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Good Bass and Trills!
Avraham "Avi" Schaal | 15 | 1-B | Quirk: water property manipulation | HWS-BNHA crossover blog | asks: open
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comic ive been stewing on since last yom kippur (real interaction one of my besties had w another jewish friend when he was fasting but still had to go in for work).
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[no one likes a gossip.]
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Avi: “My parents were really proud I got in, but, ah, they also didn’t really want me going, at first. But you can’t really say no to such a prestigious school. Plus, I’ve always wanted to visit Europe!”
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Avi: “I have a brother, ten years older. And cousin. two years older. And Eema and Abba. We all always talk, back and forth.”
[A short story about Avi and his parents below the cut, featuring a very old drawing]
“Eema, stop, c’mon—”
“Avraham Schaal, you turn on your camera, I’m not going to ask you again. Do you want me to get Abba?”
‘What’s Abba going to do?’ Avi wants to grumble, but all he can do is sputter out a mix of ‘please’s ‘come on’s and ‘no’s. His mother doesn’t sound particularly angry, more surprised than anything, but either way the last thing he wants is a lecture from the kosher police in between his econ and world history classes. He really should’ve expected this sooner. Like, the week after he stopped sending his mother selfies regularly. Or maybe the week after he stopped FaceTiming her: it doesn’t really matter, either way, because he’s busy trying to one-handedly pull out his half-ponytail while booking it to the bathroom.
“You know, it’s class right now—”
“Did something happen to your face? Did you— don’t tell me, don’t tell me you’ve gotten a face tattoo— oh, we let you out of our sight for one minute—”
“What? No, no face tattoo, no! Stop, come on, no—”
“No? How can you be so sure?”
“I— what? I think I’d know!”
He hears his mother click her tongue on the other end, and he mutes his microphone momentarily to give an exasperated sigh.
“Don’t get smart with me, show me what you did!”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Did you get earrings? Color your hair?”
“No!”
“Are you sure?”
“Wh— Eema!”
“Well?”
“I— yeah, fine! One minute!”
“Yeah, fine, you did?”
“Ugh, no!” Avi pushes open the bathroom door by leaning his weight onto it, his shoulder pressed into the painted surface. He speed-walks into a stall, locking the door with a flick of his free hand and pressing the FaceTime request button. He positions the camera at his chin, and his mother immediately picks up the call.
“You need to shave,” she starts, “and iron that uniform. Have you been doing your laundry?”
“Yes! Yes, I do my laundry! Of course I do my laundry!”
Avi throws some breath into his words, hoping maybe whining will at least soften his tone. He’s never wanted to go back to class more than he does right now.
“Alright. Now show me your face.”
There’s no point in arguing now. Gulping hard, Avi points the camera up, pulling it back so that his mother has a full view of his shoulders and up.
On the plus side, she’s speechless. Finally. Avi runs a hand through his hair self-consciously, looking away from the device. Silence sits between them for a good minute.
“…Italy is doing nothing good for you, Avi,” she finally says.
All Avi can do is swallow, again, awkwardly. “Eema, I have a class.”
“Mmm. Moshe! Moshe, come here, come look at this,” she calls out, amused, looking up from the phone.
Avi grimaces upon hearing his father’s name. Of course everything has to be some big scandal all of the time. Of course. Why should he expect any different? He leans back against the wall sheepishly, his father entering the frame. His father’s initial silence matches his mother’s. Avi scratches at the back of his head, quiet, twisting a piece of hair around his index finger.
“Has Europe turned you into a woman?” his father finally asks.
Avi groans. “No!”
“Are you sure?”
Avi rolls his eyes, looking between his mother and father. They both stare at him quizzically.
“Maybe you shouldn’t shave after all,” his mother offers, absolute bewilderment still in her voice.
Avi has no intention to, but the comment still annoys him. He’s pretty sure he has a quiz today, and instead he’s busy being ogled by his parents via iPhone in the crusty little handicap stall of the second floor boys’ bathroom.
