Unlike Xenia, as soon as Trudy can move, she does, scooting away from the heat source first. Then she sits up properly and yanks the mask off as she squints around her. She pats the concrete around her for her glasses, even though she's sure she's no where near her room. No luck, so though she can see people moving around her, she can't tell who they are. "Who's there!" she demands, "Identify yourselves!" Her voice is pitched up, but not in fear. It's much closer to the sharp irritation she displays when she's forced to deal with the band freshmen's chaos, the kind that suggests consequences for disobedience.

Too proud to crawl around on the floor, Trudy gets to her feet, even if it means stubbing all her toes. "And where are we!" She puts her hands on her hips, feeling the familiar fabric of her night gown under her fingertips. They put weird masks on them, but left them in their pajamas? Their kidnappers clearly have no eye for aesthetics.