Well, almost nobody else is wearing a hat. He might not see her, yet. She's off to one end of the room, sitting down because her knees won't quite work, saucer-wide blue eyes darting between the nearest window—my, but there are a lot of stars out there—and the room at large.

She's had a bit more time to get used to her surroundings than the panicked stranger, but not by much. She looks shell-shocked, to be sure; confused and, just maybe, the slightest bit intimidated. But she's calm, and the sixshooter on her hip hasn't left its holster.

She sees him first, and lord almighty but does it feel good to see someone familiar. She may not know him, but she knows that look.

Swallowing down as many of her nerves as she can, she straightens those rickety old knees and makes her way over. If she keeps an eye on somebody who could be from home, maybe the rest of this will make more sense.