waitsforever: (Are You Fucking Serious)
Hi. Sorry. Not in for work, again, because while Amy doesn't mind me using her for posting, I think it's a bit much dragging her with me to work. Unless there's an emergency. In which case I'll beg.

Is that fine?

Do you mind?

Cheers. Sorry. That was me asking Amy and. Yes. That's something that would be happening.

Anyway, as she said earlier, I'm a ghost. Not even a poltergeist, which would be useful because I could just...throw stuff about, but completely insubstantial. I get it...funny, how often have I nearly or actually died...lots.

It's really not that funny. It's actually getting kind of old.

Has anyone worked out how to actually reverse this yet? Because I'd really appreciate it. Thanks.
waitsforever: (FFFF)
[Bound to happen eventually, the feed goes on and it's accidental video. Rory's sitting on his and Amy's bed in the TARDIS, just finishing up buttoning a plaid shirt. There's a barn owl on the bed beside him, doing a little bit of hopping and fluttering of feathers to stay upright as his weight on the bed shifts.]

--if it has to do with something Underground...I guess we'll find out eventually.

[The owl speaks. Its voice is female, but sort of Rory-like all the same.]

Not necessarily.

Yes, alright, maybe not.

You need to stop procrastinating. You should be writing this down and trying to work it out properly.

Are you lecturing me? [He gives the owl an amused look.] My own soul.

Exactly.

...good point.

Are you done now? I want to perch.

Yep, go on, done, don't...hold on too tightly.

[The owl flap-flutters to get herself onto Rory's left shoulder and then does a bit of a walking settle on it and fluffs her feathers.]

That's fine, right?

Yeah, I know, you don't have to be smug ab-- [He cuts himself off to put a hand to his chest, looking a bit concerned. A pause, and then suddenly he hunches back a bit, his face contorting, rather, at the sudden wave of pain. And then his owl, shortly after, startled by the sudden pain, digs her talons into his shoulder.]

Aaaaa! Don't--aahh-haah. Get off!

[His owl extracts her talons and Rory leans slightly to pluck her off his shoulder with his right hand and set her back on the bed, putting his hand to his shoulder straight after (the fabric of his shirt's starting to get a bit of a bloody patch) and holding it there as he hunches over. His owl looks nervous and concerned.]

Sorry. Oh no, really, really, sorry, that one was really bad.

Yeah. [Rory nods, and then stands up.] We better go see if that sort of...sick bay area's in the same place.

[Still holding his shoulder, he comes over to pick up his phone carefully with his free left hand and the feed ends.]


[ooc: ...Rory's daemon would have brown text if I was on a computer. As it is, she's italics. Cursed! Also, ghost pains! Isn't he lucky!]

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Rory Williams

April 2020

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