Walking Among Firepits

             ❝Oi! Don’t insult ‘er like that.                   She might just throw ‘ou into the vortex for it.❞

       [ It was best to just roll with it. There were always alternates. Somehow from           parallel worlds or reflections of the past. Twelve was never quite sure           anymore. Still, it was a familiar face and that was all that really mattered to           him. His face went through multiple looks of mild irritation before he scoffed. ]

                   ❝'Course I remember ‘ou.                            That was him.                     The gangly, giant child with an abnormally large forehead                                             and a chin that could kill.❞

       [ He had definite problems with his past self. Too infatuated with all the women           he had grown attached to. Just made more problems by the day. Couldn’t fix           Clara properly either, so he had to go back and do it himself. ]

     "We both know she wouldn't do that. 'The pretty one', remember?"

           Rory analysed the man, something was…off, he didn't know.  It was clear he was the same man, but completely different too, and that made him more curious.

                He walked over to the console, his hand resting on it's side, "yeah, well, Amy didn't see me like that."

  Rory chuckled, looking up at the ceiling.

          [ The TARDIS was being rather rambunctious this time around. He              wasn’t sure of why at the moment. She was mentally conveying              her emotions with him. It was like she was trying to digest              something impossible. The Doctor huffed and patted her.              He wasn’t sure what he could do to help at the moment. Blue eyes              narrowed on the screen. He caught a reflection in it. Someone was              here and they weren’t Clara. ]

                   ❝It’s impossible, ‘ou know?                         Can’t sneak up on a Time Lord,                    especially one that knows War and death so well.❞

         [ He turned on his heels, clicking them together before he paused. There was            surprise that slowly dawned on his old, daft face. It couldn’t be… He was            gone, just like her. ]

     He stood there, watching the other's back, his eyes fixing themselves on his sliver hair, this was quite strange, even for Rory.

                He chuckled, the anger was stronger with this one.

         "Oh! New face, right, still haven't gotten used to it."

   Rory licked his lips, sticking his hands in his pockets.

               "You remember me? Blimey, I am surprised, I used to think you only had eyes for my wife," he says, a sort of darkness inside him.

     "Well, not me, just his conscience."