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( open post! ) voicetest → rory williams
- what do:
→ drop a prompt - images or previously written scenarios work best for me.
→ be backtag friendly because i'm busy being cool!
→ drop a prompt - images or previously written scenarios work best for me.
→ be backtag friendly because i'm busy being cool!
so this is megan being cool and voicetesting my new muse
Today is another busy day as she dodges arrows shot down from a rooftop somewhere nearby. As she runs, staff in one hand and a throwing knife in the other, she looks back, activating her sight into the magical spectrum to see if she can spot whoever it is under their camouflage. Unfortunately that means she runs straight into a gangly guy who was walking at a normal pace in front of her and she tumbles to the ground.]
Shit! Duck and cover!
[She tries rolling to her feet and an arrow glances off her side, cutting into her Firefly t-shirt.]
Shit, shit, shit. Move! Go that way!
[She points her knife in a direction, encouraging this stranger to get out of the line of fire. Thank God this appears to be a sleepy little town and no one else is around.]
lol megan being cool ROFL
[ perhaps it's the fact that he's not with the doctor that has him walking down the street, ignorant to what he's about to walk into. isn't that how it's always been, though? ignorance has followed rory as though it were his own shadow. people ignore him, he ignores people, and when he opens his eyes, he's in for one hell of a surprise. ]
[ that surprise is not foreign to the situation at hand right now. ]
[ he stumbles, manages to tumble over, gaining his balance in a squat. he's dropped his coffee with no chance of saving it. his jeans are wet, his shoes damp, but at least his skin isn't burning. ]
[ rory cowers, throwing his arms over his head. ]
Uh — [ he glances around, still shielding his head. he's not quite sure which way is up — and the red hair reminds him of amy, so bossy, yet not quite as curse-wordy as his new companion — so he flounders like a fish out of water, running his mouth but not his legs. ] Yes, yes. Moving.
[ he takes one step — or squat-step — to the left before he pauses. he goes to shuffle forward, but he notices arrows discarded like litter around him. ]
Moving where?
hush
[Her eyes scan around and she spots a park not far away. That's just what she needs, so she puts her knife back in a little holster on her hip. She can feel a sting on her side which means the arrow grazed her and her paranoia makes her assume the tip is poisoned too, but if she can get to the grass, everything should be okay.]
There!
[She points towards the park.]
Once I get there, just keep running. This uhh, crazy ren faire reject is targeting me.
[It's just easier to pretend it's a crazy guy with a screw loose taking pot shots at a random girl, instead of one of the Fae targeting one of the last Druids.]
On the count of three: one, two, go!
[Granuaile. :| There was no three involved in that count.]
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Ren faire? [ why does he ask questions when he should be getting the fuck out of dodge? ] Won't they — [ see us? but rory is used to being chased, so he lets that question drop as she decides to count. ]
Right. Running.
[ rory waits until three before running like a mad man. ]
[ and he runs, runs, runs, until he slips into an alleyway and hides behind a big, fat dumpster. perhaps he should look for a weapon while he lingers. ]
[ oh, and did he lose her? ]
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Yes, naked. Good thing she's invisible, right? She darts behind a tree and strips off her clothes, keeping a hand on her staff the whole time because the invisibility spell is tied to it. Then she carefully sticks the hilt of a throwing knife into her mouth, sets her staff against the tree and transforms into a peregrine falcon. She's going up there and execute that Fae with extreme prejudice. But hey, where'd that guy go?
Taking off, she flies around the area in search of him. He may hear the flapping of wings coming towards him down the alleyway, actually, before she convinces herself he's safe and she exits to take care of her enemy. Rory may hear the sounds of a fight coming from nearby, involving shouts and grunts.]
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[ holy shit, rory does not like birds. he does not like anything, actually, for things that look normal are never quite normal. his back is to her as she flies down, and he looks up too late — he sees a bird ascending into the air, to only disappear from sight. he's honestly not quite sure what to do with himself. does he stay? does he go? ]
[ but the sound of fighting draws his attention. his legs are starting to ache from their squatting position. while he's still uncertain, rory takes in a deep breath — and grabs the nearest solid object, which happens to be a plank of split and splintering wood — and moves. ]
[ he runs out of the alleyway to come to a halt when he sees the fight and — ]
[ what does he make of it, exactly? ] Stop! I've got — [ he glances at his plank of wood. and he does what he should've done before making a noise. he advances, raises it, and tries to whack someone in the fight. ]
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Don't listen to him. I know he doesn't look like much, but this is the guy who shot arrows at me. And yes, I'm naked, but I have a damn good reason for it.
