled them up enormously. They got the bus just in time, before the heavens opened, and after a quick visit to the statue, they went around the New Orleans collection.

Babs looked closely at the Louisiana Purchase. “So much land for a reasonable price,” she said.

“The irony is,” one of the patrons said, “is that Napoleon didn’t own the land. The Spanish did.”

“Then why was the deal done with France?”

“Territory swaps. France and Spain juggled land endlessly during the 1700s, most notably after the French and Indian War.”

Babs had learned about that in history. “Then who was here when Lewis and Clark came through?”

“Spanish officials,” Tender added. “Remember, we learned all about this?”

“Oh yeah, we did!” Babs nodded. “They must have been extremely brave, wanderin’ out into all that territory.”

Meanwhile, Silverstream was utterly baffled by a pair of British guests.

“What?” she said. “You’ve never heard of the Battle of New Orleans?”

“Minor colonial spat in the midst of bigger things. Familiar with Waterloo?”

“The ABBA song?” Silverstream asked.

“No, the battle,” the British man said, annoyed. “Besides, the terms of the war had already been settled. This defeat meant nothing.”

“Well,” Raindrops chimed in, “it was a pretty humiliating defeat for the British. 285 dead against 13.”

“And it was a real turning point for America,” Silverstream added. “White, black and Indian troops fought under the US flag.”

The second British guest narrowed her eyes. “You sure repaid them well,” she snorted, before she walked away. “Come on, Charles.”

Raindrops shook her head. “There’s no convincing some people.”

After the evening meal, they headed home. After Babs had a bath to warm herself up (and didn’t get stuck, unlike a certain US President) she changed for bed, and let sleep claim her, ready for a day of Jazz.

Author's Note

All the pratfalls mentioned in this chapter? Yup, those happened to me on the trip to NOLA this is based on.

The Greatest Showman

Babs seed woke up, as was her custom these last few days, to a glorious New Orleans morning. The sun reflected off the buildings with intensity and might, and the snow made for a beautiful scene on the ground. It was certainly much happier than when she had last been here, as that had been the last holiday before she had been bullied.

Immediately her heart filled with sadness, remembering those times of horror and heartbreak, as those boys had more or less destroyed her self-confidence and made her a bitter, loathing individual who, put simply, was convinced the entire world was against her. And given the Principle and her own family didn’t take the issue seriously, it certainly seemed that way.

But then that trip to Canterlot had changed everything. The friendship and happiness gained there had shown Babs that, far from being unwanted, she was indeed loved by her family. That in turn had made her a much happier person, and here she was now, leading the East Coast Crusaders forward. They were living proof that they wouldn’t let bullying get them down. They would continue onwards, letting nothing get in the way of who they were meant to be.

Feeling considerably happier, Babs went and showered. After breakfast, she and her friends, along with the rest of the tour group, headed for the Jazz National Park.

The Jazz National Park sits on the riverfront, near where the Natchez docks. As they walked along the quayside, the Calliope started up on the steamboat. And what should it be playing other than-

“It’s playing the Thomas and Friends theme!” exclaimed Featherweight.

“I didn’t realise that existed in that form!” Silverstream exclaimed.

“Forgive me for not knowing,” Raindrops asked, “but how exactly does a Calliope work?”

So, Babs explained.

“A calliope is basically a fancy organ. It works by blowing steam through a series of whistles which are tuned to different notes.”

“As you can hear there,” Tender added, “the whistles need regular tuning, or else they go out of tune.”

“Some of them,” Babs continued, “are run off of card systems, similar to fairground organs. But this one is controlled by a conventional organ keyboard, which makes it a little easier to operate.”

“It sure is noisy!” Silverstream added.

“Sorry?” asked Raindrops.

“I SAID IT IS VERY NOISY!” shouted Silverstream.

“I’m sorry, I can’t here you, the Calliope is too noisy!” Raindrops replied.

“Stop it, you two!” called Featherweight.

After winding through some more streets, they took their seats and saw the pianists walk on and sit down at the partially dismantled piano.

“Good morning!” he called cheerfully.

“Good morning!” everyone replied.

“My name,” he replied, “is Richard Scott. I’m a local piano player, and regularly perform in the local bars and clubs. I’ve been asked to give you all a talk on the history of Jazz and Ragtime.”

He paused. “Who here plays a musical instrument?”

Multiple hands shot up, and he took particular interest in one.

“Hey,” he said, “that’s the girl who played that night at Preservation Hall!”

“How did you know?” Babs replied.

“You’ve been the talk of the town’s musicians for the last few days!” Scott replied.

