WHAT: Log/actionspam re: rescuing Whiny McWhinyPants I mean Rory.
WHO: All the people who apparently like Rory???? Who are you. Participation not required, etc, but pop by if you want.
WHEN/WHERE: The Dark Hour, Monday the 13th, somewhere that essentially looks like Amy's childhood home: big house, lots of rooms. For reference.

At night, Amy's empty house is just a little bit foreboding. Everything creaks, and every single sound becomes a possible robber, a monster, a vengeful spirit. Or at least, that's how it was when Rory was allowed to stay over when they were small.

Now, Rory lies in wait. He paces around the room, his path marked by the clothes that frame it on the floor. He mutters to himself, half-remembered memories of another time he spent waiting.

The other Rory, suitably chastised after trying to fight his extremely vocal and more capable counterpart, sits on the bed, handcuffed to the bedpost. Every so often, when he thinks he hears a sound, he tenses.

"Don't worry," Rory says, stopping his pacing to address him, shaking the little Amelia doll he holds in front of him. "Chances are no one's coming. But we've got practice waiting forever, haven't we?"

The other Rory bares his teeth, "We have nothing in common."

The room the two Rorys occupy is not an easy one to find. Cloaked by a perception filter, the door cannot be found by a simple look around. Rory's rescuers must be careful, and look where they wouldn't usually look.

When the door finally does open, and Rory sees their visitors, he starts laughing. The other Rory tries to get up from the bed, and the bedframe rattles.

Rory hisses, "Shut up."

He turns back to his would-be rescuers and makes as if to straighten his tie--an empty gesture, as it's more than ruined.

"Welcome! We thought you'd never get here."