How would the ROs react to seeing the MC cry for the first time? Especially if Mc never done it in front of them.
it sounds kinda silly but rami would probably fight back tears too because he's witnessed the hardships mc has been put through and he gets it. if given the okay, he'd definitely hold them and let them cry for as long as they need and hide his own tears.
rory would start fussing immediately, telling them that it's okay and she's there if they need a shoulder. she'd offer to sing something calming and sweet to get mc to think about happier thoughts, and keep it up until her voice disappeared or mc felt better.
taz wouldn't know what to do, he doesn't deal with intimate displays of such sort. still, he'd offer a tissue and a few friendly words, maybe give them a little squeeze on the shoulder if they will it. could also sit near them in silence, as a grounding presence.
mal would use his divine powers to cocoon them in a veil of familiarity, the scents of his domain, the warm sand, the crisp summer-nights air, the very familiar blooming jasmine. if allowed, cradle their face in his hands and wipe the tears as they fall.
TIMING: Late February
PARTIES: Rory @incatsclothing and Cleo @echoingmuse
LOCATION: Echo
SUMMARY: Rory has a job interview with Cleo!
CONTENT WARNING: None
Losing her job had been an unexpected thing, and in a way, Rory hated that the most. Not that she’d lost the job, but that she hadn’t seen it coming. She so rarely accepted authority figures as being trustworthy, so rarely allowed herself to feel any sort of comfort when in a position of being ‘under’ someone in any sense at all, but she’d trusted Oliver. She’d thought of him as someone who’d had her back, thought him supportive and understanding. And then, he’d done this. He’d pulled the rug out from under her all at once, for something that wasn’t even her fault. Rory couldn’t quite comprehend it.
In her mind, it went like this: Oliver had been stressed and afraid when an ocelot ran rampant through his store. He’d been angry that his store was damaged in the process, and he’d needed someone to blame it on. He’d tried to sell Rory some impossible story that made no sense, and when she disagreed with him, he’d fired her. It made her angry, made her furious, because from her perspective, she’d been fired for the crime of disagreeing, and wasn’t that shitty? Didn’t that make the whole thing Oliver’s fault in its entirety, didn’t it make him the asshole?
So she’d lost her job. Whatever. She was better off, anyway. And Oliver, with his stupid superiority complex, could fuck off. Who wanted to work at a plant store, anyway? Who needed that shit?
(Of course, there was hurt buried deep down. Rory couldn’t quite comprehend any of it, couldn’t figure out why Oliver would try to convince her why she was something she wasn’t and then fire her for disagreeing with him. She needed to be angry to lessen the sting, so she clung to that. It was the only thing that really made sense to her.)
The record shop would be a much better fit. She pushed the door open, stepping inside. “Hey,” she called out, “uh… Record Shop Lady? It’s Rory. From online.”
—
Running a record store was a venture Cleo had grown incredibly fond of. She had done it before, in a smaller town as well as a large city, and there was something about it that fed her. Not in a proper, sustaining way, but still in a way that made her feel like a muse with something to offer. Her customers often left with a new artist discovered, she could ensure that local artists received some support and combat the rise of streaming services, even if it was just one record at a time.
But the problem with being a front-facing shop owner was that people could see her. This wasn't an issue in and of itself, but Cleo had already been having issues with controlling her glamour, even before the last blackout. But ever since that had occurred, it seemed she was more often unglamoured than not. She needed more people working in the shop. Just Archie didn't cut it any more and besides, she was quite sure that he was slipping pennies from the counter.
Luckily, someone online had been looking for a job and with haste, Cleo had made sure to invite her over for a job interview. Though Rory had been a little rude at times, she had shown some of the qualities needed to work at Echo. And admittedly, it couldn't hurt to have someone more technologically savvy in the shop. No matter how much it hurt to admit it.
At least today she was human-appearing and in charge of her glamour. She had been hiding behind the counter regularly, talking to customers while hiding her face and only extending a gloved hand and sleeved arm to do her business. It really wasn't an option any more.
When the door opened, she looked up with a smile. “Hello Rory,” she said. “I'm Cleo, as you perhaps already knew. Record Shop Lady is a title that … fits, but is not preferred.” She looked around at the store. “So, did you bring your curriculum vitae?” She stepped out from behind the counter and approached the young woman. “No, more importantly: can you pick a record to serve as the background music for this interview?”
—
The record shop lady was pretty. She’d looked it online, though it was often hard to tell through the small icons what a person really looked like. Even if you could make out the picture perfectly, there was no guarantee it was really them; Rory had seen plenty of people with animals as their profile pictures, or older individuals whose photograph of choice was one from twenty years ago.