He turned back to his piano. “The origins of jazz in New Orleans go back into antiquity, but we shall first focus on ragtime, the name which a lot of jazz musicians used for their music at first.”

He played a few pieces, and explained how they fed into each other, which caused most of the students to nod off, except for 5 of them. It was then he had an idea.

Walking over to them, he suggested something. “What if we were to play a more recent piece that shows these aspects?”

“We’ve got some Joel memorised,” Babs said.

“Perfect!”

They assembled on stage, setting up the guitars, drumkit and piano. Featherweight got the microphone tuned and ready. Babs looked behind her. “We good?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“Ready to go!”

“Ready.”

“Let’s wake them up!”

Babs nodded. “One, two, three, four!”

The students were suddenly shaken awake by the sound of a piano and harmonica, and they saw their classmates playing on stage with confidence and gusto.

Then came Featherweight’s turn to sing. He really brought the house down.

“Sing us a song, you're the piano man!
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feelin' alright!”

They clapped and cheered when they had finished. But no sooner had that happened, then Babs put down her guitar and sat at an electronic keyboard. As the first chords of ‘The Entertainer’ sounded from Featherweight, suddenly the sound shifted to a synthesised beat as an altogether different ‘Entertainer’ started up.

“I am the entertainer

And I know just where I stand

Another serenader

And another long-haired band

Today I am your champion

I may have won your hearts

But I know the game, you'll forget my name

And I won't be here in another year

If I don't stay on the charts”.

The audience was stunned at the power and confidence in Tender Taps’ voice, as he enthusiastically strummed out the chords and blasted out the lyrics, accompianed by a wonderfully confident band.

Then as they reached another verse, Featherweight and Silverstream suddenly went wild.

"I am the entertainer

I come to do my show

You've heard my latest record

It's been on the radio

Ah, it took me years to write it

They were the best years of my life

It was a beautiful song

But it ran too long

If you're gonna have a hit

You gotta make it fit

So they cut it down to 3:05!”

They closed off the song in spectacular form. But there was one to go, and boy was it different.

Babs stepped up the mike, and signalled the band for a classic Rock n’ Roll number.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain
Too much love drives a man insane
You broke my will, oh what a thrill
Goodness gracious great balls of fire.”

To say jaws dropped would be an understatement.

“Well,” Scott smiled, “that concludes things. I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip.”

They returned to Jackson Square for the afternoon. Tender was minding his own business, having got his lunch at a nearby café, when suddenly a piece of paper landed on the table, crudely crumpled up and generally looking very messy.

Tender heard some laughter from nearby, and saw some of the other boys on the tour snickering. Sighing, he unrolled the piece of paper, and his eyes widened when he saw what was on it.

It was an exceptionally crude depiction of him and Babs doing something that we cannot discuss in a T rated story.

On the one hand, he was of the mind to report this to the teachers. But on the other hand, he wasn’t convinced that getting worked up over this was worth it. Besides, he did like her, just...not like that.

He wrote on the piece of paper, “WHY WOULD YOU CARE?” He then tossed it back to them, not thinking twice about it at all. He then went on to finishing his sandwich.

Babs and Raindrops, meanwhile, were looking around the park where Babs had accidently ended up on the first day. The Mississippi river was impressive at any time of year, but in winter with the ice floating down it, it looked especially scenic.

“This is a beautiful city, don’t you think?” asked Raindrops.

“Yeah, but the music and the food is the best!” Babs answered.

“Yeah, the South is always great for food,” Raindrops laughed. “But the streetcars have been great as well. Hard to believe we only have one full day left, isn’t it?”

“Well, if the WWII Museum is what it claims to be, it’s seriously good.”

Babs’ danger sense suddenly went into overdrive. Glancing to her right, she saw a group of four men approaching with spray cans.

“Raindrops, we gotta go!” she said.

“Why?”

“See those four men?” Babs asked.

“The ones with spray cans?”

“Those spray cans are loaded with shoe polish. It’s a scam I read about on TripAdvisor where they cover your shoes in the stuff!”

“What good does that do?” Raindrops asked, confused.

“Where’d you get those shoes?” one called.

Babs just grabbed Raindrops’ hand, pulling her back toward the streetcar line. They crossed just in time as the barriers dropped. Bas pulled out her camera, and filmed the streetcar rolling past.

Later that evening, the group returned to the hotel. Tender came up in the lift and walked back toward his room when suddenly he collided with Babs.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there!” he said.

“What did you do?” she asked. “I’ve been asked repeatedly if we’ve been...doing it.”

“Well, some boys threw an obscene drawing at me, which I threw back. Besides, I’m pretty certain that’d be illegal.”

