a traveler from an antique land

After several bumps and truly impressive ricocheting reminiscent of a pinball machine, a blue box with the dimensions and sign of a Blue Police Call box touches down.

There's a few crashing sounds from the inside that sound somewhat painful.

And then a woman with short, jaggedly-cut black hair sporting an extremely fashionable outfit consisting of a denim miniskirt (probably Rose's), a cricketer's jacket (guess who), a ridiculously long scarf (definitely her Fourth's), and a Beatles concert t-shirt (who even knows) leans out the door, squinting in the light.

"Trakken, isn't it?" she asks of whoever happens to be closest by.

No.

No, it isn't.

Princeton-Plainsborough. If you asked her, it sounded more like a really posh double-last name, probably with tennis rackets and skorts, but nobody did ask her, which was just as well, given that she wasn't technically supposed to be here.

At least, not wearing a white coat and masquerading as a medical doctor. She'd gotten a call from Torchwood that they were tracking some sort of dangerous, sick alien that would more than likely kill anyone within a million-mile radius with its dying breath, and Gwen and her team were searching thsee other hospitals and would she mind searching this one in America?

Honestly. As if she was Torchwood's errand girl. Still, she'd be hard-pressed to decline. Which lead to standing in some poor bloke's hospital room, trying to read his bloody chart. Unfortunately, the TARDIS didn't do Medical-to-English translations.

The Doctor bounces on ahead, already digging through trouser pockets for the TARDIS key, coming up with a bag of jelly babies, a yo-yo, a small purple teddy bear, and an array of gadgets and gizmos, not necessarily in that order.

"Here we are!"

The TARDIS, of course, looks like a blue Police Call Box. The Doctor busies herself unlocking it.