Serval and Sheep (Chapter 1)
The student council, now elected, holds their first meeting.
The ray of light that sneaks past the curtains sends a pillar of color to the student council president's polished desk. It had been thoroughly cleaned, and the items of the former president have all been removed. However, it is not completely unencumbered, as a slim caracal leans against its side. He quietly eyes his rock dove companion puttering around the coffee table. Buttered biscuits and cucumber finger sandwiches neatly fanned out on platters are the main focus, but he also keeps an eye out for the electric kettle quietly simmering on a nearby refreshment table.
The rock dove hums an incoherent little tune (pigeons are not known for their voices, despite being birds), until he straightens his posture and turns to face the feline.
"They should be getting here soon."
The caracal chuckles, and glances at his watch. "You seem excited."
"It's fun to work with new people!" He ambles towards a bookshelf closest to his colleague, and begins absentmindedly stroking the spines with a clawed finger. "The new president seems really friendly."
"She is. I've spoken to her many times before for school events and whatnot. Surely you've seen her cheer."
"She looks quite proactive! That's a good sign. It's rare to see a carnie in office. Wasn't she the only carnie running?"
The caracal flattens his ears in disapproval. "That's exactly the kind of thing we're not going to mention in front of her. Some carnies, especially females, are self-conscious about that kind of thing. "
The bird raises his hands in protest, eyes wide. "I don't mean it as a bad thing! I think it's really impressive. It's like an underdog story."
"I don't think you know what an underdog is. Regardless, I don't think we need to worry about her. However, the vice president looks a little troublesome."
"Well, he won for a reason. I'm sure he's a lot better in person. I heard he's quite smart."
A chuckle from the feline, who slowly shakes his head. "You never have a bad word to say about anyone." He lifts his head to face the other animal with a small grin. "That's one of your good qualities."
A knocking on the mahogany door interrupts the bird's reply.
"Come in." The caracal replies in a firm voice.
After a few seconds, the door opens a sliver, through which two long round ears peek through. Their owner modestly slips in the room.
"Ah, you must be Hafsa! Please, come in!" The pigeon chirps, hands beckoning her to approach.
Hafsa's wide eyes shut as she offers a polite grin, and glides towards the pair.
"Hello! I hope I'm not late!"
"Not at all!" the rock dove reassures, "You're right on time!"
The serval extends her hand to him. "As you guessed, I'm Serval Hafsa! I suppose I'm the new student council president! I look forward to working with you!"
"Pigeon Brian. I'm the treasurer, so I suppose that's why we never met before. It's wonderful to meet you!" He takes her hand and gives it a shake.
Next to them, the caracal leaves his reclined pose on the desk to properly face her.
"It's great seeing you again, Serval Hafsa. But I suppose I should call you president now. To formally introduce myself, I am the student council secretary, Caracal Solomon. I look forward to working with you."
Hafsa internally exhales in relief that she won't be the tallest member of the student council, and politely extends her hand. "Likewise!"
Solomon gives it a gentle shake and shifts his position so that the three animals form a triangle for conversation.
"I don't mean to sound cliché, but all of this still feels like a dream!" Hafsa giggles.
"The first week of school is a whirlwind for candidates but especially the winners. It's perfectly normal that you can't quite accept this as reality." Solomon nods, with Brian following suit.
"Absolutely! I can hardly remember how my campaign went. It was only a year ago but I can only recall sleeping 15 hours after the results were announced!"
"Excuse me."
The three are surprised into silence. At the door, now agape, stands a Jacob sheep, one hand still on the handle. His expression is unreadable.
"Ah, you're the new vice president!" Brian once again provides the welcoming service. The sheep quietly nods and steps in, closing the door behind him. The room, seconds ago filled with pleasant chitchat, has now completely shifted atmosphere, almost reading as tense. The only distinct sound is that of Desmond's rubber-soled shoes walking on the wooden floor, the ocasional creak of a floorboard leaking out.
He approaches the group and offers a polite but curt bow. It's an uncommon gesture, but Hafsa had heard it was typical amongst bovids, especially in order to avoid individual greetings in a group.
"My name is Sheep Desmond. I look forward to this opportunity." He says as dryly as he greeted them. To her surprise, he turns to face Hafsa and extends his hand.
"Ah!" Hafsa exclaims under her breath, unable to hide some surprise. Is he... addressing the leader? She can't say she doesn't like the idea of being the figurehead of the entire council, but she is nonetheless weirded out.
She's further taken aback by the strength of the shake, firm to the point of complete exaggeration. Their eyes lock, and though his face maintains a neutral complexion, his eyes betray complete animosity. So far, things do not bode well.
Brian breaks the staring contest, his tone now more panicked than excited. "Say, why don't we move over to the lounge area and get the welcoming party started?"
"Would you like a sandwich, president?" Solomon motions towards the platter of treats on the coffee table. Seated alongside Brian on the small sofa, he reclines in a comfortable but refined position.
Hafsa sits opposite to him on a worn wicker chair, desperately trying to ignore the sheep seated on the other one to her right.
