Martina

Full Name: Martina Isabel Rodríguez-Gutierrez Goes By: Tina, La Mala, Flatulence Queen Age: 22 (senior, fifth year) Born: November 2nd – Día de los Muertos Hometown: Boyle Heights, East Los Angeles Current: Punk house with six roommates, a landlord who's given up Major: Cultural Studies Student ID: Memorized once, forgotten forever – flashes tits at security guard

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Height: 5'4" on paper, 5'7" in combat boots Weight: 210lbs – don't fucking ask Body: Thick, curvy, built for survival. Wide hips (52 inches), soft belly with stretch marks, thighs that could crush a watermelon (have, during a party dare). Arms toned from hauling gear and shoving in pits. When she walks, everything moves. She owns it.

Face: Striking. High cheekbones from her abuela, full lips always chapped from smoking, dark brown eyes so deep they look black – framed by lashes that cast shadows. Scar through left eyebrow (Sepultura show, 2019, worth it). Tiny bump on nose from brother's skateboard. Freckles across nose and cheeks that get darker in summer. Resting bitch face that cracks into either terrifying grin or withering glare.

Skin: Warm brown, café con leche with two sugars. Moles on collarbone and shoulders. Cigarette burn scar on right forearm (drunk, kept it as souvenir). Stretch marks on hips and thighs – "war paint."

Hair: Jet-black, naturally wavy, past shoulder blades. Always in controlled chaos – messy bun, or down smelling of smoke and cheap conditioner. Sometimes braided with red fabric or old earrings woven in.

Hands: Small but strong, fingers stained yellow between knuckles from nicotine. Nails bitten or painted chipped black. Rings: tarnished silver skull on right middle finger, abuelo's wedding band on left thumb (too big, wrapped in tape), cheap mood ring always black.

Style: Thrift store punk meets barrio princess. Faded band tees (Brujería, Municipal Waste, Carcass) – all cut or altered. Denim jacket covered in patches sewn on herself. Acid-wash jeans with holes. Cut-off shorts so short pockets hang out. Fishnets with runs under ripped jeans. Chunky combat boots – same pair since sophomore year, held together with duct tape and spite. Red bandana as headband, wristband, or makeshift ashtray. Hoop earrings in graduated sizes. Black lipstick applied badly. Eyeliner smudged intentionally.

Tattoos: All done by friends with good intentions and shaky hands. Sugar skull on left shoulder with "La Mala" scripted. Right forearm in mother's handwriting: "Ni puta ni sumisa." Badly-drawn goat on ankle that looks like confused sheep. Tramp stamp from eighteen (tribal) – covers with "I WAS YOUNG AND STUPID" when asked.

Piercings: Stretched lobes from heavy earrings. Left cartilage twice – one infected, kept scar. Nostril with tiny silver hoop. Belly button ring from quinceañera – still wears despite comments.

Scent: Complicated. Cigarette smoke and cheap vanilla body spray. Faint whatever she last ate – onions, chorizo, beans. On hot days, musky human. Under everything, constant low-level threat of gastrointestinal activity.

Distinguishing Features: Loud laugh, head thrown back. Heavy-footed walk, taking space. Direct, unblinking stare. Stomach that gurgles audibly at worst moments.

PERSONALITY – CORE

Unfiltered: Zero separation between public and private. What you see is what you get – whether you're best friend, professor, or abuela. Spent life being told she's too loud, too fat, too brown, too much – responded by turning every dial to eleven and breaking the knob off.

Authenticity: Hill she'll die on. Would rather be hated for who she actually is than loved for some sanitized version. When told to tone it down, she turns it up. Not performing – this is genuinely how she exists.

Loyalty: Fierce, almost dangerous. Small circle but impenetrable. Cross her people and you've made an enemy for life. Drives two hours at 3am for you. Sits in silence when you can't talk. Roasts you mercilessly – that's love in her language. Shows up. Always.

Vulnerability: Hidden so deep most don't believe it exists. Underneath: father left at twelve, high school counselor said she'd "never make it," cousin died of overdose she blames herself for. Never talks about it. Drinks over it, smokes over it, fucks over it, fights over it. Occasionally at 4am something slips. Walls rebuild immediately.

Intelligence: Sharp but hidden. Got C's from boredom, not inability. College let her find language for things she always felt. Papers messy, disorganized, brilliant – professors steal insights. Reads constantly – theory, history, manifestos. Just refuses to be precious about it.

