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Miss M's Second Fic: The Outfit for Amy’s Man
I'm sure you remember her first story? Well here is a prequel! :)
Title: The Outfit for Amy’s Man
Rating: U
Characters: little!Amelia, little!Rory, Rory's mother.
Genre: FitB.
Spoilers: ‘The Eleventh Hour’.
Summary: Rory's mother doesn't approve of Amelia's creativity. (And neither does Rory, truth be told.)
The Outfit for Amy’s Man
Rory could only stand in the doorway and gape.
Amy was nonchalantly sitting amidst a large pile of ripped shirts - his shirts - in the middle of his room.
She was looking them over, seeing which collar looked nicest, which shirt was most like the Doctor’s, not noticing that Rory looked ready to explode.
“WHAT DID YOU DO????” he screamed, practically purple in the face.
Amy looked up in admonishment, almost surprised at his anger. She chuckled lightly, and chucked a navy blue sweater into the corner.
“I ripped your shirts,” she said sweetly, acting like it was the most natural thing in the world to rip up your best friend’s shirts, sit in their bedroom surrounded by them and then act like you just gave them a puppy.
“Your costume, remember? I told you earlier.”
Rory slapped himself on the head. Of course!
Had it really only been two weeks since the weirdest Monday he’d ever had, when Amy came in to school obsessed with a man called ‘The Doctor’, something about a time machine and travelling through space? Just a few minutes ago she’d-
No. Rory didn’t want to replay the memories of the last ten minutes in his head. Well, not yet, anyway.
Yet Amy had not given up on him. There really is no way of getting sense out of her, Rory thought to himself. She has already bitten her psychiatrist Melanie.
Rory leaned against the door frame, eyes shut, feeling queasy after what had been a most disagreeable lunch of baked beans, custard, stale yoghurt and a few other things he didn’t want to think about.
Then, as if giving him horrific food wasn’t bad enough, Amy decided that he really did need a costume if he was going to look right, and disappeared upstairs as he attempted fruitlessly to open a bottle of medicine.
That was when he found her in a pile of his shirts, looking like she was simply sat there knitting, not tearing apart her best friend’s clothing.
Was Amy ill or had concussion? She looked normal. She didn’t seem light headed or dreamy.
But then she was very head-strong and tenacious. Rory found himself sat beside her, helping out, when his mum came in, back from the post office.
Shrieking.
“WHY,” she exclaimed, her breathing unsteady, ”IS THERE CUSTARD MIX, BAKED BEANS, BREAD AND BUTTER AND DOLLOPS OF YOGHURT ALL OVER THE TABLE?”
She stopped, looked at Amy, the mess on the floor, Rory’s pasty face, worked it out in seconds.
“You never. No.”
Amy smiled her sweet-as-sugar smile, looking innocent, and said, “Ripped his clothes? Yes. Made him eat custard? Baked beans? Bread and butter and out-of-date yoghurt? Well, I didn’t really have to make him eat the custard, bread and beans, as such. But he was rather stubborn about dipping the fish in custard. I’m sure that the yoghurt must have tasted horrible.”
She pulled a face, depicting the look Rory had made only minutes ago.
Amy wasn’t very pleased about the hullaballoo that followed.
Rory started shouting at no-one in particular and his mum shrieked, “YOU WHAT!” in Amy’s face for several minutes.
Amy was marched into the front room to be questioned.
“Why? Just why?” Rory’s mum paced the floor as Rory himself, worried and unhappy, sat on the sofa next to a composed-as-ever Amy.
She gave a mocking smile, pulled a funny face and said, ”No. You will never believe me.”
She sat back as Rory sobbed, still sick after his horrific dinner.
“Throw it at me.” Rory’s mother rolled her eyes. ”I’ll believe almost anything. Go on.”
Amy grinned devilishly, as thoughts of a man in ragged clothes filled her mind.
“Because my imaginary friend told me to.”
THE END
Title: The Outfit for Amy’s Man
Rating: U
Characters: little!Amelia, little!Rory, Rory's mother.
Genre: FitB.
Spoilers: ‘The Eleventh Hour’.
Summary: Rory's mother doesn't approve of Amelia's creativity. (And neither does Rory, truth be told.)
Rory could only stand in the doorway and gape.
Amy was nonchalantly sitting amidst a large pile of ripped shirts - his shirts - in the middle of his room.
She was looking them over, seeing which collar looked nicest, which shirt was most like the Doctor’s, not noticing that Rory looked ready to explode.
“WHAT DID YOU DO????” he screamed, practically purple in the face.
Amy looked up in admonishment, almost surprised at his anger. She chuckled lightly, and chucked a navy blue sweater into the corner.
“I ripped your shirts,” she said sweetly, acting like it was the most natural thing in the world to rip up your best friend’s shirts, sit in their bedroom surrounded by them and then act like you just gave them a puppy.
“Your costume, remember? I told you earlier.”
Rory slapped himself on the head. Of course!
Had it really only been two weeks since the weirdest Monday he’d ever had, when Amy came in to school obsessed with a man called ‘The Doctor’, something about a time machine and travelling through space? Just a few minutes ago she’d-
No. Rory didn’t want to replay the memories of the last ten minutes in his head. Well, not yet, anyway.
Yet Amy had not given up on him. There really is no way of getting sense out of her, Rory thought to himself. She has already bitten her psychiatrist Melanie.
Rory leaned against the door frame, eyes shut, feeling queasy after what had been a most disagreeable lunch of baked beans, custard, stale yoghurt and a few other things he didn’t want to think about.
Then, as if giving him horrific food wasn’t bad enough, Amy decided that he really did need a costume if he was going to look right, and disappeared upstairs as he attempted fruitlessly to open a bottle of medicine.
That was when he found her in a pile of his shirts, looking like she was simply sat there knitting, not tearing apart her best friend’s clothing.
Was Amy ill or had concussion? She looked normal. She didn’t seem light headed or dreamy.
But then she was very head-strong and tenacious. Rory found himself sat beside her, helping out, when his mum came in, back from the post office.
Shrieking.
“WHY,” she exclaimed, her breathing unsteady, ”IS THERE CUSTARD MIX, BAKED BEANS, BREAD AND BUTTER AND DOLLOPS OF YOGHURT ALL OVER THE TABLE?”
She stopped, looked at Amy, the mess on the floor, Rory’s pasty face, worked it out in seconds.
“You never. No.”
Amy smiled her sweet-as-sugar smile, looking innocent, and said, “Ripped his clothes? Yes. Made him eat custard? Baked beans? Bread and butter and out-of-date yoghurt? Well, I didn’t really have to make him eat the custard, bread and beans, as such. But he was rather stubborn about dipping the fish in custard. I’m sure that the yoghurt must have tasted horrible.”
She pulled a face, depicting the look Rory had made only minutes ago.
Amy wasn’t very pleased about the hullaballoo that followed.
Rory started shouting at no-one in particular and his mum shrieked, “YOU WHAT!” in Amy’s face for several minutes.
Amy was marched into the front room to be questioned.
“Why? Just why?” Rory’s mum paced the floor as Rory himself, worried and unhappy, sat on the sofa next to a composed-as-ever Amy.
She gave a mocking smile, pulled a funny face and said, ”No. You will never believe me.”
She sat back as Rory sobbed, still sick after his horrific dinner.
“Throw it at me.” Rory’s mother rolled her eyes. ”I’ll believe almost anything. Go on.”
Amy grinned devilishly, as thoughts of a man in ragged clothes filled her mind.
“Because my imaginary friend told me to.”