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How Your Love's Affecting Our Reality

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“Great man, William Shakespeare! Met him once, back in 1599. Mind you, he found himself in some trouble- ah though, I’m sure things will be this time around,” A grin flourishing across the features of the Doctor as his hands flung back from the controls of the Tardis, he tilted his head to the doors of the TARDIS a little, crooked smile awaiting response.
“Never a dull moment with you, though- oi, before you start, same goes for you,” First comment directed towards the Doctor before switching quick across to Rory, accent broad in her voice, she could almost guess what he was thinking as she caught the hesitation on his features, recalling the small glowing chip he had held in his hand throughout their previous adventure. Hearing all she was speaking whilst with the Silence. “So,” Leaning back against the control, daring raise of brows, “Will he remember you, then?”.
“Oh, he should- recent memory, actually, for him. While back for me. Different face and all, but that’s a story for a different time,” Pinch of his own cheeks, rapid speech and movement, a final adjustment of his bow tie, he moved nearer the doors. “Roman play, I reckon our very own one should have the honours- go on then, Rory the Roman. Open up,”.
“Er, not sure it’s exactly my turn, not my-” Rory started to speak, tetchy look in the direction of Amy, knowing the choice of play was her own, due to her love of studying the time. But, a small smile creeping on her in sync with a nod, he was assured. “Alright then, opening the doors, opening them,” He muttered, thinking it over as his hands clasped on, pulling them open with a breath, taking in the air of the time. Or, as it should be said, the grotesque stench.

One of the first things one would notice upon travelling to the Elizabethan age was the sheer stench. A putrid one that did disgrace to modern senses. Hands covering their mouths as they left the TARDIS, all eyes to the city around them, looking for the theatre in which they were to view their show. Julius Ceaser, so chosen for Amy.
“Now this would’ve come handy with GCSE’S” Hand pushing away from the TARDIS as she walked away from it, experience in her step, Amy narrowed her eyes, that usual blend of quick slowness as she took in the first sights, the typical thrill of ‘fuck, we’re actually here’, brimming within. “Can’t believe we’re actually here! Reckon we’ll see the man himself? He a looker at all?”.
“Not with that balding head, you’ll do better sticking with your Mr Pond,” Rory put out, as her arm wrapped around him, though he was a tad more hesitant in his step. Something wasn’t right, he was sure of it, always observant to the smaller details of the bigger picture that most saw. “Doctor, isn’t-” He started, before once more being cut off.
“Think you’ll be surprised, old...friend of mine didn’t think he was so bad” Knowing look from the Doctor, upbeat expression faltered for just a moment, the reflection of former companions always something he needed a short while to deal with. Even if Martha hadn’t left on too terrible terms, it still hurt. “He thought quite the same about her. And me, which I imagine had fifty historians punching the air,” Twinkle in his eyes, confident manner about him, he looked about the surroundings with that manner of bizarreness yet normalness, the confidence making his self so different to the time seem so right for it.
“Isn’t that not the Globe Theatre-! There, got it in,” Rory finally managed to blurt in, a hand waving in direction to a theatre, people standing about it already. The curiosity of the Doctor at last piqued, the timelord started to move forward with a determined stance, shoulders a little hunched up loosely.
“Proving your use, eh? No, it doesn’t look like it, come to think. I’d know, I’ve been before...so, location is definitely wrong. Let’s see about time- you there- lovely theatre we’ve got there! Forgive me, I’m new about these parts...what’s it called? And what’s the year?” He casually slipped into conversation with a figure passing by.
“1596, of course! Funny you not knowing that...and the theatre, is, well, known as The Theatre. Shakespeare himself is in there right now, they say! What I wouldn’t do to be there with him...I couldn’t be more obsessed!” Fanning herself with one hand, the woman started to move away, frown on her face at the queries made.
“Right then...uh, we’re a few years out, it seems. Not quite Ceaser. But, hey, Shakespeare!” Whirl of arms, he was proud regardless. “Man himself, and we’re still on time to see a show, hey”.

Was there to be a play performed, however? Inside, different questions were being presented. The players sat upon the ready stage, leaning against elements of scenery, as the final script was held up with pride, Anne Hathaway looking upon it with expectation.
“Now, I look forward to relaxing, enjoying a big glass of wine...and not falling asleep before the interval,” A glimmer of a smile blossoming upon Anne, it was a match for the smugness now forming across William.
“Oh, there’ll be no one falling asleep, not with the ending I’ve just written!” William chuckled out.
“You’ve written one, have you? Well, that is good timing”.
“So, we all know what happens...love, death, all the good stuff, and then! Oh, wait till you hear this! Romeo, thinking Juliet is dead, poisons himself, only for her to awaken, and she, thinking he is dead, plunges his dagger into her heart, killing herself!” Silence radiating around the theatre, not a sound was to be heard, his smugness slowly dwindling as he let out a cough. “Good, isn’t it? Go on, what are you all thinking?”.
“I like it, yeah! I think what I like about it is that I’m having like, a strongly negative reaction to it…” A player put forward, as Anne sharpened her gaze, a hard stare gifted to her husband.
“Frankly, my dear, the ending’s shit. Wouldn’t it work better if Juliet didn’t kill herself?”.
“Female empowerment, sick!” The same player as before intruded with, a nod of agreement to Anne.
Feathers rather ruffled, his own players and wife turning against him, Will looked down, before his glance rose up, quiet and defiant to the comments.
“We could always...change it? Rewrite it together, it’d be a lark,” Anne then spoke, the silence rather an awkward nuisance to all. “Just so long as maybe, just maybe, Juliet lives. She’s only had one boyfriend, seems a bit silly for her to die”.
“No can do, I’m afraid. It’s based on a true history,” Will finally spoke, short and blunt.
“You know, you’re my fire...my one desire. But, think about it, Juliet makes a choice to live. I...I want it that way. I ask for very little, I spend all my time caring for the kids in Stratford. Let me have this...this one thing,” It was around the time where one could imagine a gorgeous battle of words to ‘I Want It That Way’ blaring out between Anne and Will.
“And you’re mine. But I can’t just change history,”.
“Can’t you?” A new voice joining the discussion, the Doctor walked in, Amy and Rory following suit straight behind. “Some points in history can always be changed. All depends on whether or not we’re dealing with a fixed point in time…”.