“With the words, ‘Why would you care?’ written underneath,” Babs answered. “Now everyone thinks were datin’ or somethin’!”

“Why does it matter to you?” Tender asked.

“Look,” Babs said, “sorry for gettin' so worked up. I guess it’s just because...”

“Do you like me that way?” Tender asked again.

“Wait? What, no!” Babs answered.

But much like her cousin, it was blindingly obvious for all to see that Babs was a terrible liar. The red cheeks and awkward glances were more than a giveaway in that regard.

“So, you do like me.”

Babs gave up. “Yeah, I do.” There was a deafening silence. “So, given that everyone thinks we are...”

“You wanna make it for real?” Tender waited for her answer. “But what if it doesn’t work?”

“We can be friends again, in that case,” Babs replied. “But...will you be my boyfriend?”

Tender smiled. “I feel the same way for you Babs. I’d be honoured to have you as my girlfriend.”

What came next caught him completely off-guard.

Babs leaned forward, and kissed him, their lips locked for what felt like hours. Tender had never been kissed by a girl before, and the memory would never leave him. His mind went haywire with emotions, his heart surging with happiness as he experienced emotions he’d never felt before.

He liked-no, he loved Babs Seed. And he never wanted that to end.

But alas, it had to. Babs pulled back to give Tender a chance to breathe. “That your first time?” she asked.

“Yeah. But it felt great!”

“Me too!” Babs grinned. “Hopefully we can do it more.”

Tender thought for a moment. “As the old saying goes, ‘the first girl you kiss is always the sweetest, and the first battle you fight is always the toughest’.”

“Where’d ya get that one from Valentine?”

“It’s an old USAF saying.”

They were so happy, simply gazing into each other’s eyes, they didn’t notice somebody sneaking up behind them.

“Looks like I was right!” he shouted.

Babs and Tender broke in shock, and looked at the voice. Or rather, the person to whom the voice belonged.

“I always knew you weaklings stayed together, but it won’t be long till yer goin’ to bed with one another!”

Babs looked absolutely furious, but Tender stepped in the way before she could blow a fuse and do something she’d regret.

“That’s not called for!” he shouted. “It would be illegal for us to do anything like that. The consent age in New York state is 17.”

Their tormentor began to falter. “B-but-”

“Besides, the drawing you sent me would certainly make the teachers interested, given the contents. You wouldn’t do well out of me telling them, would you?”

He was lost for words, but Tender pushed his advantage.

“Besides, why should you care if I love Babs or not? What’s it to you?”

He leaned in his face. “Compensating for something, are we?”

The bully simply roared in his face. “DAMN YOU TENDER TAPS! You will regret this!” and he scarpered.

Babs was amazed. “That was great! I’d probably have just floored him, but you scared the crap outta him!”

“I was getting sick of him too,” Tender replied. “Hey, see you tomorrow. We’re going ship hunting!”

Babs relaxed in her bed, happier than ever before. For she knew that she had friends at her side, but that also she was in love. A love that she hoped would endure as long as she lived.

Author's Note

Fun fact; that scam is real. I was very nearly a victim of it when in NOLA.

I believe this is the very first TenderSeed (BabsTaps?) story ever. If there are any others, feel free to correct me.

Stay tuned for tomorrow!

Lest we Forget

“Targets sighted!”

Tender Taps shouted down from the periscope to the Captain.

“Roger that!” Babs replied. “RADAR, you got anythin’?”

“Copy, we have three targets up ahead!” Raindrops replied. “Locking targets now!” She rotated some dials and pressed down on a large red button. The indicator light on her panel switched from red to green.

“SONAR confirms targets locked!” Featherweight called.

“Excellent!” Babs replied. “Gunner, you ready?”

“Aye Captain!” Silverstream replied. “On your word.”

The hostile transport came into view, slowly, surely. Then the opportunity came.

“FIRE!”

Silverstream pulled back on the trigger, and a torpedo shot out of the tube. A few tense moments passed as the submarine ran underwater for a few minutes.

Then a jet of water lit up the sky, followed by a fireball of red and orange as the transport was torn apart in a fiery explosion.

“YES!” Tender called. “Confirmed kill on enemy tanker.”

Babs took out her radio. “Command, we have confirmed a kill on enemy tanker. Repeat, we just bagged our 15th kill.”

“Good job, sink as many as you can.”

“Captain!” Raindrops called. “We have a confirmed track on the second tanker. It’s circling right over us!”

“Shit, dive!”

There was a lurching sensation and groaning noise as the sub began to dive deeper, swinging around as it did so.

Silverstream waited for the order.

“Lock targets behind us!”

