Serval and Sheep (Chapter 38)
The student council has an outdoor dinner after a long day of budget appeals.
As these things often go, Hafsa and Desmond eventually returned back to their normal state of affairs. This was the result of a combination of a) the inevitable series of classes they shared on a near daily basis which forced the bare minimum of interaction (not to mention the more obvious and direct relationship they shared as student council president and vice president) with b) the mutual conclusion that they should just suck it up and behave like mature animals.
Though their superficial nonchalant disposition served to reassure themselves that the maelstrom of "what-ifs" and "oh gods" they had brewed over the week was purely self-inflicted and overinflated, there persisted, nonetheless, nagging doubts and anxieties during every exchange.
For Hafsa, these revolved around the story of Ms. Lily. The last thing she would want is to ever resemble the bobcat, and despite Desmond's insistence that she was fundamentally different, her history with him seemed contradictory. To do right by him, would she have to tread carefully, cautious to not mistreat the sheep even if that included taking their friendship a few steps backwards? Or simply pretend that revelation never happened, and erase the ram's effort to emotionally connect with her? The strange sensation that came upon her whenever so much as thinking of the ram was enough to set her fur bristling with malaise. So like an adult, she concluded the best course of action was to ignore everything and just... be cool.
For Desmond, these revolved around Brian's aggravating comment, whose ramifications were never given proper resolution. Frankly, he had entertained the thought enough just by letting the sound vibrations pass through his cochlea (never mind the extended mental crusade that ensued in his dorm later that day). After a Herculean effort to eventually emerge from his room the following day and meet her gaze in second period, the matter of Schrödinger's Crush was put on indefinite hiatus. So like an adult, he concluded the best course of action was to ignore everything and just... be cool.
And so, life returned to normal, tinged with a pungent abnormality. It's as if all is right in the world, except now water tastes spicy, or the moon is shaped like a scalene triangle. This is simply reality now.
Within this reality, serval and sheep simmer. On this particular Thursday twilight, they sit next to each other (with a generous gap between them) on the student council's small sofa. Perched on the arms of the sofa are Brian and Solomon, one on either end. Opposite to them sits an impassioned hedgehog upon the wicker chair, kicking his dangling legs wildly about.
"So you see, with even a 200 dollar increase to our budget, we can start adding all kinds of fantastic features to our yearbook, as early as next year! Better editing software, higher quality printing, glossier pages, celebrity cameos..."
"If I recall," Solomon interjects. "This was your exact same argument last time we increased the yearbook club's budget. Perhaps the issue is not the budget itself, but how you choose to spend the budget."
The hedgehog goes to scratch his neck but flinches at the sudden prick to his fingers. "Listen, yearbooks are paramount to school life! They are physical manifestations of our precious memories here at Noah's Arc! Time capsules, amber, lithography! It's only fair we honor our youth and formative education here by keeping up to date with the latest yearbook technology, so we too may evolve!"
"We will consider your proposal," Hafsa concludes as the spiny student takes a deep breath in preparation of another soliloquy. "Thank you very much for taking the time to appeal to us. Oh, and help yourself to the biscuits."
The hedgehog squirms around helplessly for a bit, clearly wanting to rant a bit more, but something about the serval's very patient smile tells him to give up. He wraps up a small parcel of cookies in a napkin for the road and after one last farewell, potters out of the office. The four student council members remain in stoic silence until the tiny footprints fade into the evening air. They all release a giant sigh, equal parts relief and exhaustion, and sink into the couch.
"That was the last one, right?" Desmond groans, rubbing his eyes.
"Yes," Solomon replies. "That should be it."
Brian shoots both his arms up, violently stretching his back with all his might. "Man, how many clubs does this school have anyways?"
Hafsa averts her eyes from the pigeon's now exposed and very delicious looking gut. "Too many."
"It doesn't help that all of the club presidents have a penchant for rambling." Solomon grimaces.
"You're one to talk!" The rock dove chuckles, but the caracal's glare quickly shuts him up.