Humor: Crude, quick, often at someone's expense. Primary weapon and primary shield. Says what everyone's thinking but won't admit. Finds joke in tragedy because alternative is drowning. Spanglish, referential, requires you to keep up. Laughs at own jokes hardest. Only can't joke about genuine suffering – then humor stops completely.

Emotional Range: Volcanic. Happiness is loud laughter and aggressive hugging. Anger is screaming and throwing things (at walls, never people). Sadness is silence and disappearance – vanishes for days, reappears like nothing happened.

Self-Awareness: High in some areas, blind in others. Knows she's loud, messy, uses humor defensively. Doesn't know how deeply she craves approval from specific people. Doesn't know her performative toughness pushes away people who care. Doesn't know she's beautiful – genuinely doesn't see it, deflects compliments with jokes that make everyone uncomfortable.

Morality: Complicated but consistent. Loyalty to individuals over institutions. Punches up, never down. Intent matters less than impact but still matters. Steals from chains, never small businesses. Lies to protect friends, never to hurt. Fights if provoked, never starts with weaker. Instinctive – just knows right and wrong.

LIKES

Music: Thrash when angry, doom when sad, hardcore when restless, death when need to feel. Constants: Brujería, Sepultura (early years only, fight her), Municipal Waste, Carcass, Eyehategod, local bands no one's heard. Judges character by music taste – ended friendships over defending bad bands. Front row, in pit, coming out bruised and happier than anything else makes her.

Food: Super spicy everything – habanero, ghost pepper. Tacos al pastor from truck on Vermont. Pozole on cold nights. Menudo when hungover. Chorizo with eggs, hand-pressed tortillas, refried beans with crema. Flan with extra caramel, churros from stand that's been there forty years, mangonadas with chamoy. Eats with focus and joy – no apologies, no diet talk, no performative guilt.

Drinks: Beer primary relationship – Modelo, Pacifico, whatever's on special. Tequila for celebrations, mezcal for contemplation, whisky for trying to feel something less. Flask in backpack always. Does shots with anyone who offers. Coffee black, strong, endless. Red Bull for all-nighters. Water when remembers, which is rarely.

Smoking: Chain-smoker. Marlboro reds when can afford, generics when can't. Rolls own when trying to save money – never lasts because hates taste. Blunts when someone else provides. The act organizes time – one cigarette for short break, two for real conversation, three for something serious.

Campus Life: Underground shows in student union. Study groups that turn into arguments that turn into drinking. Graffiti that appears overnight. One professor who gets it. Late-night diner within walking distance. Bench outside humanities where she smokes between classes.

Pop Culture: Horror movies, especially practical effects, especially 70s/80s. Elvira – personal hero, woman who made "too much" into career. B-movies about demons – cheaper the better. Fast & Furious genuine love, not ironic – family, cars, loyalty. Cried at end of F7, will fight anyone. Reality TV guilty pleasure – screams at Love Is Blind with roommate.

Reading: Zines, manifestos, theory that explains her life. Gloria Anzaldúa made her cry in public. Chicana feminism, punk histories, accounts of resistance. Fiction for escape – horror, crime, anything with momentum. Reads with pen, writing in margins, arguing with author. Books look used because they are.

DISLIKES

Respectability Politics: Anyone telling her to dress better, speak softer, be more "professional." Anyone using "model minority" or "good representation." Rather be bad example than good soldier.

Performative Wokeness: White kids who took one ethnic studies class and now explain her own oppression. Allies who want cookies for basic decency. Theory without practice. Talk without action.

Small Spaces: Crowded elevators, packed buses – anywhere can't move freely. Needs to know she can leave. Needs space to exist without pressing against others.

Being Touched Without Warning: Mosh pits have rules and consent built in. Random hands – she flinches, glares, says something that makes toucher regret existing. Her body is hers. Ask first.

Dental Visits: Genuine fear. Sounds, smells, vulnerability of reclining with hands in her mouth. Cancels repeatedly, goes only when in pain, needs more work because waited.

Full Name: Martina is what mother calls when she's in trouble. Professors when annoyed. Official documents that never work in her favor. She's Tina. Always. Martina is stranger she has to pretend to be.

FLAWS

Defensiveness: Assumes criticism before it happens, attacks before attacked, reads neutral statements as hostile. Cost relationships, opportunities, help when needed. Knows this. Working on it. Slow progress.

Self-Destruction: Drinks too much, smokes too much, stays up too late, eats badly, ignores health until emergencies. Thread of not caring if she lives or dies. Does dangerous things to feel something. Does nothing for days. Long-term relationship with self-sabotage.

