Who: Rory Williams, The fifth Doctor, (maybe Amy?) What: Meeting up! When: Evening Where: The Beach Status: In Progress Rating: TBA
Rory headed out. Rubbing his hands together, gaze following across the beach a little nervously. The beach was littered with debris from the nights before, before the white flash and the instant choatic storm the boy had stumbled out into. Somehow his and Amy's huts had stayed in tact, definitely a bonus when running with the Doctor. It seemed like wherever he went trouble just followed and that counted double for those who followed with him. He guessed after all this time it was just generally a good rule of thumb to count himself lucky if he wasn't shot or killed or torn apart by a raging storm in the following shadow of the man he once thought completely mad. Once upon a time, ages back, Rory Williams would've found the idea nothing short of completely crazy. Back in the day where he was far more awkward and uncertain and so sure this would be the death of Amy and himself too. There was a wonder in it, of course there was, and being with Amy was all he could sort of ask for; but back then the Doctor's world had seemed like such a dangerous place. No place for anyone to run alongside who was altogether sane. Now he could honestly not imagine his and Amy's life without it all. Well, after having so many adventures and so many lives running through his brain it sort of rationally counted as....not being completely sane, he supposed...
The breeze of the beach spread passed him, far nicer than anything from the storm. Everything smelled of salt and fresh, the calm following after the storm and Rory continued on; wearing a raggedy, ripped dress suit and pants; his tie still strung on there loosely with messy hair and that top hat left behind. It almost called him ironically to the days he'd played make believe with one Amy Pond as kids wearing something similar in homage to the very Doctor he was seeking out, as ancient to him and far reaching into his memories as it seemed. Or...well, sort of the same Doctor. That conversation they had still was working circles in his mind as to how that logically actually came about to working. But then again most of the conversations with that man tended to end that same way...He guessed at least it was some form of him. At least he hoped. Rory supposed over all he'd just...sort of know when he actually saw the man; unsure of exactly what to expect.
"Doctor?" He called out to the air, a little uncertainly, stepping in time against the beach with that nervous energy of his rising as he did.