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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.”
no subject
I read the first story and have been eagerly awaiting further installments. I already know from your wonderful letters how entertaining your writing is but this is truly inspired.
There really is no way of getting sense out of her, Rory thought to himself. She has already bitten her psychiatrist Melanie.
I giggled so much at this. :D
I think you have captured the characters perfectly and this is deliciously funny and clever and very astute. I'm not even quite sure if "astute" means what I think it means, but the dictionary is heavy and on a high shelf, so I will cross my fingers and hope.
My sister lives in Durham now and I think it is the perfect place for the sequel.
Thank you for a fabulous read!
Anna x
no subject
I think dictionaries are OVERRATED. I know what you mean anyway. Here are the names of Amelia's psychiatrists-
Melanie
John
Buck
Sally
I think she bites them all eventually. It took only TWO WEEKS for her to get sick of Melanie!
Miss M
no subject
They are the best psychiatrsts names ever. Especially Buck. I would bite him too. :)
no subject
no subject
Buck-Biter
When I was thinking them up I thought of stereotyping. I wanted names that suggested kind, suitably funny and down-to-earth people. Well, apart from Buck. He's the weird one who was called up by Aunt Sharon to try and 'change the methods a bit'. She just bit him harder than ever, to be honest, so he failed miserably compared to others, seriously. I think Melanie is one of those people who say 'how lovely' when they are actually thinking 'what a load of rubbish'. I dislike people like that. I am still making the other two up, so be patient!
Miss M
(Now with all new aching hand!)
Re: Buck-Biter
The psychiatrists' names fit their purpose very well. Buck could only be
the weird one who was called up by Aunt Sharon to try and 'change the methods a bit'. HEE! I can imagine how that went down.
I think Melanie is one of those people who say 'how lovely' when they are actually thinking 'what a load of rubbish'
She sounds like my old violin teacher. :)
I am still making the other two up, so be patient!
Patient? I don't know this word. I think you should keep writing until your hands seize up into CLAWS!
(Hee! I don't mean that really. I am waiting very patiently. ::drums fingers::)
Re: Buck-Biter
Ok, I will! Sally is quite cool, all tan and surfing and frizzy hair, but VERY STUBBORN. Still Amelia's favorite, because she would also tell her stories and not just insist that The Doctor is fake.
John is... John! Just a sweet young lad doing a work experience course. He was rather insistent on her forgetting about the blue box and raggedy man that came out of it. NOT her favorite...
There! No claws here!
Miss M
Re: Buck-Biter
And I'm glad there are no claws! After the aching hand of too much writing I would always end up with claws. Maybe not claws exactly. More like those grabber hand things where you have to put money in a slot and they fail to pick up soft toys.
I must go to work, although I've just spotted that the first chapter of your next story has appeared. I will have to be patient again!
Re: Buck-Biter
I am easily made to exaggerate. Writers HAVE to exaggerate. I just found a recording device in my room and so I am now happily playing with it,
Miss M
Re: Buck-Biter
True!
What I want to know is, was the recording device planted by spies trying to steal your ideas?
Re: Buck-Biter