RP: I fought the law and the law won.
This happened far too often, Sally Sparrow thought with a note of irritation. Next time the Doctor bolted off to investigate another temporal chronological anomaly in a tunnel, she thought she might stay in the car, so to speak. If nothing else she'd make a point of asking exactly where this anomaly was before a rat had a chance to run over her shoe, and the resulting startled step back would send her falling back through...whatever it was.
At least this was the passing theory, as moments later, her back collided with the edge of a postbox with enough force to knock the wind out of her, and crumple to the pavement. The busy street spun in front of her until she could steady herself, standing up shakily. She met odd and disapproving stares from passerbys who seemed more interested in her ruffled appearance and dress sense than the fact that she'd just appeared out of thin air. Sally brushed herself off, smoothing the skirt of her just short enough to not be casual jersey dress. Somehow, she'd managed to not put a hole in her rose-patterned tights as well. The Louvre in 2012 indeed Doctor.
Sally picked up a newspaper at the first stand she passed, seeing nothing but the date. 1982, not the Stone Age, but Sally herself wouldn't be born for another four years, and that made it just alien enough. Alien! That was the key, she didn't have her mobile, it was still in her clutch in the TARDIS, she needed to find another way of contacting the Doctor. In this circumstance, The Oncoming-Storm-Who'd-Mislaid-His-Companion probably had no idea where she'd ended up. Unless he'd put a tag on her or something, an option Sally didn't find too implausible to entertain.
Torchwood? No, the Doctor didn't have any dealings with Torchwood yet, and this was the reigning age of the administration at Canary Wharf, something Sally was loathe to put herself in the clutches of. UNIT? Of course, that was the ticket, the Doctor might have still be working with UNIT now, or at least they'd have some way of reaching him. Of course, it wasn't her Doctor, he'd filled her in about regeneration preemptively, leaving her to wonder how many companion's he'd just given a surprise. But even so, any Doctor gave her an opportunity, gave her a chance. And that was usually all Sally Sparrow needed.
Walking into a secure top secret military base hadn't turned out to be as easy as she'd hoped. In the end, not even the pizza delivery ruse worked, a trick she had on very good authority had proved effective in the past. Pacing the perimeter, now with a bit less access and one more box of medium cheese, Sally put the box down, kicked her heels off, checked for an electrical current and decided she'd deal with the barbed wire when she got there.
At least this was the passing theory, as moments later, her back collided with the edge of a postbox with enough force to knock the wind out of her, and crumple to the pavement. The busy street spun in front of her until she could steady herself, standing up shakily. She met odd and disapproving stares from passerbys who seemed more interested in her ruffled appearance and dress sense than the fact that she'd just appeared out of thin air. Sally brushed herself off, smoothing the skirt of her just short enough to not be casual jersey dress. Somehow, she'd managed to not put a hole in her rose-patterned tights as well. The Louvre in 2012 indeed Doctor.
Sally picked up a newspaper at the first stand she passed, seeing nothing but the date. 1982, not the Stone Age, but Sally herself wouldn't be born for another four years, and that made it just alien enough. Alien! That was the key, she didn't have her mobile, it was still in her clutch in the TARDIS, she needed to find another way of contacting the Doctor. In this circumstance, The Oncoming-Storm-Who'd-Mislaid-His-Companion probably had no idea where she'd ended up. Unless he'd put a tag on her or something, an option Sally didn't find too implausible to entertain.
Torchwood? No, the Doctor didn't have any dealings with Torchwood yet, and this was the reigning age of the administration at Canary Wharf, something Sally was loathe to put herself in the clutches of. UNIT? Of course, that was the ticket, the Doctor might have still be working with UNIT now, or at least they'd have some way of reaching him. Of course, it wasn't her Doctor, he'd filled her in about regeneration preemptively, leaving her to wonder how many companion's he'd just given a surprise. But even so, any Doctor gave her an opportunity, gave her a chance. And that was usually all Sally Sparrow needed.
Walking into a secure top secret military base hadn't turned out to be as easy as she'd hoped. In the end, not even the pizza delivery ruse worked, a trick she had on very good authority had proved effective in the past. Pacing the perimeter, now with a bit less access and one more box of medium cheese, Sally put the box down, kicked her heels off, checked for an electrical current and decided she'd deal with the barbed wire when she got there.