It's Tuesday evening in the back room of the bookstore, and Gisa is settled in their favorite chair. In her left hand and propped on the end of that same chair arm is a half-full glass of red wine. One ankle's propped on the opposite knee, forming a platform on which she can rest her book -- a battered volume that's clearly well-loved and quite old, with post-its sticking out of various pages and notations in the margins. Things underlined. That sort of thing. Her right hand balances the book, holds a pen, turns pages right to left occasionally, and sometimes makes a little note in a margin or underlines something. Thoughtful Golem Face. The shin on her forehead glows with a gentle, steady light.
Wait. Wasn't she just doing almost exactly this a few days ago? Goylomim aren't exactly creatures of ceaseless novelty, okay?
"Can he really not understand why white people might actually protest things like that?" Iris is saying in a totally natural, converesational tone. Possibly to someone on the phone since it's in her hand and held in front of her and looking at the screen as she comes in through the door. "Some of them aren't completely oblivious, you know. And then..." she trails off as she looks up and sees Gisa, then slips the phone into a pocket on the loose, pale pink maxi dress she's wearing. Either she just put an active call into her pocket, or she was just talking to herself. She didn't sound like someone angrily ranting, either. Just casually talking. "Good book? Wait, is that the same one you were reading last time I asked about your book?" She comes over to try to sit on the arm of the chair and peer at what Gisa's reading, as if totally oblivious to personal space, unless pre-empted.
"Yes, and no," Gisa answers, closing the book and setting it aside. "I read a different page every day. I thought about doing an accelerated dof yomi schedule, because my brain works faster now, but that would be sort of missing the point of the cycle. Shalom, my friend." The golem raises their etched-in eyebrows. "What are white people protesting and nor protesting?" She reaches carefully for her wine glass; ceramic fingers chime against the glass.
"No need to rush it, right?" says Iris, perched on the chair's arm in a way that probably should be precarious, except for an honest, no exaggeration superhuman sense of balance. "Sometimes the whole point is not to rush. There's probably a reason nobody has invented speed yoga yet, or at least that it hasn't caught on if they did." She stands back up, since the book is closed and there's nothing to peer over Gisa's shoulder at. "What *aren't* they protesting these days? There are people protesting people protesting other people protesting. In this case I was specifically talking about someone who doesn't get why a white person would carry a Black Lives Matter signn, because they think it's racist against white people." She rolls her eyes so dramatically it involves pretty much her whole body moving.
The golem doesn't seem bothered by Iris' perching, or her closeness. Apparently this is part of being one of Gisa's motleymates: you get to be close. Goylomim suspend some of their normal rules for their protectees. "Ah. Yes. That whole thing. I will be honest, I do not quite understand the subdivisions of humanity in America. Mostly, I do not understand -- and I mean literally do not understand -- how Americans think their subdivisions are universal. It's exhausting." Beat. "But many human things are exhausting." Gisa is sitting in her favorite chair, having set aside the Talmud for the evening, and she has a half-glass of wine, as is her end-of-day custom. Iris is perched on the arm of the chair, invading the golem's personal space. "Subject change: I did the research we talked about." Elementals: so subtle.
Iris spreads her arms in a shrug so expansive it requires her wings slipping free of her rmaxi dress in the back and spreading too. "People are great at making a huuuuge deal out of those divisions at all the wrong times, and nothing out of them when they're really important. It's all quite silly. Sometimes I honestly wonder why I love humans so much anyway, but I do. And not, despite any memes, because they're crunchy and good with ketchup. I don't eat people. I just wish they'd be aweesome to each other." And then she shows exactly how much she'd actually been worrying, or even thinking, about the research because it takes her a good few seconds of blank staring before the light comes on in her eyes. Literally, since as she was trying to figure it out the faint glow in them had faded and only returned when she put two and two together. "Oh," she finally says. Like she's not sure if she wants to know or not. "I should have realized you were serious."
