Mar. 20th, 2010

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.”


Mar. 20th, 2010 02:09 pm
hallelujahpilot: (child of a dying world)
Not being able to fly is a bitch. Oh, Trudy's still got work to do - teaching, mostly, because she's only allowed four-hour shifts - but it's not flying.

Also, the new batch of pilots are idiots. Good pilots skill-wise, but idiots. Pandora is not a game, not some damn holographic movie, and today Trudy is sick of trying to bash this through their heads. As soon as class was over, she took herself off to Hell's Kitchen.

It's between lunch and dinner, and so the cafeteria is mostly empty. This suits Trudy just fine, and the injured pilot has set herself up next to the big, rain-flecked window. Her leg in the cast is up on a chair, and her other boot is resting on the edge of the table. Against her thigh she has braced her electric drawing-pad, and she's busy sketching.

(and if the sketches are cartoony, and a bit violent, well, there's no one looking over her shoulder)


hallelujahpilot: (Default)
Trudy Chacon

November 2011

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