KimaniNight
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jan 7, 2016
- Posts
- 2,547
POV Zuya Wagner
(Approximately two years ago)
http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--5si_t6p9h8/TnF1Gxh3v0I/AAAAAAAADws/73Y4pClVKWM/s640/Native+American+woman++Regina+Lakota+Sioux+-+fb.jpg
Zuya felt like an idiot, crouching in an outfit that looked like a mesh of Mad Max meets Custer's Last Stand meets Playboy Bunnies go Native.
Actually, she liked the war paint. But everything else...idiot.
"And then she said she wouldn't go out with me until I grew my hair back. What's up with that?"
Zuya bit back a dramatic sigh as she amended her earlier assessment. She was dressed like an idiot, standing next to an idiot.
Jimmy Powell wasn't a bad guy. He had grown up on the Big Cypress Reservation in Florida, played free safety for Florida State, then got a commission in the United States Marine Corp after graduation.
But even though he was Seminole, Jimmy suffered the same defect so many white people did. They looked at any Native American as part of a monolithic entity, having the same opinion and belief about everything.
Actually, Jimmy understood that Natives had wide ranging opinions and beliefs on any number of subjects. He just thought that every Native woman would perfectly understand every other Native woman, and particularly any Native woman he was trying to get into bed.
"So, I mean, doesn't she understand that I'm a US Marine? And how come you got to keep your hair that long?" Jimmy asked.
"Because I'm Canadian. And I'm not military, I'm a Mountie. Part of the Force," Zuya answered.
Jimmy just shrugged before continuing, "So why is she insisting that I grow my hair back?"
Zuya's first instinct was to ask Jimmy how the fuck should she know? The girl he was talking about wasn't Lakȟóta like Zuya was. Her second instinct was to tell Jimmy the girl sounded too rez for him anyway.
Instead Zuya just grunted noncommittally. She had learned long ago that when a man tells you his romantic problems, he's not looking for solutions, he's just looking for a sympathetic ear.
There was a buzz in her ear and a command to move in. Zuya was thankful for Jimmy's sudden silence as the pair moved forward.
Jimmy was bare chested, wearing only moccasins and those leather pants with fringes she always saw French trappers wearing in period dramas. Zuya didn't even know if the Seminole wore moccasins. But then, her discussions with Jimmy never covered the traditional clothing of his people; just why he was having trouble getting this Native woman or that into bed.
Zuya's outfit was even worse. She felt every errant breeze on her almost bare ass, and it seemed as if her tits were going to pop out at any minute. The eggheads who were running the show, however, swore up and down that the warp that had popped up in the middle of nowhere could only be entered by members of the First Nations, and the mystic pseudo-technological something or other properties of the warp required that Jimmy and Zuya had to wear their present attire. Zuya was just thankful that Jimmy felt she was off limits, since they had met on a mission. She still felt his eyes checking out her ass as the two carried knapsacks of modern explosives and archaic weapons into the middle of the warp.
-----
(Now)
Zuya stepped off the transporter platform of the Defenders' Lunar Base, giving a nod to the operator and getting directions to the mess hall. With a polite thank you, Zuya made her way down the corridor to her destination. A reflective surface Zuya passed showed a woman of medium height, either in her late twenties or early thirties, clean scrubbed face with barely a hint of makeup, and hair neatly braided into a single strand down the back of a dark greenish-gray flight suit that had the name patch "Z Wagner" over a breast pocket, as well as other patches showing Zuya was a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police temporarily detached to the United Nations.
Of course, there was more to the story than that. While with the Mounties, Zuya had been an active member of their counterintelligence division, as well as being part of the force that dealt with (in Zuya's words) "weird shit." Which meant Zuya had worked with members of security forces from other countries. At present, she was one of the many liaisons between the United Nations and the Newly reconstituted Defenders. Actually, Zuya remembered her complete and official title contained words like Active and Resource and Facilitate. Which meant she was here on the base to keep her ears open, actively help out the Commander on a mission if she could and, when official channels wouldn't do, serve as an unofficial conduit for the Commander between him and whatever governmental entities he needed to talk to. She was also to provide the Commander with intelligence and resources that he wasn't officially entitled to from those same aforementioned governmental entities.
And if I screw up my interpretations of my orders, everything comes crashing down on me, Zuya reflected wryly. Fun fun joy you.
With that optimistic thought in her head, Zuya entered the mess hall.
* * * * *
POV Lynx
"Not to worry, Avery. It needs to be accomplished, and it will be accomplished." Lynx paused, with a mischievous smile appearing on her face. "You know, it wouldn't hurt for you to eat a little more breakfast. I don't mean to be catty, but you eat like a bird." Lynx began chuckling, before she added, "I'm sorry, Avery, but I've been waiting to spring that bad pun on you since I decided to come here."
Just then a young woman entered the far door of the mess hall, heading for the steam line. She was an attractive young woman, in a dark colored flight suit, with hair, features and skin coloring that Lynx recognized as being Native American.
"There certainly are a lot of new faces here," Lynx remarked to Avery. "Which I think is entirely a good thing."