[What she's worried about now is both Rory getting involved in the fight and that since he can't see through the camouflage that he'll take the Fae's side and think she really is crazy. If the Fae launches at her with his knife while using his camouflage to appear to be standing there innocently, she'll have to strike back and it'll look like she just sliced and diced him when he wasn't making any threatening movements. She needs a plan.]
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[ but said naked woman had told him to run — and while rory isn't quite sure if that's what an evil person would do, he knows it's not what a dalek would do. and that's the most evil of evil he's come across. rather than yelling run it'd yell eggs. ]
[ it's very simple, really. and he's not believing her because she's naked, either. ]
Uh — Yeah. You might need to explain that.
[ and rory, with his plank of wood, since he had missed hitting anyone with it before, takes better aim and swings as hard as he can at the goth kid. ]
You might need to explain all of this, yeah. Definitely needs an explanation.
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...and she's also going to have a chuckle about that later, because another of her animal forms is a horse. But! On to the matter at hand. She descends upon the fallen Fae and stabs him in the heart. His body seizes, and then at the site of the wound, his body begins to dissolve into dust. The steel knife is forged from iron and iron is deadly to them. So no more Fae. At least the turning-into-dust thing should assure Rory that she just didn't commit a murder, but there's still a lot to explain here.]
Thank you. Really.
[Now how to handle this? She knows what her archdruid/sensei would do. He'd camouflage himself and get the hell out of Dodge, leaving the person to think this was all a hallucination. But Granuaile would feel guilty doing that, because he helped her and seemed to accept her words at face value. Hmm.]
Listen, you deserve an explanation, but doing it naked isn't my idea of a fun time. So give me a few minutes to get dressed over in the park.
[And then she does a funny wax on, wax off gesture with her hands, imitating the penguin from the movie Madagascar.]
You didn't see anything.
[She murmurs a Celtic spell and casts camouflage; not the Fae's type, but the kind that disturbs the air molecules around her to make it look like she's disappeared. The air might have a shimmer to it as she moves, but that should be all he'll see as she jogs back to retrieve her clothes. Don't worry, Rory. An explanation's coming. Just not sans clothes.]
oh my god, thank you for linking that cute gif
[ but that disturbance in the force disappears when the bloke on the ground does so, too. ]
Erm, yeah. [ he had forgotten that she was stark naked. no offence meant, granuaile, but when someone saves rory from death — another on his list — he sort of looks them in the face more than … anywhere else. he averts his eyes. ] Maybe you should … get some clothes.
[ his brows pinch at her statement — that he didn't see anything — and before he can even ask what she's on about, she's gone. he blinks, a little taken aback, yet not quite surprised. this is like the doctor, isn't it? here one minute, gone for the next five years. ]
[ rory glances around, awkwardly shifting. ]
I'll wait here for that explanation, then.
[ and so he waits. he's very good at it, rory williams, has had two thousand years of practice of it, actually. waiting five minutes for his lady hero to slip into something less revealing is nothing compared to that. so, he stays, where he is, perhaps shifting a little to the left or right, but never completely out from his spot on the gravel. ]
[ he does drop the wood, however, right by his feet. ]
i thought a visual was necessary. :P
Hey. So that... that was a thing that happened.
[Really not much else that can sum it up, is there?]
That guy was bad news, and obviously not human, which I hope doesn't freak you out to hear? You seem like you've got a good head on your shoulders.
[She nearly adds "Even if you are British," but she refrains. He'd probably think she's being a dumb American, but it comes from having an Irish archdruid. You've got to take the piss out of the British from time to time. That's like, duh obvious.]
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One moment, he's standing in the cemetery, before Amy, the Doctor, Melody … and the next, he's somewhere else, alone, cold, and incredibly confused. He's in the park, yet, when he looks up, the sky isn't grey. Bright blue, with the sun beating down hotly on him, Rory finds himself transported to a Manhattan that feels familiar in the weirdest of ways. He's not really sure if he likes it.
