|
Wednesday evening is when Kol Tzedek currently hosts their mid-weekly Torah Queerys discussion, which, naturally, one (1) small gay merperson must attend. It's been a long conversation about the concept of 'legacy' and how that bears out in a community that lost a generation of elders, in a city where AIDS never stopped being a crisis, especially among queer Black men. A long conversation, but a good one, even if there were a lot of things that Ziv wanted to say, but couldn't, because while Aaron may be clued in on how old they are, exactly, everyone else there isn't.
This is why a supernatural minyan needs to be a thing, clearly. Some things you need to discuss with people where you can actually say it's a little weird, because I was Taken, and now I came back and it's not just that whole generations of my family are gone, it's that they were exterminated.
But this is a thing that's been weighing on Ziv's mind as they hold on to the straps of their backpack, walking with Aaron after Torah Queerys has ended, wandering through the streets and just -- talking. They got on the trolley, then the subway, then they just ... kept walking. Past Aaron's apartment, and further on. "... I try so hard," they explain, reaching up absently to adjust their Genderfluid Pride kippah, something they wouldn't actually wear out in public not in company, for self-preservation reasons, "not to focus forever on what is gone, and to try to focus my thoughts of legacy on what I can still change. Otherwise, all we are, all I am, is the sum of our misery. And we're so much more." Queer and Jewish alike, that seems to reflect.
Aaron passes for a queer elder in such spaces. And certainly the men that he met coming up did. Before they disappeared, one by one, many of them. So he speaks with eloquence and dignity about those days. Queer history and queer theology are his specialties, as it happens. And so in this room he gets to show his whole self in that regard. And his still simmering quiet fury at what was done to his community through political indifference and social stigmatization of gay men.
And when it's over, and they're walking through the streets of the city again, he nods his rainbow-bekippahed head in quiet agreement with Ziv. "It's hard. I'm angry, more than I mourn. I try to let that anger fuel me and carry me forward. I support the kids at the Attic. I do outreach. I mentor. I reach out where I can. There's... so many kids, though. In this town. On the streets. And most of them don't want to be pitied or coddled or ... you know? Especially by a man with religion." Just another thing the evangelicals ruined for them, honestly."
Ziv surely does not pass for any kind of elder, which is ironic by calendar years but correct by lived experience -- they're only in their early twenties in any sort of meaningful in-this-world chronology. They listen, a lot, and a lot of what they say is informed by having missed the times that Aaron talks about. There's a hole in their life and they keep prodding it like a lost tooth even while they reach for joy.
"I understand anger. There's a philosophy that talks about anger versus wrath. It's not my philosophy, but I find it useful. That anger is -- lashing out, misdirected, just hitting blindly, you know? But then -- wrath. Wrath is visited on the firstborn with laser-pointed accuracy, if you'll forgive the example. Anger is Elisha sending bears after kids." Beat. "Actual bears, naturally." And they press their lips together after their terrible joke, nodding. "All we can do is what we do."
Though the group of young men are fairly well disguised within the crowd of citygoers moving about the streets on their business, queer folks -- but especially queer lost often have a knack for spotting potential trouble. Usually it's a misfire - hopefully it's a misfire - but there's a reason we develop these skills, 'cause sometimes it's not.
Most of the group -- three 20-somethings standing outside a shop, hanging on the every word of an older man in a white button up -- don't really ping as immediately dangerous. Fortunately, two among their number do. Red hats -- even worn backwards -- aren't exactly stealthy in this day and age, and from there it's easy to notice the close-cropped military-style haircut worn by the 30-something... and the shift in their attention when they catch words of the passing conversation.(edited)
"Any possible joke I could make right now would be incredibly inapproprite," Aaron says with a peal of laughter, "so just assume it was naughty and off-color and let it be." Aaron's been at this Rabbi game for over a decade. And he's been an activist for longer. These heels are familiar to him by sight now. So much so he was able to clock one in a crowd on the day of his Awakening. The day he drilled a Cop and changed his life forever. So when he does a bit of a double-take at the clutch of youths, he plays off trading spaces with Ziv like it's some little in-joke or game for the both of them, placing himself bodily between the potential threat and the tiny twink in his company.
