#lakota mc

[silas-viridian]

[wings-of-ink]

Did Oswin ever wonder if Lakota and MC might be interested in each other? Since they were so close, had a certain amount in common, and were the same age?

Yes actually! It was when the whole gang was pretty young still though. When Lakota and Willow became close, Oswin was a little surprised even.

[justlarkin]

What do you think Tiamat's, Heyoka's and Kinmamon's Rules gonna be?

-Marduk hasn't mentioned much about Tiamat so far besides the fact that she's the embodiment of chaos, so the only thing that comes to mind is something like rending order.

-Kinmamon is kinda hard to guess. Nirai Kanai is a world where the sun can reach you anywhere, even after death, but Kinmamon defied this by disappearing into the abyss, where the sun can't reach them. With most of the exiles' rules being something that directly defies the world, it could be be something like rending light, but it couldn't be that simple, right?

Teda did mention seeing Kinmamon's light during the fight in Holy Gangstar, but I don't recall MC using a specific rule at that time. They just blocked an ice sickle from hitting him.

-Great Spirit has an "all for all" moto, but Heyoka defied this by alienating himself from everyone else, so maybe something like rending unity for him? There's also the idea that characters with the valiant attribute inherited something from someone else and who has a valiant attribute for his summer alt? Thunderbird. I don't recall them elaborating on what exactly he "inherited" during the event, but his bio mentions vision quests.

Heyoka are considered to be medicine-men and healers (at least in Lakota culture), and medicine-men help guide people through their vision quests. I think the specific heyoka ceremony that Thunderbird's summopedia page mentions might actually be vision related as well, but don't quote me on that. And there was one source that said the thunder god Heyoka presided over the land of dreams. That's all just to say his rule could also be related to dreams and vision quests if it's not just a side ability of his.

[turnbacktyne]

Are you native? I am too I’m lakota!

Ah unfortunately I'm not, but I'm so glad to hear that I have indigenous people in my followers!

I'm irish, but I've always wanted to learn and understand the native people in what's now America, especially since the irish and indigenous have a long history of supporting each other.

The powwow was open to the public and I wanted to learn and support local tribes so I was super happy I got to go! I learned a lot and saw amazing things, I loved the fancy shawl dance and the MC calling the dancers storytellers just really struck something in me

[stxalq]

i don't know if this is the same order as everywhere else, but it's the one i know by heart at this point

grand entrance: everyone stands. host drum stars the straight beat, social dance, no tricks or sneak ups. loud, exciting, MC introduces every category. th drum group will probably take all the next songs, but i've seen MCs split things up. one of the only formation dances in the modern pow wow

invocation: an old man steps up to the mic. he's a veteran. this is his 51st delta park pow wow (this is the 51st delta park pow wow). "i'm going to say the prayer in my native language and then we can get on with the pow wow." "i've been to every pow wow." gives his prayer in lakota, then again in english, signs off in lakota, refuses to elaborate

flag song: obviously a dirge. half time feel. subdued drum beat (except the lead drummer accenting the end of every verse, naturally). silence and stillness except for the drum

victory song: you all might be too young for this, but in the old days my ancestors would listen to music on these ancient artifacts called CDs. and between songs you could cross fade in the negative space before a song. the victory song cross fades through and under the flag song. this effect is enhanced if you split flag/victory song duties (atypical). victory song is another straight beat, faster, the kind you could fancy dance to. flags are set in their stands. the song ends, dancers excused, everyone can finally sit

veterans: every veteran in the arena (yes every veteran in the arena or on the grounds or within earshot) is invited to the floor. they line up ahead of royalty and each in turn step to the mic to give their name, service, and years of service. they retire to stage right

royalty: royalty introduce themselves (and subtly one-up each other in giving thanks and humility and good words to everyone in attendance). as they retire to stage right they shake the hands of every veteran

intertribal: finally. every vet and royalty is excused. the host drum or junior host drum starts a set of intertribal songs to shake off the cobwebs. the MC will tell everyone to get into the arena, regalia or no. your brain and attention will be fried at this point, i guarantee it, and you will need the wake-up call

[ikesenhell]

Courage

GLITTER & GOLD, CHAPTER 5. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: Mildly traumatizing content? Implied gore and suicide? It isn’t too bad I promise.  Thanks to all my readers who stopped in and @velociraptor-detective​ for always line editing.

They started the meeting with the usual things that were always discussed when it came to Waŋblí Hoȟpi; food, storage, transportation, the recreation of the rail lines, so on. Masamune didn't know why he’d been summoned until the tail end, when Ieyasu smacked down a tiny mechanical thing in front of him.

