James Little Thunder

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Full Name: James Little Thunder
Gender: Male
Nicknames: Jimmy

Age(As of 2021): 33
Birthday: March 23, 1988

Hair: Black, long, usually kept tied back in a braid.
Skin: Brown
Eyes: Dark brown
Height: 6’3”
Weight: 189
Body Composition: Skinny, wiry.


Place of Residence: formerly Pine Ridge Reservation, currently no fixed address
Place of Birth: South Dakota, USA
Known Relatives: Uncle, mom, sisters (deceased)

Group affiliation(if none put independent): Oglala Sioux/Oglala Lakota
Nationality: USA
Religion/Philosophy: None claimed/Hedonistic

Occupation: Vagrant

Likes: Cigarettes, food, being able to do what he wants
Dislikes: White people, government
Favorite Foods: Whatever’s available, though has a strong preference for Hamburger Helper (Stroganoff).
Favorite Drinks: Alcoholic
Favorite Colors: Red
Hobbies:

Physical Features: Average Native American guy
Special Abilities: Vehicle repair, some rural survival. He does, in fact, know how to hunt and fish.
Positive Personality Traits: Stubborn, determined, practical
Negative Personality Traits: Stubborn, racist
Mental State: Cynical survivor
Misc. Quirks: Dark humor, Cracks a lot of jokes, pokes fun at Native American stereotypes
Weapons of Choice: Shotgun

History:
Oglala Oyanke. Oglala People. That’s what they called that shithole back in the olden days. Nowadays, most people just know it as ‘the Res’, and avoid it. I don’t blame them. Pine Ridge had been screwing over my people for centuries. When the white folks put us out there, they meant for us to stay, y’know? Shit, even when you get off it, it stays with you. Even moreso now that it’s got radiation.

There weren’t many opportunities out there, and there’s no real way to get ahead. Hell, 50% unemployment? The lowest life expectancy of anyone in the Western Hemisphere? Government gives you just enough to survive, but not enough to get anywhere. Folks protested about the shit conditions at even back in the 70s. They ‘protested’ so bad that US Marshals had to cordon off the town of Wounded Knee. Had an uncle involved with that, not that it made a difference.

I guess that makes us the surliest Indians. And something about that makes me smile.

Sad thing is that 40 years later, things still hadn’t changed. Hell, even before the blast, half the trailers had Styrofoam as insulation. Most people had to rely on wood stoves. Most of us didn’t have electricity, telephone, running water, or sewer. Was a rough way to grow up, but I guess it was training for the way things are now, hnh? Or it could be that those are all excuses. Could be that I was just lazy and it was easier to mooch off the government. I ain’t exactly walking the Red Road, as they say.

But maybe it was all for a reason. Maybe there was something watching out for me. Never put much stock into the sage and sweetgrass crap my mom did, but every so often I wonder. I’d been away when the blasts hit the base out here. A good five hours away. State Pen, though I really don’t want to get into why I was there. But whatever the circumstances, I was out of the blast range, and out of the fallout. When things went to crap, I remember a lot of people being pretty eager to get out of there.

I don’t know where half those people went. I doubt many of them survived. But I remember things getting real quiet in the weeks after the blast. I knew better than to go home. It wasn’t too far from the base, so I figured it’d be destroyed. If not from the initial blast, then from the fallout. It wasn’t much of a home anyway.

I did a little bit of fishing, but mostly I used my Native skills to scavenge some food from the local grocery stores. And of course, no part of the can or wrapper went to waste. For transport, I hotwired an abandoned pickup. Hell, the old pickup I had back on the Res had a hole in the floor. I knew enough to fix that, so this was nothing. I’ve been using it ever since. Gas stations are surprisingly plentiful. For a weapon, I scavenged some white guy’s house. Don’t know where he went, or why he left his guns behind, but I got the feeling he wouldn’t be needing them anymore.

After that, I just spent the rest of my time just wandering. Don’t know what for. Maybe trying to find survivors. Maybe trying to find purpose. Maybe it’s getting back to my roots, though I’m pretty damn sure there ain’t no buffalo out here.

One thing I gotta say though: there’s a certain amount of justice in whitey blowing themselves up.

Haha, great bio Virama, glad you could join us.

It should be interesting to see a racist in the story lol

well it's going to be interesting if Mr really pale Norwegian runs into Thunder

What's actually going to be interesting is when he finds out that my character is half Native American and half Caucasian (undecided on the exact race just yet).

Havoc wrote:

Haha, great bio Virama, glad you could join us.

It should be interesting to see a racist in the story lol

Well, I figure it's a realistic character flaw. Plus, it makes for a bit of controllable tension.

Jedi-Smith wrote:

well it's going to be interesting if Mr really pale Norwegian runs into Thunder

"Aw, it's ok. We don't scalp white people no more...

We just shoot them."

Mesh'la Runi wrote:

What's actually going to be interesting is when he finds out that my character is half Native American and half Caucasian (undecided on the exact race just yet).

Depends on whether her mom's native, or her dad's native. If it's her mom, then obviously it's the white folk stealing native wimmen. If it's her dad that's native, he'd be all "Sup, sister from another mister."

It's her mom, lol. And yeah she'll totally take offense to that. Like i said; interesting.