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Late evening in South Philly. Juniper Street, to be precise. There's a shabby apartment block there that Aaron has called home for most of his life, and still does. He could probably have afforded something much nicer when he was the rabbi for Rodeph Shalom and working at the mayor's office, but he never did move. Probably build in the 1970s and rarely renovated. It looks its age. But the security is good, and the elevator works.
And that's where Rieko finds herself now, in possession of Aaron's key card and a list of items to get, including his actual go bag. He grabbed all of the sacred items, but not his go bag, which, much like his choice of where to live, probably says something important about him. Forces invisibility freaks Aaron out -- he doesn't like it -- and since she's asserted that she can get in and out without being seen... she's got the keys.
Rieko Sato is not a stealthy person, per se -- in fact, her relationship with the Changeling who taught her the Elemental Clause for Fae cunning depends entirely on the opposite -- but she does have one major advantage over being spotted. The audacity and ability to travel in such a way that no one would even think to look for.
... unfortunately she can't wear her cowboy hat while running along rooftops and jumping from building to building. Tonight she's wearing little in common with her usual wardrobe -- sweat pants, tank top, dark colored jacket -- along with a black bandanna to disguise her face, and a pair of flight goggles. That tremendously large Bowie knife is situated on her hip -- as it nearly always is -- and she's wearing a different odachi on her back. This one's mundane. This one can be drawn to protect herself.
With Aaron's bag slung over one shoulder, Rieko steps out onto Juniper Street at ground level. Sure, she looks a little bit weird, but she always looks a little bit weird - and besides. There's a diner a couple blocks away, and food sounds really good right about now...
The street isn't empty at this hour -- plenty of people coming and going yet -- but there are enough strange people walking around the streets of South Philly that Rieko doesn't get more than a glance from the auntie carrying groceries back from the bodega. She gets a glance, but not more than that.
There are flyers fluttering under the windshield wipers of the cars along the street. People sitting out on their stoops to smoke cigarettes, to shoot the shit, to get out of their un-air-conditioned houses and talk in the Philly evening.
You know who really doesn't look like they belong here? Who is, in fact, in the extreme minority in this scene? The quartet clustered in and around a sedan just across the street from Aaron's apartment building. Two in the front of the sedan, one standing in front of it, and a fourth leaning on the hood, smoking a cigarette. White. The fash swoosh haircut, tight on the sides and faux-pompadoured up top. Polos with the gold stripe around the cuffs, tucked neatly into their jeans or khakis. The one leaning on the hood has full sleeves done, including a sonnenrad on the back of his left arm.
Well, of they weren't here to hurt Aaron, odds are these shitstains are going to get bored and try to hurt someone, and that's not an acceptable outcome. Besides, they might not be the right Proud Boys, but they're still Proud Boys.
There'a a subtle shift in Rieko's posture as she transitions from lazy cowboy to a heightened state awareness. The strap of Aaron's bag is adjusted so it sits tighter - more comfortable - around her shoulders (and can't be grabbed as easily) and her hand instinctively falls to the hilt of her knife as she approaches, tucking it under the hem of jacket.
"Hey," Rieko offers - throwing on her best Ditsy Girl In a Movie voice. "You two guys look, like, really nice and I was wondering if you could maybe give me some directions?"
Who could say no to those big puppy dog eyes. They're hidden by goggles, sure, but they're still so cute.
Cigarette Smoker looks away from the muttered conversation he'd just started with his buddy outside the car and gives Rieko the once-over. She does kind of look like she's about to throw a brick through a Bank of America window in this getup, after all. The two in the car continue to drink their coffee; some sort of podcast or something plays right now. A couple of men earnestly talking about something. There are key words there that Rieko can surely pick up on that I'm not going to bother to type out because some things make me feel icky. Proud Boy ideology is like bathing your brain in a fucking sewer of hate. The shit they're listening to threads together sexism, transmisia, antisemitism, racism and queerphobia all in like a couple of sentences.
"Maybe," Cigarette Smoker answers with a roll of his shoulder, taking another long drag from his Marlboro Red, because he's that kind of man. Gotta get them coffin nails. "Where to? Don't know where the Antifa LARP is happening, sorry."