“Ieyasu,” Mitsunari squeaked, “I appreciate your fervor, but please be more careful with it, it did take a while for me to fix that--”

Ieyasu pointedly ignored him. “If you really want us to track down where your ghost ship goes, you have to do something stupid, apparently.”

Masamune poked at it. It looked almost exactly like a box, except with a small slot on the front, a little lense, and a few buttons. “What is this, pre-war tech?”

“Yes.” The blonde returned flatly, crossing his arms. “It is, and it took me forever to find the damn thing, so you’d better keep good track of it. It’s a Polaroid camera.”

“No shit. Huh.” Masamune picked it up and pretended to fumble it, catching the device a half second later and relishing the look of horror on Ieyasu and Mitsunari’s faces. Mitsuhide hid his face behind his jacket sleeve. “What do you want me to do with this?”

All eyes turned to Mitsunari.

“Well,” Mitsunari started, slower and less enthusiastic than usual, “You see, we did develop a map of possible patterns and pathways the ship takes. It appears to be pretty consistent, according to the reported sightings.”

Masamune seriously considered juggling the Polaroid and stayed himself. “Okay. What’s this got to do with the camera?”

“Further research is necessary. If we know where it is, then it would behove us to find out… well… what it is.”

It all clicked at last.

“You want me to photograph this thing.” Masamune paused. “Is that what’s going on?”

“Yes!” Mitsunari brightened up. “Preferably from as many angles as possible. The Uesugi-Takeda settlement is coming for talks, and they have an excellent mechanical engineer who I want to take a look at it--”

“That’s a hard no from me.” Masamune pushed the device into Ieyasu’s arms. “You want me to get near the mystery murder boat that happens to have a cult of devotees? Are you insane?”

“Told you,” Ieyasu muttered to the camera. It remained stubbornly mute on the subject.

“You asked us to locate it,” Mitsuhide pointed out reasonably. “And along the route, there’s a fair chance that you might find something of value. We are talking about kidnappings, after all. We did our part--”

“Your part involved being around a fucking table, not chasing down the goddamn--” Masamune sputtered for words. “Ghost scurvy ship!”

Nobunaga, who up until now had remained utterly silent behind his table, finally spoke up. “Would you rather we get someone who isn’t already on the cultists radar? I’m certain if I asked Hideyoshi nicely enough, he’d put himself in the line of fire.”

Masamune shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

“Maybe Mitsunari? He certainly seems game. Or perhaps your precious shopkeeper--”

That was enough. Masamune drew the machete and leveled it at the other man. “That’s not fucking funny.”

Nobunaga just shrugged. “I never implied it was.”

“Don’t--don’t ask her,” Masamune pleaded, lowering the weapon. “She’d do it, too.”

Silence. Mitsunari wilted. Masamune seriously considered blowing up on the spot. “You asked her anyway, didn't you?”

“Well, I asked her first,” Mitsunari confessed, pushing his fingers together. “Since she also seems so invested in this problem. She said she would, but wanted to have you with her…”

Fuck.

“Give me that,” Masamune snapped, snatching up the camera from Ieyasu’s arms. “Does it come with a goddamn harness, or should I just wave it at the death ship freehand?”

“It has a harness.”

“Give it to me.”

They handed it over without commentary. Steaming, Masamune stalked from the room.

---

She was already waiting by the motorcycle as he exited.

“They hassled you about it?”

“Sure did, Kitten.” He sighed raggedly, sweeping past her and into the house. She followed. “Are we really doing this?”

“Masamune. We went stalking around a corn field at night and nearly got shot by a bunch of shotgun-wielding yokels, and you laughed.”

What could he even say to that that wasn’t so close to the truth? He fetched a glass and wriggled it at her, an understood question of do you want something to drink? She shook her head. He puttered around the kitchen, moving Ieyasu’s seedling peppers out of the sink and onto the windowsill for sunlight, and tried to buy himself some time.

It wasn’t enough. He could practically smell the gunpowder. He could hear his father in the quiet echo of his pulse, in the empty space where his eye once was.

“How much did I tell you about how my dad went?” He asked at last.

She hesitated, opened her mouth, closed it, and finally allowed, “Not much. You weren’t really coherent, and then you just…”

“Took off,” he completed for her. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Silence. He paced around the table and ignored the glass of water he’d poured. “Dad saw the ship first, you know. He wasn’t really a superstitious guy, but he was getting up there and losing it a little. Grandad had dementia, so I think that was kind of starting to kick in, you know? He--he was always so strong. I can’t explain what happened. But the ship--the ship just punched the wind out of him somehow.”

