"There's also the Arkham Sanitorium, of H.P. Lovecraft's work. That alien universe of his? Well. Let's just say that he saw things in his lifetime." The Doctor drummed his hands on his knees five or six times, in no particular rhythm, then straightened back up.
He hadn't followed most of Fred's ramblings, but he understood the last bit. She needed to clean up, she needed clothes, and she was hungry. Since he needed to see a little more of this 'City' in order to understand what they were dealing with, a supply run didn't seem out of the question.
"Clean up," he suggested. "I'll handle the rest."
He was gone for a little over an hour; long enough to track down the things they'd needed and to discover that, instead of having to hack into a cash machine or borrow money from passers-by, the currency he needed simply appeared in his pocket when he needed it. Interesting.
The Doctor returned with take-away, a paper bag full of clothes in a variety of styles and sizes, a newspaper, a few pairs of sunglasses, and another sack of strange odds and ends. The perception filter idea hadn't been a bad one - now he just had to make a pair of them.
"Fred?" The Doctor called, to let the woman know that he was back.