Chapter Text
The yard buzzed with the usual noise: gossip from the carriages, the sharp whistles from Poppa and Rusty and the ever present aggression of the other engines. Everything grated against Electra’s nerves, the noise on the tip of becoming unbearable.
They stood near the edge of the track, arms folded over their chest plate, spine rigid, expression set in a sour tone as they watched Pearl from afar. She was giggling (like always), as she chatted with Dinah. Her long curly hair swayed with the breeze, the sunlight reflecting off her uniform bathing her in a pink glow. It wasn’t that Electra wanted to be with her. No, they had long realised that misunderstanding
But they didn’t exactly want to be Pearl either.
She wore her gentle femininity like an accessory, it made Electra ache.
An ache that was getting harder to ignore…
“Oi, Sparky!” Greaseballs voice shook them out of their thoughts. Electra didn’t make a move to acknowledge him.
“What?” They replied, in a clipped tone after realising Greaseball wouldn’t leave.
Greaseball threw his arm around Electra’s shoulder, his bulbous muscles digging into Electra’s softer muscle. He smiled smugly which set Electra on edge, who was already bristling from all the unwanted contact.
“You been starin’ at Pearl again? You better be careful, she’s Rusty’s problem now, and trust me when I say you’ll fry yourself tryin’ to figure out girls.” Greaseball jeered, patting his back which felt more like slaps.
Electra huffed, “I wasn’t-”
“You know how it is for coaches,” Greaseball interrupted. “They’re dolled up to the max in their Sunday best because that’s part of their job. We engines don’t do that. We’re built for power and speed not frilly skirts and powderin’ our nose.”
It felt like a punch in their fantasy, the harsh reality shocking them of what an engine should be.
In all honesty, Greaseball was probably having a laugh. Maybe it was a passive aggressive jab at their more fluid style, or their dramatic glittery makeup. Either way, it felt like constraints bounding them to what the yard considered good, traditional even. Respect in this yard was earned with old values.
Electra built their whole reputation around being superior, faster, sleeker; but respect in this yard was forged on testosterone and brutish engines. You had to talk over others. You had to be aggressive (mentally and physically). You had to laugh at the slowest of them all and beat them down until all softness that resided in you was erased. Without Electra’s speed would the residents really have been as star struck as they were?
They had been performing their whole life.
Greaseball snorted before hacking up spit on the floor. Gross. “Catch you later, don’t be staring any longer, wouldn’t want you to catch an eye for my Dinah next.” Was all he said before speeding away. Electra couldn’t help but scoff, ‘his Dinah’. It was a shock she even accepted his poor attempt at an apology, let alone him claiming he owned her.
It was during that whirlwind of dark thoughts that something snapped.
It wasn’t some thunderous explosion that Electra unleashed from all the build up. They simply felt their mask collapsing. Suddenly, breathing wasn’t an automatic task, their wig was weighing too heavy, their uniform was digging in all the wrong places and their makeup stuck like cement to their face.
Spotting a hidden path, with no components, Electra speeded off back to their shed. Slamming the metal door shut, they stumbled to the bathroom mirror. They shakily ran a hand over their jaw, sharp, which then trailed down to their adam’s apple. They logically knew they were gorgeous but the features upon their body and face were so undeniably male it made Electra feel like they were looking at something else in the mirror. Someone they didn’t want to be.
Their body was built to intimidate, to stun. It was colourful and imposing with perfect symmetry, without flaws an opponent would have barely any insults to use against them. And don’t get Electra wrong, they loved attention, but there was something wrong, so so wrong.
They let out a frustrated growl bordering on a sob, they didn’t always feel like this! They had days where they loved their body, showing off their muscles to Wrench after every check up; but on days like this where all they yearned for was to look different, much more then a wig and makeup could supply, it felt like such a depressive low.
“What’s wrong with me?” They whimpered to themselves, slowly falling onto their knees gripping onto the edge of the sink for dear life. Electra thought this ‘dysphoric’ problem would go away, that’s why they implemented the new non-binary terms hoping that it would fix their perils. And it did. For a little, before it hit even harder knowing that they failed, they still don’t feel like themself and now they are weak, weak enough to cry.
Through their self wallowing, Electra didn’t realise someone else had entered the shed. Krupps bottom half soon appeared in their blurry vision. “Boss?” Was all he asked softly. Electra didn’t respond, they continued staring at the floor intently as if that held the answers.
“My sincere apologies for not removing Greaseball from your presence quicker, I was sadly distracted, I promise it won’t happen again.”
Electra laughed bitterly, “You’re allowed to enjoy yourself Krupp, I can stand up for myself.” A thunk echoed in the bathroom as Krupp kneeled beside Electra, “I’m not denying that, but obviously something was said that has upset you.”
Scoffing, Electra rolled their eyes. “And what? You’ve come here to help me talk through my feelings? I think you forget yourself Krupp, you’re only an Armaments Truck.” The tone was vindictive and totally uncalled for but it felt so good to put someone else down, maybe this is how Greaseball felt constantly berating Rusty.
“I may have been built to carry military cargo, but that’s not all.” He slowly intertwined his hand with Electra’s, “you don’t have to shut me out.”
Electra’s bottom lip trembled before they let themself sink on Krupp, sniffling and whimpering, “I don’t think I can do this anymore, I don’t know who I am.”
“You’re still Electra,” Krupp said, gently pulling Electra closer. “Still our engine, it’s not a matter of who you are but what you want to be.”
“Sometimes, facing myself in the mirror is the hardest task of the day.” Electra whispered as if it was a sin to be admitted aloud.
“Then we’ll work on it, all of us, as long as it takes until you’re comfortable.”
“So I can race better?”
“So you can be happier,” Krupp said firmly. “And if anyone gives you any grief they will be answering to me,” he added while cracking his knuckles with a pop.
That pulled a small smile out of Electra, “Thanks.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Krupp said before hauling Electra up like they were nothing. He sat them at their vanity and began picking up hair tools.
“Are you sure you can do this?” Electra croaked out.
“I’ve observed the others, i’m sure i’ve got a grasp on what needs to be done. Unless you would like to wait for others to assist you?”
“No! No, this is fine.” Electra blurted out.
The next 30 minutes was spent in a comforting silence as Krupp removed their wig (and even stored it on the mannequins head correctly!), removed their makeup and cleaned their face until they felt fresh but bare.
Surprisingly, Krupp broke the silence. “Are you going to inform the others of your troubles? Wrench is very good for advice from what i’ve found.”
“I’m not sure, I don’t know if I can, it’s so hard to…” Electra huffed in distress, the words evaporating from their mouth.
“Articulate?” Krupp finished off for them.
“Why, yes.”
“I can help, if that is what you desire.”
Electra didn’t respond, they just tilted their head to relax on Krupp and it seemed that was all the answer he needed.
“Then consider it done.” Was the last thing Krupp said before Electra’s eyes slowly fluttered shut.