She said nothing. He stretched out his arms as if physical exercise would chase the ghosts away. It didn't. Talking faster--like that would hurt less!--Masamune continued. “And like, you know, it only gives you a week. That’s what the legend says. You’ve got a week. We didn't really tell anyone at the time, cause he was a silent type and I was not really that spooked, right? But it got to Dad. I think he thought if we could get through the week, it would all be okay. He started staying up real late and drinking coffee all the time, maybe some herbal stuff. I don’t know what all he did. He didn't want it to get me.”

“Right,” was all she murmured. “I remember that.”

He pushed on, trying to punch through the burning in his eyes. “I just watched him--I watched him dissolve. He turned from my dad into some fucking stranger in a matter of days. It ate him alive. At the end of it, he couldn’t have told me what was sane and what wasn’t. All he thought was that--he thought that taking me at his own hand was mercy. He thought it was cleaner. He thought--”

Could he even say it? Masamune buckled onto the floor and drew his knees up to his chest. How could he articulate being on the wrong side of a gun, when the man behind it was his father? How could he describe the madness and fear in his hero’s eyes? Losing his sight, losing the rest of his family, losing his home in one fell swoop--

“I always say,” he managed, ignoring the tears on his cheeks, “that the ship didn't take him, he took him. That’s a damn lie. The ship took him. The ship took him, and he just finished the job for it. And I’m fucking terrified that if those shitbags out there in the prairie don’t get you, the fear will.”

Wind rattled the house siding. He rubbed stubbornly at his face, willing himself to stop, willing her to stop looking at him. She didn't. Instead she rose and crept to his side, settling down in front of his knees.

“Ah, Kitten,” he forced, “I’m not looking too cool right now.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she demurred, wiping his face with her fingertips. She smelled like lavender oils. “I wouldn’t say that at all.”

He lowered his face into her hand and shut his eye, letting the scent waft over him. Away went the lingering taste of gunpowder. Away went the vision of what little remained of his father. All that was left was her--her and the creaking floorboards and the soft rush of air outside. She danced the other hand through his hair and despite himself, he moaned soft appreciation.

“We’re going to stop it.” It wasn’t a statement, but a declaration. Her voice almost echoed in the space. “We’re going to do it. There won’t be anyone else taken by the fear--not you, not me, no one. No more.”

---

He donned his lucky gloves the next day and zipped his jacket up to the hilt. She was waiting for him outside the shop when he pulled up. Wordlessly, Masamune offered her the Polaroid.

“It has a strap,” he indicated. She raised a brow at him.

“It’s bright orange. I can see that.”

Shit. He’d sounded just like Hideyoshi then, hadn’t he? Covering for it, Masamune grinned. “Just thought I’d point it out before Ieyasu kills me. Ready?”

She exhaled and pulled back her braids. “As I can be. Move up.”

The sun was setting in the distance, a golden globe radiating across the plains. In his travels, he’d never seen a more beautiful sunset. Out in the east, the eerie fallout glow caused too much fog and polluted rain to really enjoy it. In the south, the land was too barren to risk being out during the daytime. But here? Oh, he relished having her clutch him tight as the wind whistled around them.

“We’re gonna follow around the trail they marked,” Masamune shouted back to her, “They said it shows up around nightfall. You ready?”

She just lifted her thumb in assent.

The grasses bent sideways, flaming orange in the sunlight. And then--

“Holy shit!” She shouted.

Masamune chanced a glance back in a mirror and his blood ran icy cold. There it was. Behind them and moving fast, the ghost ship sailed silently over the grasses.

“Hold on!” He commanded, kicking the engine into the next gear. “And get those photos!”

“On it!”

Not even the new muffler could stifle the roar of the motorcycle. The prairie transformed into a yellow blur, air deafening him. Even then the ship pulled alongside them. Its perfect mast soared overhead, no colors flying, just its sheer surface coloring the whole landscape green. The bare timber sides grew closer and closer as it edged toward the road.

This was it. This was the moment. If death awaited them, it came now. Masamune held his breath and tried to urge the motorcycle faster, but it wasn’t enough. The ghost merged and came level, holding steady mere inches from them.

It won’t hurt anyone else.

In a moment of insane bravery, Masamune thrust his hand out and plunged it into the side. It wasn’t cold or solid, but just--nothing. He waved his palm back and forth. Only air greeted his fingertips. He flapped his arm.

