When Omara King finally left Leadworth, she left a trail of ash.
It's been three years since it all fell apart, and Amelia Pond's wedding is the first time the town has really come back to life.
But a ghostlike Omara shows up on the night before the...
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"Cleaning up the carnage?"
Rory glared from where he crouched by the coffee table in the lounge, gathering up cards and tiny metal pieces.
I grinned, pouring myself a glass of soda water at the bar and squeezing in some lemon. "Pretty soon we're gonna run out of games with no record of bloodshed. And then what will you do?"
"It would be fine if you weren't all so damncompetitive."
"I keep saying you need to make better friends," I teased.
"My taste in friends is not the problem," he said drily. "It's my friends' inability to lose gracefully at Monopoly."
"No one loses gracefully in Monopoly, Rory." Still in a blue linen night gown and robe, Amy strolled into the room behind me as she spoke, and wandered over to peer over my shoulder: "Ooo, day-drinking already?"
Before I could answer, she pulled the glass from my hands and took a swig.
Rory and I glanced at each other in a commiserative way. We both knew that anything could be snatched out of our hands the second Amelia wanted it - she and the Doctor had that in common.
She gave a melodramatic sigh of disappointment when she wasn't met with the taste of alcohol, and dropped the glass of lemon bubbly water down next to a stack of DVDs, setting her phone next to it.
"Poor Rory," she pouted, looking at him as he laid down and stuck his arm underneath the media center drawers. "Giving up on your dream of a weekly game night, yet?"
"How did you even manage to get dice over here?" He groaned, and pointed at us accusatorily. "I'm not giving up anything. I will housetrain the three of you."
I smirked into my cup.
Amy leaned down on the counter and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. "I'm still not clear on what Omara did to make you axe Scrabble for being a hazard."
"The Doctor says she threw a letter, nearly burned down the kitchen and broke a 13th century bottle of mead."
"One of those little wooden tiles? How did you manage that, 'Mara?"
I'd had to throw one of his tiles before he could get it back from me. The tile had knocked down a lit taper candle with its brass holder onto the bottle, and they both fell on the floor, where the alcohol went up in flames.
I sighed bitterly once I'd explained, pulling an apple out of the fruit bowl on the counter and crunching into it. "He was trying to play a word that doesn't exist yet."
We watched passively as Rory neatly stacked the cards we scattered the night before.
Feeling like we'd been too mean, I allowed some good will out of my mouth: "Thanks for setting it up, Rory. Game nights are fun, even if you say we're animals."
