Frigid. That was the word she would use. She had mused over gelid or just using an adjective like bitter or gnawing, but all of these lacked the harsh bluntness of Frigid. She gazed down from the helicopter at what she had decided to call a wasteland for similar reasons. Even if there were miles of ocean teeming with life, the sight of the island reminded her that the Arctic was barren. 

Ursula continued to stare wistfully out the window, watching her inevitable fate near her. It irked her beyond explanation to be here. The whole situation reeked of exploitation and corruption. She hated that she had stooped to working for [color=firebrick]the man[/color] she had dreaded during her best years. If she had other options, she would have taken them.

There was a dark part of herself that was excited, though. She felt beautiful as her hair fluttered in the icy wind. The landscape was bleak, much like her own existence, and she yearned to paint already. Inspiration always came from the strangest places. 

Her attention quickly returned to the others in the helicopter. She had thought very little of them so far. No doubt they were fellow wastrels, but referring to them as such felt morally apprehensible. She pondered over them and their various Synonyms as she took in their faces and clothes. Each one is a tapestry of their life subtly unwound; each one was an inspiration, at least in her eyes.

The silence of the ride suddenly felt as barren as the atmosphere. Seeing her new home reminded her that she would be living in isolation with all of these strangers, a word she preferred not to use for her only hope of interaction.

She nudged the closest of the group, gently so as not to spook them. Then she flashed them a disarming smile to ensure they understood she meant no ill will before she spoke.
[color=royalblue]"So what are you in for?"[/color] She said with a teasing look.