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SD70M 9566 was thrown into a scrapyard when they were only young, around 4 or 5. They can’t remember anything from their original yard, only the faint silhouette of a woman, the same one who scrapped them. They were named ‘Greaseball’ by some other trains, mainly due to their greased hair and unkept nature. However, the other trainlings picked up the name ‘Greasehead’ which then changed to ‘Shitball’ as they got older.
Greaseball was an ambitious child. She always read about champion racers in newspapers that she would find buried under scrapped parts, and she often watched VHS tapes of older races on a busted TV (which miraculously worked in the almost abandoned scrapyard). They dreamed of being on podiums with a champion trophy in hand. When it was cold at night, she would often venture out onto the tracks, riding around until late. Greaseball would pretend to be a champion racer, zooming as fast as her little wheels could take her. They would practice what they’d do if they won, how they would enter the races with a proud smirk, how they'd stretch their body out moments before a race so they were ready. Greaseball would often fall asleep fantasising about holding their victory cup proudly, with everyone cheering for her.
None of the other trains left in the scrapyard believed in her dreams. They all thought she was the same as them: a useless engine awaiting their demise. Some of the younger trains in the yard would often beat Greaseball up, saying that a stupid diesel like her could never be a racing champion. But even with every new scar and bruise, it didn’t dampen her spirits. She would spend many nights training on the tracks. She spent hours learning different ways of overtaking other racers, how to go so fast you could barely see her whizz past, and how to properly warm up her body for a race.
She was only 13 when she entered into a race for the first time. It was a junior race in the next yard over. Nothing serious, just a little race for the sake of it. Despite everyone in the scrapyard ridiculing her for even thinking about entering, she still signed up for the race. Greaseball was stressed out of their mind about the race, worrying about messing up and everyone around them ridiculing her. However, as Control announced their name for the first time, all that nervousness washed away, being replaced with a wave of adrenaline. It was a solo race, and she was up against some other engines, but she didn’t pay any mind to them. She ended up getting first place, thrashing the rest of her competition by a landslide. Although she didn’t win anything for the race, the feeling of everyone cheering and congratulating her felt more rewarding than any medal or trophy ever did.
After her first race, Greaseball constantly craved that winning feeling. She sought that feeling of having everyone's approval and praise. She longed for everyone cheering for her. So, she kept entering races. They would train late at night for hours, pushing their body to the limit. Greaseball wouldn't stop until they felt like they were about to drop (DONT STOP NOW, YOU’VE GOTTA KEEP IT GOING ALL NIGHT) She would also sneak into the stands of other races to watch the champion engines. She loved the adrenaline of the race track. The atmosphere was almost a comfort to her. The buzz of the crowd, the sound of the engines revving their engines to impress younger kids, the smell of freshly made popcorn. It always made the tension in her shoulders relax, the constant picking at the skin around her nails would suddenly stop.
When Greaseball was 16, she entered into her first professional race. One of the marshalls from her junior races had signed her up for it, seeing the potential the young diesel engine had. She was nervous out of her mind, why wouldn't she be? This was their professional debut! Hundreds of people would be sat in the stands, watching and scrutinising every little turn and takeover they did. They almost wanted to back out, to go back to the scrapyard and become yet another irrelevant engine. But her mind went back to her younger self who spent hours in the dark practising every little move until she perfected them. She couldn't let herself down. This was their dream.
Greaseball was paired with a random coach. If you asked them now, they couldn’t even tell you what the coach's name was. All she knew was that the coach was good enough to race with, and that's what really mattered to Greaseball. She was racing against much older engines, some who had even won the championship before! To this day, Greaseball believes that her first race was definitely the toughest. It was her first time being up against engines who actually took the races seriously. Having to deal with arrogant racers attempting to take over her and snobby coaches trying to shove her was an extremely hard thing to adjust to, but she managed and ended up winning (barely). Having everyone chant their name and celebrate their victory was the best feeling to the young diesel. At that moment, Greaseball felt like a celebrity.
