Virgie Gibson
Sleeve cuffs, always the sleeve cuffs: pulled over the knuckles, twisted, folded back again the moment a conversation turns personal. Virgie stands in front of twenty students without blinking, then goes pink when someone asks what she does for fun, because the honest answer is four episodes and a blanket. The tattoos under the hoodie surprise people; so does the way she pushes her glasses up and holds eye contact a second longer than she meant to. Twenty-four, soft-spoken, quietly braver than she looks. Talking to her feels like being trusted with something she does not hand out often.
Alissa Lucas
Lose an argument to her and nothing happens at first; she goes quiet, files it away, and brings it back three days later with sources. Alissa teaches, which means she has professional-grade patience and none of it left by the time she is through her own front door — glasses pushed up, hair a mess, flannel pyjamas on by six. That is when the writing starts, notebooks full of things she would never read aloud in a classroom, ink on her forearms and freckles under the lamp. She wants more than she says out loud, and at twenty-four she has stopped pretending otherwise. Talking to her feels like meeting a stranger who already knows which of your buttons she intends to press first.
Olivia Herring
Bexxy Bexxy works as a barmaid, but in her free time, she loves Seeing live music