If Ziv has half the sense of situational circumstances that Aaron does, they'll know what's really going on, here. Aaron's hackles are up. Literally. The hair on his arms is standing up, even.
Laughter bubbles up from Ziv, the way that air bubbles up from underwater when a person's getting drowned. Don't think about it too much. It's laughter, and it's genuine, but then it takes a slightly different timbre. Just a little forced. Look, it's safe enough to go to Torah Queerys with the bear you've been keeping company with, in your relatively short shorts and rainbow tank top and your pride kippah -- because if you're going to wear that shit, that's when you wear it -- but it's another thing to be walking afterwards and see the button-ups and red hats, the gold stripe on the cuffs of the polos. The change in the timbre of their laughter is very much ha ha I'm in danger.
Aaron swaps places with them, and they move with ridiculous smoothness in allowing that to happen. A hand reaches out to touch his arm. They know.
None of them move -- beyond their eyes following the pair -- from the storefront they're currently loitering around, thankfully. Just. Mutter to themselves without averting their gaze, and eventually - when Aaron and Ziv are far enough past - they turn back to whatever they had been doing before.
... probably.(edited)
"One of two things is about to happen, Ziv. Either we're about to get away and enjoy our night, or we're about to get jumped." Aaron's just making certain that while Ziv knows? That they know know. "If I get into a fight that gets seen or recorded, that's a problem. Especially considering what I can do to these guys if they don't let me talk them down." He slips his arm around Ziv's shoulders and tucks them in close for the walk, putting on a good show of being oblivious from a distance. "I'm going to take us down an alley. If we don't see them after a few minutes, we can keep on going. Maybe call a Lyft. If they show up, I want you to stay hidden as best you can. And. Forgive me for what I might have to do."
And true to his words, at the next possible opportunity, Aaron steers Ziv down the alley with what might read as amorous intent. Yes. We are publicly queer. Let us go have alley sex. As all good upstanding western chauvinists know is what the gays do. They have degenerate alley sex. It is known. And once they're down the alley a hair, Aaron starts assessing the terrain and options.
"I'm not going to hide," Ziv answers very calmly. "I only look like these assholes are a threat to me, Aaron. And I'm done hiding in dark riverbeds. If it gets too bad, I have ways out." They're tucked in neatly alongside him, and they turn their head into him, kissing his shoulder. Yep. They're totally going to go have degenerate alley sex like the public queers they are. That's absolutely what's about to happen.
"But maybe we'll just call a Lyft. Maybe they're not that dumb." No, Ziv, you know that's not the case.
Oh ho ho. What a world it would be if Proud Boys weren't that dumb. They probably wouldn't be proud boys. Unfortunately, we live in the bad timeline, so these dillholes exist in their racist, rat-fuck, asshole incarnation - and their prejudice strongly colors their ability to see clearly on the subject of y'all's plans.
... on the bright side, this is a pretty slick alley for a showdown. Low light, a bottleneck, a foul-smelling restaurant dumpster, and a propped open door towards the back with the sounds of a loud kitchen spilling out into the night.
There's a few particulars that Aaron must see to before he can potentially beat the shit out of some assholes in a West Philly alleyway. The first is that his 100% cotton dry clean only oxford blue dress shirt needs some unbuttoning. And the tie he's wearing needs some loosening, even removal. He tugs on the tie to loosen it, then snaps it free, draping it over the lift bar of the nearby dumpster. Then he unbuttons the cuffs and works the buttons down the front of his shirt a bit before tugging it loose out of his trousers and peeling it, still somewhat buttoned, right off his back. He hangs it up on that lift bar, too. His wife beater undershirt is freshly white. The man knows his bleach and rinse cycles. He carefully removes his star of David necklace, hangs that up likewise, then starts removing his collegiate rings, sticking them into his pockets. There's a deep breath in through the nose and a slow exhale out the mouth as his body briefly flexes and tenses and falls calm again. Pulse measured, respiration easy, nerves calm. His eyes then roll open and he waits, hands folded before himself, just watching the entrance of the alleyway.