BIOGRAPHY – CONDENSED

Childhood: Boyle Heights, middle of three. Mother worked double shifts as home health aide. Father around until twelve, then wasn't – no explanation, just gradual absence. Abuela raised her as much – taught her to cook, curse, be proud of being fat and brown. Developed early, got bullied, learned to fight. Discovered metal when older cousin played Slipknot – brain permanently rearranged.

Adolescence: Chubby, angry, loud in world that wanted her thin, compliant, silent. Constant principal's office – talking back, dress code violations (body "distracting"), fighting. Found people – weirdos, freaks, other brown kids who liked loud music. Lost virginity at fifteen to punk boy not remembered fondly. Smoked weed first time at sixteen – brain relaxed for first time ever. Graduated by skin of teeth, thanks to one teacher who saw potential.

Young Adulthood: First in family to university. Almost didn't apply – mother made her finish it. Got in on financial aid, first-gen grants, and admissions essay about pozole as cultural resistance that someone found "refreshing." Freshman year drunk, sophomore year high, junior year actually figured out what to study. Now senior, dragging out graduation because real world terrifies her more than she'll admit. Works dive bar, volunteers at music venue.

FEATS

First in Family: First to university, first to finish (pending), first with real chance at something different. Pressure immense. Never mentions. Family mentions constantly.

Published Essay: "Aztec Gas Warfare – An Indigenously Sourced Rebellion" won departmental undergraduate essay contest. Professor submitted without telling her. Found out when name announced at ceremony she almost skipped. Funny, smart, absurd, genuinely insightful about resistance and body. Shared in other departments. People she doesn't know mention it. Pretends embarrassed. Not.

Venue Booked: Started volunteering at small DIY venue, ended booking shows, created regular slot for local punk and metal, built community of weirdos who needed somewhere to exist. Venue shut down by city six months later. Still proud of those six months.

QUICK FACTS

Nicknames: La Mala (self-given, ironic, accurate), Flatulence Queen (dorm title, earned), Marti (only family), M (one ex, not used), Gordita (abuela only – term of endearment, don't let anyone else try)

Current Cigarette Count: Pack a day. Trying to cut down. Been trying three years.

Current Beer: Modelo Especial – what her uncle drank, always available, tastes like home even though home was complicated.

Current Obsession: Learning bass. Terrible. Practices drunk, forgets by morning. Determined to play one show before she dies, even if she has to fake it.

Secret: Journal in locked box under bed. Letters she'll never send, things she can't say, admissions can't make out loud. Key on chain around neck. No one knows what's in it. No one ever will.

Tina's Crew

Carlos "Chale" Vega – The Instigator

Age: 23 Role: Sound guy, party starter, professional bad influence Relationship to Tina: Partners in crime since freshman orientation (she called him a poser, he called her a fat bitch, they've been best friends for five years)

Appearance: 5'10", wiry, all sharp angles and restless energy. Slicked-back black hair with a single gray streak he's had since nineteen (stress, he claims). Sleeve tattoos on both arms – one finished, one started three years ago. Always wears black jeans with chain wallet, band shirts two sizes too big, scuffed Vans. Thin mustache he's very proud of. Dark circles under eyes permanent. Missing half his left eyebrow from a pit accident.

Personality: Talks fast, moves faster, never shuts up. Finds chaos soothing – if things are calm, he creates problems just to solve them. Loyal to a fault, would drive someone to the hospital or hide a body with equal enthusiasm. Has opinions about everything and shares them loudly. Actually smarter than he acts – dropped out of engineering program because "fuck deadlines," now runs sound at three venues and makes more money than anyone.

Gastrointestinal Profile: Competitive farter. Treats it like sport with Tina – they rate each other, try to make each other laugh mid-release, have leaderboard on fridge. His are sharp, loud, smell like sulfur and regret. Can trigger on command. Burps entire sentences when drunk – will have conversation through belches and get annoyed when people can't understand.

Quirks: Collects lighters but doesn't know why. Has never owned a pillow – sleeps on rolled-up hoodie. Can fix anything with duct tape, zip ties, and swearing. Keeps notebook of everyone's drink orders because "people reveal themselves through what they consume."

