Bleach blonde locks give way slowly to luxuriously dark hair peaking out from beneath the rim of a steel helmet. The figure of a woman lay lost beneath the bulk of awkward equipment..  her pack and tent absorbe ample ammounts of space, while the baggy nature of her fatigues swallow the rest of the Twenty-nine-year-old's frame..  Web-gear does its best to pull everything together, slung with a gas-mask and a few small pouches  of assorted goodies.   A couple bulky cylinders sway from their little cradles with each step, and despite it all she seems fairly quiet. Fairly being a faint and relative term of course.

Her eyes, seem to shift colours, depending on position, and lighting, but are mostly possessed of a soulful brown speckled with flaws of soft amber about the iris.  Lana’s lips are dark, and her face shows slight pigment variants  that sometimes accompany people who once wore a lot of makeup.  The lines are fading though.