“Roger!” Once again, Raindrops’ display switched from red to green. “Target locked!”

“FIRE!”

Silverstream depressed the trigger, and heard the thump as the torpedo was launched from the rear of the submarine. It smashed into the target and destroyed it utterly.

“Our 16th kill!” Babs added down the radio. “How many torpedoes do we have left?”

“Just the one,” Silverstream replied.

Babs nodded. “We’ll make it count. Every ship we sink is one fewer that makes it to Peleliu.”

Raindrops called over. “Final target has been locked Captain.”

Featherweight looked over. The tension in his face was palpable. “Godspeed,” was all he said.

“Fire.”

There was a deafening silence as the final torpedo left the tube. Then sirens began blaring as Tender called down again.

“Torpedo is a maverick! Torpedo is a maverick!”

Babs frantically turned the wheel to try and get the submarine clear of the rogue torpedo. But it wasn’t enough.

There was a massive explosion from the port side, and the submarine began to flood.

“To the escape hatches!” Babs called. The 5 friends ran for their lives as the USS Tang was torn apart from the inside and out.

Several hours earlier...

Babs woke up the next morning to be presented with another NOLA sunrise. After getting dressed and heading downstairs for breakfast, she munched her way through some cereal, when an idea struck her.

Over in the lobby was a piano, which anyone could play. A smile grew across her face as she had an idea. Finishing the last of her cardboardios, she got up out of her seat and walked over to the piano, adjusting the footrest as she did so and checking she could reach the pedals.

(until 0:53)

And off she went, into a rendition of Maple Leaf Rag that made everyone stop and listen as she flew through the chords with little difficulty.

“She’s good!” said one of the porters.

Her friends came out the elevator to hear her playing, wonderful joyous ragtime, and stood around the keyboard to listen to the wondrous sound.

But she wasn’t done there. One the repeat, she suddenly switched tunes!

(0:29 to end)

“Whoever would have known the Thomas and Friends theme and Maple Lead Rag went so well together?” Raindrops asked, as they walked from the streetcar stop.

“Perfectly,” Babs replied. “Same key, same tempo-I honestly wonder if O’Donnell and Campbell borrowed something from Joplin!”

“It seems likely,” admitted Tender Taps. “Ragtime is one of the most influential genres of all time.”

“Before there was Rap,” Silverstream began.

“There was Ragtime,” Featherweight finished.

“Before Michael Jackson,” continued Raindrops.

“There was Scott Joplin!” they chorused. But now was the time for silence.

As they had arrived at the National WWII Museum. This large, imposing building stood on Magazine Street, and was actually 5 buildings. It had started life as the D-Day Museum, and had gradually grown to encompass the entirety of the American experience in WWII.

Inside the main lobby of the Louisiana Pavilion, a multitude of items were on display, including a field hospital wagon, an original Flak 88, a Spitfire suspended from the roof, and a Higgins Boat. Which, as they knew well by now, had been invented in the city and had carried many soldiers to many a beach across the world.

After being let through the ticket line, they boarded the recreation passenger car and scanned their dog tags in order to begin their WW2 story.

After a long trip, they arrived on the other side and headed up the stairs.

“Where first?” asked Raindrops.

“I’d suggest going to the Pacific first,” Silverstream suggested. “My grandfather was an Admiral in the US Navy, and that’s where he served.”

Tender looked at her. “What was his name?”

“Seaspray.”

Babs’ jaw dropped. “You’re descended from Admiral Seaspray?”

Silverstream nodded. “And my dad served in the 1980s on the USS Missouri!”

“Well,” Featherweight noted, “you learn something new every day.”

The experience was intensely moving, to say the least. The mixture of interior layout, artefacts and interpretive signs really helped to bring the Pacific to life. And unlike so many museums in New York, the touchscreens actually worked!

But then came their time slot for Final Mission, a recreation of the last mission of the USS Tang. They had just exited from it, and looked around the Armour hall, which had a Sherman and several Jeeps on display, as well as several aircraft suspended from the ceiling, visible only via accessing an extremely slow lift.

At the end of the day, they had their showing of Beyond all Boundaries, which worked well for them, although they heard some British visitors grumbling.

“The war wasn’t just fought by the Americans you know!” one of them said. Silverstream recognised the voice. It was the woman whom she’d seen in the NOLA Collection.

“But we did do much of the heavy lifting in the Pacific,” Raindrops said to her. “Remind me, what happened to your battleships?”

“The Japanese sank Force Z pretty easily.” Silverstream crossed her arms. “So, Britain kinda owes us a thank you.”

The woman was left speechless, and simply walked away. “Yanks,” she grumbled.

