hallelujahpilot: (in uniform)
The trouble with Hell's Gate is that one cannot simply vanish on days off. The best Trudy has ever been able to manage is the time she got stranded at the Naukograd for four days thanks to a hurricane. The radio-silence was nice; other things...not so much. Scientists tend to get neurotic when left to their own devices for too long, and Trudy and Schidmt had been too worried about their Samson being damaged to really enjoy said radio silence. All in all, she does prefer being at Hell's Gate.

At least, this is what she is telling herself as she buttons up her uniform's shirt and finds the spikes for her boots (not all the Marines wear the spikes, but Trudy'll take the extra grip they offer over an obscure sense of pride any day).

(And she is aware that she shouldn't be this annoyed, given she just ran off to Carl's Earth for three months, but days off are days off.)

Trudy knows what Grace is doing. Mostly. A little of it might just be an unthinking, Queen of the Lab, people-do-as-I-ask. But most of it? Putting Trudy through her paces. And Trudy can't really say anything - and wouldn't, because she's a Marine, and she's been there and done that in bootcamp - but it is getting to be more than a little annoying.

(and oh yeah, does she ever cop grief for it as she stomps her way out of the barracks)

At least for her sense of pride, she knows her way to the Avatar compound without having to ask directions. This is both a result of having lived at Hell's Gate for three years, and because the SecOps Marines use the obstacle course. The fact that she's bringing along her sketchpad (in a bag slung over the top of the filter-pack on her back) is also partly to make her feel better about being summoned; if she's being summoned by the Queen Bee, she might as well bring along something she wants to do.

(fine, sure, Grace's comment that Trudy'll have a better understanding of transporting the Avatars if she actually spends time with them and observes them makes sense, but there are principles involved)

Adjusting her filter-mask slightly, Trudy moves out into the unpressurized part of the complex, and then outside. It'd be beyond Grace to mention where she'd be, wouldn't it? Sighing briefly, Trudy shakes her head in an effort to shake off her bad mood, straightens her shoulders, and sets off towards the longhouse.
hallelujahpilot: (always move forwards)
In retrospect, maybe she shouldn't have agreed to Carl and his 'one night wouldn't hurt'. She's certainly calmer, but also a trifle off-balance. Her sense of day and night and hours passing has been messed up - again - and, frankly, her mind is a little too full of things she could be doing. Like Carl, actually. That would be a far more productive use of her time instead of...this.

'This' consists of Trudy sitting in the bio-lab's conference room, as close to the door as she figures she can get away with. She's early, because she was raised to be punctual, and doodling, because she's bored. Given the temper-tantrums thrown this morning when she informed today's group that flights were cancelled due to the massive storm....

Well, she isn't holding out much hope for the scientists to play nice and pretend to be adults.
hallelujahpilot: (Default)
It might only be 0850, but any day where Trudy Chacon has to start with last minute repairs to her Samson is already on notice. The repairs also mean that she can’t go and find whoever it was that gave her only one goddamn gunner.

Not that she has any problem with Corporal Bill Onozuki – he’s an old Pandora hand, and they get along swimmingly. It’s just that there is, well, only one of him.

Which is why when the Ph.D.s find Samson 16 in the hanger, Chacon and Onozuki are fixing the right hand door-gun straight ahead. If things come to it, she can operate it from the cockpit.

(lets just leave aside the fact that she actually finds it fun)
hallelujahpilot: (yes. and then I will kill you. or laugh.)
Thanks to her long relationship with Dr Frieda Watson, Trudy is quite familiar with the geology lab and its residents; the BioLab, not so much. Given she’s early (Chacon, we're placing you on the science work, McKnight had told her last night, and then had pointedly not answered when she asked, this is because I made the quip about the margaritas, isn't it?), she’s taking the time to look around. One wall of the lab, near the front where she is standing, is made up almost entirely of observation windows. Beyond these windows are large terrariums holding some Pandoran flora and fauna. Trudy peers into the closest chamber, filled with fern-like plants. Much to her disappointment, she is unable to see if there is anything else in there – be nice to actually take a look at Pandoran biota without it trying to kill her.

The next chamber is an aquarium filled with murky water. The window is huge, but she can’t see anything in the gloom. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the distinctive figure of Dr Grace Augustine, and straightens, turning to face her. With a shocking suddenness a dark shape, much bigger than Trudy, materializes out of the murk and slams against the glass.

Trudy whips around, taking a step back as she does so. Despite her lightening reflexes, her hand doesn’t go for the hand-gun in her thigh-holster – she’s inside, and you don’t shoot things up inside. She’s fast enough to see the huge jaws of some kind of armoured fish snapping shut, clacking razor-sharp teeth against the glass.

Trudy makes a bit of a face at the fish. “Now, that wasn’t very nice of you.”

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hallelujahpilot: (Default)
Trudy Chacon

November 2011

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