"Hah," a little giggle-snort. "That's, like, so so funny - but no. I'm looking for, uhh..." She makes a show of fumbling in her pocket for a cellphone. The screen is cracked from being repeatedly dropped. Not much going on in Rieko's head, clearly. Just a dumb, unaware bimbo that doesn't care about her things. "The William Way Center? I think that's what it's called - my English reading isn't very good yet..."
Then she looks back up with those puppy dog eyes. "Say, what're you two listening to? It sounds interesting."
" ... so nasty, though. Seriously, she looks like a ... " The word that follows gets bleeped by the fucking censors, but Rieko hears that ugly five-letter word, the pair inside the car snickering to each other before they turn up the podcast a little and casually sidle out of the car, like this is all very normal.
Let it be reiterated that there are people up and down the street, and cars moving past. For better or worse, there are witnesses right now. "... yeah, sorry, can't tell you how to get there," the smoker answers. The look in his eyes doesn't get much harder than it already was. They're definitely buying what she's selling, they just already had her clocked as someone they think is nasty, and she threw more red flags for them than the entire Soviet Union before she ever opened her mouth.
... and then Rieko says the magic words. "If you can't tell me where it is, could you maybe, like, show me - or better yet - give me a ride?"
... sure does. A small, sharp smile from the ostensible leader, and he answers, "... we can give you a ride," the driver answers, gesturing to the back door of their sedan. "Hop in."
"Oof! Look at those big arms of yours," Rieko's eyebrows disappear behind her bangs, and her lips peel back to reveal her fangs incisors. "I'd love it if a guy like you tried to throw me around a little bit," she says -- activating Fae Cunning with the loophole because I think that technically counts as a challenge. "If you know what I'm saying."
She snatches one of the flyers from the windshield of a nearby car, and slides her sword bundle of cloth into the back seat - along with Aaron's bag - before sliding in behind them.
There's a lot of badly, and barely, coded language in the flyer -- very plainly whipped up by someone with pretty much no design experience -- that's meant to look like it's a BHI-made flyer. Lots of 'Jews not the true Israelites' kind of nasty. But it doesn't really ring true.
The group all pile into the car, putting Rieko into the middle of the back seat, and the response that Rieko gets is a flat, disgusted stare, as the car doors close, and lock.
"Keep your dick in your skirt," the driver snorts, as the car pulls away from the curb. "No faggots here but you."
Fun story: the William Way Center is north of here, and the car starts heading east, toward the Navy Yard, where no one is right now. That's interesting. Just a factoid. Surely irrelevant.
Rieko -- as if entirely oblivious to the danger of this situation -- reaches forward for the Checkers cup, and cracks the top. Then she just... sticks her hand into it and grabs a particularly sizable ice cube, and -- fixing the driver with a very pointed look of annoyance in the rear view mirror -- tosses the ice cube into her mouth moments before her jaw snaps closed with a CRONCH.
Now, these clowns might not be able to see Rieko's actual fangs, but even her mask's teeth glitter eerily - and have an oddly sharp quality to them. "I just really wanted to thank you guys for being so sweet," she renews her smile and it's as if she hadn't actually heard the comment - or just woofed through a solid chunk of ice. "It really says something about how great America is that I can just reliably find a couple of nice boys to show a total stranger around town..."
The response that Rieko gets is -- at this point -- stony silence. The leader, in the front seat, is texting someone, and he only pauses to turn up the podcast that they're listening to. It's a whole lot of interrelated ranting about white heritage, liberal cucks, you know the drill. Some shit is just too gross to type out, even when these boys are about to get their asses severely beat.
As the car gets really, really humid for some fucking reason, the texting stops so that Leaderman can crank up the A/C. It doesn't help. He keeps texting, and the men on either side of Rieko exchange glances across her when she digs her fingers into the cup, but don't say anything, as the car moves out of the populated areas of Philly, down toward the Navy Yard.
There's no one around, just a decaying urban-blight wasteland, when the car pulls over again and the doors all open at once.
"Get out," the leader directs, as one of the men gets out of the back seat, leaving her one path. "This is as far as you go."
"Is this really where the Center is?" Rieko makes an exaggerated show of squinting out the window. "I swear. Philadelphia is, like, so weird. Everything just looks... run down. Eugh." Wow, jeez! This bitch must be hella dense! Rieko slides out of the car -- bringing Aaron's bag in her hand, but slinging the sword bundle of cloth one shoulder as if it were a purse -- and adopting her lazy cowboy stance with her free hand on the hilt of her knife.