In the case of the record shop lady, she’d sort of assumed the latter; Cleo spoke in a way that implied age, and misunderstood things Rory had known about her entire life thanks to having grown up in the online era. She’d figured the woman was probably in her sixties at the youngest, chasing her youth by running a record shop that probably felt similar to ones she’d spent time in as a kid. (Were people in their sixties the right age to have enjoyed records, or would they have had cassettes? Rory wasn’t sure.)
And yet, the woman who greeted her from behind the counter was young. In her thirties, at the oldest. Rory hid her surprise as she nodded her greeting. Probably best not to get off on the wrong foot by starting the interview with, ‘Hi, I thought you’d be a boomer.’
“Cleo,” she repeated. She had known that, but better to commit it to memory now that she might be using it more often. “Did I bring my… what?” What was curriculum vitae? Was that a music thing? In all honesty, Rory knew very little about the ins and outs of music. She knew only what she enjoyed and what she didn’t. And so, she latched onto the second question instead. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Without waiting for more instruction, she moved over to the nearest shelf to browse records. She wanted to find one quickly enough to get the interview started, but not so quickly that she didn’t have time to think about it. Luckily, there was a familiar Dead Kennedy’s record near the top that she thought would serve as a decent soundtrack. She pulled it out, offering it to Cleo. “How’s that?”
—
She frowned. Curriculum vitae was latin, of course, but it was a phrase people used these days still, right? A dead language did not mean that loanwords were not still used. But then, it had been clear from their conversations online that Rory was much more modern than Cleo was. She resented how fast the world and technology moved these days. She liked renewal and developments, but it was too much, too fast. She could hardly keep up with the bursts of musical genres, let alone the technology!
“A CV. A document with your job history and qualifications on it?” She looked at Rory, a little bit puzzled, but was glad that the other took up her request seriously. She watched the girl move around the store, saw her move to the nearest shelf. Not to a certain genre, but to what was close … or was punk her favorite genre?
She took the record from Rory once she’d picked, looking over the cover. Dead Kennedys. She smirked, looking up. “You do seem like you’ve got that punk spirit,” she said. Whether that was a compliment she left in the air — it was somewhere in between. She did think that punk spirit was an important facet of its listeners, but whether it made a good employee was yet to be seen.
She moved to the record player, handling the record carefully. She undid the plastic cover, balling it up and putting it away. She slid the record out its sleeve and held it with practiced ease and care. “A little rowdy for a background sound, but I like it. Tells me something about you. So … okay, Rory — what is your job experience? If you did not bring your curriculum vitae you can tell me verbally.” A beat. She lowered the needle onto the record. Kill the Poor started playing. She smiled. “Why’d you pick this one?”
—
“Oh, a resume?” That made more sense. And… Rory technically had one — a digital copy, of course — but it wasn’t very impressive. It listed her job at Oliver’s shop, for the few months she’d been employed there, alongside the retail job she’d held onto for much longer back in New Mexico. But beyond that and her less than impressive high school transcript, the resume was a little bare. Rory never knew what to put for skills and qualifications, as she wasn’t particularly rich in either. But… maybe she could slap something a little better together with some help from the internet, given enough time. “I can email it to you,” she offered. “I don’t have a hard copy. Don’t own a printer, you know?” Who did, these days?
The look on Cleo’s face as Rory handed her the record was enough to make Rory smirk, too. It felt like a good sign, like maybe she’d made the right call here. “It’s my favorite kind of music,” she told Cleo with a nod, because it was. She’d discovered punk rock at twelve, when her brother’s playlist was muffled through the shared wall of their bedrooms but she’d nodded along to it all the same.
Cleo was careful with the record; Rory watched the way she carried it like something precious, and she liked that. She liked the feeling like the record — and the music it played — both mattered. Of course it was easy to ascertain that Cleo liked music; she owned a record shop. But seeing it so clearly displayed like this made Rory trust the kind of music lover she was a bit more. It wasn’t just an act, or a way to make her living. This mattered to her.
She wondered what it told Cleo about her, the album she’d picked. Good things, or bad ones? Something between the two? Part of her wanted to ask, but it felt wrong to do so and so she only nodded instead. “Well, I worked at a plant shop here in town until recently. Uh, before that I had a retail job back home in New Mexico. Both were customer-facing stuff. Selling people shit, talking to them. That kind of thing.” She smiled as the music started up. “Well, I figure even if you don’t hire me, this way I’ll at least get to hear an album I actually like. That’s something, isn’t it?”
