Donned in a knee length velvet purple dress, a pair of black gladiator-style sandals, and a crown of small white flowers that was nestled on top of her head, Sierra bounced out of her TARDIS. The red phone box was attracting no attention. It never did; a safety mechanism. People just walked by it until someone actually pointed it out. That someone had to know what it was. So it was always just left alone wherever it was. "Hello Woodstock!" she said under her breath until, a split second later, she realized she was very far from Woodstock. She was in London. In the 1800s, if she was judging the style of dress correctly. She turned to her box and kicked it gently. "This isn't Woodstock!" She tried the door but it wouldn't budge. "So it's one of those days." She grumbled, scowling, looking around. Well, something important must have been going on. But what?