Alonso is not having a good month. There's the whole private war in the hedge that's totally a secret from Gisa, and then there was the wobbly killed in Charlottesville. And then there's the whole spate of terrorist violence in Barcelona. So for a Catalonian Wobbly? It's sucked lately. He's been on the bottle a bit more than usual. Okay, a lot more than usual. It's yet to become A Problem, but it's certainly masking a problem as it were. He joins the pair in the back room, finds himself a chair, and sinks down into it to drink right from his bottle. It's wine, so it's not like he's murdering his liver or anything. But still. He offers a single wave to both dragon and golem, and participates in their socializing vicariously.
The golem stretches her arm out toward Alonso, summoning the taller but thinner man toward her. Look. She has a lap. It is warm. There is not currently a dragon in it, because lap priority belongs to grumpy Spanish Darklings. One in particular. "I am always serious about research," Gisa answers, "especially research that requires trips to synagogues." The rest of the conversation, about human divisions and all the like, is sort of set aside for the time being. "I found out quite a bit about your mother's side of the family. But I will not tell you if you do not want to know. Sometimes, knowledge is a burden." I mean, Gisa would kind of crack up if anyone brought information about her own family to her, but, you know, it's her one point of hypocrisy.
Iris has not yet assumed basking position in the warm lap of a golem, and this seems to be more of a pacing conversation than a basking one anyway, so the Spanish Darkling currently present has little competition for lap space. Iris looks at him with curiosity when he comes in, nictitating membrances sliding into place and back as she watches him go to a chair and sink down into it, and if the worry is visible on her reptilian face it's probably significant, since usually she isn't read so easily. But Gisa isn't being sidetracked, so neither is she, and she starts to walk distractedly as she thinks about the question of whether she wants to know or not. "My mom's side?" she asks. "Just my mom's? I never knew anything about them. I don't even know how much 'side' there was there, since I was never told anything." She stops pacing, wrings her hands for a moment, then makes herself stop and turns back to face Gisa. "Okay," she says. Then she closes her eyes, rare for the colorful draconian except when she's sleeping. "Okay. Tell me." She opens her eyes again. "I think I might need some wine too, though."
Le Pouf. Alonso evaporates in a puff of air, swirling away like the smoke of a blown out candle. Just like that, he's gone from his chair. A split second later he appears in Gisa's lap, bottle, floppy hat and all the rest. Because being grumpy and depressed means abusing your powers now and then. His aim is quite good, and he doesn't have to do much more than shift about to get himself comfortable once he's 'landed'. Snuggling up to Gisa comes quite naturally to him, obviously. He does take a rather bracing gulp from his bottle before offering it out towards Iris in wordless support. Here. You'll want this.
Okay, she knew he could do that, but she wasn't expecting him to do that on her lap, so Gisa is briefly sidetracked, yelping once, and then laughing. It's a big, hearty laugh when she does laugh -- a rare enough thing -- showing her diamond teeth in a flash of light-catching, rainbow-throwing brilliance. "Oh, motek," she offers gently, petting Alonso's spine, letting him settle in. She reaches her other hand out toward Iris. "Not just about your mother's side," she confesses. "It was easier to start the journey by finding your father in the local synagogue's records, and from there I traced his marriage to your mother. But I admit that I focused on your mother's side for two reasons. One, because depending on the movement of Judaism you follow, matrilineal claims matter more. I don't give a single hoot, matrilineal or patrilineal, a diaspora culture is maintained by those who claim you, not just by blood." Another pet of Alonso's back. Yes, she knows he's having a bad month, but sometimes you just need to snuggle a Darkling and soothe him and maybe he'll get some good sleep. Basically people are all still infants in their lizard brains, let's be honest. Sometimes you just need a good soothe and a warm snuggle and a bottle and a nap. Ahem.
"The second reason, and this is the more important to me, is because of what you told me. You told me that your mother passed when you were quite young, and you didn't remember her. You had a negative emotional reaction to speaking about your father. So, to be completely honest, I followed the thread that I thought you would most want me to follow." A deep breath in, a slow breath out. "Iris, you are most definitely Jewish, if you want to claim that part of your lineage. We will care for you no matter what you decide, I must reiterate. My caring for you is not contingent upon you being Jewish." It needs saying. And then?