—
“Right, yes. A resume.” Cleo frowned a little. Maybe she should have asked for a digital copy when she and Rory had been talking online, but it wasn’t in her nature to ask for such things. “I own a printer. It also has a scanning and faxing feature, though I hardly use the latter, considering not many people use their fax any more.” She cleared her throat. “I barely ever used one either, of course.” She looked too young for that, right? She could not keep up. “A digital copy will suffice.”
Rory’s answer was significantly lacking. Was she someone who just didn’t waste a lot of words on things? It could be that she was nervous – though she didn’t seem the type – and of course, that she just did not care enough to answer. “Why?,” she asked, genuinely intrigued. She would not hire someone who wasn’t passionate about music. “Punk is a great genre. Not my go to for music to play in the store, admittedly, but great for a drive and of course, best when enjoyed live. How do you like it?”
She moved away from the record player after adjusting the volume to the right level, humming along softly for a moment before getting closer to Rory. She should have gotten some seats, perhaps. In stead she moved through the store as the other spoke, indicating that she should follow. Hopefully this granted an air of ease to the interview that Cleo could not conjure naturally.
“A plant shop? A friend of mine runs one in town. Everlasting Garden?” She wondered why she no longer worked there, but did not press. “It’s good, that you’ve done this work before. Customers can be quite taxing, but most of the ones that come here are well spirited. How do you react when one is rude to you?” Cleo chuckled at Rory’s answer. “Clever.” There had been something a little frustrating about the other’s bite online, but she found it more tolerable here. “That is something. I like … to make sure that people leave here with a piece of music that will change something for them. Maybe just a lift in the mood, or perhaps something deeper. Sometimes it can be as simple as enjoying the riffs of a guitar well played, too. Would you try to ensure this too?”
—
“Well, I guess business owners need printers.” Probably. She had to print, like, invoices and receipts and all that, right? Rory didn’t know a lot about how businesses worked, but she knew some things were still done on paper. She could give Cleo a pass for owning a printer, especially if she wasn’t using it for faxing. (Nobody did faxing anymore, she was right.) “Digital copies are probably better, anyway. Save the trees or whatever, right?” And give her more time to tweak things into looking a little more impressive, which was the more important part of it. (She doubted she was saving enough trees to make a difference by not printing out a single-page resume.)
She considered Cleo’s question. She’d never really been one to consider why she liked things, only that she liked them. But… “I like that it’s deeper than what people think it is. Like, it’s got a certain reputation, you know? People like to think of it like something shallow and surface level, like… just a way for teenagers to piss off their parents, or whatever. But if you look at it for more than, like, I don’t know, thirty seconds, you realize it’s more than that. It’s about politics. It’s about being angry at the world and using that anger to make the world better. It’s about refusing to let people tell you who to be.” She paused, then added, “And… it’s nostalgic, too, for me. My brother listened to it all the time when we were kids.” Things like I wanted to be like him and I wanted him to like me went unsaid, because Rory wasn’t the type to admit to something that vulnerable.
“That’s the one,” Rory acknowledged with a nod, trying to keep the uncertainty from her tone. She hoped Oliver hadn’t said anything, hoped he hadn’t spread any rumors or told Cleo that it was Rory who caused the damage to his shop. (It wasn’t; it couldn’t have been. It didn’t make sense ,didn’t fit. She knew that.) As Cleo moved through the store, Rory followed. She figured she was supposed to, even if nothing was said aloud to indicate it. “If somebody’s seriously rude to me, I usually tell them to fuck off,” she replied honestly, shrugging a shoulder. “I don’t like the idea that it’s a customer service person’s job to let someone scream at them.” She wasn’t one to let herself be abused just to make a few bucks. It was probably better that Cleo know that now. At least the other seemed to like Rory’s answer as to why she’d picked this particular album. “I like that,” she said, and she meant it. Music should have an effect on the people who heard it. “I’d definitely try to do that, yeah. I mean… I might need some practice with it, I guess. But maybe you could teach me?”
—
“I … suppose so, yes,” said Cleo, though she had always owned a printer, even when she hadn’t been a business owner. Admittedly, she had been using it less for personal use these past years, what with computers becoming so very portable and phones becoming more evolved. It was still likely that she would print Rory’s resume once she got a digital hold of it, though, for her administration. It was something she decided to leave unsaid, considering how much of a tech-wizz Rory seemed to be. “Maybe so. Though I suggest not using that argument when people argue against physical copies of music. I’ve heard it said that data also costs water … though not trees. Regardless, the digital copy will suffice.”
