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 Tear The Feathers From My Hair, Thaddeus
Oleander Washington Pacific She/Her 25
7 POINTS EARNED
12 YEARS WRITING
N/A
- Natives -
You're not allowed, you're uninvited

25
- Age -
- relationship status -
Warrior
- occupation -

Kimimela Nahimana is Offline


The sun beat down from the heavens in waves, like blows from a mighty warrior raining down upon their backs, shoulders and the tops of their heads. Even for May, it already felt like the oppressive heat of Summer. However, the brave party rode on, only slowing when they needed to sleep, eat or relieve themselves. And even those tasks were put off for as long as possible. It had been a terrible few days of riding with the weather hampering the speed of their progression because their horses became tired and tempers were more surley than usual. The most surly of the group could have been Kimimela Nahimana herself, but she would never admit such a thing aloud anyway. In the winxtca's mind she was just as driven and dedicated as the rest of her brothers and sisters. She recognized what an honor it was to be chosen to seek out allies and supplies for those alredy fighting. At least... that is what she displayed on the surface.

Underneath it all, Kimimela was frustrated beyond belief. She knew that the medicine man picked her for this mission because of the tension she was causing within her tribe. How dare they judge how long she greived?! They had all lost someone hadn't they? Especially with the damned whites swarming around them like the most vile of insects. Time was running out for the tribes of the Dakotas, Kimi recognized this but at the same time she lamented that she could not be part of the fight. That was the purest way to prove her loyalty to the memory of Ohiteka Mato was it not? It was the best way to show her loyalty to her people and to their cuase... Not shuttled away to the middle of yet another barren plain to deal with another tribe that might not even help them in the first place!

"Sister, we are almost there." A brother had ridden up beside her, the feathers in his hair dancing upon the wind and the prized bear claw necklace bounced on his bare, muscular chest. The skin rippled as he pulled himself up on the saddle to catch the eyes of the beautiful winxtca, Kimi knew that the man had been watching her for most of the journey. And why wouldn't he? She was still young, body lithe and well curved with child bareing hips and the muscles of a warrior herself. Her hair was long and as black as night, braided straight down her back as straight as a pin. Deep, dark eyes that were both challening and haunting. A fine prize for any brother willing to endure her temper, it was well known that there was no love between herself and Sota Mato... perhaps this warrior fancied himself capable of earning the butterfly's affections. He would be proven wrong. Just like so many others in the six years since her War Bear's death. "Why don't we split off, catch some game to bring to our new friends?"

Kimimela almost laughed at his pitiable attempt to get them to spend some time alone with one another. She turned her gaze to the stretch of land before them. "I wish to get the lay of the land first Kangee. Her tone was firm, dismissive. "If you wish to gather game for gifts than I see no problem with it. I, however, must decline your offer." With the click of her tongue, Kimi spurred Paytah forward. The steed obeyed her command and charged forwards, ahead of the party and leaving the disappointed Kangee in the dust. With a sharp bark of her self appointed mission, Kimimela moved far beyond her party and towards the horizon. She was not here to make friends, not really. She was not here to find love, she had long since cast that from her heart. She was here for a mission and that was all. The sooner it was finished the better.

Kimimela let out a deep breath, pulling the hot air through her nose and letting it out even hotter from her mouth. Her dark eyes shut for a moment before snapping open once more to scan her surroundings. She was a few miles ahead of her party but there was still no sign of the tribe they were supposed to meet. A scowl tugged at the corners of her mouth and she clicked her tongue at Paytah and set the steed off at a trot, knowing that she should keep close to the other members of her tribe. A "native", as the whites called them, alone so near a white settlement would be sure to get in trouble if she was spotted by soldiers. As much as Kimi wanted to charge all the way to the fort and slaughter every man inside... she resisted. Paytah turned and began to head back towards where she had left her party. Did they get the directions wrong? Or had they missed a land mark somewhere? She would have to check with Capa once she got back to the others... But, there would be no chance to ask her brother warriors.

A terrible scream ripped through the stagnant air, shattering the sounds of nature just as harshly as the gunfire that followed. Kimimela recognized that screech... It was just like the black bird that he was named for. "Kangee!"

The rest of Kimimela's traveling party had decided to set up a makeshift camp at the base of a hill. Optimal for shade but a poor choice to see danger coming. And danger had thundered over the hill crest as swift and deadly as any other monster. A troop of US Cavalry men had set upon her camp, catching the warriors by surprise. Everything was a mess of blood and suffering. Pain was shared on both sides. As Kimi rode towards the camp she saw that one of the soldiers was slumped upon the ground, an arrow through his throat. He was still trembling with death throes and Paytah rode straight over him, the crunch of his bones and death squeel only obscured by the beating of her hate filled heart. Bastards! They were all monsters! And they would die! With a war cry, Kimi leapt from the saddle and onto the back of a soldier kneeling over the feebly stirring body of Kangee.