“What are you doing!?” She shouted.

“Fuck you, ghost boat!” He bellowed. “You ain’t shit!”

“You’re insane!” But her laughter was unmistakable. “I can’t get a good shot if you keep doing that--”

Courage flooded him like hot water. “Then try it like this!”

Without warning, Masamune veered sharply to the side, bringing the whole motorcycle inside the ship. She screamed and clutched at him. All he could do was laugh--laugh at the terror he’d held on to for years, laugh at the impassive thing that had taken so much from him--and let it out into the world they tore through. It didn't shift in its course. And at last--at last, when he was certain holding onto the speed would hurt the bike, he slowed and let it overtake them, sailing on. They puttered to a halt and watched it move into the distance.

“Oh my god!” She staggered off the bike, shaking her limbs. “Oh my god!”

Masamune leaped off the bike. “First things first; are you okay?”

“Y--I think so!” Her staccato laugh echoed all the fluttering in his stomach. “I can’t believe we just did that--I can’t believe you just did that--”

“It isn’t shit,” he affirmed, breathless with energy. “It can’t touch us. It isn’t going to ever again. You’re right.”

Oh god, when she smiled like that, it almost took all the breath he’d gathered back up and crushed it out of his lungs again. And she was so beautiful, with her braids cascading down her shoulders and her dark eyes crinkled in the twilight sun, all the stars that hadn’t yet started glowing reflected there, and--

“Come here,” he commanded.

She took one step forward. That was enough. He closed the distance between them and crushed her body against his, pressing a fierce kiss to her mouth. She gasped; he pulled back only a second before she tugged him back in by the jacket.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed.

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, and hitched her up under her thighs. She obligingly wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him back in, her mouth lighting-spark hot. Everything he had ever seen and done fell away. What else could compare to this? What else could compare to her?

He’d spent his life running, and he’d never managed to leave her behind.

“I think I love you,” he breathed against her. She just grinned.

“I know you do.”

[aroaessidhe]

2021 reads // twitter thread

Sorrowland

sci-fi/fantasy gothic horror

a young queer Black woman escapes from an isolated cult and raises her newborn twins in the woods

 when she starts to develop strange abilities, she realises she might have to enter the outside world to find out more

this is SO GOOD

[yagodichjagodic]

Frank Waln.

IG: theidolcollective Twitter: idol_collective Shop: theidolcollective.com

[mewtwoandme]

While obviously she'd never appreciate being touched by a human, do you think your Newt would appreciate physical affection from, say, another Mewtwo (though not our MC 'two, for obvious reasons)?

The only other mewtwos Newt would accept the most affection from would be Amber and Blu, cause obviously Blu is her son and Amber is her niece lol though honestly later down the road, probably around the time she finds out she's pregnant, both her and Mewtwo would be more open to expressing sibling affection, cause 'Two would understand if she'd need some comfort during that time. And once she feels more comfortable around Lakota, she might even tolerate a quick hug or two from her if she needs one X3

[official-cisphobe]

whats wrong with the new spirit movie?

Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron (og)

has a power message about colonisation

follows the journey of a wild horse escaping colonisers and befriending Little Creek (a Lakota man)

shows the horrors and damage white people caused on native land and how they treated indigenous people

is a good film, done properly and respectfully (as far as I'm aware)

Spirit: Untamed (/ Riding Free)

Everyone is white now (edit: the mc is half Mexican and there is one black character)

white girl tames the wild horse

white girl saves the day

not a single indigenous character in sight

[smokinfox]

" You must stop doing this, white Knife."

🐎 Smoking Fox

🐃 Apache Woman

🔥 Married with @heroicknife

🐴 Descriptive

🐃 MC 21 + #Parody #Roleplay #1883

🐎 Writer is Lakota Sioux 🐎

🔥 #OutlawGunsRp @divinekindred

🐎 Pinned by #Fatal #Radiant

🐎 ❤️ or 🔄 🐎

[outlawnavajo]

"When the spirit horse comes.. Then it's over."

🐎 ~ Chavez Y Chavez

🐎 ~ Navajo Tribe

🐎 ~ Regulators @AnOutlawBilly @poeticguns @awantedoutlaw

🐎 ~ Descriptive

🐎 ~ MC 21 + #RolePlayer

🐎 ~ Writer is Lakota Sioux

🐎 ~ #OutlawGunsRp #YoungGuns

🐎 ~ Part of @eliteworldsverse

🐎 ~ Pinned by #Fatal #Radiant

❤️ or 🔄

[wings-of-ink]

Something fluffy because the sun has been really golden and nice where I live. 💛 How would the dads or Lakota respond to an MC naming their baby after them? We love our extended circle of support!