Rory had a way of speaking that felt like she was going round and round the point she was trying to make. Cleo liked a little decisiveness better, but chalked it all up to the other’s youth and possible job-interview nerves. She had heard that job interviews could be stressful. She’d never been a participant in one on the other side. “Hm-hm,” she said, nodding in agreement. “People who think music has to be apolitical are fools. There is music for them, certainly — plenty of artists just make for the sake of music. But most don’t. And punk … well, it was born to move against something, to move for something. Some punk is empty of such messages, of course, but plenty isn’t.” She smiled a little. “And never mind all the large reasons why we can like substantial music … it’s the personal notes that mean most, at times, right?”
There was a moment where a frown danced on Cleo’s features. She wondered why Rory had ceased working for Oliver — he seemed like quite the great employer. “Do you like music better than plants?,” she asked in stead of prying, considering that something she might do at a later time. Maybe she wouldn’t. Oliver was already dealing with plenty, after all. She let out a huff of amusement at Rory’s answer. “I would request you leave that answer for the seriously taxing ones. I do agree though. I work here to sell people music and ensure they get what they want, but I do not exist in servitude for them and their whims.” She did not stand for that kind of human (or otherwise) rudeness. “But my store can’t be known for having poor service, either. There’s a balance there.” Cleo smiled, then, and nodded. “Yes, I would like to help you get that sense. And it’s often a gamble, still.” She wondered if she should be asking more questions. “Are you … able to run the store by yourself, from time to time? I sometimes have to run back for … inventory.” And not because she started randomly glowing every now and then.
—
“Oh, sure,” Rory agreed. “I mean, physical media is one thing, right? DVDs, records, all that. Those are cool. But printing stuff out unnecessarily is a little wasteful.” She didn’t really care one way or another — she didn’t waste paper, but only because she so rarely had a use for it and didn’t even carry a writing utensil on her — but she thought it sounded smart. And she found herself wanting Cleo to think she was smart, if only to secure the job for herself. (And… maybe also because Cleo was actually way cooler than she’d seemed online. A person in their 60s not understanding technology was an annoying cliche, but a person in their 30s not getting it was almost neat.)
Cleo also seemed to get it when it came to music. Rory was of the belief that no creative venture should be apolitical. To make something that said nothing was to make something that didn’t matter at all, and so she tended to gravitate towards genres that had statements to make and judged the ones she felt didn’t rather harshly. “No point in listening to something that isn’t trying to tell you anything, honestly,” she shrugged, because she might as well get that out there. “I don’t like music unless it has something worthwhile to say.” It was a sweeping statement that wasn’t entirely true — Rory did enjoy the occasional pop song, as most did — but she wasn’t quite capable of seeing the dishonesty in it. To Rory, at least in this moment, the statement was fact. She smiled a little as Cleo mentioned the personal effects of music, nodding her head. “That makes it matter, too,” she agreed.
She worried, momentarily, that Cleo was going to ask more about her departure from her job at Oliver’s shop. The thing was, Rory didn’t know how to explain it in a way that made sense, especially not to Oliver’s friend. How do you tell someone ‘I was fired because your friend told me I was a werewolf, which I’m not’ ? Yeah. That was so not a job interview discussion. Thankfully, Cleo seemed willing to let the subject drop. Rory smiled, relieved that she wouldn’t need to find some explanation that made sense but didn’t out her as supernatural. “I definitely like music more than plants,” she replied with a nod. “All right, that’s… fair. I can promise I won’t be telling everybody to fuck off. Just the people who deserve it.” Which meant she’d limit herself to people she felt were being unfairly demanding. “I can run the store on my own if I need to. I did it at my last job, sometimes. And I’m used to taking charge.” True enough; Rory wasn’t the sort to sit around idle and wait for someone else to handle something that needed handling.
—
Cleo had a speech prepared about how printing a resume was hardly the cause of the world’s ecosystem going to ruin, but she tried to swallow her very justified self-righteousness. It was hard not to think of Oliver. Save the trees, Rory had said after all. She wanted to hire this girl, not send her away with something to really think about (and she’d be exposed to plenty of Cleo’s correct opinions if she did take the job). “I guess so,” she acquiesced, her chest panging with the half-lie. It was not like she gave full verbal agreement with Rory, but even the hint of it was enough to upset something within her.
