Serval and Sheep (Chapter 28)
Upon returning from summer break, the students of Noah's Arc Academy attend Species Awareness Day.
The end of spring break brings a twofold anguish. The obvious first is the return to the academy. Students come back to their cramped dorms, highlighter-drenched notebooks and morning classes. But the very first day post-spring break is always Species Awareness Day, or SAD, an acronym so unfortunate that even students have grown sick of making fun of it.
Following their misguided principles, the faculty believes the day-long marathon of lectures will ease the students back into academic lifestyle. Despite the many suggestions from the student council to do anything but that, the academy remains confidently bullheaded in this tradition. Hafsa imagines that the mind-numbing assemblies serve to diffuse the spring break-induced high that may still linger in carnivores, thus lowering the chance of predation. Many carnies eat black market meat during spring break, after all. And so, like every year, the hoard of zombielike students slowly trudge into the auditorium for the introductory address.
Principal House is only visible from the neck up behind the podium. He's always insistent he doesn't need a step ladder to better reach the mic, but Hafsa always sees him rubbing his neck after assemblies.
"Good morning, students of Noah's Arc Academy." He begins once everyone has seated themselves. "I hope you've had a fun and restful spring break. But not too much fun!" His amused honks echo through the completely silent auditorium. "Well, once again, we will resume our studies with the ever-important Species Awareness Day. It seems the lessons imparted on you are growing more relevant by the day. I hope you, as the future of our society, take these nuggets of wisdom to heart so that all animals may continue to live in harmony."
The audience gives a polite applause. "Yes, thank you. Such good students!" The goose mumbles sheepishly. Despite being principal and a regular public speaker, he remains extremely susceptible to applause, even insincere ones. "This year we have some very talented speakers for carnivores, herbivores, and omnivores alike. I trust all of you have received a personalized timetable of each lectures you must attend via email. I shall now release you so you can go straight to the first lecture you've been assigned to." He gives a curt nod, careful to keep his glasses steady. "Welcome back, dear students. You're dismissed!"
As the students trickle out of the room, Hafsa nabs her phone to double check her schedule. General Carnivore Etiquette, The History of Predation, Feline 101, Female Carnivores in Modern Society, Interfacing with Herbivores, Carnies in Charge: Intro to Power Dynamics, Say No to Meat, and lastly, the joint lecture with the herbies. Looks standard enough. Hafsa is more tolerant to Species Awareness Day than most. For a carnie obsessed with looking good, it provides essential knowledge in fitting in. Plus, some of the subjects look genuinely interesting.
"Good morning."
Hafsa jolts her head up. She's met with Solomon's gentle smile. Her tail can't help but give a startled swish before she forces it still.
"Oh, good morning! It's great to see you again!"
"Likewise. How was the rest of your spring break?"
"I just took it easy. It's nice that the student council doesn't have much to do with SAD planning."
Solomon appears lost in thought for a moment. "I can't help but wonder what SAD would be like if we planned it. Not that Principal House would let students touch it." He points at Hafsa's phone. "May we compare schedules? A serval and a caracal should have similar ones, right?"
"P-probably. Take a look." She hands over her phone, and he simultaneously scrolls through his own, his narrow eyes flickering from one screen to another.
"We have most lectures together!" He concludes with a grin. "Including the first one. General Carnivore Etiquette, room 205. Shall we go together?"
"Of course!" Hafsa chirps.
Normally, one would expect the atmosphere to be terribly awkward between the two. After all, their last interaction was Hafsa basically turning him down. But never underestimate the power of two socially adept carnies. It's been said that "it's only awkward if you make it awkward", and only a pair of animals tremendously skilled in Freudian repression and denial could fulfill such a saying. A pair such as Hafsa and Solomon, in other words. The amount of confessions both of them have received in the past have honed them into skilled warriors of the "let's stay friends" jutsu. As they stroll down the halls side by side, one would never assume there had been any form of tryst or romantic drama between them.
"Principal House's jokes are as lackluster as ever." Solomon quips, and just like that, the mood becomes light-hearted and playful. Hafa internally applauds at this excellent play on his part, like an opposing golfer at her rival's hole-in-one.
"For some reason, though, I think Brian must have laughed at them." She giggles.
"Oh, most definitely. Even after all this time, that bird's sense of humor remains a mystery to me."
Behold the power of socially adept carnivores!
Ughhhhh.
Desmond almost has to prop his eyelids up to prevent them from closing. He hates Species Awareness Day.
The whole day is dedicated to mindless, useless, pointless, worthless sermons. Random speakers the academy dragged in spend the whole day spewing century-old maxims, pretending like the whole inter-trophic conflict will just magically disappear if they tell sleep-deprived high schoolers that predation is bad. The stupidity of it all is enough to drive him to madness.
He looks to his side and sees Peter and Leslie in a similar state of brain rot, though the latter does better in concealing it. However the lecturer, a slack-jawed gazelle doe, seems oblivious to this, and continues her speech on Bovids 101.