As Babs settled down for bed that night, ready to return tomorrow, she had no idea that the next day would propel her into the history books.

Author's Note

If you ever find yourself in New Orleans, I strongly recommend the National WWII Museum (indeed, coming from a Brit). The Pacific gallery is especially good, even if it leaves out certain bits like Peleliu and the Chindits.

Snowed Under

The morning came, and with it came the packing of cases with personal items and dragging all conceivable bags downstairs. As they waited for the coach to pull up, they decided to share some of their best memories of the trip.

“How about the music?” Tender Taps suggested.

“That would definitely run in the top 10 for me,” suggested Raindrops.

“How about the food?” added Silverstream. “I LOVED THE FOOD!”

“We all did,” Babs replied, subconsciously licking her lips.

“But what else?” Featherweight added. “Surely the WWII Museum was a highlight?”

“It was, yes,” Tender continued. “We really got a sense of what it was like for those submariners in the Pacific.”

“And we did get the highest score of the group,” Raindrops reminded them.

“I bet your highlight was the streetcars Babs,” Featherweight noted.

“They were ONE of the highlights.”

Just then, the bus pulled in, and they boarded it to go to Chalmette.

On the way, they drove through the remains of the Lower 9th, Devastated by the floods of Hurricane Katrina back in 2005. Even 9 years on, it was still yet to recover from the chaos.

The bus rolled across the railroad line and into the battlefield itself, driving along the back of a line of artillery pieces positioned behind a rampart.

“So, this was where we beat the British,” Babs said to the others.

“The great victory of Andrew Jackson,” Tender Taps told them.

“The British did make a number of key mistakes,” Raindrops added.

“Namely?” Featherweight added.

“Listen up!” called Mr Rolls. “We are now going inside the visitor centre to learn about the battle. Please stay alert and remember to be respectful to this battlefield.”

So, they learned the truth of the Battle of New Orleans. Fought in 1815, it was the last attempt of the British to seize American territory. But due to some catastrophically bad planning, what should have been an easy victory turned into an embarrassing defeat for the British, and the victory that cemented America’s reputation.

Seeing the actual site itself really brought the place to life, and there was thunder in the air. With a little bit of imagination, it was easy to imagine cannons thundering in the distance, a battle raging out in the fog and cloud.

The fact there would have been no snow was irrelevant. But their time came to an end and they boarded the bus to the airport. Babs looked out upon NOLA’s streets for what she thought would be the very last time, but fate had a few surprises in store yet.

As the bus came to a stop, they piled off and looked at the departure board.

Each flight had the same word next to it.

CANCELLED.

“I don’t believe it!” Mr Royce said.

“Apparently, it’s because of the snow,” Mr Rolls added.

Raindrops shrugged. “Well, how are we gonna get home?”

“We could go by road,” Tender added.

“The roads are too slow,” Featherweight said. “It’d take us days to get home, and I doubt hotels in the region have any vacancies.”

“We can still get home,” Babs said.

“Have you not been listening?” despaired Silverstream. “We have no transportation options left!”

“We do,” Babs replied. “We got a GG1.”

Tender just looked at her as if she’d suggested robbing Fort Knox. “Are you crazy? That thing’s a museum piece!”

When they arrived at the museum, they looked at the GG1. Sure enough, the paint was still flaky, and it was in need of a little TLC, but the engine was structurally there.

Featherweight was looking around it, and speaking as he did so. “This electric locomotive is nearly 80 years old and out of date. It lacks ATP and TPWS, and lacks digital control gauges. The traction motors are analogue, which isn’t necessarily a problem, except they are full of toxic chemicals which I’d rather not get involved with!” He paused, and looked at Babs. “There is a manual checklist for running these things, but it’d take months and we have nowhere near enough people to run a passenger train. I have no idea what you are thinking, but I doubt this thing will ever run again. And what about passenger cars? We can’t move them in vans!”

There was a loud bang, which startled them. A door had opened, and through stepped a group of men and women, the youngest of whom was 40 and the oldest 80. Leading them forward was Lionel Jeffries.

Each of them was dressed in the Pennsylvania Railroad uniform of a black suit with a black and gold cap. Each had a black tie immaculately maintained, and they stepped over to Babs, who extended her hand to greet Jeffries.

“I didn’t expect to see you this soon,” he laughed.

“The weather’s kinda done that,” Babs admitted. She took a deep breath. “I know all of you have served both your country and your railroad for decades, and none of us have any right to ask any more of you. But please...I’m asking.”

Jeffries chuckled. “What do you need, kid?”

Babs nodded. “Can we borrow yer GG1?”

