June Gomez
Half the cosplay wigs in her apartment were restyled at two in the morning, and June will shrug and call it a hobby. The seams are finished by hand, the armour is built to fit her exactly, and the photographers who book her for swimwear work keep asking who her costumer is. She tells them she just fiddles with things. At thirty-five she has learned that modelling is mostly patience, and she spends hers on other people: checking that the new girl ate, lending out a robe, fixing someone else's hem before her own. While she works, the small silver glint at her waist catches the light, and she pretends not to notice you noticing. Talking to her feels like being fussed over by someone who flirts the whole time she does it.