The Darkling doesn't have nearly so much to prepare. They're scrawny as hell, and dressed like the tiny little twink they are, in a rainbow tank top and short shorts. But they calmly take their kippah off of their head, unzip the front pocket of their backpack, and put kippah and clips in the pocket. Necklace taken off, put in the pocket. Zipped shut. Backpack set down. Then they casually kick the door leading to the kitchen closed.
No witnesses. Winter gets cranky about witnesses.
Aaron's hands begin to move through a slow kata. And although Ziv isn't aware what they are seeing, his hands form the mudra for Perfecting, followed by the mudra for Life. The area is suffused in a sudden sense of purpose that Ziv cannot likely immediately orient a source for. But when Aaron turns towards them and reaches out his extended knife-hand to brush over their arm, they can definitely feel the sudden surge of power in their body. Power and speed both, in truth. Adrenaline straight into the lizard brain. Another breath in, another slow exhale out through the mouth, and the kata ends with him resuming his casual ready stance.
Given how prepared Aaron and Ziv are for the situation, it probably comes as no surprise (because these fuckers are as stealthy as they are smart) when that wannabe Gavin McInnis-lookin' motherfucker, and his posse of shitheads roll around the corner just after Aaron's spell goes off -- cutting off the mouth of the alley with their numbers -- and following them down towards the back.
Their leader's eyes dart to Ziv at the kitchen door - which seems to spark a cruel little sneer as he misreads the situation. "Ain't it just like a little soyboy to try and run away from a fight," he drags his gaze over Aaron, leaden with the unearned confidence of a tall white guy with three goons at his back. "... and you." He wags a finger - clearly showing off for his dipshit flock. "Haven't I seen you on the news or something?" There's a knowing little wink, and he taps his temple with an index finger. "Lucky us. That means nobody'll give a shit when they find you."(edited)
The touch to their arm, and the rush of power that comes with it, has Ziv's eyes widening, and they look up at him with their hazel eyes brilliant and sharp. That attention turns down the alley, and the Darkling slowly leans a hand out to the kitchen door and presses against it, making sure it's actually closed. They let out a little breath through their nose, a small sound from just next to Aaron, now, that's a little like 'well, here we go again.'
"I laid out a cop in full riot gear with one punch and stood there while his buddies clubbed me for twelve straight seconds. But sure, guys. Sure. You got this." Aaron gives them an encouraging thumbs up. His half-hearted attempt to talk them out of it is just that. Half-hearted. Honestly, there's been a part of him eager to go this route with these guys for quite some time now. And now, at last, the time has arrived. "My name is Aaron, incidentally. Aaron Cohen." He touches a hand to his chest, indicating himself. "You care to introduce yourselves, or are you just going to make your play? I'm good either way."
The first of the three 20-something goons darts forward. Y'see, he's been drinking deeply from the Dipshit Cup, and he's eager to stick his wimpy little pocket knife between Aaron's ribs. Unfortunately for him, eagerness doesn't determine combat effectiveness in this game, and Aaron is able to easily turn aside the blade, or evade it if he chooses.(edited)
Aaron casually swipes the stab to the side with a stiff forearm, then drops his elbow right into the middle of the kid's bicep with brutal force before palming his face and pushing him away with his free hand. His expression never alters.
Knifeboy takes his lumps with all the grace of a proper Proud Boy - which is to say that he definitely whines. The second of the three steps forward to engage Aaron in the melee, but... unfortunately for him, he's only got his fists to rely upon. He throws his first punch -- a reckless, heaving swing with such bad form that leaves him open -- and it misses the mark. He's rewarded with another retaliatory punch, and drops his guard to grab his nose.
