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A carnie should never let their guard down. Hafsa learned this the hard way before, but because she got complacent, or perhaps just because the universe decreed so, she has to learn that lesson all over again.

Her reputation, and consequently her pride as a serval, depends on this caution. And, in a beautiful twist of irony, her dream role as student council president, which she fought so hard to attain, is one that puts this caution to the test every day.

Don't get her wrong, things have gotten better. After talking to Solomon, as well as the elevator incident, the drama had actually cooled down somewhat. She and Desmond no longer entered a hot panic whenever they were forced to be near each other, and have even found themselves exchanging some quips when alone. Now that there was no need to put up her "friendly carnie" act around him, it actually save a lot of time and energy. She, Solomon and Brian have gotten along spectacularly. A shared dinner in the cafeteria after meetings had become routine for them.

But by far the biggest hurdle in her quest to eliminate the carnivore within is one specific student council member. Not Solomon, not even Desmond. No, the animal which wrings out her humiliating inner instincts the most is none other than Brian the rock dove.

There's an interesting theory on why one feels the need to "eat up", squeeze, or bite adorable babies one happens to meet. This interesting phenomenon of giddily seeking the destruction of cute things, is referred to as "cute aggression". Scientists have hypothesized that this cute aggression is an evolutionary tactic designed to regulate overwhelming positive feelings by adding a negative feeling, that is, a desire for violence.

Another interesting fact of evolutionary biology is that servals were honed by natural selection to seek out small prey, such as rodents or birds. A long time ago, in the wild, servals like Hafsa would be leaping up to 15 feet in the air to catch a pigeon like Brian by the jugular.

By combining these two facts, a new phenomenon, which we will call "aggressive cuteness", is born. This behavior is, naturally, the polar opposite of cute aggression, though both result in similar actions. Simply put, a predator is strongly and subconsciously urged to gore and devour its prey by its natural instincts, but that desire is converted by the logical mind into an overwhelmingly strong sense of adoration and desire to protect. Freudian sublimation. At least that's the most plausible explanation Hafsa could come up with, because whenever she sees the plump treasurer, she has to actively fight the urge to snuggle up in his feathers and knead on his stomach like a kitten.

That makes working with him on a professional level a bit difficult, like if your coworker were a giant ball of mochi. And unfortunately, when things get busy, it's easy to slip up.

The student council is abuzz with activity planning the first big school wide event: Lupercalia Day, the holiday of romance.

"Why does Lupercalia even exist?" grumbles Desmond.

"It was originally only celebrated by carnivores to honor Saint Capitolina the Wolf, who was said to have given birth to all carnivores." Solomon replies, not looking up from his work. "Those who carried out the rituals of Lupercalia were said to be blessed with health and fertility. But, as time went on, and carnivores and herbivores came to coexist with each other, the origins of the holiday were slowly forgotten. The modern day Lupercalia is now a holiday about romance, celebrated by both carnivorous and herbivorous couples."

"No wonder I don't like it." Desmond mutters under his breath.

"Hey, President," the pigeon calls from his desk, beckoning her with his clawed fingers.

Hafsa sets aside the catalogue of party supplies she was perusing and goes to his side. "What's up?"

"Well, I just came up with the budget for Lupercalia. I wanted to run you by the numbers so you have an idea of what we're working with."

"Excellent! Go ahead."

Brian smiles and spreads out the sheets of paper on his desk. "So it's pretty straightforward actually. With the budget we've been given, it's smarter to buy cheaper decorations but invest in better candy. I know some good vendors I can recommend--"

Sweet, cute, simple Brian. His voice is so soft and harmless, and the way his beady little eyes flicker from page to page as he points out the numbers jotted down in his messy scrawl... Hafsa feels like she's wrapped up in a warm blanket fresh out the dryer.

As his assessment continues, Hafsa lets herself leaning forward to get a better look at his math. Slowly, she leans, allowing her soothed mind to lose itself amongst the numbers and predictions, until she finds her arms wrapped around a fluffy feathery neck.

Brian stops talking. From their seats, Solomon and Desmond give off bewildered stares. The serval realizes she is full-on embracing her coworkers like one would a giant stuffed animal. Her chin rests on the top of his head, tail swishing from side to side, and her hands (claws mercifully retracted) dug deep into his neck plumage.

For a second, no one says anything. Hafsa's apology is stuck in her throat. Then, she feels a trembling coming from the pigeon.

He's laughing.

"This is really comfy!" He twitters. "Can you please stay like that? This'll make the rundown way easier!"

Thank God for sweet, cute simple Brian. It seems like aggressive cuteness works both ways. It's a good thing he didn't notice the small trickle of drool leaking from the serval's mouth.

---

Only ten days left until Lupercalia. It's impossible not to notice the rising anticipation that swelters within school grounds. The background chatter of hallways is rich with date plans and requests for gift ideas.

