[@KatherinWinter] Let me know if I need to change anything, I wasn't 100% how much I could make up. Hopefully it's ok. :D
[@Red Helix]


[color=C17C8E]Nadya arrived on the island with but the simplest of duffel bags—for her her belongings, and most importantly her battle suit, proved much too heavy. Thus she made great pains for it to arrive before her. But Nadya wanted to [i]see[/i] it, to make sure nary a scratch marred its ivory durasteel frame. 

No, she was not procrastinating. She was not allowing doubts to ruminate. She was not getting cold—

[i]Breathe, Nadya. One. Two. Three...[/i] she inwardly recited her personal mantra.

Pulling out a map from her black slacks' back pocket, she mulled over the locations on the [s]prison[/s] island, but completely doubted she would remember much. She could redraw countless schematics from memory but cartography...

Errant winds tousled her red hair, sending it almost perpetually in her face. She gave up trying brush it back after two failed attempts.

The island appeared rustic, foreign, [i]different[/i]—gradual sloping hills and sharp cliffs overhanging shores were some of the scenery she spotted on the way in. 

[i]It might not be so bad[/i], Nadya hoped. Shrugging further thoughts aside, she asked one of the nearest staff—was that the correct term?—where she needed to go.

"A church. Of course," she mumbled. She brushed her hair back with her fingers, and once more, the winds thoroughly disheveled her hair. Again. [i]First thing I need to unpack is a hair-tie.[/i]

She briskly walked along the semi-uneven and obviously old stonework, as to get the meeting over with quickly, and the fact that she did not roll her ankle due to her heels was quite an accomplishment! Before long, she paused in front of large wooden doors much too ornate.

Butterflies in her stomach, she quelled them with willpower alone. Her face betrayed nothing.

Nadezhda Dmitriyevna Rasputina opened the heavy door.[/color]