"So," Rose said, as the TARDIS engines wheezed, "Not quite as unnoticed as I would've liked." She fished out the crushed bit of alien tech and squinted at it. It sure looked like the primary transmitter. There must have been more than just this one somewhere close - but certainly not in that wall. She'd been sure that this was the only one.
Then -- "Where?" she asked, quickly breaking open the casing and futzing with the wiring inside.
Her guest was protesting as usual. Every so often, wouldn't it be nice if one of them just... Her eyes dimmed and some of the enthusiasm slipped out of her, when she realized where her thoughts were headed. She wanted someone who would just jump straight in and start throwing ideas out there. She wanted someone nearly as mad as she was. She wanted, in a word, John Smith. Even thinking his name made pain lance across her features.
"M'name's Rose," she said over the console, and at once that huge smile was back. "Just Rose. Hello! And well, George Romero had a couple good ideas, but no, these were real, living people, and it's all your fault they're walking around all zombified now, isn't it? Sold 'em those shoes, and that fixed 'em right up. Myers. When did your store start carrying Myers? Have you always? What's your name, anyway?"
She went back to the box in her hand, clipping one exposed wire into the TARDIS console.