Short of basically melting into a puddle...

Dov (Papa) cries because of course he does. Does the thing where he paces and covers his face with his hands and then looks at the little baby with his namesake, cries more, and it just cycles from there.

Kip (Da) invents a new dance. Says the baby's name way more than necessary.

Lakota is a combo really. He's going to be super moved, but is prone to jumping and clapping when excited. And hugging - so much hugging.

Thank you for the very tenderhearted ask, Anon! ^_^

[brandedlakota]

"Yeah, I am a Dutton. And I am Lakota, Sioux."

🐎 Kayla Dutton

🐂 Cowgirl

🐃 Husband @brandedoutlaw

🐴 Writer is Lakota Sioux

🐄 Descriptive

🐂 MC 21 +

🐃 #YellowstoneTV #Roleplayer

🐎 Pinned by #Fatal #Radiant

🐎 💛 or RT 🐎

[tasksweekly]

[TASK 171: CHEYENNE]

In celebration of November being Native American Heritage Month, here’s a masterlist below compiled of over 40+ Cheyenne faceclaims categorised by gender with their occupation and ethnicity denoted if there was a reliable source. The Cheyenne are a Native American tribe who historically have lived in the US states of Colorado, Minnesota, Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota, and Wyoming. The majority of Cheyenne now live in Montana or Oklahoma If you want an extra challenge use random.org to pick a random number! Of course everything listed below are just suggestions and you can pick whichever faceclaim or whichever project you desire.

Any questions can be sent here and all tutorials have been linked below the cut for ease of access! REMEMBER to tag your resources with #TASKSWEEKLY and we will reblog them onto the main! This task can be tagged with whatever you want but if you want us to see it please be sure that our tag is the first five tags, @ mention us or send us a messaging linking us to your post!

THE TASK - scroll down for FC’s!

STEP 1: Decide on a FC you wish to create resources for! You can always do more than one but who are you starting with? There are links to masterlists you can use in order to find them and if you want help, just send us a message and we can pick one for you at random!

STEP 2: Pick what you want to create! You can obviously do more than one thing, but what do you want to start off with? Screencaps, RP icons, GIF packs, masterlists, PNG’s, fancasts, alternative FC’s - LITERALLY anything you desire!

STEP 3: Look back on tasks that we have created previously for tutorials on the thing you are creating unless you have whatever it is you are doing mastered - then of course feel free to just get on and do it. :)

STEP 4: Upload and tag with #TASKSWEEKLY! If you didn’t use your own screencaps/images make sure to credit where you got them from as we will not reblog packs which do not credit caps or original gifs from the original maker.

THINGS YOU CAN MAKE FOR THIS TASK -  examples are linked!

Stumped for ideas? Maybe make a masterlist or graphic of your favourite faceclaims. A masterlist of names. Plot ideas or screencaps from a music video preformed by an artist. Masterlist of quotes and lyrics that can be used for starters, thread titles or tags. Guides on culture and customs.

Screencaps

RP icons [of all sizes]

Gif Pack [maybe gif icons if you wish]

PNG packs

Manips

Dash Icons

Character Aesthetics

PSD’s

XCF’s

Graphic Templates - can be chara header, promo, border or background PSD’s!

FC Masterlists - underused, with resources, without resources!

FC Help - could be related, family templates, alternatives.

Written Guides.

and whatever else you can think of / make!

MASTERLIST!

F:

Suzan Shown Harjo (1945) Cheyenne / Muskogee - poet, writer, lecturer, curator, and advocate.

Pam Grier (1949) Cheyenne, African-American, Chinese, Filipino, Spanish - actress.

Vanessa Jennings (1952) Cheyenne, Kiowa, Akimel O’odham, Plains Apache - fashion designer, beadwork artist, and cradleboard maker.

Joanelle Romero (1957) Cheyenne, Mescalero Apache, Chiricahua Apache, Sephardi Jewish - actress, singer, filmmaker, author, and humanitarian.

Bethany Yellowtail (1989) Cheyenne / Crow - fashion designer.

Sky Ferreira (1992) Cheyenne, Cree, Ojibwe, Chippewa Cree, Bukovinian Jewish, Galician Jewish, Irish, Scottish, French, English / Brazilian [Portuguese, Possibly Other] - actress, singer-songwriter, and model.

