I know it's been ages since the last chapter but I've been really busy with school and really distracted with tumblr. Hopefully I'll be able to get more used to the routine soon.
Abbey Who Chapter Nine
"Good evening, does the name Vincent Van Gogh ring a bell?"
"Don't mention that man to me," he answered, turning away and walking back inside in annoyance.
Abigail raised an eyebrow. "What was that about?"
The Doctor shrugged, "I'll try and find out," he turned to the waitresses, "Excuse me. Do you know
Vincent Van Gogh?"
"Unfortunately," one of them replied.
"Unfortunately?" Amy questioned.
"He's drunk, he's mad and he never pays his bills," she explained.
"Good painter, though, eh?" The Doctor pointed out.
There was an chorus of laughter and The Doctor sat at one of the tables in dejection.
The waiter from earlier and a red headed man who could only be one person came out of the restaurant.
"Come on! Come on! One painting for one drink. That's not a bad deal."
Amy and Abigail screamed silently, grinning from ear to ear. The Doctor looked excited too.
"It wouldn't be a bad deal if the painting were any good. I can't hang that up on my walls. It'd scare the customers half to death," the man said, "It's bad enough having you in here in person, let alone looming over the customers day and night in a stupid hat. You pay money or you get out."
"I'll pay if you like," The Doctor offered.
"What?" This man must be blind and deaf.
"Well, if you like. I'll pay for the drink. Or I'll pay for the painting and you can use the money to pay for the drink."
"Exactly who are you?" Vincent asked. Good luck getting a proper answer.
"I'm... new in town."
"Well, in that case, you don't know three things. One, I pay for my own drinks, thank you." The staff burst out laughing but he ignored them, "Two, no-one ever buys any of my paintings or they would be laughed out of town, so if you want to stay in town, I suggest you keep your cash to yourself. And three, your orange-haired friend's cute, but you should keep your big nose out of other people's business."
Amy gave a devilish grin and Abigail bit my lip to try and keep a straight face.
"Come on, just one more drink. I'll pay tomorrow," Vincent begged.
"No."
"Or, on the other hand, slightly more compassionately, yes."
"Or, on the other hand, to protect my business from madmen, no." Guess he's not a waiter after all. Different styles throughout time were hard to get used to. Abigail thought they'd need to change into more time-appropriate clothing but apparently not.
"Or-" Vincent began only to be cut off my Amy.
"Oh, look, just shut up the pair of you!" The Doctor and Abigail smiled. Oh, Amy.
"I would like a bottle of wine, please, which I will then share with whomever I choose," she said, turning to Vincent. She was a flirt when she was engaged, Abigail knew she'd be an even bigger one now that Rory never existed.
-x-
"I can't believe we're actually in Vincent Van Gogh's house. And we just met him and he's like down the corridor - I just-" Abigail opened her mouth as widely as she could and kept the scream muted.
"It's just so cool. Oh god, I'm turning into you," she giggled.
The Doctor chuckled, "Now that, is cool."
She rolled her eyes and flopped onto the bed she was ultimately going to have to share with Amy. After a few minutes she spoke again, "I'm going to have to go home someday aren't I?" She didn't know why she said it. She felt her eyelids drooping.
She wasn't looking at him, but she sensed him tense.
"Yes. Someday. But -you-you can come back. Anytime. You know who to call."
She didn't say anything. Her lip quivered.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yeah. I'm fine," she sniffled.
"Why do you not want to go home? It won't be permanent. Little time there, little time in the TARDIS..."
"I'm just not fond of it there. Or Ms Robinson."
"Why do you call her that?"
"I have to."
"But why?"
"Just habit, I suppose. That's what she made me call her and it would feel weird calling her anything else."
"Your life before. What was it like?"
She sighed and there was a pregnant pause. "That's it. My life was a sigh and an awkward pause," she laughed. There was quite a bit of crying too but she didn't want to force him to listen to that.
"You should get Amy," she said quickly,"I doubt the world could take a combination of Amy Pond and Vincent Van Gogh. Imagine the hair."
The Doctor breathed loudly, "That's very true."