The fall was not graceful and Kimimela crashed to the earth. Her opponent, a man with a chest the size of a barrel and arms as large as hams with a nest of thick white-blonde curls upon his head, roared as he hit the ground with her. They rolled, each scrambling to get to their feet and draw their weapon. Kimi was first. She pulled her knife from her belt easily and drove it straight into the throat of the soldier. He gurgled and jerked, arms reaching forward but she was still faster. The female warrior yanked her arm to the side and slit his throat wide open, like a scarlett smile. The crimson droplets decorated her beautiful face and stained the simple clothes she wore but Kimi paid it no mind. She simply turned to check on Kangee and felt her stomach drop with rage and sick sorrow.

The brave was on his back. He had been shot in the stomach, the wound that had caused him to fall no doubt but it had not been the killing blow. No, Kangee was still alive and struggling for breath. His lips were bloody from many blows falling upon his face and... and... one of his ears has been carved from the side of his head, hanging by a few scraps of skin. His nose had been completely cut off and Kimimela could not help the cry of grief and anger that left her at the sight. Kangee's eyes were squeezed shut in pain, purple bruising decorating what of his face was not painted in blood and there was the faintest of whispers hissing from his throat. The only signs of life. Kimimela knelt beside her fallen brother, a few prayers of the Lakota falling from her lips. She pulled off her jacket, completely distracted from the chaos still swirling around her. Pressing the soft cloth to Kangee's bleeding head she tried to guide him to grasp the fabric himself which he managed to do after a few painful seconds. "Hang in there, brother. We will drive them back. We will get you help. Hang on. Hang on..." Don't die too.
For: THADDEUS

Enraged | 1410

--------------------
Shasta MST She/Her 26 2nd
4 POINTS EARNED
YEARS WRITING
- American -

34
- Age -
Single
- relationship status -
Military
- occupation -

Thaddeus Stone is Offline


I hear that train a comin'
tag: Kimi || words: 1,331 || wearing: Colonel Uniform

1876. Election year. Democrat Samuel J. Tilden and Republican Rutherford B. Hayes were the forerunners for the elected position of the President of the United States. On November 7th, the citizens of this great country would run to the polls. The North was carried up in a political swell of debate and contentions, and it would remain one of the highest votes per U.S. citizen years that the country had ever seen. Tilden was the governor of Colonel Stone’s native New York, but the high-ranking army official was a Republican through and through, and would not waste such an important vote on the likes of a Democrat. The Democratic party was the party of the South, reluctant wishy-washers incapable of taking a hard stance on any subject matter.

The next elected president would affect several working areas of the United States Military, including the support – or lack thereof – for the fight in the western native lands of their country. Thaddeus became disenchanted with current President Ulysses S. Grant after the Civil War. Grant had rolled over like a young pup, pardoning several of the traitorous Confederate generals from any war crimes. He went beyond what was necessary or even reasonable in support of rights for freed slaves, and now he wanted to meddle in their affairs with the Natives. Replacing several of the reservations’ military leaders with Christian missionaries proved to Thaddeus that Grant had become not only soft, but delusional in his beliefs that missionaries could not only contain the savages, but improve upon the reservations by giving into the whims and fancies of the spoiled natives who lived there. In short, this political election was one of great importance to Thaddeus Stone, and for the future of the U.S. military in the west.

A soft disposition had no business in war, and they always were always at war, as there was always an enemy in their midst. If you didn’t have the stomach to do what needed to be done, you were a liability, not an asset. Lieutenant Donald B. Gibbons and his company had captured a young native yesterday evening from a local tribe that had been giving them particular trouble. He had been bound and tortured for information. There was no negotiating with savages. They would turn their back on a deal as easily as cutting butter, but physical pain was a universal language. In their broken tongue, Gibbons had communicated with the child-warrior and discovered that a neighboring Lakota tribe was traveling in this area. Based upon their current maps of tribal nations, this was beyond their territory. Though there were many possible reasons for their encroachment, he took an offensive approach. They were to assume the Lakotas were hostile, and to attack before they attacked first.

Truth be told, Thaddeus wouldn’t consider it a misfortune if most of the natives were driven off from these lands or exterminated outright. Those who deserved to be assimilated, such as his daughter Chelsea, did so willingly. Most of them were too old and set in their ways for change, and their primitive way of living was a waste of potential; the rich soil on which they stood should be built upon and expanded, not neglected and wasted. After obtaining the details of the last known location of this band of Lakotas, the young native was released, watered, and shipped off at first light for a reservation. He would live among other natives from different tribes on a small, designated plot of land sanctioned by the government. It was of no concern to white men if the natives could not speak each other’s language, or had different cultures.