Raven Morgan (1995) Cheyenne, Pawnee, Arapaho, Otoe, Missouria, Muskogee - youtuber and beauty pageant performer.

Shay Eyre (1999) Cheyenne, Arapaho / Oglala Lakota Sioux, Mnicoujou Lakota Sioux - actress, model, and director.

Lyla June (?) Cheyenne, Navajo - singer-songwriter, poet, and public speaker.

Sage Galesi (?) Cheyenne, Lakota Sioux, Apache, Brazilian - singer.

Lael Marie (?) Cheyenne - model, performance artist, dancer, and choreographer.

Shelley Morningsong (?) Cheyenne / Dutch - singer-songwriter.

Lakisha Flores (?) Cheyenne, Crow, Mexican - model.

Alaina Buffalo Spirit (?) Cheyenne - artist.

Lauren Small Rodriguez (?) Cheyenne - artist.

Shiloh McCormick (?) Cheyenne, Crow - basketball player.

M:

Harvey Pratt (1941) Cheyenne, Arapaho - painter and sculptor.

Pete DePoe (1943) Cheyenne, Arapaho, Ojibwe, Siletz, Tututni, Unspecified Iroquois, French, German - drummer.

Lance Henson (1944) Cheyenne, Oglala Lakota Sioux, Cajun - poet.

Edgar Heap of Birds (1954) Cheyenne - painter, drawer, sculptor, printmaker, installation artist, and conceptual artist.

Merlin Little Thunder (1956) Cheyenne - artist.

Rod Rondeaux (1958) Cheyenne, Crow - actor and stuntman.

Bently Spang (1960) Cheyenne, Crow - multidisciplinary artist, writer, and curator.

Chris Eyre (1969) Cheyenne, Arapaho - director and producer.

Mark Webber (1980) Cheyenne, Finnish / Unknown - actor, director, and screenwriter.

Tommy Orange (1982) Cheyenne, Arapaho - author.

Levi Horn (1986) Cheyenne - football player.

Willi White (1989) 1/4 Cheyenne, 3/4 Oglala Lakota Sioux - director.

Ben Pease (1989) Cheyenne, Crow, Hidatsa, German - artist.

Stryk-9 / Kunu Dittmer (?) Cheyenne / Ho-Chunk - rapper, MC, and producer.

Tryston Skye (?) Cheyenne, Chickasaw, Otoe, Missouria, Peoria - actor.

N. Bird Runningwater (?) Cheyenne, Mescalero Apache - filmmaker.

Phillip Whiteman, Jr. (?) Cheyenne - storyteller, presenter, dancer, horse trainer, and consultant.

Gabriel Scabby (?) Cheyenne, Akimel O’odham, Maricopa - musician.

Leo Killsback (?) Cheyenne - filmmaker.

Pierce Biglefthand (?) Cheyenne - singer.

Jacob Bearchum (?) Cheyenne, Bitterroot Salish, Walla Walla, Umatilla, Cayuse - filmmaker.

George Dull Knife (?) Cheyenne, Oglala Lakota Sioux - actor.

James Temte (?) Cheyenne, Unspecified White - painter.

Carlin Bear Don't Walk (?) Cheyenne, Crow - artist.

George Curtis Levi (?) Cheyenne, Arapaho - artist.

Montaño Rain (?) Cheyenne - actor.

NB:

Teresa Littlebird (?) Cheyenne - Two-Spirit (Pronouns Unknown) - dancer.

Jase Roe (?) Cheyenne - Two-Spirit (He/Him/His) - writer and activist.

[ikesenhell]

The Light

GLITTER & GOLD, CHAPTER 4. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: LET’S GET BACK INTO IT. Thanks to all my readers who stopped in and @velociraptor-detective for always line editing.

Once upon a time, their parents would all gather around the worn wood table. It was reserved in the town hall for two things: the traditional gatherings (which somehow survived both the fallout and the test of brutal, cruel time, the heavy hands of invaders who so desperately tried to crush every trace of her culture) and long nights spent piecing together matters of state.

Tonight was neither. Instead, they gathered to solve the mystery.

“What do you think the easiest way is?” Ieyasu mused, prying apart stacks of eyewitness reports and missings persons documents.

“Perhaps,” Mitsuhide suggested calmly, “We begin with the locations of missing persons.”

Masamune shook his head and set his boots on the table. Ieyasu smacked them back down. “That won’t show all that much if they all came from the town, would it?”

“Perhaps they are abducted from specific parts of town--the perimeters, or such.”