After the race, when she was about to venture back to her scrapyard, Greaseball was approached by an older man. His hair was thinning, he had a slight beer belly, and the suit in which he adorned looked as if it hadn’t seen a washing machine in a long while. His name was Frank Jones. He ran a league for diesel engines looking to become champions, and gave the young diesel train an offer: Become a part of his league and have every one of her dreams come true. This was the first time someone older had actually believed in them. Greaseball was so used to older engines and people beating her down and ridiculing her for her dreams that hearing someone had faith in her made her stomach churn. Naively, she accepted his offer…
He completely took control of Greaseball's life. Every decision she ever made had to be passed through Frank. He decided what she ate, where she trained, and who she talked to. Within a week, he had the diesel engine whisked away from the scrap yard and into one of the top racing yards, Troubadour. Greaseball had heard the yard's name whispered before.
“Troubador? That's where the big leagues go.”
“That place produces champions.”
“The coaches there are well fit.”
When she got to the Troubador yard, there was an old steam engine standing there waiting. They never liked steam engines. The whistle they had was always too loud for her, the sound leaving an irritating ring in her ears. However, she knew she had to be respectful to the steamer. This yard was a gateway to her heart's desire. The steam engine introduced herself as Momma, and explained that she watched over the yard. Frank handled all of the paperwork with Momma while Greaseball took in their new surroundings. The place was relatively simple, given that this was one of the top yards in the country. She could make out four sheds from across the entrance. She’d never been in a shed before, only being allowed to sleep outside on the bitter cold floor. There was also a massive track, like one she’d never seen. Sharp bends, deep ramps and a bowl that looked steeper than a mountain. Adrenaline filled her body. They wanted nothing more than to pounce onto the track and whizz around without a care in the world. Frank's piercing gaze broke Greaseball out of their trace. It was a look that read “Don’t cause any trouble”. And with that, he was gone. Momma came over to the young diesel, explaining that she’d have to stay with her shed for a little while, just until her room in the diesel shed had gotten sorted out.
Greaseball wasn’t good at being around other locomotives. Having grown used to the constant beratement and mistreatment she received at her old yard, she was constantly on edge, terrified that she would get hurt at any moment. She had a tough exterior, acting as this untouchable force with a smirk and aggressive nature. Many trains in the Troubadour yard feared Greaseball, often steering clear of their path and avoiding being around them. The only train who really looked out for Greaseball was Momma. She watched over the diesel engine with motherly care, even if they did not reciprocate the feeling. She saw past Greaseball's tough facade, seeing the way they flinched if things got too loud and the way they’d pick at their nails if they were stressed about a race. Momma watched over the young diesel as she tossed and turned in her bed, her dreams plagued with the terrors of her past.
There was one train in the Troubador yard that Greaseball was drawn to. A coach with a pink bob and a nice smile (GB’s words, not mine). She often saw the girl with the other two coaches in the yard, a smile always adorning her face. Greaseball would often glance at the girl when training, her focus taken away by the soft laughter and rosy cheeks. However, the rugged personality she had spent weeks building up prevented the diesel engine from ever talking to the coach. She didn’t know her name, her age, nothing. All she could do was steal small glances as she crossed the yard.
After a few weeks of staying with Momma, Greaseball had moved into the engine shed with the other engines of the Troubador yard. She knew she had to make a lasting impression, to “show these idiots who's in charge”. So, when Golden Eagle made an attempt to size Greaseball up and intimidate her, she punched him in the face (very good first impression GB, so proud x) From then on out, the engines respected her as their leader, following her orders with little to no protest. They all learnt that Greaseball was an outstanding racer, and even in little practice races she would thrash the other engines by a mile. They all grew to idolise the young diesel, seeing her as the leader of their little pack.