“Well, we’ll need to get those bogies looked at, but I reckon it can be done. C’mon boys! Let’s get the hazmat suits!”

The works crane went into action, lifting the bodywork free of the heavy motor frames and chassis. Almost immediately, the team flew into action, taking the traction motors to pieces and releasing heavy fluids into toxic container tanks.

“Transistors need replacing,” one of them noted. “Send for spares.”

Featherweight took a close look at the work that was being done. “You were stockpiling spares?” he asked.

“We always dreamed of getting this thing running again. We were just waiting for a chance to wake her from her slumber.” The veteran looked up at him. “C’mon, get to work!”

Featherweight passed some extra components forward and got to work on cleaning up the connections in the traction motors.

Meanwhile, Silverstream and Raindrops helped out with the bodywork, cleaning the pantographs on the massive electric locomotive.

Another engineer looked at them. “Have you worked on a locomotive before?”

“Only a miniature one in my local park,” Silverstream admitted.

“You ought to fit right in,” he smiled. “Can you get to work on the switches?”

Raindrops took a rag and began cleaning the switchboard, and spraying it with rust remover to clean up the controls. Silverstream, meanwhile, got to work on the power transmission systems.

Elsewhere, Babs was being run through the power control systems of the locomotive.

“These locomotives were built before synchromesh was introduced,” Jeffries told her. “As a result, the power trucks are not always synchronised. The lever on the left controls direction. Push it away from you to go forward, and pull toward you to go backward. Pull the throttle toward you to accelerate, and push it away to brake.”

“What about brakes?”

“These engines have continuous air and loco brakes on them. These things are powerful, so go easy on the throttle.”

Meanwhile, Tender Taps had a paintbrush in his hand, and set about repainting the bodywork of the GG1. Off came the old flaking paint of the museum, and one went a fresh coat of Swindon Green, with yellow stripes running up and down the bodywork. The frames looked as if they had just rolled off of the production line.

“How are the motors coming along?” he called to Featherweight.

“Power systems and bogies are almost ready and prepared!” Featherweight called back.

The crane roared into life, and the bodywork and frames were reunited. It had taken them 7 solid hours of work, but now the moment of truth had arrived for the crew.

Jeffries and Babs took up positions in the front cab, and Raindrops and Silverstream in the rear. Another engineer took position in the generator room.

Jeffries took up the radio. “Preparing for hook-up.”

A diesel locomotive backed into the shed, and the knuckle-eyes engaged with a clunk. With a rattle and a roar, the formation moved forward and under the overhead wires, where the diesel uncoupled and moved away.

Jeffries threw a switch. “Best cover your ears,” he smiled, as the pantographs rose into the air and made contact with the overhead power system. He then threw another switch, and a loud bang and pop sounded as the transistor valves engaged. These bangs were promptly replaced by a loud roar, as the traction motors kicked in. A loud whine echoed through the cab, confirming that they indeed had power.

Babs took her seat at the controls, and flicked the drive switch into the forward position. She released the brakes and pulled the throttle lever toward her. With a groan, and a rumble, the massive electric engine began to move forward and onto the mainline.

They had done it. For the first time in over 30 years, a GG1 was fully operational and running on America’s railway lines. Radio messages echoed up and down the locomotive as it rolled along.

“Readings on amp gauge?”

“Clocking in at 200, over.”

“Current flow from main pantographs?”

“25 kV AC, over.”

The engine rolled over the junction, and then when the switch had changed, began to reverse into the station.

The engineer in the traction room picked up his radio. "Boss, is it true we’re running to New York...non-stop?”

“Sure looks that way.”

He paused. “Holy shit!”

Author's Note

This is the first story on this site that I know of with a GG1 in it. But will they make it back to New York?

Can anybody spot what movie this scene is referencing?

Thunderstruck

In the station, a rake of 20 Pennsylvania Railroad P70 cars was lined up. A full restaurant car had been sandwiched in the middle of the train, and the on-train lighting was linked up. The luggage had been loaded into the baggage cars at the end of the formation. As the students stood around on the platform, they grumbled amongst themselves.

“Hey!” said one. “What is this, the Chattanooga Choo Choo?”

“And how are these cars gonna get us home?” asked another. “These things belong in a museum!”

“This was how people travelled in the old days,” said one of the PRR workers. “Now if you’ll kindly get aboard, we can get going on our journey.”

Several students began to board the passenger cars, and took their seats in the aisles which faced the direction of travel toward New York.

“Boy is it freezing!” said one.

“Where’s this train going, the North Pole?” asked another.

The attendant stepped forward. “This is a high-speed service from New Orleans to New York. The run will take approximately 13 hours, but we have sleeper cars on the train to compensate. Food will be served at 7, 10 and 1 in the dining cars. We hope you enjoy your trip.”

