Trudy Chacon, post-Avatar, thatawaysbar
Trudy wasn't sure what to make of her Purgatory. Bar, good food (better than the base), good alcohol (much better than Hell's Gate), but that goddamn window...
It's the window that the stocky ex-pilot is watching, leaning back in her chair with her boots on the table, rubbing the shell that still hangs around her neck. Shell, bone; the two good-luck charms her grandmother had given her still survived, along with her cross.
But she's dead.
Died in an explosion that the Window keeps showing over, and over, and over again.
Trudy really doesn't know what to make of this place, but she could possibly deal with a distraction. Prolonged brooding was never her style.