Jessica Martinez was a woman. Of course, that information alone does not accurately summarize her as a person. No one can be accurately summed up in a single word. People are more than their gender. Nonetheless, the information is relevant when you form a picture of Jessica, inside your own head. You might even start to make assumptions, and make guesses as to who Jessica Martinez is, and how her life had been so far. You might create a fiction, and you will start to believe the fiction because it sounds like the kind of story so many people have. You might imagine that Jessica grew up in Night Vale, and based on her name being somewhat masculine, you might assume that she only has older brothers, or that she has no older siblings at all, and that at least one parent really wanted a boy. When faced with the disappointment that Jessica was a girl - not yet a woman - they gave her a name that implied spunkiness and vigour. A real tomboy.<br/>From the information that she is a woman, you might imagine that her childhood was filled with traditional girly things, like dresses or scorpions or dolls that are realistic enough to simulate the act of peeing, but not realistic enough to be anything but<span style="font-style: italic">frightening</span>.<br/>You imagine that she had a happy childhood, except that one time her parents almost left each other after the big fight that you imagine they had, and you imagine that Jessica first fell in love at the age of 12, but the boy never found out about it. You would explain to the person next to you, whom you tell this imagined story to even if they do not seem to seem to be listening, that you cannot be sure about this part, and you would have to check with your brother, Ulrik, who works in the Registry of Middle School Crushes.<br/><br/>If you were given a further piece of information, that Jessica Martinez was not born in Night Vale, you might think that, judging from her last name, she was born somewhere in south of the American border. That she was an immigrant, perhaps even an illegal one. You do not say this out loud. It is a part of the fiction you do not share with others.<br/><br/>You are wrong, of course, about almost everything. Jessica does not have such a predictable story as that. She was born outside of Night Vale, yes, but not very far out. Just enough to be considered an<span style="font-style: italic">outsider</span>. And like all<span style="font-style: italic">outsiders</span>she was feared and scorned by most citizens. Not all citizens. But most.<br/>She did have older brothers, but she also had older sisters. She had a lot of siblings. She was only named Jessica because her parents had run out of names that were not Jessica.<br/>She did have a first love, but not until she was much older than 12, and she did go to middle school, but also not until she was much older than 12. She never played with dolls, she played with dust under the car seat, and she never wore a dress, only ponchos she had inherited from her forefathers, and she never at all played with scorpions. Jessica's origin had been most usual.<br/><br/>Now she was a woman. She was not an old woman, like Old Woman Josie. She considered herself a young woman. Most people agreed, because most people were older than her. Some people were younger, and they called her old. They hissed:<span style="font-style: italic">"Outsider... old, decrepit... Outsider..."</span>They were the worst. Only the worst people would call someone not yet 30, "old".<br/><br/>Jessica had black hair, compared to most hair colours, but not compared to other black objects. Not compared to the blackest depths of Night Vale; the holes inside the cracks, or beneath the dark hoods; the places that inhale the light and do not ever release it; the places we cannot see, that no one can see, that those that try are never seen again themselves; those places of infinite darkness dating back to before the beginning of all things. Jessica's hair was quite light compared to those.<br/>Her black-but-not-as-black-as-black-can-be hair was long compared to the rest of her body, but on another body it could perhaps only count as medium length. Another human body, that is. On, say, a dragon it would not be long, and also out of place, and depending on the number of heads, spread out entirely too thinly.<br/><br/>She was also not a tall woman, but she looked tall. Her body was proportioned so it looked like she had long legs, and a long neck. When seen from a distance she would look like a tall woman, whom you might find attractive, if that is your thing, and you would not realize her real height until she got close enough to give you a hug, at which point you would recoil and swipe at her face and through your teeth make a screech, like a large, frightened bird: "<span style="font-style: italic">Outsider!</span>", or you would just politely point out to her, that neither of you know the other, and a hug would invade your personal space.<br/><br/>She had not celebrated New Year. She had tried. She had went to a party at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, but when she rode unto the dance floor, the people spun around as one synchronized hive-minded entity and glared at her, while chanting in low, undulating voices that steadily grew louder until the entire building was vibrating and smoke was coming out of everyone's ears:<span style="font-style: italic">Outsider... Outsider. Outsider!</span>, at which point they stopped, because Jessica's unintentional distraction had not gone unnoticed by the hostile, miniature army under the pin retrieval area of bowling lane five.<br/><br/>The following heavy bombardment and frantic struggle for survival, had scared Jessica's mount, a magnificent thoroughbred August Förster Grand Piano, and she had spent the rest of the night calming it down, and making sure the midnight fireworks did not set off a stampede.<br/><br/>And so she was now, tired from the all-night piano wrangling duty (unpaid), and in a right foul mood, on the way to the Town Hall to demand that her services to the town would be rewarded. It was possible that the town would have been destroyed by the piano herd if the fireworks had scared them. It was possible they would have bit people, or released their brethren, the antiques, from their pen. Jessica didn't know! The Town Hall certainly knew less than her on this matter! So Jessica would certainly claim she was a hero. She should be given The Hero's Grand Gift Package And Monetary Reward For Heroism Package, and if such a thing did not exist, she would demand that they made it exist. For this purpose, she had dressed in her most intimidating poncho with little embroidered guns, and she wore knee-high leather boots, also with embroidered guns, and a bright yellow, wide-brimmed sombrero with actual, real guns sown into it. On top of it all, she was riding a large, black, ornery upright piano that had a tendency to kick people, spit projectile acid at stray dogs, and if you really provoked it, or if Jessica gave the order, it would gore people with the white keys. This particular piano had keys made from ivory, straight from elephant tusks, and not processed in any way other than<span style="font-style: italic">sharpening</span>them for further havoc. Of all the pianos in Jessica's herd, this one was the most fearsome looking with long tusks sticking out from under the keyboard cover in a disorganized fashion, and from under which dripped corrosive, blue liquid.<br/><br/>First, though, breakfast was the most important meal of the day, as her father had always said. Or, well, the only meal of the day, as he more accurately said. Or, the only meal you will get this week, young misses, as his words actually were to the letter. Those were the only words he ever spoke to her.<br/>She chained her piano outside of the Moonlite All-Nite Diner, and told it to stay put, and if it behaved, she would bring it a lump of sugar, or a lump of something else. Pianos love lumps.<br/>Inside, Jessica hoped it was one of the waitresses who would serve coffee and breakfast, rather than grab her pitchfork and torch and scream: "<span style="font-style: italic">Outsider! Return from whence you caaaaame!</span>". It was always a gamble to get breakfast, or anything else, really, but Jessica was optimistic, and if all else failed, she could always pull the strap beneath her chin, which kept her hat in place, and all of the guns on it would fire simultaneously in all possible directions. Because Jessica Martinez was not an outsider to be fucked with.