Rory was strong in her opinions too, a trait that Cleo could appreciate in humans as long as they were able to hold some space for her, more correct opinions. “No point at all? Sometimes can’t we listen to something because it makes us feel something? Something that takes us on a journey, or something that tugs at the heart strings? I agree that the notion of apolitical music or art in this day and age is something only the privileged can make a claim to, as the freedom to make art is inherently political … but what is it you think music needs to say? Is a love song, or one about grief, or even one about ones pet, not enough, or is that also worthwhile?” She inhaled after her small monologue, gave Rory a smile. “I’m interested. Not judging. These are the kinds of discussions I like.”
She let out a laugh, one almost close to surprise. “Alright. Only the ones who deserve it. And if that ever … is not the case, well, we’ll burn that bridge if we ever get to it.” She did not like berating someone, so she hoped she didn’t have to put her foot down any time soon. Cleo had no passion about being an employer — she cared about the music and about sharing it with her customers. It wasn’t even really about the money, even if it had to be due to the way human society had been constructed. “That’s good to hear, Rory! How about this, we do a… trial day?” She hoped that was the right term. “I definitely think you’ll be a good fit for my business.” That sounded about right. “What do you say?”
—
She was glad to have Cleo agree with her, because hadn’t that been the crux of the issue at her last job? Not that Oliver was a bad boss — he wasn’t — but that he refused to believe that Rory knew what she was talking about when she did. Maybe this (albeit small) notion of agreement was a sign that she would not have the same problem with Cleo, at the very least.
She liked the discussion, too, the way Cleo really didn’t sound like she was judging but rather trying to understand. “I mean… can music make you feel something if it has nothing to say? Maybe the chords sound good, maybe the words are nice, but if it’s not saying anything that matters… what does it offer you? It’s just…” She trailed off, a little thoughtful. “Artificial feeling, I guess. Like if you don’t care enough about your music to say something worthwhile with it, why should I care enough to listen, right?”
Cleo laughed, and it felt a little bit like a win. Rory couldn’t help but grin at her phrasing — we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it — quietly pocketing the phrase for a later date. She tried to temper herself a little as Cleo spoke again, not wanting to appear overeager. It was better, she’d learned, to not let people know how badly you wanted something. With a thoughtful hum, Rory nodded. “Yeah,” she said, “sure. We can do a trial run. What day works for you? Um, I have a weekend job, so… Weekday?”
—
She liked it when humans were opinionated. At least, when their opinions aligned with hers and if not, were at least interesting and filled with more than a complaint. Rory was opinionated, she could sense that — she had online, even. And though the record she had picked wouldn’t have been Cleo would have picked, it was a good one. The way she was representing her own opinion now too, was something she appreciated the other.
“I suppose that’s subjective in a way, but I very much agree,” she said, circling around the store. “To a point. Sometimes the message of music can be as simple as chord progressions and notes played together, meant to invoke. Not every classical piece has something to say in the way I think you mean, after all. And yet it says plenty. But that thing you said, about artificial feeling? That I understand, and it’s more present these days than ever before. Not to be all … back in my day.”
Luckily Rory agreed. Though this job interview had gone well, Cleo was not that interested in repeating the process over and over again. She wanted a human to front her shop and she had one that was young, sturdy and spunky. “Any day will do. Tuesday, next week? Those tend to be slower days, so I can show you how things work properly.”
—
Rory did not say that she didn’t listen to classical music enough to have any sort of opinion on it, because she didn’t think it was what Cleo wanted to hear. Normally, she wouldn’t care about that, but… she liked Cleo, she was finding, and it was clear that Cleo held music in some high regard. Rory did not often respect people she didn’t know well, but she respected Cleo for this all the same.
She did snort a little as the woman continued, though, raising a brow and tilting her head in a way that bordered on playful. “Back in your day?” She repeated, looking Cleo up and down with a critical eye. “What are you, thirty? I’m pretty sure you can’t use ‘back in my day’ until you’re, like, at least pushing forty.” She liked that Cleo seemed to consider her opinion, though, liked that she didn’t shoot it down straight away. It wasn’t necessarily an opinion Rory held as strongly as some others, but she disliked being told she was wrong about anything, no matter how little it really meant to her in the grand scheme of things.
And just like that, Rory had a definitive start date. Getting a job in Wicked’s Rest had proven so much easier than getting one back home had been; none of her experiences here had come with a jaded, self-important store manager who liked the power they wielded a little too much. It was something that came with a lot of relief, even if Rory thought herself too cool to show it. “Tuesday works,” she confirmed, sticking out a hand for Cleo to shake because it seemed like the right thing to do. “See you then?”