"Your mother was raised in the synagogue in Burlington, and... you... have living relatives there."
Drop one bombshell, and then a bigger one, and then shut up.
Iris is might have been inclined to remark on Alonso's admittedly pretty awesome trick, but she's distracted. Distracted enough that she doesn't even go to get the bottle at first. She's waiting for whatever bombshells get lobbed her way, looking anxious and uncertain for the first time that Alonso or Gisa has probably ever seen. Hesitation, caution, or doubt aren't usually in her emotional vocabulary, so the display of those things from her now is like her speaking in affectively speaking in tongues.
Gisa starting out with explanations that don't immediately roll over her means that Iris has a chance to grab the bottle, though, and she takes a few steps to do just that. She takes a swig from it as she listens, but continues to watch Gisa with intensity as she waits for answers to come. She nods at the reasonings behind looking at her mother's side, and the fact that she doesn't give much of a shit about the other branches of her family tree. When she's told she's Jewish she doesn't seem to be terribly surprised by that, not outraged or elated. For the most part she doesn't seem to know how to react.
Then she's told she has family that's still alive in Burlington and the news almost literally knocks her off her feet. "Wait. What?" The gears in her head grind to halt, her face goes kind of blank at the same time as the faint light that glows in her eyes and scales grows dark. She stumbles a step over to the chair without her usual grace, leans unsteadily against its arm, and stares into space for a moment. "Really?" she asks after a moment, kind of stupidly.
"Yes. You have living family," Gisa answers, simply enough. The golem pauses to take a sip of her wine, hand carefully curled around the goblet, and then sets the glass down. "The great-grandson of your uncle, your mother's brother. Your mother, Shoshana, her entire family was in Burlington, Vermont. I spoke with the rabbi there, at length, when I went through the records." The way they say this is all very matter-of-fact, but also very gentle. Don't startle the rainbow-breathing dragon! "Daniel Meir is his name, your great-grand-cousin. The rabbi offered to put you in contact, and I said that he was welcome to give my email to Daniel. Then if you wanted to talk to him, and he was interested in reaching some lost relatives, I could respect both your privacy." She clears her throat. "I have the supporting documentation. I was very thorough." Of course she was.
Iris continues to look a little dumbfounded, but she shows she's listening to Gisa still by turning to look at her as she explains as gently as she can. The bottle gets brought to her lips, and then she drinks, but it's all kind of on auto-pilot. Finally, she shakes her head like she just can't quite believe everything, and then her reboot sequence from her brain crash seems to finish, and the lights come back on. Literally. The glow returns to the coruscating scales, making their colors shimmer and swirl once more, and her eyes follow suit. "That's..." she says, as her operating system comes back online. "That's AWESOME!" Then a beat, a swig from the bottle of wine, and she notes, "I don't know the first damned thing about being Jewish, you know. Will you teach me?" And there she is, Iris is back to her usual self; headlong into whatever.
"If you need a hug at any point in any of this, Iris, I have plenty to spare," Alonso finally speaks up. Despite his own down mood, he seems to be quite intent on keeping the focus on Iris's situation at present. What with giving her his bottle, and all. "I know it's probably a lot. What you're feeling right now. What you're dealing with. But you don't have to deal with it alone, and right now nobody in your family is aware of the situation but you yourself. It's just like it was yesterday, only now you have an answer. So you can plan. Yes? You're armed with knowledge now." Alonso scoots a bit to the side in Gisa's lap, literally making room for Iris, while implying she's welcome to the space he's created. "Next week we'll discover I'm descended from a family of conversos, and we can all go to shul together on Fridays."
"It's more likely than you think, and you come to my dinners and come to shul with me anyway. If you want me to look, I will look. Though that might require travel to Spain, and quite a bit more looking, than going back three generations in Vermonth." Of course Gisa takes Alonso's conversos statement seriously. It is extremely possible, there are a lot of people who have converso history and don't know it, what with, you know, the way that all went down. And the theft of children. And the rape. And the, uh, yeah. All of it.