As the new day wore on, preparations were made. A small, initial company would set out first. If they appeared to be engaged in combat, a few would fall back and return to camp to let Thaddeus know. Then he would send in the rest of his 400 men strong battalion to squash any remaining indian resistance. Those who gave up their weapons would be taken into captivity and sent to a reservation. Those who fought – died. Stone didn’t plan on any escaping back into the safety of the plains.

When a young and squat, bleeding soldier burst into his tent and exclaimed that they had encountered the natives and a battle had ensued, Thaddeus ordered Captains James Brandon and Charles Burke to lead their troops to the rendezvous point immediately. Stone rode in at the back of his Calvary unit on his strong, thoroughbred Quarter horse. The chaos of the scene did not faze the experienced Colonel, and as he rode past some of his troops and into the central point of the battle, he shot a charging native square in the chest with his pistol. Another lean and muscular man came to attack him from the back, but the trained horse reared up and kicked him in the abdomen, cracking the man’s ribs and throwing him backwards to the ground. Stone continued to plow through the field on horse, until he was grabbed by the leg and wrestled to the ground by a bearish adversary.

They tossed and tumbled, struggling in the dry dust of the earth to gain an advantage. Thaddeus was trained in hand-to-hand combat, but the native was much larger, with a body used to constant physical labor. Stone was laid out on his back while the enemy reached for a discarded tomahawk a few feet away. Thaddeus used the time to his advantage and wrapped his hand around a large, lumpy rock, so that when the native was swinging his weapon up in the air, Stone had already hammered him in the side of the head. He knocked the other man off balance, enough that Stone was able to sit up and hammer him again and again, until the native was on the ground instead, having been bludgeoned to death by a “Stone. Ironic,” Stone said, breathing heavily as he pulled himself to his feet. His uniform was stained and there was blood on the collar, but he wasn’t injured.

With the toe of his boot, Thaddeus kicked the limp man to make sure he was good and dead. He looked around him, making sure he didn’t get surprised attacked instead. His troops seemed to be overwhelming the band of Lakota simply by their sheer size in number. His horse, unfortunately, was nowhere in sight, so the Colonel had to continue on foot. Retrieving his pistol, and pulling his sharp dagger from the inside of his jacket pouch, Thaddeus fought one after another, forcing his way into their camp. It had been some time since he had had a good fight, spending hours in a hot tent, bent over maps and battle strategy charts. Numbers divided by days divided by soldiers, all for the benefit to stay out of the thick of the fighting, in hopes of coming home to his Chelsea again.

He came upon a Lakota woman with a mutilated brave in her arms. He was missing a good deal of his face, and Thaddeus was unable to discern if this had been an intentional maiming, or simply the result of a gunshot wound to the face. Thaddeus lifted the pistol in his hand and pointed it directly at Kimimela. “On behalf of the United States government, I demand that you lay down your weapons. If you do not comply, I will dispatch each and every one of you, including that wretched man with his head in your lap. Do you understand me?” Many of them weren’t smart enough to learn and articulate the English language, but a few of them at least had broken English phrases and words mastered. Thaddeus cocked the loaded gun, never wavering for even a second. If she even sneezed, he would put a bullet straight through her forehead. “Throw your weapons off to the side. You are outnumbered.”

girlwhowaited @ (cttw)(​shine)
Oleander Washington Pacific She/Her 25
7 POINTS EARNED
12 YEARS WRITING
N/A
- Natives -
You're not allowed, you're uninvited

25
- Age -
- relationship status -
Warrior
- occupation -

Kimimela Nahimana is Offline


The Lakhota woman chanced a glance at their surroundings, her dark eyes taking in the nightmarish landscape that lay sprawled before her like hell itself. This was surely hell, was it not? All of the pain and madness that swarmed around them... Kimi had been very young the first time that she saw a missionary, only six or seven, not much older than the age Chumani had been when she was lost...


Even now, so many years into the future, she could remember the heavy wooden cross hanging around his neck. The man had let her hold it, trace the man etched upon the front. She'd nearly pricked her fingers on the lovingly-whittled, sharp thorns of "Jesus" crown. It was also the first time she had ever heard a White Man speak their tongue. The words came out funny but she understood well enough. He even smiled at her enthusiastic questions about the man, what the wooden symbol meant.

Thomas Holt, she learned his name was, a name that she grew to hate. Of all the missionaries in the area he was quite notorious for "rescuing" Native children from their "animalistic" parents. But at the time, he was just a friendly stranger. A White Man that she could actually talk to. "This man is our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He is very important and you should follow him if you do not want to end up in hell." Hell. That was a strange word, one that her language had no translation for. The young girl rolled it around on her tongue, trying to sound it out, "Hell?"

The missionary nodded gravely. He took her hand, beginning to walk further into the field. Kimimela would have normally protested but his next words were so terrifyingly enthralling that she could do nothing but listen. "Hell is a bad place, full of pain, suffering and fire. Where you will go if you do not learn how to act properly."

