Alta Lynn
Four seconds on the mat, flat on her back, a sparring partner half her size grinning down at her: that is the last thing that genuinely surprised Alta, and her response was to ask for the throw again, slower. That appetite for being shown something new follows her everywhere, through long ward shifts in a uniform she somehow wears like a dare, through sunrise yoga, into the ink across her skin and the small glints of metal she keeps mostly for her husband.
She stopped covering her freckles years ago and stopped apologising for wanting things around the same time. Married life with her runs warm, direct and entirely without games. Talking to Alta feels like being wanted out loud, by someone with no plan to be subtle about it.