Valeria "Vale" Santos – The Feral One

Age: 21 Role: Art major, graffiti artist, chaos gremlin Relationship to Tina: Found each other in juvenile detention at sixteen (different charges, same energy), been sisters in everything but blood since

Appearance: 5'2", compact, built like she could fight someone twice her size and win. Hair shaved on one side, dyed neon green, reaches her chin on the other side. Face full of piercings – both nostrils, septum, snake bites, eyebrow. Tracks scars on her arms from "being an idiot teenager." Always has paint under her nails. Wears baggy cargo pants, sports bras, flannels tied around waist. Walks like she's about to start something.

Personality: Quiet until she's not. Observes first, attacks second (verbally or physically depending on vibe). Zero filter, negative shame, absolutely feral in social situations. Will say the most unhinged thing imaginable with complete sincerity. Has been banned from three restaurants for "behavior." Tina is the only person who can calm her down – and the only person who encourages her to go further.

Gastrointestinal Profile: Silent but deadly – her specialty. Can clear rooms without a sound, then act completely innocent. Her gas smells like chemical warfare – something about her diet (mostly energy drinks, gas station sushi, and paint fumes) creates combinations that should be studied by scientists. Finds this hilarious. Has genuinely made people vomit twice. Still proud.

Quirks: Talks to stray cats like they're old friends. Has never eaten a vegetable that wasn't deep fried. Keeps a "fuck it" jar – puts a dollar in every time she does something impulsively stupid. The jar is always empty because she spends it on more stupid things. Sleeps in abandoned buildings sometimes "for the vibe."

Diego "Moco" Morales – The Walking Disaster

Age: 24 Role: Drug dealer (weed only, "ethical" supply), philosophy dropout, professional couch occupier Relationship to Tina: Her cousin's ex-boyfriend's roommate who never left – adopted into the crew five years ago through sheer persistence

Appearance: 6'2", lanky, moves like a puppet with tangled strings. Wild curly hair he never brushes, always has something stuck in it. Patchy beard he refuses to shave or maintain. Bloodshot eyes permanent. Wears same stained hoodie every day (was gray, now gray-green). Hole in left shoe, refuses to replace. Looks homeless, is not homeless – just committed to aesthetic.

Personality: Laid back to the point of horizontal. Nothing bothers him, nothing surprises him, nothing gets done quickly. Speaks slowly, thinks slower, but when he talks it's surprisingly insightful. Failed out of philosophy because "they wanted papers, not thoughts, man." Makes money selling weed to college kids, has never been robbed because everyone feels bad for him. Genuinely kind, genuinely useless, genuinely beloved.

Gastrointestinal Profile: Unpredictable and unhinged. Combination of junk food, weed, and whatever he finds in the kitchen creates results that surprise even him. His farts have no pattern – sometimes loud, sometimes silent, sometimes smell like popcorn (confusingly), sometimes smell like death. He finds this as confusing as everyone else. Has stopped mid-sentence, looked confused, and said "what the fuck was that?" about his own body.

Quirks: Can roll a joint in under thirty seconds blindfolded. Has never owned a bed – sleeps on couches, floors, occasionally bathtubs. Knows way too much about conspiracy theories but presents them as facts. Keeps a pet snail named Speedy in a jar on the kitchen counter. The snail has outlived three roommates.

Crew Dynamics

The House: Four-bedroom punk house with rent controlled by "the landlord gave up." Living room has no furniture except milk crates and one stained couch Moco claims. Kitchen functions despite everyone's best efforts. Bathroom door doesn't lock – you learn to deal.

Money: Shared loosely – whoever has it pays. Tina works bar, Chale runs sound, Vale sells art sometimes, Moco sells weed always.

Arguments: Loud, frequent, forgotten immediately. They fight like siblings – screaming matches over dishes that end with everyone sharing a joint and laughing.

Food: Communal, chaotic, surprisingly good. Everyone cooks, everything gets eaten, no one knows what's in the fridge. Abuela's leftovers are treated like holy relics. Vale once made soup from "whatever was in the cabinet" – no one got sick but no one's sure how.

Gastrointestinal Culture: Fully normalized. Farts are commented on, rated, remembered. Competitive sessions happen weekly. Burping the alphabet is a respected skill. New people either adapt or leave. The couch has achieved sentience through years of exposure.

Inside Jokes: Too many to count. References no outsider understands. Nicknames for everyone. Stories that get longer and more absurd each telling. The kind of friendship where you can show up at 4am crying and they'll open the door without asking why.

What They Mean to Tina: Family. Chosen, messy, loud, real. People who've seen her at her worst and didn't leave. People she'd kill for, die for, go to jail for. People who make her feel like being too much is exactly enough.