(Approximately two years ago)
http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--5si_t6p9h8/TnF1Gxh3v0I/AAAAAAAADws/73Y4pClVKWM/s640/Native+American+woman++Regina+Lakota+Sioux+-+fb.jpg
Zuya felt like an idiot, crouching in an outfit that looked like a mesh of Mad Max meets Custer's Last Stand meets Playboy Bunnies go Native.
Actually, she liked the war paint. But everything else...idiot.
"And then she said she wouldn't go out with me until I grew my hair back. What's up with that?"
Zuya bit back a dramatic sigh as she amended her earlier assessment. She was dressed like an idiot, standing next to an idiot.
Jimmy Powell wasn't a bad guy. He had grown up on the Big Cypress Reservation in Florida, played free safety for Florida State, then got a commission in the United States Marine Corp after graduation.
But even though he was Seminole, Jimmy suffered the same defect so many white people did. They looked at any Native American as part of a monolithic entity, having the same opinion and belief about everything.
Actually, Jimmy understood that Natives had wide ranging opinions and beliefs on any number of subjects. He just thought that every Native woman would perfectly understand every other Native woman, and particularly any Native woman he was trying to get into bed.
"So, I mean, doesn't she understand that I'm a US Marine? And how come you got to keep your hair that long?" Jimmy asked.
"Because I'm Canadian. And I'm not military, I'm a Mountie. Part of the Force," Zuya answered.
Jimmy just shrugged before continuing, "So why is she insisting that I grow my hair back?"
Zuya's first instinct was to ask Jimmy how the fuck should she know? The girl he was talking about wasn't Lakȟóta like Zuya was. Her second instinct was to tell Jimmy the girl sounded too rez for him anyway.
Instead Zuya just grunted noncommittally. She had learned long ago that when a man tells you his romantic problems, he's not looking for solutions, he's just looking for a sympathetic ear.
There was a buzz in her ear and a command to move in. Zuya was thankful for Jimmy's sudden silence as the pair moved forward.
Jimmy was bare chested, wearing only moccasins and those leather pants with fringes she always saw French trappers wearing in period dramas. Zuya didn't even know if the Seminole wore moccasins. But then, her discussions with Jimmy never covered the traditional clothing of his people; just why he was having trouble getting this Native woman or that into bed.
Zuya's outfit was even worse. She felt every errant breeze on her almost bare ass, and it seemed as if her tits were going to pop out at any minute. The eggheads who were running the show, however, swore up and down that the warp that had popped up in the middle of nowhere could only be entered by members of the First Nations, and the mystic pseudo-technological something or other properties of the warp required that Jimmy and Zuya had to wear their present attire. Zuya was just thankful that Jimmy felt she was off limits, since they had met on a mission. She still felt his eyes checking out her ass as the two carried knapsacks of modern explosives and archaic weapons into the middle of the warp.
-----
(Now)
Zuya stepped off the transporter platform of the Defenders' Lunar Base, giving a nod to the operator and getting directions to the mess hall. With a polite thank you, Zuya made her way down the corridor to her destination. A reflective surface Zuya passed showed a woman of medium height, either in her late twenties or early thirties, clean scrubbed face with barely a hint of makeup, and hair neatly braided into a single strand down the back of a dark greenish-gray flight suit that had the name patch "Z Wagner" over a breast pocket, as well as other patches showing Zuya was a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police temporarily detached to the United Nations.
Of course, there was more to the story than that. While with the Mounties, Zuya had been an active member of their counterintelligence division, as well as being part of the force that dealt with (in Zuya's words) "weird shit." Which meant Zuya had worked with members of security forces from other countries. At present, she was one of the many liaisons between the United Nations and the Newly reconstituted Defenders. Actually, Zuya remembered her complete and official title contained words like Active and Resource and Facilitate. Which meant she was here on the base to keep her ears open, actively help out the Commander on a mission if she could and, when official channels wouldn't do, serve as an unofficial conduit for the Commander between him and whatever governmental entities he needed to talk to. She was also to provide the Commander with intelligence and resources that he wasn't officially entitled to from those same aforementioned governmental entities.
And if I screw up my interpretations of my orders, everything comes crashing down on me, Zuya reflected wryly. Fun fun joy you.
With that optimistic thought in her head, Zuya entered the mess hall.
* * * * *
POV Lynx
"Not to worry, Avery. It needs to be accomplished, and it will be accomplished." Lynx paused, with a mischievous smile appearing on her face. "You know, it wouldn't hurt for you to eat a little more breakfast. I don't mean to be catty, but you eat like a bird." Lynx began chuckling, before she added, "I'm sorry, Avery, but I've been waiting to spring that bad pun on you since I decided to come here."
Just then a young woman entered the far door of the mess hall, heading for the steam line. She was an attractive young woman, in a dark colored flight suit, with hair, features and skin coloring that Lynx recognized as being Native American.
"There certainly are a lot of new faces here," Lynx remarked to Avery. "Which I think is entirely a good thing."
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