London... With A Twist

The sun was shining down on Amy's face.

She yawned and stretched her muscles, still half asleep and not yet fully conscious of the world. She could remember having the most horrible dream. There had been a dreadful little man, and all these chanting dolls...

But it had only been a dream.

She heard the clatter of bins. Somebody taking the garbage out. Not too far away. Something cold and gritty was pressing up against Amy's back. Her eyes fluttered open, ready to take in the morning.

She realised, with a start, that she wasn't quite sure where she was.

Certainly not her bed. Not the TARDIS, either. It looked like an alleyway, a pretty normal sight in London, but with something a little... off about it. A little old-fashioned, maybe. The walls were made of brick, and covered with posters, advertising brands and entertainments she didn't recognise. Was she back in time, maybe? Sometime around 1940? Or was it only supposed to look retro? Could she be in some sort of far-future theme park, a society merely modelled on WWII Britain?

How had she gotten here, anyway? When had she fallen asleep? On the TARDIS? Amy Pond had a lot of questions. But she was going to get answers. The first thing to do was go find someone, whoever happened to be hanging around at this time of the morning, and ask them for...

Wait. She couldn't do that. For a very good reason.

Amy looked down at her body, and took a deep breath, trying not to panic. It was all beginning to come back to her now. The dreadful little man. The chanting dolls, singing that awful mocking song about a very particular part of her anatomy. And, worst of all, the flash of the camera...

It gleamed between her legs, unavoidable. Anyone catching even the smallest glance of Amy Pond would have his eyes magnetically drawn to it. A burst of ginger fire, probably visible all the way from outer space.

Amy's bush.

She looked up at the fire escape, way above her head, hoping to find her nightie there, as more mortifying details of the dream came back to her. No luck. She was stranded in the alleyway, in the middle of some sort of mysterious past-future London, all alone. And, most unluckily for poor old Amy Pond, she was stark naked.