Sure, the knife is still hidden under her shirt and jacket but make no mistake, this is a warning. The final chance for these boys to be kind and do the right thing before the lid comes off the jar of whoop-ass.
"This is where you get out," the leader answers; there's a clicking sound as he reaches for something, maybe opening the console and closing it, and he steps out of the car. "Got no time for a Chink with a dick." (Racists are the worst, honestly, they can't even use the right slurs.)
"Fucking freak," agrees one of the others. Backseat 1 and Backseat 2 are moving slowly, almost as if they're herding her away from the car, and moving to circle around her; the driver throws the car in park and gets out but stays on the opposite side of the car. Rieko can see the shape of a pistol in the driver's hand.
Threats are immediately assessed - eyes darting between combatants. The four Proud Boys surrounding her are small beans compared to the leader with his gun. The shift in Rieko's demeanor happens at near-instant speed. Aaron's bag is dropped (sorry, Aaron's stuff) and one hand reaches over her shoulder for the hilt of the odachi nestled in the bundle of burlap. The second hand comes down for the base of it's scabbard, and she's able to bring the weapon to a ready stance far faster than she could with an untrained draw. The cloth has barelly fallen to the ground behind her when she darts around the front of the car -- doing one of those sweet-ass Dukes of Hazzard slides across the hood -- using her momentum to bring the heavy blade down upon the man's gun hand with a massive horizontal chop.
Blade meets bone. It's a cut that only a master with this weapon could pull off in such a hectic few seconds. It's a clean cut. The gun -- and the Proud Boy's hand -- fall to the ground before he does, and she turns her back to the spray to face the rest of the group.
"I gave you boys plenty of chances to do the right thing."
She's not smiling anymore.
The driver -- not the leader, just the dumbass driver -- barely has time to scream before he passes out. Not that anyone near here hears him, a fact which seems to occur to the remaining three Proud Boys as the woman they had assumed was just carrying a bunch of crap (because they failed all their perception rolls) turns out to be armed and incredibly fucking dangerous.
They're cowards. They're not nearly as armed as she is. They're witnesses.
They run.
The thing about trying to throw a Bowie knife is that it's a really heavy knife - and really heavy knives don't fly well unless you can accurately gauge distance, and the speed of your targer. Doing that on the fly after a quick draw? Well that's just ridiculously impressive.
Confident in her accuracy, Rieko doesn't even wait to see if it landed. It's still in the air, and she's already bolting after the other fleeing Proud Boys. Oops, I guess she couldn't keep her dick in her skirt after all. Sorry Winter!
Rushing past the fallen Proud Boy leader -- clutching his wounded leg in shock as he tries to comprehend the fucking Bowie knife sticking out of his leg -- and on to the first of her next targets. She's fast. Ridiculously, stupidly, impossibly fast and she's able to round in front of him. Rieko shifts her grip on the blade, rotating it and slamming the flat of her odachi into the soft bit between the Proud Boy's shin and kneecap. Welcome to Leg Wrack city, bitch!
Leaving behind that fallen Proud Boy, Rieko comes sprinting back around for her final target. She doesn't even have to shift the grip on her blade this time. The odachi comes down like a fucking guillotine, slamming into the wimpy Proud Boy's shin -- nearly taking his fucking legs out from under him -- sending him tumbling to the ground. You get a leg wound, and YOU get a leg wound!
She grabs the fallen Proud Boy by the scruff of his stupid fucking polo, and bodily drags him back over to his other fallen friend. That Proud Boy is grabbed by the scruff of his stupid fucking gold-trimmed polo, and then the pair -- with all the care of someone dragging a particularly heavy bag of trash -- are brought before their leader, and dropped unceremoniously at his feet.
"I'm going to go save your stupid friend from bleeding out," Rieko spits. "If you move from this fucking spot -- even a goddamned inch -- you're going to fucking wish all I pulled out of my skirt was a dick. I will chase your worthless asses down -- like I just fucking did, only easier 'cause you're all hobbled -- and I will fucking gut you with that knife." There's a distant sound of thunder as the oni grips the hilt of her Bowie knife between a thumb and forefinger, and gives it a little wiggle. As a treat. "Then I will literally pull my fucking dick out and piss on your bloody corpses." Beat. "... and mark my words, you will be corpses. Nod if you understand me."