"Act properly?"

But the child did not get to learn what was "proper", for a wild shout sounded from behind them. A ferocious war cry and the young girl turned to see her father riding up towards them on his horse. The strange white man let out a terrified cry and dropped Kimi's hand, taking off at a full sprint towards the trees. The young girl was bewildered but knew that something dangerous had just happened. When her father climbed down from his steed, she expected him to scold her. Instead, he dropped to his knees and embraced her. The feeling of his tears soaking into the shoulder of her dress brought a bitter sting to her own eyes. She didn't let go of her father's hand for the rest of the day and learned that nothing good could come from interacting with the pale strangers who had invaded their lands.


He had been wrong, this was hell. This world was nothing but pain and suffering, a test of endurance. At least, that is how Kimi saw it. Without her husband and her daughter the only thing that kept her going was Tahatan Teetonka, her surviving son. But in the midst of all this chaos, that resolve flickered. Was she even going to make it out of this? She often fantasized of dying in battle, but as an agressor, not trying to salvage her comrads from an ambush...

In her lap, Kagnee was beginning to slow his struggles. She was not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Was he dying?! The female warrior leaned down, all of her senses straining to make sure that his breathing was still there, that his grip on her jacket was still tightly pressed to the wound in the side of his head. Yes. Yes... They may get out of this after all! Click!

Even through the chaos of the battle around them, Kimimela knew that sound. She was a warrior, she learned any weapon that she could get her hands on inside and out. It was the safety catch on a pistol. Probably one not much different than the instrument of death that she herself favored using. The dark haired vixen's head snapped up, those sharp eyes locking with the pale blue stones far above her. Hatred radiated from every inch of her body, that haunting gaze threatening to burn Thaddeus Stone to a crisp in the very spot that he stood. Her lips curled back into a snarl when he had the gall to condescendingly demand her surrender.

"On behalf of the United States government, I demand that you lay down your weapons. If you do not comply, I will dispatch each and every one of you, including that wretched man with his head in your lap. Do you understand me?"

"Throw your weapons off to the side. You are outnumbered."

Oh what she would not give to be able to draw her own pistol and bury a bullet between his eyes. For one wild moment she even fancied taking a bullet if it meant getting the opportunity to charge him and bury a blade into his black heart even as she died. But Kangee was still in her lap, the blood had saturated her jacket and was beginning to soak the skirt that she wore wrapped around her hips. And, as much as she hated to admit it, the stranger before her was right. All around her fellow braves were being slaughtered or disarmed. She grit her teeth for a moment more before spitting out a single sentence in only lightly acceded English, "Yes, I understand." Moving slowly, she pulled the pistol from her own belt. The weapon trembled in her hand and her trigger finger itched to pull down. Instead, she held her arm out to the far side, fingers lightly wrapped around the muzzle, nowhere near the trigger. Kimimela dropped the weapon in the dirt. All the while, her vicious gaze never left the face of Thaddeus Stone. Her mind was racing and there was a cold stone in her stomach with the thought of what she had to say next. "I have surrendered. And I will come quietly, but you must give this man medical attention."

The fluent English was surely shocking to the officer. Indeed, some of his comrades had frozen in their corralling of her people to look around in surprise. How bizarre was it that one of the most vicious of warriors among them was not only a woman but spoke their own language?!

Kimimela was utterly humiliated, for what else could this be... but failure?
For: THADDEUS

Seething | 1090

--------------------
Shasta MST She/Her 26 2nd
4 POINTS EARNED
YEARS WRITING
- American -

34
- Age -
Single
- relationship status -
Military
- occupation -

Thaddeus Stone is Offline


I hear that train a comin'
tag: Kimi || words: || wearing: Colonel Uniform

girlwhowaitThe country could be divided into three main bodies: Upstanding citizens, children, and the morally corrupt. Children were exempt from most judgements because of their delicate shaping minds, but eventually, they would fall on either side of the line. The morally corrupt were those who committed crimes, however great or small. Thieves, murderers, adulterers, counterfeiters – all the same. Thaddeus believed that most had a disease that was incurable. If you let one out of jail, they may be straight for a time, but they all came back to the same debased form of crime some time or another. They were broken, unfit for society. These natives fell into the latter category; only the children, like Chelsea, could be reeducated and civilized. The rest had to be removed from prosperous lands and allocated to a safe place, preventing them from corrupting their own, or else wiped entirely from the earth.

This tribe clearly chose destruction as their future. If he was chosen to be God’s wrath upon the sins of this people, he could not argue with it.