Mitsunari pulled out his chipped glasses, nearly fumbled them, and somehow settled them on his nose without incident. No one commented. “What if we positioned the sightings?”

Ieyasu wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“Let’s consider the possibility that these abductions are concurrent with ship sightings as a smokescreen.” He folded his fingers together, purple eyes flickering with thought. “If that is the case, then perhaps plotting its path would provide us valuable insight into where the perpetrators may strike next.”

Mitsuhide allowed a ghostly smile. “And if that path is variable?”

“Then we can plot your idea. It’s simply a matter of starting.”

Masamune nodded decisively. “Alright. How long do you think this will take?”

Ieyasu sighed in tandem with Mitsuhide’s laugh. Mitsunari just blinked and smiled. “Only a day or so.”

“If we left the computer here to his own devices,” Ieyasu scowled. “So I guess we’re forced to help him out. He’d mess it up otherwise. And what are you doing, exactly, while we’re up to this?”

He took too long to say, and he knew it. The moment his eyes wandered from them, Ieyasu sputtered a simple, “Don’t.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You don’t have to. They tried to kidnap her, and you think going out there to meet them is going to do anything?”

“Meet them? I think you’ve got the wrong idea of what I’m doing.” Masamune smiled and waved at them, dipping back out the door. “I’m not doing anything that foolish.”

---

The motorcycle would be too loud normally. Fortunately, he had the means to silence it, even if it meant taking a few minutes to exchange the mufflers.

Unfortunately for him, that meant she found him.

“What are you doing?”

Masamune glanced up, screwdriver clenched between his teeth, and tried his best to look unassuming--while doing mechanic work at one in the morning on his muffler, of course. She brushed back a lock of her hair. Hell, but the moonlight did some magic on her, didn't it? In the daylight she was beautiful. In the nighttime, cast against the stars and her black hair reflecting silver, she was a creature of the sky. “Nuffing.”

“Sure looks like something.” She crossed her arms. “Going out for a ride?”

“Aww, naw essact--” Finally he spit out the tool. “Not exactly.”

Her dark eyes roved over the small kit he’d prepared: the machete, a bottle of water, a can of ancient mace, a flare gun, and some chalk. “You’re going to scope them out.”

“Maybe,” he hedged. “We need to at least track down where your would-be kidnappers are, don’t’cha think?”

She didn't answer that. Instead, she headed back towards Ieyasu’s house and disappeared inside, the screen door fluttering shut behind her. Masamune shrugged and went back to the screws, only to startle when it flew open again a couple minutes later. Rather than her work clothes, she’d thrown on a black jacket and a pair of thick boots.

“No.” Masamune zipped up his tools and chucked them closer to the house. “You’re not coming.”

Boldly, she straddled his motorcycle anyway, snatching up a helmet. “Make me.”

“Listen here--”

“I’m listening.”

“I just got you away from them, d’y’think I really want to put you right back where they can take you again?”

“And they could take you.” She flipped down the visor and patted the seat. “Let’s go, big guy.”

Masamune gripped his hair. “They don’t want me as bad as they want you!”

“So you’re going to have me sit here and play the pretty damsel in distress while you work it out? I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “We’re going to have each other’s backs. I want this solved as much as you do. Come on. Do you have a map?”

“A map?” He echoed. “Why?”

“To mark anything suspicious. Easier than trying to memorize it in the dark.”

She had a point. Defeated, Masamune slumped back into the house, stole one from a rolltop desk and slipped back out, remembered he didn't have anything to write with, ran back inside and gathered a fistful of pens, and returned once more. “You ready?”

“Ready as I can be.”

As much as he wanted to deny it, Masamune was a bundle of nerves as he kicked his legs over the side of the motorcycle. Her hands knotted tight against his stomach, head pressed into his shoulder blades.

Here went nothing--or everything.

The engine was kitten-purr quiet as they pulled away from Waŋblí Hoȟpi. Out into the plains they rolled. Stars winked and spiraled overhead. The moon shuttered away behind the clouds. Off in the distance, lightning shivered over the mountains, but it was too far for thunder to roll. Grasses turned to corn and wheat. Deathly quiet rippled through the stalks, only the crush of a gravel road under their tires.

Suddenly she rapped her knuckles against his chest.

Masamune didn't need the ‘why’. He shut off the lights and the engine, and they sat in the quiet, wind gusting between them. She shivered and pressed closer. There--there in the neat rows, a small green light was flickering.

Bingo.

