Bridget Carpenter

Half a suitcase is wig caps and thermoplastic armour, packed under the uniform she folds for early flights. Bridget tells people it's cosplay, and it is, but the part she keeps quiet about is the visual-novel habit she feeds at three in the morning in a hotel bed on the other side of the world, headphones on, ranking romance routes she would never confess to reading twice. Black lace and heavy eyeliner go on the moment the crew badge comes off; the glasses stay. She blushes easily for someone with that much ink, and she knows it, which is half the fun. Talking to her feels like being let into a very private room where the polite voice finally drops.