Though a stalwart Protestant, he had initially sent Chelsea to a Catholic school for her education, as it was renowned for its success in the reeducation of native children. He had not only been disappointed, but infuriated over their inhumane methods, and quickly switched his adoptive daughter to private tutoring sessions, free from the overbearing brutality of Catholic nuns. Thaddeus Stone believed it was by divine authority that his ancestors were able to come to this great land and cultivate it, but with that blessing came the burden and responsibility of introducing the faith to the dirty and primal peoples who already lived there. As many of them had not accepted the one true God into their lives, the suffering they experienced was their punishment. Because of his own self-discipline, dedication, and devotion, he had be called to this task.

The woman before him was one of those, stubborn and unruly. They allowed their women to behave as indecently and wildly as their men. She fought in their wars and committed villainous acts; she dressed like an infamous lady of the night with skin unveiled for all to see. If he must put her down here and now, he would do it with a clear conscience, with the sword of righteousness by his side.

“You are in no position to make demands.” Thaddeus gestured with his gun to the man dying in her lap. “But on my honor, I will see that he receives medical attention.” Not that it would matter, he was likely to die within minutes. He had enough experience with the terror and violence of the battlefield to know which injuries were survival, and those that simply were not.

Thaddeus looked over his shoulder as a member of her tribe was shot in the back by a Calvary officer, impeding him from the target he had made of Stone’s back. The fighting was dying down, but it was still a war zone. His eyes returned to the fiery warrior in front of him, observing as she dropped her own weapon as promised into the dirt. With his foot, he kicked the gun further away, to make it impossible for her to retrieve even if she dove for it. Her perfect English had not gone unnoticed by Thaddeus; it was rather unexpected of someone who had shown herself to be so opposed to assimilating. However, he did not have the time to muse over this interesting development. “Help her to her feet, and find a stretcher for the man. They’ll be taken with the others back to camp, provided they do not resist.” Thaddeus shot Kimi a look, a warning that was all too evident. “Shoot anyone who falls out of line. They can easily be made examples of.”

The last rays of light were descending behind the hills before the wagons were brought and their captives loaded, packed tightly together so one could barely stand let alone sit. The enclosed space had small windows for air, but prevented escape with thick metal bars across them. The ride was not only uncomfortable, it was inhumane. The saving grace was how close they were to the base already, so that muscle cramps had no time to set in. Thaddeus permitted the hostile woman to be in the back of one wagon that was much less secure, and had more space for the stretchers that carried the grievously wounded natives. Of course, it was separate from another carriage that held the wounded of the United States army, and the natives were only provided with thin, moth-eaten blankets.

After the large, fortified doors of the fort were opened and the prison-on-wheels had all rolled in, the gate was sealed once more. Armed soldiers stood just on the inside, and snipers lined the top of the walls, giving them a good vantage point for gunning down any nearby enemies. Most of the prisoners were roughly handled and dragged out of the back of the wagons, corralled together into a large, open area with a high fence that had sharp spikes on top. It was the makeshift jail, one that could be occupied by a large volume of people, but was sure to be miserable as it was unprotected by the elements. Tribe members that were injured were brought indoors to the mess hall, where members of the army normally had their meals. Under the scrutinous eyes of some soldiers, any medics that could be spared from attending to their own were brought in and bandaged, removed bullets, and sewed up those that they could. A priest made his rounds, giving last rites to any soldiers that wouldn’t make it, and shaking his head at the “godless” natives, asking them to accept Christ before they died.

Stone went to his “war room”, practically his second home and most of the time, the place he could be found most often when he wasn’t asleep. It was actually a military strategy room, rather plain and empty, a good place for a small gathering of high-ranking members of the military to meet and discuss. When a couple hours had passed, he ordered one of the corporals to find the woman of which he gave a brief description on, and to bring her to him. He then emphasized that she should have her hands bound. He was in no mood for tricks, and he was fully aware of just how wily they could be. After bringing the wrong woman not once, but twice, they finally brought the she-warrior he had encountered, her clothes drenched in the blood of her comrade. After a brief silence on Thaddeus’s part, he addressed Kimi, who had been plopped down in a chair in front of him. “Did your friend survive?” The way he said it sounded disinterested, because it was simply a formality. “Your comprehension of English is surprising. It’s unusual for your kind. Did you learn it from missionaries?” That was generally the most common reason they could speak the language. Missionaries were very tireless and patient when it came to that sort of thing.

ed @ (cttw)(​shine)

Oleander Washington Pacific She/Her 25
7 POINTS EARNED
12 YEARS WRITING
N/A
- Natives -
You're not allowed, you're uninvited

25
- Age -
- relationship status -
Warrior
- occupation -

Kimimela Nahimana is Offline


There were no words to describe the hatred and hopelessness that rolled through Kimimela the moment her gun tumbled form her fingers into the dusty ground. To add insult to injury, the man before her kicked aside her weapon, clearly not trusting her to keep her word. The fool. She was far more honorable than any of his pathetic, pasty skinned kind. Those dark eyes narrowed up at Lieutenant Colonel Stone, thick lashes framing chocolate slits that wished him nothing but ill. That wished him the most painful of deaths. She could feel the way his pale gaze was dancing here and there upon her form, he had probably never even seen so much of a woman's form unless he paid for it. Not that this statue of a man seemed to be the type. He was as cold as ice, in body and mind. Unyielding and unfeeling. Just looking upon him made Kimi hate him all the more. However, the female warrior could not keep the plea for her fellow tribesman's life from fleeing her lips. If one good thing could come from this surrender... let it be his life.