Iris' reactions make Gisa laugh again, a large, hearty laugh, and she stretches her arm out when Alonso makes room for the dragon. Here, here is my warmth, in it you may bask. "Of course. I would be honored. It would be a great mitzvah to be able to teach you." Delight glitters -- literally -- in her fiery eyes.
Iris is a very physical creature, she's just also good about trying to mind people's boundaries and generally trying not to stomp across them in inadvertently. When two sets of arms are opened to her in invitation, though, she doesn't hesitate to slide down onto Gisa's lap and settle in, doing her best to avoid jabbing anyone with elbows, scratching them with claws, clocking them with her horns, or otherwise causing bodily injury with the many dangerous parts of a dragon. "When have you ever seen me plan, Alonso? That's not really style. It's probably smart to do a bit of it before I go tell this cousin of mine that I'm his ancient ancestor's niece or whatever, though. That might raise questions." She presses a thoughtful (and dangerously taloned) finger to her lips. "If he emails you, I'll figure it out," she decides after a moment. "What's shul? And I'm guessing this mitzvah thing is good, but I don't know what you mean by that, either. Am I going to have to get... not baptized, is there some kind of equivalent?" Well, she seems to have recovered.
Alonso does make room, indeed, and being a darkling is basically made entirely of sinew and elbows, so he's not really one to complain. Once Iris is situated, he scoots back in and leans against her side companionably. The dragon's infectious good mood doesn't quite pierce his glum, but he does seem more settled now than he had been. "I think it's best I let Gisa answer all of your questions about being Jewish, seeing as I am not Jewish that I know of and am not a student of Judaism to the extent she is. I've always treated it a bit like a social club with special lingo and have really enjoyed the company and socializing that it's presented me. If you can learn a few prayers, you're more or less always welcome at a synagogue. Useful when one is traveling, you know? Anyway." He trails off, letting Gisa take it from here.
"Tell him you are descended from... well, yourself. Or something of the like. We can look into your life after you were Taken, figure out the best story, and craft it from there. It is possible, through some contacts that I have in Israel, to have records... corrected. In certain synagogues. After all, we are discovering ourselves anew all the time. Forced conversions, pogroms... our history is littered with death and diaspora. I am required to tell you when you start to claim your heritage that it is the opposite of safe." Gisa's arm wraps comfortably and familiarly around Iris, and her warmth encompasses the trio, just so. Good for Darklings and dragons alike. "Shul is Yiddish for 'school,' and is another word for synagogue. It tells a lot about how we view religion that we see it as study as much as anything else." One hand absently pets Alonso's spine, then Iris's. Content golem. These are my people, who I protect. Even if they could probably murder anything on their own. Protection takes a lot of forms, as the golem proves tonight. "A mitzvah is both a commandment and a blessing. Many of our words have layers of meaning. To perform a mitzvah is to do what is commanded of you -- to light the candles on Shabbat, to... build a booth during Sukkot and live outside in it to remember the time when we lived outside as we fled from Egypt. But it is also a blessing. So when I say it is a mitzvah to teach you? I mean that I am both commanded to assist you, and also that I am blessed by the opportunity. It is a blessing to perform a service for someone else."
"You do not have to get baptized. You may choose to go through a course of study with a rabbi or rebbe, you may choose to immerse yourself in a mikveh. But you do not have to do those things. You are Jewish. No one can take that from you, and you do not have to do anything to claim it. You may choose to affirm it, however. It is yours. 'No take-backs,' as the children say."
"Don't worry, Alonso. If I ever discover I'm also Spanish, you'll be the one I go to for expertise on what that means," Iris says, both joking and not. The words are followed up by her reaching over and bumping his shoulder with a fist, just a light touch. "Or how to ride horses," she seems to think of as an afterthought. "Which I actually would like to learn. If they'll let me near them." Then she leans her head against Gisa's shoulder, careful with her horns, and listens to what she's told. "Hmm. I like that. Layers of meaning. As far as the rest goes, have you noticed that I tend to either do things all the way, or not at all? I'm an all-in kind of dragon. First thing I'm going to do when I get home is throw away all the bacon and sausage in my fridge."
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