She stepped over to the radio. “Alright, couple her up!”

At the front of the train, 4859 slowly backed toward the train. Raindrops called Babs back from the rear cab.

“OK, 20 cars.

“20 cars, copy.”

“10 cars.”

“10 cars, copy!”

“5 cars, brake!”

Roger that, braking!”

The air brakes came on as the engine slowed to a crawl, and rolled into the knuckle eye with a gentle clunk. An attendant came out and linked up the brakes, and Babs took the opportunity to start the fuel-oil heating system. It would never do to let her classmates freeze, as much as she disliked some of them.

Jeffries spoke to her from the other side of the cab. “The fuel-oil reserve will last for approximately 12 hours, so use it sparingly. In addition, we need to switch drivers every hour to maintain concentration. There are four members of crew on the locomotive, so each of us will get at least three driving turns. In addition, when you come off your shift, go to the rest car. DO NOT attempt to act as way watcher, you’ll be too tired.”

“Understood sir,” Babs replied. She switched on the radio. “This is 4859, we are ready to depart, over.”

“Understood 4859, have a safe trip to New York.”

Babs sounded the horn, and slowly opened up the tap changer. The GG1 eased forward out of the station with a groan, and rumbled onto the main line, trundling over the points and onto the outbound track. The speed limit changed from 15MPH to 100, and Babs cranked open the throttle. The motors began to whine and then roar in a suitably noisy manner, the noise in the cab deafening. Babs pulled on a pair of ear defenders to protect her hearing. The current streaked down the wires and into the engines, which in turn fed even more power into the wheels. The speed increased, until they were doing 100 miles an hour down the mainline, roaring past Lake Ponchartrain on the northbound line.

An SD40 freight passed them on the southbound track, and the conductor did a double take.

“What the? Was that a GG1?” he asked.

“Those guys at the transport museum actually got it working!” replied the engineer.

The conductor took out his radio. “Dispatch, there’s a GG1 with a fully loaded passenger train headed north, over.”

“We’re aware of it, over. AMTRAK has given orders for it to be given priority on all sections of line.”

The conductor wiped his brow. “What a crazy day. First the snow, then heritage electric locos. Whatever next, rainbow lasers?”

After an hour had elapsed, Babs handed over to Lionel, and went back to the support coach to rest. As she looked out of the window, the terrain slowly gave way from the rolling Deep South, to the Chesapeake hills and valleys of Virginia. Everywhere you looked, people were turning out to see this American icon thunder along the rails, the drivers enthusiastically sounding the horn.

Further down the line, a man by the name of James T. Hook was on an excursion hauled by 1218, which was speeding down the line toward Roanoke, Virginia. Suddenly, the special began to slow down, and diverted into a siding just south of Glenvar.

“Oh, come on!” he shouted. “Why have we stopped?”

“Apparently, there’s a train coming through that has priority,” the conductor told him.

“Not another freight,” James groaned. Then suddenly he heard a sound which he had only heard on YouTube before this point. It sounded like a long, slow tuba being played in 3 keys at once.

"Jeez Louise!"

He pulled out his camera, and pointed it down the line, setting it to start recording. What he saw thundering down the line he would never forget.

It was a GG1, pulling a long train of P70 cars and sleepers. It blasted its horn again as it flew past him, and onwards into the evening.

“Whoo!” he called. “I got a GG1 on camera!”

He then took out his phone, went onto a trainspotter's website, and typed the following message;

GG1 just passed through Roanoke! Awesome!

Then the reply came back;

April Fool’s isn’t for another few months, James.

James sighed. He then uploaded the footage he had recorded to YouTube and posted the link;

Then explain this!

A number of responses came back. Any and all reactions appeared;

Holy shit dude! Is this real?

Awesome clip!

Pennsy forever!

Rare catch James! Can I borrow your time machine?

James smiled. He had got a truly rare catch, but one last message got his attention.

Good shot. I’ll see if I can get a video of a Class 77.

The Blue EM2.

Mr and Mrs Orange, as well as Sunflower, were standing on the platform at Grand Central Station. Mr Orange had been immensely worried when he had heard the flights and road trips were cancelled due to the snow, and equally confused when he received a message telling him to pick his daughter up from Grand Central.

“Where are they?” asked Sunflower. “I hope nothin’ bad’s happened!”

“They probably caught an AMTRAK train,” Mr Orange replied.

“That’ll take them ages!” said Mrs Orange.

When suddenly there came a horn, unlike any they’d heard before.