His mother’s eyes shoot wide open, her tone turning much more urgent. “Have— have you even kept kosher?”
“Wh— yes! Of course!” Avi whines, and the scrutinizing looks from his parents imply disbelief. Truthfully, the answer is sometimes. Most of the time. When he can. It’s much more expensive here, and near impossible to find options. So— yes! Sort of.
“What is this, Avi, have you converted?” his father asks, half-teasing.
“What? No! No! Why? Why would I convert?”
“How should I know?”
“How should I?!”
Avi’s mother lightly taps his father on the shoulder, apparently taking this much more seriously than he is, despite how obviously amused she seems. Again it’s her turn to interrogate. Avi can feel the weight of his satchel’s leather strap dig into his right shoulder. He doesn’t bother to take it off.
“Are you going to synagogue?”
“N— I mean, Eema, there aren’t any. On the island.”
“So you leave the island.”
“I mean, sometimes?”
“For the holidays, at least?”
“Yes! Yes, of course.” Sometimes. If he doesn’t have plans.
“What do you do— your hair, where do you put it?”
“…Hat? I wear a hat. Um, beanie.”
“Wow,” his mother breathes, with the same tone as a gasp.
Silence falls between them, and Avi resumes playing with and scratching at the hair on the back of his neck. He can feel a lull in conversation coming and readies himself to transition to hanging up so he can go profusely apologize to his history teacher. Just as he opens his mouth however, his mother beats him to speaking.
“So you’re going to cut it, right?”
Avi groans. “I have to go.”
“You’re going to cut it then, is that a yes? When you get around to it? When you aren’t so busy? Yes?”
Avi unlocks the stall door and starts speed-walking again, politely glancing around at the few confused faces he’s drawing with the conversation.
“I love you Eema, I love you Abba, bye! Kisses! I’ll call you later!”
He hangs up the phone with a roll of his eyes and sprints off to class.
#avi#asks#aph israel#hws israel#aph#hetalia#hws#aph middle east#middle east hetalia#au#im ngl ive been sitting on thsi writing wanting to post it since may 2021. it is now. apr 2022#almost a year ……#this doodle too. my art was both worse and better it was so charming and easy on the eyes </3 n e ways
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[context: 3rd year lab partners from famously heavy-smoking countries. @ask-hetaaca-israel ok cool im gonna go disappear again]
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omg hey avi hi! ヽ( ´ ∇ ｀ )ノ I know we haven't talked much... （ミ￣ー￣ミ） but I really like the guy that sits behind you in fourth period (♡´艸`)!!♡♡ I can't seem to muster up the courage to talk to them tho!! (ⅈ▱ⅈ) Can you help me?? <(_ _*)> thank yew so much!
Avi: "...Who even is this"
#avi#asks#aph#hws#hetalia#aph israel#hws israel#obfu my god.#aph middle east#hws middle east#middle east hetalia
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kisses you. kisses you oh so gently.
Avi: "What class are you in. Right now tell me. What year."
[ lmfao students of this hetaaca corner go fetch]
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What's the hardest thing about using your quirk?
Avi: “It’s not really a hard quirk to use, but y’know, a lot of water can get really heavy really quickly.”
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How does your quirk work?
Avi: "Basically, I can pick up water and move it around and stuff, that's the boring part. But also, I can make it, like, hard to touch. Without freezing it. Like, if I want to, I can like sit on it and throw it and stuff. And shape it. That's the fun part."
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“Ahh, hold on— okay— okay, all good. What’s up?”
[Avraham “Avi” Schaal | APH Israel | ask box: open!]
other info:
- 15 years old, class 1-B
- quirk: water property manipulation (elaboration here)
- president of student newspaper and yearbook
- runs the academy’s student confessions account on instagram
- from Tel Aviv!
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madly in love with you
Avi: "...Can I introduce myself first? I haven't even introduced myself yet..."
#avi#asks#char you are SO.#if this is a repost no it isnt yall didnt see that#aph#hetalia#hws#aph israel#hws israel#aph middle east#middle east hetalia#hws middle east
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