He kicked off his motorcycle and dragged it into a ditch while she marked their location on the map. Into the field they crept. Thank god for the wind--every crack and snap underfoot threatened to give them away. What if they were discovered? He had no idea what awaited them on the other side. Was it a dozen of the maniacs? Was it just one? Was it a simple light? Who knew. His heart pounded in his mouth.

At last, they reached a clearing, a small house sitting in the center. On the porch was spray painted a simple message: THE GODS COME FOR FAITHFUL

“I bet you a whole jar of honey this place is involved,” Masamune muttered. “Mark it down on the map.”

The screen door on the porch swung open, shattering the silence. Too late. They broke into a run, desperately diving back into the corn. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Shots ripped through the stalks behind them, dirt spraying into their eyes. She screamed. Masamune wrenched her forward by the wrist.

“Go! Gogogo!”

Ahead of them, the green light winked. Shouts echoed behind them. Desperately they plunged deeper and deeper into the field, pressing on through the alarm and gunshots and crash of corn, and then--

“Shit,” she hissed.

“Fuck,” Masamune assented. They both staggered into the new clearing, a high wall separating them from freedom and only an ancient silo well to the right of them. It was the thing winking green, a faint light from some unknowable technology filtering through the water from deep, deep below. A dead end. “Get behind me.”

“Masa, a machete isn’t going to do anything against a shotgun--”

He knew that. Still, he pulled her back and drew the blade. There was only one good chance at this, and if he was lucky, they wouldn’t fire blindly into the clearing and risk destroying a perfectly good wall. God, he knew he shouldn’t have brought her. Too late. Readying himself, he ground his heels into the dirt and lifted his sword arm.

“Wait--” She gasped, wrenching at his backpack. “Wait, wait--”

“What are you doing? You’re throwing me off--!”

The intruders crashed through the last line of corn separating them--three men, guns in hand and at the ready. Masamune braced himself for the inevitable. If they were lucky, she’d still get away--

“Think fast, fuckers!” She shouted.

FOOM!

The explosion of flame almost blinded his good eye. One of the assailants screamed; part of the field went up, the fire rendering them in perfect clarity. She, still clutching tight to the flare gun, yanked at Masamune’s arm.

“Let’s go!”

“You’re a fucking genius!”

“Iknowlet’sgo!”

He couldn’t help himself. As they tore back into the field, leaving the flailing attackers behind them, Masamune released a whoop.

“Shut up!” But she was laughing too; that anxious, giddy laugh of being alive. “Run faster!”

“I could beat you in a running contest, don’t get at me!”

“You aren’t right now! Consider it one!”

Somehow they made it back to the road and scrabbled onto the motorcycle, peeling off as fast as they dared toward Waŋblí Hoȟpi. The sky rumbled threateningly. Masamune just leaned back his head and bellowed another laugh.

“I completely forgot about the flare gun!”

“You’re welcome!” She huffed unconvincingly, shoving the helmet on. “I saved our skins!”

“You did! Hell, Kitten, you were a mean aim with it too!”

The wind picked up. Masamune leaned into the comforting handlebars and exhaled for the first time in what felt like forever. Her head pressed into his back and--not for the first time--he wondered what it would feel like if it were her soft cheek, not the hard plastic helmet. Prairie air thick with impending rain swelled in his chest.

And so did questions.

“So,” he pondered aloud, turning into the main street. “Think I learned something to question.”

She stirred against him. “What’s that?”

They pulled up alongside Ieyasu’s house and staggered off the motorcycle, discarding their helmets. Masamune ruffled his hair to bring life back into it. “That light in the well.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s the same color as the ship, isn’t it?”

Her pause went on long enough that the sky interrupted them. The first droplet pinged off the metal frame, the second hitting him square in the nose. As they raced inside, the patter turned to a wall of water, drowning out everything except the cacophony of rain. She wrung out her hair over the sink and stared out the window.

“You might be into something,” she agreed at last. “But what, exactly? How would a light from some pre-War tech have anything to do with a ghost ship? They’re just the same color. Is that a coincidence?”

“Maybe,” Masamune agreed, carding his hand through her hair to detangle it. “I’m a dumbass. But I couldn’t help but notice it. It makes me think.”

“Mmm. Think what?”

His mind was already elsewhere. She rested her hip into the cabinetry and let him braid her hair the way he’d learned so long ago from her father, show her love in one of the ways he could let himself. There was no telling where he’d be in a year. He had to take his pleasures where he could, and she--she deserved something more stable than him.

But god. He wanted it so badly he could almost taste her.

“That maybe,” he allowed at last, never clarifying what he was talking about, “there’s a chance.”