"You are in no position to make demands. But on my honor, I will see that he receives medical attention."

Kimimela let out a breath that she did not know she had been holding at those words. One weight had been lifted from her shoulders and replaced with a thousand others. She was notorious for her fighter's spirit. For the Sly Butterfly to be demurely led to the back of a wagon like common cattle... it cut straight through the morale of her envoy. The battle had been going downhill but at the sight of all their wounded and dead the struggling just... stopped. Her fellows laid down their weapons and in a matter of minutes the Lakhota tribesmen and woman had been corralled into wagons. All the while, as his glare burned into her, Kimi met the strange soldier's gaze. Blue and brown clashed over the blood drenched ground until at last she was placed among her wounded tribesmen. Some might have seen this as a kindness, that she could have used her presence to calm the fallen. But Kimimela had not been kind or merciful in years. Her soul and mind were terribly tainted by anger and she saw Thaddeus' gesture as nothing more than a taunt. Look at what you have lost and loosing. Look at what will happen to your people.

Kimimela sat in the back of that wagon, holding tight to Kangee's hand and grit her teeth until she was sure that they would shatter under the strain. That pulse in her hand was growing weaker and weaker... A foolish request... a wasted plea... By the time they reached the fort Kangee's hand had grown cold in her grasp. But still, she could not force herself to let go. It took two of her fellows to pry her clinging fingers from the flesh of their fallen brother. Still, she did not scream in her anguish, she had long ago rent her wails to the wind with the loss of her husband and father. No. Now there was only silent, frigid rage and the hot trails of tears upon her cheeks. As she was led away by soldiers of both white and red, Kimi heard one of the other men under Stone's command speak. "What are we do to with the dead reds?"

"Smith is digging a pit at the back. Use one of the other wagons to cart the filth around there. We'll dump 'em in later."

"I will kill him." Kimi hissed under her breath in spite of the way the other captives tried to silence her wrathful whispers. The cold rage had caused her cheeks to freeze and she shot a hate-filled glare over her shoulder at the two soldiers who mocked her dead. "I will kill that bastard." No matter how long it took or how much she suffered along the way, Kimi blamed the cold-hearted Lieutenant Colonel that she had met on the battlefield. She blamed his slow action in not calling for a medic then and there and her own cowardice, for surrendering in hope of getting assistance. She should have known! What a fool! Nothing good could come from those pale demons. Nothing!

Perhaps there was something in her eyes that caught the man's attention. Maybe he saw the promise of a painful death in her eyes... None the less, he could not suppress the shiver that ran down his spine when he stared at the female warrior. Though, he was quick to rectify it into his own hate-filled glare. And Kimimela did her best to etch his face into her mind, one of a select few. The ones that she would hunt down and kill personally... But there was nothing that she could do for now. Kimi would just have to hold onto her hate and wait. She could do that. The years had taught her how to be very good at holding a grudge. Revenge was a game of waiting, of hunting your prey. And like all warriors of her tribe, Kimimela was good at hunting. She could be patient when the need arose... for a while at least. She had waited years to hunt down the man who killed her husband and father, she could wait a little longer to kill one monster who had decided to run his mouth.


"Come sister, you must eat something." One of the other braves who had been rounded up was standing before her with a small bowl of gruel. The soldiers had passed around a handful of bowls and blankets, not enough to feed and protect their group but under the dire situation the native peoples were trying to stretch the meager meal to every person in that frigid jail. He probably tried to make his expression inviting or even comforting, there were so few women among them after all... Many of whom were not warriors. But his kindness was wasted on the winxtca before him. Kimimela was sitting against the bars of the pen, right in the corner where there was just enough room to do so. She was watching the soldiers outside milling about in the last rays of the setting sun, doing her best to ignore the man in front of her. Kimi was a proud woman, she counted herself as just as powerful as the men in her tribe. Even in a pen like this with the warmth being drained from their surroundings by the on-coming night, she could not show weakness again. Not when she had already humiliated herself by throwing down her weapon.