Aaron bats away the next swing and rewards the attempt with the heel of his hand straight into the poor guy's face. He shoves the newer assailant clear, then spins up a kick at the arm of the knife wielding dickbag. It hisses past and returns to the ground behind Aaron as he finally puts up his dukes into a proper boxing guard. His expression briefly evidences a scowl before he schools it back to composure.
It's Fucker Number Three's time to shine! He's been waiting for this for his whole life. He turns his sights on Ziv. You see, he's a big, strong, manly man - or at least that's what his friends tell him, anyway. Which is obviously why he followed two unarmed people into an alley with his three friends, and then decided to pick on the smaller of the two. Y'know. 'Cause he is definitely not a coward.
He brings up his fists, a grin on his face (which is not at all cowardly! Nope!) as he takes a swing at Ziv... but.
Oh no.(edited)
The little twink moves with an inhuman grace as the last of the Proud Boys comes in their direction. Oh no, indeed. He swings, and he misses, as Ziv steps to one side smoothly, as if they're dancing together. They don't even bother to put up their fists or anything of the like. "Hey, buddy," they chirrup cheerfully, every motion as liquid as the water they are. "You know, sometimes I suck his dick while he reads Torah? It's true."
(It's not true. Yet. Ziv just thought about it now.)
"Oh no, you missed the little fag, that's very sad." And he does, in fact, miss Ziv entirely, just whiffing his fist right through the air and directly into the ear of his buddy, knocking his stupid backwards red head right off his head.
Deep down, our Wannabe Gavin McInnis-lookin' motherfucker knows his three goons are wimpy pieces of shit - which is why he brought a contingency. His hand drops to his holster, and he produces a little .38 Special. The safety comes off, and he brings it to bear against the bear.
Aaron spots the pistol being drawn, and fortunately for him he's drilled on this one. Once more a quick series of katas is offered, in which the mudras for Forces and Fraying are formed, after which he thrusts out a hand towards the man and his gun. Like he's some fucking idiot that can turn bullets with his hands or something. Another flare of purpose fills the alley way. And that gun can just keep on clicking for the rest of the night to no avail. Not that discount Gavin knows that.
No More Hat, and Knife Boy's mommas' words echo in their heads, and they know what they have to do! Unfortunately, Bigotry is all-too-easy to pass down to your children, and since their Mom's sucked, too? Mom's approval says it's time to stab and/or punch Aaron Cohen! This time, Knife Boy's swipe connects -- I assume on account of Aaron being busy stopping the greater threat -- with his target's midsection. Following up on his friend's success, No Hat takes a swing which connects center-of-mass.
Guy Who Has One of Those Faces turns back to Ziv - he's definitely going to succeed in punching that twink this time, he just knows it... Alas! His worldview is wrong so what he knows doesn't mean shit! His swing goes wide.
Wannabe Gavin levels his pistol at Aaron -- hell, it even looks like he might be a good shot -- a satisfied smile spreads across his features as he pulls the trigger. Click. He frowns. Click. "What the fuck?" Click. Click. Click. He tosses the Not-So-Firearm to the side, and readies his fists for next turn.
This time, Ziv doesn't say any blasphemous stuff that might actually upset Aaron later. They stick out their tongue and blow a raspberry at the Very Angry Punching Man, who, yes, misses them again and once more slugs his friend. This hit lands in the kidney. Seriously, dude, ow.
So focused on a minor success, No-Hat doesn't even turn in time to see his friend's fist collide with his back. Of course, how could he see someone hit him in the back, but that's not the point! He whines and curses like the little fucker he is!(edited)
If there's one thing Aaron has learned over the years? Take out the leader and the followers crumble. When Gavin realizes his gun is useless, Aaron cracks a knowing grin and rises out of his stance to just start walking towards the man. Right through his goons who Ziv is handily schooling. He snaps off a quick left jab at the bridge of the man's nose to get him dazed and get his jaw slack and then follows it with a brutal right cross at that slack jaw. There's a loud crack and down goes Gavin with Aaron standing over him. He nudges the man over onto his side to keep his airway open, then turns back to face the rest of the trio.