—
It happened from time to time, that she forgot about old she appeared in human years and spoke as someone older than that. Cleo looked like many other muses her age did, but to speak of days gone by made her sound older than the mid-thirties woman her glamoured form presented. One of the good things about this having happened before meant she kind of knew how to deal with it.
“I can definitely say it,” she said confidently, “We’ve had these AI-generated musicians for only a year or so, and all these other concerns for perhaps ten. I very much remember the … time before streaming, the time before companies tried to make physical media obsolete. To someone like you that might just seem like the actual reality.” She paused. “Not you, obviously. But the youths. They are all used to music and video on demand. A new album can be listened at midnight, not the moment you buy the album! The times have changed! I can say it.” She swallowed, willing herself to cease talking. She should not overreact.
She took Rory’s hand and shook it, appreciating the formal gesture. “I’ll have … some paperwork drawn up then!” It was a little but of assurance for Rory, to make clear that Cleo did intend to hire her unless she made a grand mistake (like suggesting the Chainsmokers to a customer). “See you Tuesday, Rory.” She smiled at the other, gesturing that she was free to go. “Thanks for stepping by.”
[ Rory has no idea where Daiyu lives, so she just kind of leaves this somewhere she figures Daiyu will find it, with Daiyu’s name on it. Hopefully it makes it to her. It’s the most dramatic glitter bomb money can buy. If opened, it will showed Daiyu with enough glitter to have her finding it for months. There is, of course, no indication as to who it might be from. ]
Hear me out. Rory having nasty objectum sex with Axel's stupid bright green pickup truck while he's not around. Shaking hands running over the freshly waxed exterior. Licking and kissing the steering wheel while they touch themselves. Humping the leather seats desperately. Hopefully they remember to clean up afterwards, or else they'll have some explaining to do.
[ GRAZE ] sender brushes their fingertip back and forth along receiver's jaw while they listen to receiver talk ( rory and ravi 😌 )
one of these for sure, always accepting || @bychuck
i'm really really into this new show i've been watching, it has one of my favorite actors in it and it has vampires, so i've been going off to ravi about the latest episode. i'm a little passionate about it, not usually one to get into shows like this but turns out there's really a first time for everything. he's not judging me like anyone would've before, my parents only cared about themselves and exes that were models that did the same but he's just listening to me and he's touching my jaw, i feel loved in a way i didn't know was possible.
i lose track of what i 'm talking about, my focus now on him, my own hand coming up to cup his face and i shake my head in disbelief. " you're not real. " i whisper then i kiss him, short and sweet but lingering, hovering right above his lips for a moment. " you can't look at me like that when i'm talking, you know what it does to me. " i tap his face a couple times where my hand was resting and close my eyes. " i forgot what my point was. "
this is a personal rewrite of some of the events that occur during rory's time on the show as a companion as well as his relationship with amy. please consider this as we write as these are all the main things that i changed out of personal comfort as well as what i believe rory's character is more deserving of. you are more than welcome to ask follow up questions as this is more of a comprehensive rundown than anything detailed. this is a living document and might be changed / added onto as i see fit !
although rory and amy are engaged when rory first meets the doctor, they are not yet set to be wed. rory does have a lot of insecurity surrounding his relationship with amy that had been mostly put to rest until he finds out she had run off for a few days with the doctor.
rory breaks off the engagement, stating that neither of them are really ready to be married. while there is insecurity surrounding her infatuation with the doctor, rory really just wants amy to be happy and understands that her traveling with him is what she's truly wanted her whole life. he later regrets not fighting for her more but rectifies this later on.
at some point, maybe a few adventures after ( i really could not tell you which adventure in particular ), rory and amy reconnect on a trip back home, and they rekindle their relationship when both have had an opportunity to grow.
while there is still some residual tension, rory is excited to travel with amy and the doctor.
after rory takes the silurian blast for the doctor, he gets absorbed into the crack, but doesn't become plastic. instead, because of equally incomprehensible sci-fi shenanigans, he is instead a human with abilities equal to healing factor from his time surrounded by timey wimey shit. because of this, it is more difficult for him to die. not impossible, but definitely more difficult.
also because of this, he doesn't age, explaining his time with the pandorica.
however, this is reversed when the weeping angels send him back in time. he is reverted back to normal aging, though still with the healing factor. but, this is less related to age and more related to injuries.
also instead of arthur darvill, i will be using joseph quinn as an image reference for the time being. but, i'll still reblog rory things from canon material.
