Sasha rears, a steam-fuel bellow shrieking from her whistle, and Coleman lets loose an equally profane streak of curses as the motion throws him against a pressure gauge. Gingerly, he feels the spot and winces. Not bleeding, thank heaven, as he's not sure where he'd treat a head wound, but that's going to smart for days.

[Damaging Grace]

That soggy [i]bitch.[/i] Watery tart! Soaking strumpet! Touch Sasha again, see what happens! Do you have [i]any[/i] idea how many cuddles Sasha is going to demand for this? He's happy to give them, but that's not the issue! You hurt his baby!

And as Coleman starts to furiously manipulate the levers in the cockpit, it flits across his mind that it's probably for the best that Lucien isn't here to see this.

The first priority is to clear the area, because Sasha is already tired and whining under his touch. She needs rest and a space to burn her energy out. 

Fortunately, she has a target on which to vent both her rage and her steam. At a pull of a stop, a hatch in the firebox opens and a jet of steam force-feeds meteors of molten coal down the lobster's stinking throat. 

Coleman coughs and fans a hand across his face. And he'd thought the stench couldn't get any worse. But now soggy, wasted flesh is screaming, eyes melting, rope singing and catching alight, lobster reeling. One coal-peppered step at a time, the train forces the lobsster away from the group. Don't let up. Keep it on its toes. Don't let it retreat inside its shell, or make it so that it has to choose between coming after the little rodents behind him and protecting itself. Drive it towards the water. Keep it away from Sasha. 

Yeah, definitely best Lucien doesn't see this.

[Keep Them Busy, [b]12.[/b]