"Give it to her." Kimi gestured to another woman who was praying fervently under her breath. Yankton, one of the Western Dakota dialects. She too was very far from home, probably trying to flee the fighting only to find herself in the hands of the White Men. Kimimela felt pity for her and gestured once again towards the woman when the brave before her continued to look concerned. She knew that many thought that the blood that covered her was her own, pretty features marred by scarlet but none of it was. "Do not worry about me, brother. Give it to her. She needs it." Realizing that the beautiful woman at his feet would not budge, the other Lakota man passed the bowl along to the weeping woman who gratefully swallowed a couple mouthfuls of the foul stuff. Food was food. But, Kimi had no appetite. Her surrender was still fouling her moon even though she knew that it was the smarter choice.

Hours passed and the world grew dark. Cramped and cold, the prisoners murmured, prayed or even wailed their laments to the uncaring sky. Kimimela was just glad that it was not raining. It would be a different kind of hell then: one went and dark and hopeless. She was just closing her eyes to try to sleep when a shout came from outside the bars.

"You, come forward!"

The light of a torch shone down upon Kimimela and she felt her heart beat a bit faster. This had been happening on and off through out the evening, the soldiers were coming around and dragging women from the pen. She had heard plenty of horror stories about this and so far, all of them had been brought back after a few moments. "None to the Lieutenant Colonel's liking" one of the men had joked. When he saw Kimimela the soldier let out a bark of laughter, "Well, I think he'll like this one. I saw her on the battlefield..." The soldier spit on her face, a thick wad of saliva landing on his cheek. "You killed my friend you little witch. I hope he fucks your worthless cunt with a pepper-box and pulls the trigger."

His cruel words were met with sneers from the other soldiers as they shouted for her to be guided to the doors of the pen. There was nothing her fellows could do but obey. These cruel demons would start shooting and they were already on edge for having failed to bring the "right girl" twice before. When all of these savages looked the same, what was the point? Kimimela pushed herself to her feet and walked forward with her head held high. She would not show any more weakness for today. The soldier who had taunted her met her at the doors and yanked her forwards, cruelly binding her wrists together, "Got nothing to say for yourself, sqwa? You were showing off that fancy tongue of yours before."

"Just take me wherever we are going." Kimimela said coldly, locking her eyes with the soldier before her. His chestnut brown hair was hanging in his eyes, which reminded her of a pig's: small, black and forever darting about. He had a thick bushy beard as well, which had bits of food stuck to the ends and his breath reeked of spirits. The man had been drinking heavily to the loss of his comrades before being sent to fetch the wench who had glared at him. And her uppity nature was earning her no favors with the grieving soldier.

"Why you..."

He raised his hand to strike her, but the blow never came. Another man had grabbed the soldier's wrist, staying the attack. "Come on Conners, she's not worth it. Lets get her to Stone before he has a heart attack." Conners just scoffed and pulled the female warrior forward by her bound wrists. "You got lucky red-she-devil."


Kimimela Nahimana sat silently in the war room of Thaddeus Stone. Her chocolate gaze swept here and there before locking on the man himself. She had been roughly pushed down into a chair and sat there: back straight, head held high with that same hatred burning in her eyes. Whatever was to come, she would show no more weakness to this man. None at all.

"Did your friend survive?"

The first words he spoke to her caught Kimi off guard. She looked him over for a long moment, seeking any form of mockery in his expression. There was none. Just indifference. He asked this question a lot, the words meant nothing to him and she was not sure if that made it better or worse. How much death had Stone experience to leech all meaning out of those words? Perhaps just as much as she... Yet for her, it never got easier. She could never speak of the dead and dying in such a detached manner and were he not a wicked white man she might have been impressed. "He died on the journey to your... home." Bitter scorn laced each breath she took, but the cold man in front of her did not seem to be effected. Instead he moved onto another question, this one actually sounded like a serious inquiry.

"Your comprehension of English is surprising. It’s unusual for your kind. Did you learn it from missionaries?"

Missionaries. Her lip curled at the very thought of them, "No. I'd never talk to those monsters if I could help it." Kimimela sought those pale eyes with her own, "They steal our children and do you know what they do to them afterwards? Beat them. Steal their minds and so much more... you're all monsters. But they... they are the worst."

Never before had she even gotten close to speaking of what had nearly befallen her as a child. Never had she even spoken of something so personal to a white man but maybe it was the stress of the day finally eating away at her self control. Still, she was quick to bite her own lip, nearly drawing blood in her rush to silence herself. In. Out. In. Out. She forced herself to breathe and try to calm the racing of her heart and the prickling of salt water at the edges of her vision. Though she was loath to admit it, her nerves were strained near the breaking point. She was sore and sorrowful and her stomach was churning with hunger so aggressively it felt like it was crying to crawl out of her belly and seek food on its own. "Why did you have me brought here? What do you want?"
For: THADDEUS

Seething | 2230

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Shasta MST She/Her 26 2nd
4 POINTS EARNED
YEARS WRITING
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34
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Military
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Thaddeus Stone is Offline


I hear that train a comin'
tag: Kimi || words: 1,331 || wearing: Colonel Uniform

You had to be a man of strong character to withstand the eyes of the devil burning into your back. He was well hated by the Indians, for whom did Satan hate more than the man who fought so hard against him and his followers? Expansion was for the good of God’s holy believers. They had been gifted this land to use as their own; to flourish and prosper on the green of the earth before them. They must convert or cast out those who made to bring hell to their world with their brutal sacrifices and debased ways. So while he could feel their many imaginary daggers digging into his shoulders, Thaddeus Stone would not relent. To be hated was just another example of your commitment, and he would take all the wagging tongues over living his one life as a passerby with no honorable acts or mentions to his name.