It's a bit too quiet. He finds himself spinning in place, before yelling, "Amy?" He turns abruptly again. "Doctor?" There's no one really out here, save some ducks, pigeons, and a few people sitting too far away to hear his cries. The woman has blonde hair, not red.
It isn't until he takes a step that he hears his name echoed back. Spinning in the direction in which it came, he spots her, red, a flame in the distance, and he a moth. As always. "Amy," he breathes out. Relief floods him. He feels lighter, no longer weighed down by this hard pressing sense of despair that had settled around his heart. He begins to walk. "Amy!"
He yells, again, "Am —" and then decides to hell with it, and runs towards her, full speed ahead. He's never liked running; he looks funny, but, for Amy, he'll make a fool of himself. And he can't lose her. One moment, she could be there, and the next —
Rory tries his best not to blink.
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Her voice is shaky with relief.
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He pulls back slightly, forehead pressing against hers. "What?" He shakes his head slightly. His hands go into her hair, fingers carding it. He's always liked her hair; it's been a beacon for him ever since they were younger — of hope, of something more and better. "What did you do, Amy?" he asks, his voice coming out a little harder than he intends. If she's in trouble, for some reason, from the moment he spied his gravestone to the moment where he ended up here, he's not quite sure what he's going to do. But he's not going to let her face it alone. She refuses to do so for him and he for her; it's sort of a marriage thing, yeah?
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"You didn't it see it, then? The angel? The one that sent you back here?" She looks at him, studying his face. It's a face she loves so dearly and one she knows so well. He's close enough that he can probably still see the tears in her eyes and the dried tracks they left on her cheeks. But she doesn't hide them from him. Not anymore. There is no need for secrets between them. She already saw what that did to them.
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He looks at her, maybe not really seeing her, despite her always being in his vision, whether his mind's eye or not. "No," he says, shaking his head. "All I saw was my gravestone …" And even as he says it, he's still not sure of what he saw.
In Loving Memory
Rory Arthur Williams
Aged 82
"Where's the Doctor?" he glances around, not removing his hands from Amy's waist nor her cheek. "We can't have gone back," he says. Not to the Manhattan where he lived a life of loneliness and died with her by his side. "That Manhattan doesn't exist," he says, yet, his tone is full of disbelief.
That Manhattan can't exist, yet, how does one find themselves in a park? How does one find themselves in the broad light of day to only blink and be in the darkest of night?
He knows, deep down, of what she's done, and the panic begins to rise in Rory's voice. He's never been as poised as her, never been as cool, calm and collected, and he's not going to begin now. Amelia Pond, sometimes Williams, has done something awfully stupid, and he knows, he knows, just what she's done. "Amy, what did you do?"
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"And don't you question me, Rory Williams. I did what I had to do." She lifts her chin, the definition of defiant. "Did what you would do. I told you it was together or not at all and I meant it."
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It doesn't feel right. None of this does. If he's stuck in some loop, where Manhattan is the last place he ever sees, then, it's his future to endure. His alone, apparently. But Amy has done what she always has and broken the rules for the pleasure of herself.
Today, it causes him displeasure because of what she's given up ... She chose him over the Doctor. A life of adventure and marriage acceptances with rather sleazy monarchs, but things no one else in the universe would endure. A part of him still reverts back into his old self, insecure around the man in a bowtie, but they had agreed to never quite stop saying no to adventures.
And yet, in one fell swoop, they had.
His arm around her waist grips her. The hand cupping her face moves into her hair. "Not at the expense of your life," he says. "My name was on that gravestone. Mine. Not yours. All these things about fixed points in time …" He had hoped it wasn't true, that they had saved him, that they could return home and build a picket fence and perhaps hire another alien butler to do all their housework … but some part of him had known that he was doomed to stay in Manhattan. Alone.
He had never wanted to strip of what made her feel whole. And, in some way, of roping her in and their together or not at all, he had managed to do just that. Not for the first time, Rory finds himself angry with the Doctor.
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She kisses his cheek before she wraps her arms around him and hugs him fiercely. "Rule number whatever," she starts, whispering in his ear, "time can be rewritten. I've done it before and I'd do it again for you, stupid."
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"What happens if …" He lets it trail off. The Angels send her somewhere else? She dies? She ends up scooped up and taken away from him? Being alone is a scary thought, but having Amy ripped from his arms is an even scarier one.