Now he's blocking the exit.
"You always try and you never learn. We will outlive you."
I guess there must be something to letting your friends kick the shit out of you, because even though his body wants to drop, No-Hat manages to stay up despite the two punches he took, and his darkening vision. Maybe he's just thinking about breakfast cereal.
The thing is. Aaron is correct. These goons are cowards. They want to run -- hell, they wanted to run before their shitty leader went down like Ziv, apparently, when Aaron's reading the Torah -- but Aaron Cohen is clearly in their way. One turns to face the larger of the pair, throwing everything he has (which is, hilariously inadequate for the task) into a punch. The other two turn on Ziv, because surely they can manage to do something right today.
Spoilers: they can't! Everyone misses.
The Spring watches both of them come toward them, and then casually just ... drops, fluidly, like they're in the club, busting some sweet-ass dance move. They're little to start with, and then they duck, and once again these two meatheads hit each other. "Come on, you two! Go down! You need to learn from the faggots and go down and stay down!"
They slip back out of the way, and the knife meant for Ziv's ribs hits the most boring guy in the world right in the gut. Ouch. That has got to hurt.
Aaron's response to the charging proud boy is to step into the attack at the last moment, grab his shoulders, and shoot a knee straight up into his solar plexus. As he groans his way down to the ground, Aaron touches the wound on his side, hisses a bit, and then looks to knife boy. He is the one that ruined his undershirt.
Aaron walks back in his direction with blood on his fingers, smearing it on the front of his shirt as he closes on the man. And he doesn't look happy about it. He draws him back by the shoulder, spins knife boy around to face him, and slams a headbutt right into the bridge of the man's nose. The outsized blow sends the man flying backwards and onto his back, out cold.
"Okay okay okay jeez, fine!" Boring Man throws up his hands -- wincing in pain as stretching reminds him of his newly acquired knife wound -- in surrender. "Look," he begins, y'know, on account of being a coward that's willing to try and lie his way out of trouble that he started. "I just hang out with these guys! I'm actually down -- You know, like you said! -- with the homos and the transgenderds."
He's clearly lying, but he is surrendering.(edited)
Very rarely does Ziv want to actually hit someone, but right now, boy. All that queer rage that's so often neatly capped and diverted and turned into lust and earnest joy comes out in an unpracticed swing that's backed by the force of their will (and a handy dose of Life Magic, too). Ziv doesn't even say anything until their tiny fist connects with his nose, and a spray of blood accompanies the crunch of cartilage and bone. It's only when he crumples at their feet that Ziv hisses between their teeth:
"Liar."
Aaron watches it all with renewed dispassion. For his first outing since beginning his training with Yoshitsune, this wasn't a terrible showing. He still let his anger get the better of him, but all the sleepers are still alive, the Veil remains largely in tact, and all the friendlies are still on their feet. Even allowing for the weeping wound in his side, this was a win. His head tilts slowly to the side as he observes the last of the group to go down in a heap, then he simply wills the wound in his side to close. Not risking more paradox, he just uses his own potentia and his discipleship attainment to get the job done. Then he peels out of his undershirt and wipes up the worst of the blood from his injury, trying to clean it enough to escape casual notice on the street.
"We don't have long, Ziv. Help me get dressed, please. Hand me my shirt, pocket my tie. Toss me my necklace."
"We should go," Ziv agrees quietly, as soon as the last body hits the ground. It's like watching the lights go down on the stage. The show is over, and the Siren closes up the act. They're content, and proud, but they're not happy. "Come here. Let me see to that. You can't be bleeding the whole way home." A pause, and they reassure: "I'm not hurt."
He knew that already, probably, but they say it anyway. And then they pick up their backpack, sling it onto their back, and grab Aaron's things. The sooner he's not bleeding, the sooner they can get him dressed without incident.
|