"Well, I suppose we have to settle everything today," Hafsa stands up and heads towards her desk, where the necessary paperwork she had prepared beforehand awaits. "I'll say a club and we'll decide their budget for next semester."
"Sounds good." Desmond mumbles, eyes closed and still sprawled out on the sofa.
"'K," Hafsa's eyes scan the list before her. "Cinema club?"
"No change." All the animals declare in unison.
Hafsa smirks. "No change it is."
"Done and... done!" Hafsa adds a final flourish to her pen stroke. "That should do it for next semester's budgeting! I'll give this to Principal House first thing tomorrow."
Brian gives a playful round of applause and hushed cheers, to which the other two males follow suit, albeit with a more monotone enthusiasm.
"It's ended up being quite late," Solomon remarks, approaching the window for a better look of the night-cloaked campus. "Is everyone still up for dinner?"
The other animals all give murmurs of agreement, but suddenly Brian's voice interjects.
"Hey, I have an idea."
The four student council members settle down on the perfectly mowed lawn, placing the plastic bags full of dinner down in a pile.
"Shame we don't have a blanket." Hafsa says, smoothing out her skirt.
Solomon removes his sweater in one swift motion. "Here, sit on this." A nearby sheep rolls his eyes.
Hafsa beams, but shakes her head. "Thank you, but I meant it'd be nice to have a blanket more for the... aesthetic, I guess?"
"It would make this seems like a proper picnic, wouldn't it?" Solomon chuckles, instead tying his sweater to his waist. The nights are finally starting to get warm enough for sweaterless outings.
"Aesthetics, shmashmetics!" Brian chirps, already plopped on the grass and looting around the styrofoam food containers. "A picnic's a picnic as long as there's open sky and food!"
"Well said." Desmond nods curtly.
The serval tilts her head. "A fan of picnics, are we?"
The question causes the ram to jolt up. Clearing his throat, he straightens his tie. "Fan is a bit much... Maybe casual enjoyer. My family used to go on picnics in the park when I was younger."
Both Hafsa and Brian's eyes grow wide with interest. Desmond can sense the upcoming interrogation, so he quickly thinks of anything to distract them.
"Food's getting cold."
The two curious pairs of eyes whip towards the clutter of grub. Distraction successful. Those two are similar in a lot of ways. Especially when it comes to being dense.
The conversation turns airy and inconsequential, like all teenage dinner table talk. They chatter and laugh over mouthfuls of lukewarm pasta while gazing up at the sky. As the heat returns to the atmosphere, so too do the twinkling of the stars that had shied away from the winter nipping, illuminating the grassy campus. It's a view far more spectacular than a cheap late-night dinner deserved.
One by one, the animals finish their meals, toss their empty containers in a heap and lie on their backs; the picnic now restyled into a stargazing gathering. It reminds them of Lupercalia night before things turned sour.
Perhaps it was the exhausting onslaught budget proposals that had taken all evening, or her full belly, or simply the peace that comes with a starry sky and good friends, but Hafsa's eyes begin to droop, then blink, then close altogether.
This is a sight far more interesting than stars to Desmond. He had never seen any carnie's sleeping face, much less hers. He deduces she must be very exhausted from the stillness of her face: too tired to even dream. Hafsa's face benefits a lot from her expressiveness, but there is a staggering charm in her calm, peaceful features as well. The dark spots on her face are no longer tossed about from emotion to emotion nor are the stripes on her forehead squished and stretched by the moving of her brows. Instead, they stand still and perfectly intact. Desmond lies there, silently admiring the dark constellation of dots while trying his utmost to look away. His hands remain perfectly folded on his stomach. Currently, he's too afraid of what would happen if his interlocking fingers break loose. Connect the dots?
Brian remains blissfully unaware of this, too engrossed by the view above. "Hey guys? I think I ate too much."
"Knowing you, I find that hard to believe." Solomon quips.
"Hardy har." The rock dove lets out a deep sigh. "Midterms are coming up soon."
"Have you started studying yet?" Solomon asks.
Desmond's ears flatten at such a question. "Have you...?"
