Serval and Sheep (Chapter 16)
Desmond has a hard time getting along with other student council members.
The members of the student council, in Desmond's eyes, range from bad to worst. While being collectively in each other's presence whilst whittling the time away doing paperwork and planning isn't too painful, Desmond becomes painfully away of the other's problems when confined to one-on-one time with each.
Naturally, the villain of the student council is the president. To others, the sweet-as-honey extrovert, the beautiful socialite. But to him, she's nothing but a loud snarky brat one energy bar short from having him for dinner. Granted, she can be amusing, she's certainly witty enough to stand her ground against him, and the sincerity she shows to him is... pleasant. Being witness to a carnivore's natural strength, untethered from the social weights of feigned helplessness, has been interesting. There is even a certain beauty to it, one he wouldn't mind seeing again.
But these developments don't change the fact she's a brat.
The close second is the other cat, Solomon. He's just like Hafsa, a carnie who lies and deceives to get his way. But the caracal has never seemed to even try getting along with him. Desmond prefers it this way, naturally. One less feline to deal with. The two avoid speaking directly to each other whenever possible but when the inevitable encounter does occur, the frigid hostility between them can sometimes get a bit too cold to bear.
"I just got an email from the PE teacher," Hafsa announces one afternoon. "He wants us to remove the boxes of fireworks from the gym."
"What? But we just put them there!" Desmond protests.
Hafsa shrugs. "It's in the way right now. Let's keep them in here until the pep rally, I suppose."
The others mumble agreements and nod.
"Good. Brian and I need to finish this spreadsheet, so Desmond and Solomon, could you two please bring the boxes? There should only be two."
Secretary and vice exchange looks of horror.
The trek to the gym is devoid of any conversation. The unspoken agreement of "let's just get this over with" seals them in an uncomfortable but mutually approved silence. When sliding the gymnasium doors open, their heads immediately start to swivel in search for the boxes.
"There." Solomon's voice rings loud and echoed through the empty space, amplified by the break in silence that had haunted them this whole trip. His slender finger points towards seats at the very back of the bleachers, where the two packages rested, enjoying an imaginary match.
"Let's hurry along, then." Desmond says, careful to keep his tone faint.
Their footsteps bounce around the stagnant air, keeping a strange tempo. The metronome of paces marks each second with a distinct "clack" from their dress shoes. Desmond contemplates on why they made the gym so unnecessarily large.
At long last, they reach the goods. Solomon quickly picks up the larger box with ease and quietly observes Desmond manage the other, much smaller one.
"Not too heavy?" Solomon asks dryly.
Desmond can't contain a small scowl. "Not at all."
"Good to hear," The feline swiftly turns around and begins ambling his way back to the entrance. "Let's head back."
At the door, Solomon waits for Desmond to leave and gently places his box down. Reaching in his pants pockets, he takes out a keyring filled to the brim with dangling, clinking keys and begins rifling through it, finally selecting a small silver key.
"You know," the caracal suddenly begins in a low voice as he slides the door shut. "This reminds me of when the president and I had to leave some new gym equipment in the storage room. Do you recall?"
Desmond raises a brow suspiciously. "Yes."
Solomon continues as he locks the door. "At the time, she was still quite nervous about being president." he chuckles. "Seeing her now, I think she had nothing to be worried about, don't you?"
"I suppose." The sheep responds in a slow, hesitant voice.
"Later, she had told me she had done something quite silly after our first official student council meeting. It embarrassed her terribly, so that's why she felt so uneasy."
Desmond freezes. "She... said that? To you?"
Solomon nods, still facing away from him. "She did. She never told me what occurred... But I'm sure whatever it was, it was not her fault. An animal of her caliber does not act rashly without... significant provocation."
The loud snap of the lock makes Desmond jump.
Solomon turns around, playfully jingling the keyring in his hand. "I'm very glad she has gotten over that incident. Her work is even more outstanding when she is confident in herself."
Though the caracal wears a coy grin, the malice in his jade eyes sting like a serpent's venom. It makes Desmond's wool stand on edge.
"Let's continue supporting our student council president, shall we?"
