3
Starla
Mona’s signing is rusty, like her fingers need a drop of oil in the joints or her brain needs some dust brushed out of years-old neural pathways so the words flash through rather than catch and snag on the barbs.
“I can’t believe you found me,” Mona signs.
And Starla gives her a Wait, what? look. “You just found me,” she signs.
“I’ve been watching. Those Alliance assholes just got here,” Mona signs, and if Starla has had any doubts that this woman is her cousin they’re dashed aside by the nonsense sign Mona uses for the Indiran Alliance, the rude one she and Starla made up when they were kids.
Mona’s hair still grows long and coarse, curls still tangled and frizzy even though they’re now a magenta that practically glows in the neon hologram lights from the brothel behind the
