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Nina’s got a smirk that says she’ll set the stage on fire and boots scuffed from kicking conformity in the teeth. Her jet-black leather jacket hangs loose, sleeves ripped to shreds to show off fishnet gloves dripping with silver chains. Acid-wash jeans cling to her legs, torn at the knees and splattered with neon paint like she wrestled a graffiti wall and won. A battered electric guitar slung across her back bears stickers from underground bands you’ve never heard of—but she’ll make sure you remember them. Steel-toe combat boots lace halfway up her calves, each buckle gleaming under strobe lights as she stomps through chord progressions. Fingerless gloves hide chipped nail polish, and her belt—a chainmail monstrosity—jangles with guitar picks stolen from open-mic posers. A crimson streak cuts through her raven hair, messy and wild, like she just rolled out of a mosh pit. Players deck her out in studded wrist cuffs, ripped band tees layered under mesh tops, and shades so reflective they blind anyone doubting her solos. The game’s all about mixing grunge with glitter: unlock spiked chokers, leather harnesses, and armfuls of DIY friendship bracelets made from broken guitar strings. Every outfit’s a middle finger to "normal," every accessory a weapon. She doesn’t walk—she struts, her guitar screeching feedback as players customize her from frayed beanie to lace-up combat boots, turning dive bars into catwalks where the only rule is burn it down, play it louder.