-x-
"Come on. We've got to go." He pulled open the curtains and the room burst with light. Abigail bolted upright and hissed.
The Doctor raised his arms in surrender. "Blimey. I knew you weren't human."
She rolled her eyes and laughed. "Sorry. I'm not a morning person."
He adjusted his bowtie. "Well, hurry up anyway. We've got to get to the church." He strode out of the room. Amy was already up and out. Abigail dragged herself out of bed and walked to the window. It looked like it was about noon. She quickly changed back into the same clothes as yesterday (what else was she supposed to wear?) and dashed out to the garden.
-x-
"Yes. And today is another cracker if I may say so. But I just wondered, between you and me, in 100 words, where do you think Van Gogh rates in the history of art?" The Doctor enquired.
"Well, big question. But, to me, Van Gogh is the finest painter of them all."
Vincent's eyes were red rimmed as tears formed in his eyes.
"Certainly, the most popular, great painter of all time, the most beloved. His command of colour, the most magnificent. He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty. Pain is easy to portray, but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world - no-one had ever done it before. Perhaps no-one ever will again. To my mind, that strange, wild man who roamed the fields of Provence was not only the world's greatest artist, but also one of the greatest men who ever lived," Mr. Black finished.
Abigail suddenly realised she was crying too and quickly wiped away the tear from my cheek. This will change history, she thought.
Vincent was sobbing and The Doctor went to him.
"Vincent. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Is it too much?" he asked, giving him a comforting hug.
"No. They are tears of joy." Vincent walked to Mr. Black and gave him a big, wet kiss on the cheek,
"Thank you, sir. Thank you," he finished with a hug.
"You're welcome? You're welcome." If he didn't understand art he would probably find Vincent madder than any of the village folk ever did.
"Sorry about the beard," Vincent apologised, remembering Amy's advice from before.
He walked back to them in awe of what he'd just heard. "How can this be? I thought my paintings weren't
any good."
"Yeah well, everyone's wrong someti . . . sorry . . . I thought I saw . . . it doesn't matter - what I was trying to say is everyone's wrong sometimes. And it just happens that everyone who told you your paintings weren't any good had a lot of wrong in their lives." Abigail finished quickly, worrying she was rambling.
We dropped Vincent back home and arrived back to the museum. Amy and Abigail were running up the steps when Abigail noticed that The Doctor didn't seem to be as excited. She stopped as Amy hurried on ahead. "Nothing's changed has it?"
The Doctor bowed his head, "No. I don't think so. His life was too difficult for a future he wouldn't be around for to be worth much. I think he probably realised he'd already painted most of them and well . . ."
Tears welled in her eyes again and he hopped up the next few steps until we were on the same height level and he gave her a comforting hug.
"It's okay, we were responsible for some of his last happy moments - the greatest painter who ever lived - that's something, isn't it?"
She nodded and pulled away. She imagined Amy would react the same way and rushed to catch up but it was too late. She was already in the exhibit. Abigail heard only one sentence but it was enough to know that Amy's heart had broken with those words:
"We have here the last work of Vincent Van Gogh, who committed suicide at only 37."
"So, you were right. No new paintings. We didn't make a difference at all," she said, turning to The Doctor.
"I wouldn't say that. The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. Hey," he embraced her in a hug and continued, "The good things don't always soften the bad things. But, vice versa - the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant," he released her from the hug and looked her in the eye, "And we definitely added to his pile of good things. And if you look carefully..." he lead her to the painting of the church and Abigail followed by their side. "maybe we did indeed make a couple of little changes."
"No Krafayis."
"No Krafayis," he echoed.
As The Doctor and Abigail examined the painting, Amy made her way to another painting. The Doctor noticed, tapped Abigail on the shoulder and they followed at a distance.
She smiled when she noticed the small scribble on the vase of one of the most famous paintings in existence. "For Amy".
The Doctor whistled quietly.
"If we had got married, our kids would have had very, very red hair."
They laughed lightly and he added, "The ultimate ginger."
"The ultimate ginge," she confirmed.
Please let me know what you think and I'm really curious as to what you think will happen sometime in the story