"Of course." Both Brian and Solomon reply.
"But there's still like two weeks left??"
"One and a half," Solomon corrects. "And leaving everything until the last minute isn't very becoming of a student council member."
"I never said last minute..." The ram grumbles.
Brian gives no opportunity for him to dwell on this. "Once we're done with exams, we should all celebrate together in town."
"What if we all do poorly?" Desmond humors him.
"Then let's mourn together!"
"You're a really simple guy, you know that?"
"Oh, we should totally meet up during summer break too!" Brian chirps, letting Desmond's comment soar right above his head.
Solomon laughs. "You're already thinking of summer break?"
"Sure, it's only a month and a half away."
"That means finals week is also a month and a half away."
"You know how to suck all the fun out of a room, you know that, Sol?" The pigeon pouts. "Back me up, Hafsa!"
His plea is met with silence. Bemused, Brian lifts his head and cranes it around to get a look at her. Lo and behold, he spots a sleeping serval, and a sheep looking anywhere but in her direction.
"Woah, she's asleep!" Brain exclaims. "How long has she been knocked out?"
"W-wouldn't know." Desmond mumbles, gaze still fixated on the distant buildings.
Solomon also turns to face the sleeping female. A smile can't help but escape his lips. "She worked hard today."
"We all did." Brian nods. "Maybe we should all hit the hay." He looks down at Hafsa and winces. "Aw, it's such a shame to wake her up, though. She looks so peaceful."
Solomon's ear flickers. "If you prefer, I could carry her to the female dorm."
That makes Desmond shoot up. "That's a terrible idea."
"I was joking. Obviously." The caracal says in a tremendously flat voice.
"Oh... uh, good."
"Calm down, guys, nobody is carrying anyone!" Brian titters nervously in an attempt to melt the suddenly ice cold mood. He pokes Hafsa's shoulders. "Hey, Pres. Oiii, wake up, please."
The feline remains locked in slumber. The rock dove tries again to wake her up, repeatedly calling her name and gently shaking her. Amidst this, Desmond feels an overwhelming urge to try too. He slowly reaches a trembling hand, aiming for her free shoulder.
"Haf-"
The serval's eyes open. Within the nanosecond, the sheep's hand is behind his back, as if fleeing from a fight it knows it can't win.
"Huh?" She murmurs grogglily. "What...?"
"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Brian greets the dazed cat with a wave. "Let's get you to your actual bed."
Hafsa looks around, still not quite with her bearings. Eventually, she seems to remember where she is.
"Aw man, I'm sorry I fell asleep like that! So embarrassing!" She hides her face.
Solomon grins. "What's there to be embarrassed about? Come on, it's getting late."
Hafsa gives a sheepish smile, but suddenly her body stiffens, like she received a small electric shock. It was only for an instant, but Desmond couldn't help but raise a brow. Did she pull a muscle?
"Let's go then." Before he could ponder about it, Hafsa suddenly darts up. At her behest, she walks with them to the male's dorm ("We're closest to it anyways" is her explanation). She hands the plastic bags filled with what's left of dinner to Brian.
"Can I trust you to throw these out in the correct recycling bins, Mr. Treasurer?" She asks with mock gravity.
He passionately salutes her. "Yes, Madam President. See you tomorrow at oh eight hundred hours."
"Godspeed." She dismisses, sending the giggling bird marching into the depths of the dorm building.
She turns to Desmond and offers a warm smile. "Sleep well, Desmond." He suppresses the urge to cough up blood.
"You too."
The sheep follows suit in Brian's exaggerated mechanical yomp, though for completely different reasons. Solomon and Hafsa curiously watch him retreat into the dorm halls, just a few paces behind the rock dove.
The last male however, makes no move to say goodbye or enter the building. Instead he stands motionless, shoulder to shoulder with Hafsa.
"So..." He whispers, his voice deep. "You heard it too?"
Hafsa's eyes remain locked on the fluorescent lit interior of the edifice. "Yeah. Out on the lawn... we were being watched."