"As I'm sure you've heard countless times from the other speakers today, a herbivore's biggest concern is self-defense." She blats. "Bovids are far from the most helpless of all herbivores, as some species like yaks or oxen are of large statures, and many of us possess formidable horns-- you can see I don't have any-- than can be used for self-defense. But it's never ever advised that you engage with a predator." She smirks, and leans closer to the class. "I know you fellas can get cocky, but assume that between a carnie and a herbie, the carnie will win."
She shrugs, and Desmond sinks further into his seat. Being forced to sit here at 8am and be drilled on how weak and pathetic he is... this is his own personal hell.
"I see we have a good amount of sheep here." The gazelle continues. "No doubt you're aware of the rise in sheep predation over the last couple of months. Temporary fluxes in predation rates in herbivorous are natural and common; meat-consuming carnies tend to switch between meat types depending on season, price drops and general trends. This season it's sheep, next season, who knows. But I advise you to take extra precautions until this cools over. Avoid going out at night, travel in herds, keep anti-predator gear in your bags--"
"Pst! Captain!" Peter suddenly leans closer to Desmond, carful not to tilt his head so as to avoid waving his horns.
"What?" The Jacob sheep mutters back.
"Is it okay if Priya comes to practice Wednesday?"
That wakes him up.
"What the hell, you invited her?" He hisses back.
"No, no! Well, kinda? After my first match, she came up to me and we really hit it off."
"Even though you lost?"
"Shaddap. So we ended up exchanging phone numbers and we've been keepin' in touch every now and then. She said she was real curious about how practice goes and and reeeeally wanted to sit through a session so I kinda--"
"Invited her?"
The bighorn slumps his head. "...Yeah." He squirms around for a bit. "I'll tell her no."
Desmond sighs. "She can watch."
Peter's eyes grow as wide as dinner plates. "Really?!"
"Hey!" The lecturer gazelle snaps at them. "Quiet, you two. You're both sheep, so this applies to you especially!"
The rams mumble their sorry's and sit quietly until the attention is drawn away from them. "Yes, really." Desmond growls, but his face soon softens. "She's a nice kid; saw all of our matches. The other rams like her too. Probably the only non-bovid who actually gives a shit about ram fighting. She can sit through next practice."
"You're the best, captain!" Peter squeaks quietly. "I thought there'd be no way you'd say yes!"
"Hmf. Am I really so petty in your eyes?" He smirks. In reality, if Peter had asked a couple of months ago, the answer would have been a hard no. A feline in the training room? Only if it could be the punching bag! The student council (or at least its president) has turned him soft, it seems.
"...So." Desmond speaks up after a while. "Do you like her?"
"What the fuck, dude, no!" The bighorn sputters, just barely keeping his register at a whisper. "She's a freaking tiger! I'd have to be crazy to try to get with that! She's just nice!"
Desmond's gaze remains apathetic, save for the smug grin creeping up his face. "I see. I guess you're right."
The two rams once again turn to face the lecturer. Desmond's smirk slowly fades as the gazelle's drones on about horn maintenance. The words become further and further away as his own thoughts take center stage.
He is right. You'd have to be crazy.
At 4pm, both herbies and carnies gathered around the auditorium, waiting to be let in for the final lecture of the day.
"Nearly there!" Hafsa raises a determined fist.
Solomon chuckles. "This one should be the shortest of all, too." Suddenly, he swivels his ears behind him. "Hm? Did someone call me?"
Sure enough, a bespectacled lynx trots up to him with a worried expression. "Solomon! I need your help!"
The caracal gives a bemused look. "Hafsa, this is my roommate Marx." He turns to Marx. "What's wrong?"
"I think I dropped my keys! I can't find them anywhere!"
The caracal furrows his brow. "Oh my. This is a problem. Have you checked the lost and found?"
"Yeah! But it wasn't there!" The lynx yelps. "You know what it looks like! Can you help me look for it? Just around here before the doors open?"
The hesitation on Solomon's face is subtle, but too obvious to Hafsa. "Hey, I can help look for it, too!"
"Please don't trouble yourself, President," Solomon interjects immediately. "I'm sorry to leave like this. I suppose I'll be seeing you tomorrow."
"Uh, sorry, Ms. President." Marx give an embarrassed wave of his large paws. "Have a good one."
The serval smiles. "I hope you find your keys!" She chirps. "See you tomorrow, Solomon!"
The two male felines blend into the surrounding crowd, eyes on the floor in search for Marx's elusive keys.
They look like a straight-laced pair, she thinks to herself. She glances around, looking for something to do now that Solomon was gone. Lo and behold, she spots a pair of familiar dark horns amongst the jumble of animals.
"Desmond!" She calls for him. Sure enough, the idle horns freeze, and begin to swerve around, searching for the source of the call.
Hafsa slithers through the crowd (an easy feat for her flexible frame), and taps the sheep on the shoulder from behind. He jumps, and lets out a startled bleat. So cute.
