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Entry tags:
( 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!
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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.