"Thank you very much, but I'm afraid I'm not hungry." She offers an apologetic smile, and picks up teacup prepared by Brian, closing her eyes. She gives the light trail of steam an indulgent sniff before gently sipping on it.
"What a shame! These are fantastically good! I can wrap some up for you to eat later along with some biscuits." Brian offers, leaning to pilfer a small pile of the snacks, unaware of the disapproving twitch the adjacent caracal gives at such a graceless offer.
"That's very kind of you! I couldn't possibly ask that of you, though."
"President, if I may, do you mind if I say some welcoming words?" Solomon's words come out a little too quick, preventing the overeager bird to his left from insisting any more on the sandwich matter.
"Oh, certainly! And there's no need to call me president. Hafsa is just fine!"
Solomon smiles. "Very well." He clears his throat and straightens himself in preparation, his tufted ears pointing straight up like an arrow.
"I'm sure both new members are aware of the importance and responsibility your respective positions hold to the academy, so I'll spare you of any pedantic expounding. However, I feel it beneficial, as your upperclassman, that I run over some important details about student council operations, for posterity.
"Firstly, we have mandatory meetings on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 5pm to 6pm, here in the student council office, naturally. Please try not to miss them, but it's understandable if they occasionally conflict with your afternoon club activities. Please let me know beforehand. We usually discuss general goings-on and upcoming project planning, but it is also a good time to bring up suggestions or concerns. It's also common for students to show up during this time to pose questions or issues, so be prepared for that, though really, that is a constant duty.
"Secondly, let me explain some general roles. As I am secretary, I hold the official notes, contacts, and transcripts for all meetings, events and other relevant issues. If you need any documents, I'll probably know where to find it, so please don't hesitate to ask me for anything.
"Brian, as treasurer, naturally knows the ins and outs of the budgets, so he will let both of you know of the general range of expenses to be prepared for. He's also in charge of virtually every miscellaneous task that may occur. Truly a jack of all trades. If you need anything done and don't know where to go, try asking him, he will most likely know what to do.
"Additionally, we have prepared desks for the both of you. You are free to personalize them as you wish, though naturally we count on your discretion so as to not turn the environment inappropriate.
"And lastly," he pauses, taking a minute to glance at Desmond, "us members of the student council act as role models for our fellow students here at Noah's Arc. This means we cannot afford to behave foolishly or inappropriately in public. This also means that keeping a sense of community and camaraderie is vital for the wellbeing of the school. I trust we will all get along here, but I must advise you against... problematic behavior.
"Student council work is very demanding, and both of you are saddled with the biggest responsibilities, so although Brian and I are at your service both as subordinates and as more experienced members, we expect a certain level of competence and independence on your part."
He exhales and takes a sip of his tea. "I apologize for the long-winded speech. Introductory meetings are never that exciting, I'm afraid. Nonetheless, I'm very glad to welcome you both. I expect this year will be most enjoyable."
"Here here!" Brian lifts his teacup emphatically. "Cheers to the beginning of a wonderful year!"
The animals raise their cups in approval. Though it had begun on a somewhat unnerving note, the atmosphere begins to mellow out.
Solomon smiles cooly at the other members. "I suppose this meeting is adjourned. Now we can afford to celebrate. Shall we play a round of cards?"
"It was great meeting you all! Enjoy your weekends!" Hafsa gives one final wave and smile before exiting the room along with the others. As the female dorms are in the opposite direction of the male dorms, she strolls down the eastern wing alone. The end of the hallway gives into a small area that precedes the staircase. She gives one final glance before slipping behind the wall, completely concealed from both the hallway and the staircase. Though the area is deserted at this time, she can't risk it.
She hurriedly grabs her schoolbag and rifles through it, swiftly pulling out a large energy bar designed for carnivores.
She eagerly tears at the packaging, internally reprimanding her impatience. The crinkly aluminum skin gives way to the strawberry-flavored flesh of the bar, but the pink grains are swiftly torn away by the serval's large fangs. As she practically inhales the bar, she can't help but release a small moan of indulgence at the bar's tang.
She had hardly eaten all day, and the smell of the buttery biscuits and finger sandwiches during the meeting had brought her to the brink of insanity. Refusing them was the hardest thing she did all day.
Half of the bar is gone in a single bite. Hafsa can only hear the sounds of the granola crunching under her teeth. How she relishes the crispy texture, the soft give of the grain as it softens and shrinks after each bite, each swirl of the tongue, and the zestiness of the strawberry syrup. She wipes at her chin to remove the excess crumbs and saliva that escaped her mouth.
She is so enraptured she doesn't hear the incoming footsteps. She opens her jaws for the final bite, teeth sparkling with saliva, tongue languidly peaking over her bottom lip to welcome the food.
And then she turns her head.
Two dark horns.
She freezes.
She briefly tries to imagine any possible outcome where she looks down and doesn't see what she thinks she will, but none come to mind. Finally, the wait becomes too unbearable. She lowers her gaze.
Desmond looks up at her with the same expression he has worn all day. Decades, or perhaps seconds go by, in total silence.
"See you next Tuesday, President."