Hafsa is doubly excited. On one hand, Lupercalia is the first major holiday the school celebrates. If there is a chance to flex her presidential muscles, further cementing herself as queen of Noah's Arc, it's now. On the other hand, she also knows of the swarm of love confessions she will be receiving come Lupercalia Day. She makes sure to empty up space in her locker to accommodate the incoming love letters. Now that she's in student council, she predicts a record-breaking amount of male's hearts in her grasp. The thought made her greedy little heart (and more so her ego) burst with exhilaration.

Outside the auditorium, she finishes putting the remaining touches on the Candy Gram booth with Desmond. This year, under Brian's counsel, the heart-shaped chocolates and hard candies are more decadent than ever, including insect-based sweets for carnies, which guarantees a boost in sales.

The serval had grown accustomed to Desmond's sour face in the month they have known each other, but notices he's behaving even more crotchety these past few days.

"You know, if you keep making that face, it'll get stuck like that, and you'll forever have to live looking like you just ate a lemon." She snarks.

"It's been stuck like this for a while. Pass me the tape." He grunts, unfazed.

Hafsa sighs, and tosses him the roll of tape. "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who gets grumpy one Lupercalia because he's still single."

The ram snorts. "I'm single by choice. If anything, it's annoying having to deal with all the ewes confessing their love to me."

"You poor thing," Hafsa scrunches her face in mock pity. "I, for one, appreciate the attention."

"Egomaniacs tend to, yes."

Hafsa chucks a piece of hard candy at Desmond's head. He doesn't react, and continues to arrange the stall's sign.

"Watch yourself, Ms. President," he says in a monotone voice, "what would the others think if they saw you assault an innocent herbie? Well, it's not like you've tried to eat me before, oh wait--"

"Unfortunately, there's not a soul in sight to witness this crime, except for the jackass vice president I don't even bother with." She sticks her tongue out. "Apologies to jackasses for the comparison."

Desmond stretches to reach the top of the stall, barely managing to slap on the tape sticking the poster to its rightful place. "Well, since I nearly took a one-way trip down your small intestine, I suppose I have privileges of seeing your nastier side. That's basically third base. Maybe I should be your date for Lupercalia?"

"I'd rather get a tapeworm and take it out to dinner first." Hafsa seems pleased with her retort. As if on cue, the poster unsticks to the stall and gently glides on Desmond's head.

"Ah, shit." He mutters, and goes to reattach the sign.

"Need help, little boy?" Before Desmond can say anything, Hafsa swipes the thick sheet of paper from him and arranges it neatly on the top of the stall with ease.

"I could've done that myself." The sheep mutters.

"I know, but I can't help it if you're so short... fused."

Desmond considers ramming into the her sides at full force, but realizes this would probably mean death for him. Instead, he opts to begin organizing the boxes of candy.

"Ugh, cricket chocolate? How did we even manage to get a hold of these?" Desmond winces as he begins to stack the packages under the stand.

"Brian has really good vendors. They love him, too, so they even gave us a discount."

"You realize carnies are just gonna empty out this stock by buying these for themselves right?"

Hafsa flattens her ears. "That's not very romantic of you. I know a bunch of animals eager to send candy to others. Carnies aren't bloodthirsty savages, you know."

Desmond opens his mouth.

"Yes I realize the irony when I say it." Hafsa interjects flatly.

He closes his mouth.

The two stay silent for a bit. Hafsa's eyes soften into a melancholic gaze, staring at the gaudy red-white-and-pink arrangement before them.

"It probably doesn't mean much if I say it," she starts, in a quiet voice. "But what happened that day... It's the most shameful thing I've ever done. Even if you started it, even if I didn't hurt you, and even if I stopped myself. No carnivore should have acted that way. I wanna curl up and die every time you mention it. I don't think I've ever apologized for it."

Desmond peeks up from under the counter, expression as indecipherable as always.

"So... I'm sorry." Hafsa says.

The sheep slowly ducks back down and resumes his stacking job. Hafsa wonders if what she said was somehow out of line.

The two resume setting up the stand, now in silence, but the task is finished quickly. The garish booth sticks out from the muted colors of the hallway like a heart-covered sore thumb. Perfect for Lupercalia.

"I guess we're done here," Desmond gives a satisfied sigh, and begins unrolling his sleeves in contentment.

"I guess so. The volunteers who are gonna run the stand are upstairs with Solomon, so we should report back now."

The two exit the building and head for the administration complex, the Emzara building.

Upon reaching the hallway of the student council office, Hafsa reaches for the doorknob. A pale hand touches her shoulder, stopping her from announcing herself.

She turns to meet eyes with Desmond, whose look of severity is devoid of its usual apathy.

"You should be more honest. With others, and with yourself."

"Wh-"

Desmond reaches past her, opening the door to the student council office.

"We're back." He announces.