"Hey, Desmond!" She greets.
"Hey, axe murderer." He maneuvers his head so as to avoid hurting nearby animals. Having four horns can be a hassle sometimes. "You seem awfully chipper for such a soul-sucking day."
"Solomon kept me company since we were in most lecture together. And I don't mind SAD, y'know!"
"How precious." Desmond snarks, but his smile shows it's all in jest. He desperately tries not to think about whatever is going on between her and the caracal (he's thought about that enough over spring break) and suddenly remembers what's in his hand. "Oh, by the way... they gave us this. As usual."
He raises his hand to reveal a bulky energy bar. Hafsa's face contorts and spits out a wheeze, practically doubling over in laughter. "No way! They gave you one again?!"
"Every year, just like I said. Without fail." He waves it around, laughing along. "They didn't have strawberry, so I got one of the salty flavors. Here."
He hands the bar to Hafsa. She inspects it. Almond pretzel flavor. She holds it over her chest, clearly touched. "That's so sweet of you. Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Desmond scratches at his wool. "It's not like I'd eat it."
"You should try one! I'll eat whatever you can't finish." Hafsa suggests. "Woah--" Suddenly, there is an influx of students, presumably fresh out a lecture, causing the hall to grow even more packed with animals. The wave of new critters forces a series of shoves and stumbles to spread across the multitude. While the serval's height and strong legs allows her to remain unperturbed, a particularly strong push causes Desmond to flounder and lose his footing.
On instinct, Hafsa grabs one of his upper horns and pulls him towards him. He collides with her, and she wraps an arm around him to steady his balance.
Okay.
Desmond can barely hear his own thoughts. Scratch that, he isn't even thinking. The writhing sea of animals around them disappear, like mirages. It's just her and him. He is overpowered by her scent, her warmth, her surprising softness (his face is pressed against a rather... delicate area)... but rising above it all, that familiar pounding in his chest. It wasn't too long ago that they were in a position similar to this one. But, their embrace last time was for... different reasons.
Yes, this is different. He is afraid, but it's not like last time. The sweat, the trembling, the pulsations, they're all genuine. He is afraid. But he's not frozen in fear. If he wanted, he could push her away and wriggle away, blending in the surrounding chaos. The prey could escape its predator. But he doesn't want to. For the first time ever, he doesn't want to fight. Let him be swallowed up by his exhilaration! Let his ears go deaf from his heartbeats, his nose go numb from her scent, his mind go insane from her touch! Let his knees never unbuckle!
Okay.
Oh shit.
I went ahead and acted on impulse.
Hafsa continues to grip the ram, one hand around his horn and the other tightly around his shoulders. Some diabolical voice tells her to not let go no matter what. If she does, will he run? He can't get away.
No. Snap out of it. Not here. She quickly retracts her claws and stiffens her neck, keeping her head high so as to avoid the smell of fresh sheep. Don't open your mouth, you're drooling. She focuses her gaze on the energy bar that's caught between her hand and his horn. She stares blankly at it, pouring all of her attention in it, until she regains a little bit of her calm.
She notices she's in pain. His lower horns dig into her torso, his face buried in her chest. A male. Face-first in her chest. Thank God no one is paying attention.
She's never hugged a sheep before. Carnies shouldn't really physically engage with herbies. He's really soft. The muscles forged by ram fighting are cushioned by his coat of piebald wool. Even though it's early in the year, it's grown enough to make her feel like she's holding a stuffed toy against her. But even she can hear the frantic beating of his heart underneath that wool. Each thud runs up and down her body like electric shocks; strong enough to be her own.
A pang of guilt hits her. He must be scared half to death. What does his face look like now? What she's doing would terrify any sane herbie. Why is it she can't ever seem to do anything rational around him?
The two remain locked into each other, either one too terrified to move, trapped in the squirming mass of students. Eventually, the crowd begins to dissipate. Hafsa can feel her surroundings open up, and she dares to relax some of her muscles, slightly sinking down. Her head lowers a bit, sandwiched between the sheep's upper horns, but doesn't dare let go just yet.
"Looks like..." She manages to croak. "The auditorium doors opened."
"...Mhm." Desmond's muffled voice responds.
Their parting is quick, almost anticlimactic. A quick jerk back, like they had accidentally bumped into each other in the hallway. They stand there, faces flushed and slick with sweat, with their jaws quivering like broken ventriloquist dummies, trying desperately to find the words that somehow resolve this bizarre moment. None ever make it past their lips.
Desmond totters off into the auditorium, mumbling nothing in particular. His back gets further and darker until it vanishes behind some other students. Hafsa stands still. Her abdomen still stings from the two sharp horns that had been driven in. Perhaps this is what the sting of a bite feels like. She brings a shaky hand to her nose, smoothing out her nasal strip with thumb and index finger (it had not served its job). In her other hand is the energy bar, now crumbled and creased.
She's so hungry.