And into the platform, the train did glide. A GG1, resplendent in green and yellow and pulling a long heavy train, an echo of the 1940s and the golden age of the railroad. It came to a stop, and the brakes came on as the generators hummed.

And out of the cab, who should step other than-

Babs, Tender, Raindrops, Featherweight, and Silverstream, followed by Lionel Jeffries. All of them were grinning from ear to ear.

“Babs!” called Sunflower. “Yer OK!”

“Hey, nice to see ya too!” Babs replied.

Then a reporter stepped forward, and motioned to the camera. “I’m from the news,” he said, “and was wondering if I could interview you.”

“Sure thing,” Babs replied.

The reporter motioned the camera to start rolling. "And this was the spectacular moment that a passenger train arrived in Grand Central Station, pulled by an engine not seen in nearly 30 years. The machine, Pennsylvania Railroad GG1 no 4859, was last seen running in 1979, but today pulled a nonstop train from New Orleans to New York City. We go now to interview the driver.”

He began to speak again. “So, Miss Seed, what gave you the idea to restore the engine?"

“Well sir,” Babs replied, “our flight was called off due to snow and the roads were blocked. But you can always rely on the railroad to save the day."

"How hard was it to get the engine working again?" The reporter asked.

"It was tough, as we had to replace some parts in the traction motors which were corroded due to age. But we had help. Veteran engineers got the engine running again."

"Former Pennsylvania employees?"

"Yep. Without them we'd still be stranded in N'awlins." Babs indicated to Lionel.

The reporter smiled. "So, there you have it. A truly incredible story, work against the odds, and a girl who is truly a credit to us all." He indicated to her. “Keep an eye out for yourself on the national news tonight.”

Babs smiled, and walked into the arms of her parents.

“That was amazing!” her mother cried.

“I always knew from the day you were born that you would...restore an old electric train and drive it to New York,” her father faltered.

“Those engineerin’ skills really did come in handy,” smiled Sunflower.

And thus, Babs was happy, as once again had she come up against the odds and emerged victorious. Truly it was a glorious day for her, a glorious day for her friends, and a glorious day for the men and women of the Pennsylvania Railroad.

Author's Note

Can you spot the tribute to a friend of mine?

Credits

CAST-IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE
Richard Ian Cox-New York bully, Featherweight, complaining students
Brynna Drummond-Babs Seed
Travis Turner-Tender Taps
Ashleigh Ball-Raindrops, girl wanting to swap seats, tour guide
Lauren Jackson-Silverstream, hotel attendant
Tabitha St. Germain-Priscilla Orange
Michelle Creber-Apple Bloom
Laura Drummond-Sunflower
Brian Drummond-Mosely Orange, passengers in the cabin, other band member, NOLA collection patron, PRR veterans, Dispatch
Peter New-Jelly Roll
Bill Newton-Mr Royce
Jude Cicilollela-Lionel Jeffries
Denzel Washington-news reporter 1, Cafe du Monde waiter, band leader
Trevor Devall-British man
Chantal Strant-British woman
Richard Scott-Himself
James T. Hook-Himself
Tom Hanks-News reporter 2

Author's Note

Thanks for reading.

A Cousin Calls

Apple Bloom got back in from school and wandered upstairs to her room. Quickly flicking on her PC, she felt her phone suddenly vibrate. She went to check it, and saw it was a news alert. Quickly checking it, she was amazed at the headline.

Students restore electric engine and drive it to New York.

Bloom's eyes opened wide. "What the?" she asked, as she clicked on the video.

"And this was the spectacular moment that a passenger train arrived in Grand Central Station, pulled by an engine not seen in nearly 30 years. The machine, Pennsylvania Railroad GG1 no 4859, was last seen running in 1979, but today pulled a nonstop train from New Orleans to New York City. We go now to interview the driver.

The footage suddenly cut to an interview. Apple Bloom gasped when she saw who was being interviewed.

"Ma!" she called. "Babs is on the National News!"

So, Miss Seed, what gave you the idea to restore the engine?"

"Well sir, our flight was called off due to snow and the roads were blocked. But you can always rely on the railroad to save the day."

"How hard was it to get the engine working again?"

"It was tough, as we had to replace some parts in the traction motors which were corroded due to age. But we had help. Veteran engineers got the engine running again."

"Former Pennsylvania employees?"

"Yep. Without them we'd still be stranded in N'awlins."

"So there you have it. A truly incredible story, work against the odds, and a girl who is truly a credit to us all."

Apple Bloom switched to contacts, and called Babs Seed.

"Heya Babs!" she said. "Ah was wantin' to know somethin'..."

Author's Note

Well, another story over. What did you guys think?