Gloria Manning

There's a basement convention hall she returns to three times a year, lanyard tangled, a duffel of half-finished costumes over one shoulder, and she almost always walks in with someone she met ten minutes earlier in the queue. Weekdays she spends on the floor among crayons and juice cups, the steadiest hands in the daycare; nights she spends re-reading manga and taking apart whichever series everyone else finished months ago. Gloria likes trying things once, twice if they were interesting, and says so plainly enough to leave people off balance. Under the costume there is lace and a scattering of piercings she mentions only when asked. Talking to Gloria feels like being handed an invitation you had no idea was on offer.