But it wasn’t for the attention that Thaddeus continued his command. When he saw the red blood of his own men staining the mud beneath his feet; as he heard their anguished, dying cries and felt their terror when the merciless bullet of a raging savage pierced their flesh, Stone recalled the sacrifices of his forefathers for this great land. Having paid so much for this precious earth they stood on, there was no way of going back – not until the last of the enemy fell, and became part of the dust.

Throughout the course of the evening, the camp was in mild disorder. Thaddeus and the generals above him would never allow it to erupt into chaos, but they had captured more natives than expected. Their experience had proven that most natives preferred to die – at their own hand, even – than be given over to the will and discipline of the United States army. Their “prison” was at full capacity and food was limited. Priority was always given to the soldiers, then the pigs – and then, if there were scraps left over, to the natives in the pens. They were provided with murky water and very little to eat, surely nothing that could sustain life among so many. This was an issue that continued to perplex and frustrate the lieutenant colonel. He was no monster, and feeding prisoners held greater importance to him than other officers. Unfortunately, he was not in charge of the entire garrison and he had been outvoted on this subject a number of times.

Meanwhile, Stone’s limited time prevented him from so much as exiting the war tent. Several inferior officers came to him to give reports on their respective companies, how many deaths, injuries and etc. He did his best to multitask (as was one of the main elements of his job) and draw up a hasty but sufficient report of his own for the commander of their post. Thaddeus executed the meetings as swiftly as possible as hunger was beginning to gnaw at him. He turned to look at the black and white photo of his daughter Chelsea, which sat in a little wooden frame on the corner of his desk. A smile came to his face at the memory of it. It was last year, and getting a good photograph had been quite the challenge. Having Chelsea hold still in one pose long enough for the picture to develop and flash took some skill on the part of the photographer, and a promise of a sweet treat afterward from Thaddeus. She was a beautiful and precocious little girl, and he suffered from extreme worrying on her part. With him away so much of the time, she was in the care of her teachers and governess. After removing her from that abusive catholic school, her temperament had greatly improved, but as a protective father, being away from her and not having the ability to supervise her interactions at all times was troublesome.

It had only taken three different corporals for them to retrieve the correct native woman in this amount of time. When she was brought into the room, she was set down in a chair before him and Thaddeus began his questioning. She had an obstinate personality and would likely be unreasonable to deal with, but she had the ability to speak clearly in English and this was an asset to him. When she explained that her comrade had died, he nodded his head solemnly. With a few rare exceptions, he did not believe in speaking ill of those once dead, as their souls were now to be judged by a creator much higher and more intelligent than himself. “His injuries were too severe.” He had fulfilled his promise to have his medics try to help him back at the fort, but if he died before the journey’s end, nothing could be done. In a way, it was a mercy for him. What kind of life could he have lived if he survived with such a deformity?

Stone’s lip twitched as she called the missionaries monsters. Naturally she would feel that way, as they opposed her corrupted way of living and tried to introduce something more pure and wholesome to her people. He walked over to the oak carved desk that was in the center of the room, the only object that wasn’t plain and stripped of any bells or whistles. He sat on the edge of it, steepling his fingers as the native woman went on in her crazed manner, lies spouting from her lips. “As it stands, I’m not interested in listening to your lies today. I will not try to reason with a savage on this matter.“ He found her descriptions of them rather perplexing. Stealing children, beating them? How do they so easily swallow these falsehoods that their elders tell them? It sounded ridiculous in his head, let alone speaking it out loud. “We came to a compromise before, so I believe it is possible for us to do it again.”

He could see that she was fighting off showing any signs of weakness to him, but even the strongest spirit eventually succumbed to exhaustion. She was tired, likely burdened by hunger and there were pains and scrapes on her body that had not been attended to. This was a point of leverage for Thaddeus. While it was beyond his power to improve the conditions for all of the prisoners, he could easily arrange for better treatment for this woman if she assisted them in return. “I would like you to communicate with your people, be a translator for us. I know not all of them speak our language. If you speak any other natives languages besides that of your kin, that would also be useful. In exchange, you will be fed the best food we have to offer, and you will have a warm place to sleep.”

girlwhowaited @ (cttw)(​shine)
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