Though the ineffable intensity in his glare forces the sheep to flinch, Desmond does not feel paralyzed as he does when caught in Hafsa's gaze. Stiffly but brusquely, he hoists his package and begins walking off.
"I'd like nothing more."
Maybe Hafsa isn't the worst member after all.
Brian is the lesser evil of the other three. A herbie-leaning omnivore, mild-mannered, doughy, harmless. Unlike Hafsa's kitten charade, Brian's affability is as clear and genuine as a 500 karat diamond. This is precisely what irks Desmond. He can't bring himself to despise the bird, but something about his vulnerability, his openness, and his insistence on everyone getting along is... discomforting.
But for some reason, Brian has recently made it his mission to pester the sheep whenever he has a free moment, even outside of office hours. Some could call it socialization, but to a ram, it is pestering. They may both be social animals, but to the male sheep, conversation is had not with mouths but with horns. Any pleasantries would be wasted on him. But of course, a pigeon can't understand that.
"Hey, Desmond!" The sheep jumps to attention at the greeting. Brian potters over to the bench where the sheep lazily munches at a sandwich. Desmond sighs into the bread and returns to his slouched position.
"How can I help you?" He responds, still with a mouthful of sandwich.
"I just saw you sitting here by yourself and wanted to say hi."
"Well, hi."
The bird points at the half-eaten snack. "Looks good! What's in it?" Just like Brian to bond over food.
"Onion, lettuce, tomato and avocado. " Desmond responds tersely.
"Wow, you have good taste. I've always wanted to know what avocado tastes like."
"You've never had it?"
Brian chuckles lightly. "If I eat one, I'd die. Ha ha ha!" Desmond suspects the pigeon may secretly have a messed up sense of humor.
"But anyways," Brian continues. "You'll have to make one for me one day. Maybe, say, after a meeting, and we can all have dinner together."
Oh. So this is what this is all about.
"I bought this from the cafeteria." Desmond grunts. "And I'm rather busy after meetings. Continue eating without me."
Brian's beady little eyes well up with sympathy, and he takes a seat next to his underclassman, forcing the latter to scoot aside.
"We're both herbies here, Desmond." He starts, his voice gentle and warm. "I understand how hard it can be to get along with carnies. Me and Solomon took a really long time to understand each other. But the wonderful thing about herbies and carnies is that we're all animals."
"Oh brother..." Desmond mutters under his breath, rubbing his temples. He turns to Brian and gives him a stern glare. "Listen, Brian, I'm sure you mean well, but I'm fine the way I am. And believe me, I'd love to live in the 'let's all hold hands together and sing kumbaya because God made all animals equally' world you live in, but I know firsthand that that kind of a world is a farce."
"I know that." Brian replies bluntly. He stops for a moment, pensive and considerate, as if he is planning what to say next. Finally, clarity lights his eyes. "Do you know why pigeons have lots of babies?
"Uh. No." The sheep answers, confused by the sudden change in subject.
"It's because half of us are expected to die prematurely. Illness, accidents, predations, whatnot. And if you're a pigeon, you're not supposed to be phased by that at all." He glances down, eyes soft. "There's a lot of things pigeons are supposed to be. Simple-minded, gluttonous, expendable... Many of these expectations are inevitable parts of my biology. But just as many are things that everyone has told me I should be. Things I don't have to be.
"You're just like me, aren't you? You're a lot tougher and cooler than other sheep I've met. I bet that's because you don't like it when people call you weak or gentle, like sheep are supposed to be. It turns out many animals are different from what people expect of them.
"Herbies and carnies are very different. But we're all animals. So that means we can all talk to each other and learn about how different we are." He looks off into the courtyard, admiring the clusters of chatting students. "You'll never understand how different they really are until you get to know them. And that makes it all the more fun."
Desmond observes the bird with his usual seriousness, but a trace of curiosity can't help but leak from his features. "That's sort of a simple way of looking at things."
Brian smiles sweetly. "I'm a pigeon after all. 'Simple' is the sort of way that fits best with me. It's gotten me this far."
Desmond mumbles something indistinct and leans back into the bench, looking up at the cloud-speckled sky.
"Want the rest?" He waves the half-eaten sandwich at Brian.
"I'd die, remember?"
"Oh, yeah."