Greaseball was at this yard for one reason and one reason only: Racing. The championships were slowly creeping up, and the diesel engine needed a racing partner. Frank had paired her up with the pretty pink coach that they’d had their eyes on for weeks: Dinah. Their first meeting was awkward: small talk that would make anyone facepalm in embarrassment, and Greaseball attempting to keep that flirtatious persona up with a nervous smirk and cheap pick up lines. The two trained for a few weeks, and they were a perfect match! Greaseball was able to pull Dinah's weight with ease, and Dinah had the ability to work out the diesel engine's movement from their body language. However, their communication was limited. Greaseball wasn’t the talkative type, only communicating with harsh barks of commands and stifled mutters to herself, which often caused the two to disagree on a lot of things. Dinah was never afraid of the diesel engine, no matter how much they’d yell and holler. She’d always stand her ground with Greaseball, which is what drew the diesel engine to her. She didn’t cower away in fear or give into her commands. Greaseball admired that.
Eventually, the day of the championship arrived. Greaseball knew she was ready for this day. She and Dinah had trained until the sun went down for weeks. They had learnt the track like the back of their hand. Yet, there was this feeling in the pit of her stomach as Control had announced their name. What if she fucked it all up? What if she made the wrong turn or the wrong move? What if she embarrassed herself in front of all these people? However, as she stepped out onto the tracks, and the roar of cheers and applause reached her ears, she felt that adrenaline she’d had since she was a young diesel engine. A grin was plastered on her face as she enthusiastically hyped the crowd up with flirtatious winks and confident smiles.
Greaseball had won the championship, beating the electric locomotive Electra by the skin of her teeth. The racers at the Troubadour were unlike any she’d seen before. They weren't scared to get into physical altercations on the track, and weren’t afraid to play dirty with bets and deals. Greaseball swore to herself she’d never be like that. The only true way to win is to play fair. After that race, Greaseball was crowned the Champion of the Troubadour yard, the ‘Queen of the Track.’ Everyone looked up to the diesel engine. Her face was plastered in every media outlet in a 50 mile radius. Press wanted to interview her at every opportunity. She became a racing sensation overnight.
And God, did she love it.
Greaseball still kept up with her training even after the championship. Rock and Roll never dies, or at least Greaseball doesn’t think it does. She’d spend her mornings in the gym working on her physique and practice her circuits until dark. However, there was still something lingering in her mind…Dinah. Even when they were lifting 90kg and doing squats until their legs went numb, that pink haired dining car wouldn’t leave their brain. That's when they started showing up at the coaches shed every other day, asking whoever opened the door if Dinah was willing to train with them. Dinah would always say yes, she couldn’t help but feel fond of the diesel engine. She felt as if there was something deeply rooted in Greaseball…
The two would train for hours on end, and even after their sessions had concluded, Greaseball would still linger around the coach, talking about everything and anything. When they were taking breaks in between circuits, their fingers would often gingerly brush as they rested on a bench. The scent of Dinah's cookie dough and cupcake body mist would linger, taunting the diesel engine. She’d be haunted by the sound of the dining cars angelic laugh and gentle words.
Greaseball only had one close friend in the yard: Orange Flash. Sure, she was acquainted with the other engines and she would often joke around with them, but Orange Flash seemed to be the one the diesel engine liked the most. So, they went to her about her infatuation with the coach. Orange Flash gave as much advice as she could, saying she should be upfront with their emotions, and she shouldn’t just bottle up her emotions. Orange Flash was familiar with the coaches, she was dating one after all. She had told Belle because she cannot keep a secret from her favourite sleeping car.
You probably would've assumed that Greaseball was the one to make the move, but you’d be incorrect. Dinah caught onto the faintest tinge of pink that would appear on the diesel engines cheeks whenever they talked, and the way they always fidgeted with handguards when they were around her. Dinah had also developed the tiniest crush on the diesel engine, often day dreaming about her quick smirks and awkward chuckles. So one day, Dinah caught Greaseball after her gym session, asked her out on a date, and innocently walked away. The two have been permanently coupled ever since.
Greaseball stayed the reigning champion of the yard for 4 years, until the events of the musical occurred!