The leader -- smart enough to know when he's fucking beaten, or in this case, stabbed in the leg and unable to flee -- looks down at the ground like a beat dog and nods weakly. His breath's ragged and rough, and when Thing 1 sees that? he falters, too, looking down and nodding mutely. There's a strangled sound when the knife gets wiggled, and an instinctive beginning to pull himself back, then the leader stops.
Thing 2? Bless his heart, he just doesn't have the sense the good Lord gave a goose, his aunt said so once. "Fuck you, you fucking he-she thing," he spits -- literally spits, trying to pull himself away. "'dr'ather be dead than give in. You fucking cucks." This, to his former compatriots. "Talk some shit."
Rieko flicks the sword from the scabbard with her thumb and a very satisfying shink. It isn't even drawn fully. There's just a brief flash, and the pommel snaps forward -- connecting with the center of Thing 2's forehead -- before returning to place at her side.
"Alrighty, then. Does anyone else want to make a comment about my gender, or my presentation?" She flutters her eyelashes. "If so, now's the fucking time."
Though, she doesn't really wait for a response. "Get your fucking wallets out, and make sure that motherfucker is awake by the time I get back." She's already heading over to the bag she dropped, fishing for a First Aid kit to staunch the driver's bleeding wrist.
The thing is, there's no more bleeding. The driver's heart isn't beating anymore, and his eyes stare up at the sky, lifeless. At least he never regained consciousness, so there won't be any inconvenient 'I was killed' Facebook Live thing to chase down. Right? Right.
"Well shit," Rieko sighs, shuffling the driver's wrist with the toe of her boot. She takes a deep breath, joining the driver in looking at the sky for a good, long while. The sword feels heavy on her back as the weight of the past ten minutes settles into place, and she closes her eyes tight. "Fuck." She spits again - this time barely above a whisper. It happens a lot, this. She gets just a little too carried away, and royally fucks something up that should've been simple.
"Stupid piece of shit," she grumbles -- maybe to the Proud Boy, maybe to herself -- as she opens the "car" door, and wrangles the driver's lifeless body into the Hedge. She slams it closed again, picking up the discarded first aid kit from the hood of the vehicle, and then rounds the car to tend to the remaining assholes.
They haven't been able to wake their compatriot up -- he's going to need medical attention before that can happen -- but they're exactly where they were before. Sort of slumped on the ground. Beaten Defeated.
It's easy enough to fix up the wounded Proud Boy's bleeding head and leg with Aaron's extremely well-equipped medical kit. Even pulling her blows, Rieko still solidly nailed the asshole with an odachi - twice - so it's to be expected that there be some injury involved with the incident. The oni is quiet and methodical as she works, ensuring that she takes clear pictures of all three ID's on her phone while waiting for the unconscious Proud Boy to make his return to the waking world.
She places her hand on the hilt of her knife -- which is still in the leader's leg -- to get the attention of all three men. "Repeat after me," she begins. Intense eye contact is made with Thing 2. He's the problem child. She knows that much about the group already. He gets to go first.
"I won't tell a soul about what really happened to me - or my friends, or our car - on the night of July 17th, 2020. This I swear."
The Proud Boy sputters at first, confused at the pointedly brazen statement. She raises an eyebrow, and her hand moves to the hilt of the odachi at her belt. That's all the encouragement he needs to repeat the phrase. One by one, each man's promise is sealed.
"You're free to lie about what happened tonight all you want, but I'll know if you break that promise - and I know how to find you if you do," Rieko wiggles her phone before stuffing it back into the pocket of her sweatpants. "You've got about 6 minutes to get your "fearless" leader to a hospital after I pull this knife out. I recommend that you go back to Juniper street and clean up those fucking flyers. I also suggest you never go back, and I highly suggest that you invest some serious time into being better people." A beat, and she flashes her brilliantly sharp teeth. "Don't disappoint me."
Thing 2 -- dumbass that he is -- stammers out a hurried phrase that sounds roughly like "I won't disappoint you, I'll be better" in his fear, and that promise is sealed, too.
Sure, maybe that was a petty move, but... sometimes? Sometimes you just hope a transphobic Proud Boy wakes up with a migraine.
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