By the end of today, Desmond will have experienced three shocking things.

Number one.

Seeing the student council treasurer, Brian the rock dove, in a tender embrace with another male. This sucker punch of a sight knocks out all of Desmond's rational thoughts out of his skull save one:

I should probably go.

Unfortunately, the rational thought that would have warned him to look at his surroundings before tiptoeing away had been careened into oblivion like a home run ball. So the ram clumsily kicks a nearby empty soda can, which ricochets off the grimy wall of the alley with a reverberating clang.

The two lovebirds jolt to alertness, whipping their heads towards the origin of the noise. Brian locks eyes with Desmond, still clinging to the penguin. His face blanches; stuck with such horror one would think a carnie had just bitten his arm off. He shoves the other bird aside and skitters further in the alley, concealing himself in the shadows. Even in the darkness, his beady eyes glowed with manic anxiety.

"D-D-Des— I-I-I…"

He looks around frantically looking for an unseen explanation. His breaths quickly turn shaky, shallow and frenzied, interrupted by labored gasps and gags.

"Brian, you're hyperventilating." The penguin's voice is tinged with worry. He approaches the pigeon with an outstretched arm, but this only further agitates him.

"A-aa-aaah!" He yelps, retreating further into the murk. His back slams against the brick wall behind him, rattling nearby trash cans.

"J-J-Ju-ust f-forge-get ab-b-bout th-this!" Brian splutters. Before Desmond can even react, Brian leaps into the air, flapping his arms manically until he's high enough to grab onto the top of the alley wall. With surprising agility, he vaults over it, disappearing in an instant.

"Brian!" Both the penguin and the ram cry out simultaneously. They look at each other, and with a hesitant nod of acknowledgement, they dart out of the alley in pursuit of the runaway pigeon. Stumbling into the more open area of the Golden Mug's entrance, their eyes frantically scan the scene, but the bird is nowhere in sight.

"Is he flying all the way home…?" Desmond mutters under his breath.

"No." The penguin next to him replies. "I doubt he knows where he's going. He's panicking."

Desmond grimaces. "We better find him then. Before he gets… run over or something."

"…Well said."

Desmond sneaks yet another nervous glance at the penguin. They've been walking around aimlessly for a while, combing through alleyways and roundabouts hoping to spot Brian, but their search has proven fruitless so far. They've stayed in relatively silence throughout so speaking now would be awkward.

But Desmond has so many damn questions! Who is this guy? Does he go to Noah's Arc? Is a makeout sesh a popular greeting among birds? Or are they… lovers? Desmond admits he's never seen a same sex couple before. They are even rarer than intertropic ones, and more taboo to boot, perverse even; the kind of intimacy reserved for sketchy underground clubs of the "don't ask, don't tell" variety. Could they have met there?

He decides to start simple. "So… you got a name?"

"Humbert." The bird nods politely. "Sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, Desmond. Brian's told me a lot about you."

"A-and you're Brian's…"

"Boy toy." Humbert turns to Desmond expectantly, but upon seeing the ram absolutely struggling, he chuckles bitterly. "Lame joke. Sorry. We're dating."

Desmond's expression is nothing short of rattled. "Oh. Okay. I get why Brian likes you."

Humbert smiles. "He laughs at jokes even I don't think are funny." His musing is cut short when he grabs Desmond by the sleeve and frantically points to a familiar bird stumbling around in a crowd of animals.

"Brian!" He shouts. His voice seems to have alerted him, and the pigeon dives deeper into the pool of people, eventually jamming inside a narrow passage between two shops.

Humbert pulls Desmond on, leading the way. "Let's hurry!"

Desmond allows himself to be guided, but the worry on his face is replaced by something darker. "I don't get it… Why is he running?"

The penguin spares a glance at him, one that could almost be read as guilty, but doesn't answer. The two animals eventually maneuver through the crowd and enter the same back alley as Brian. They follow the heavy footsteps that bounce around ahead of them until they catch a glimpse of grey plumage dive into a gated entrance. Humbert and Desmond freeze in their tracks when they approach the rusted iron gateway, and their nostrils flood with a warped smokiness. It was a stench Desmond had never encountered before, but one his senses immediately identified as wicked.

Number two.

He's standing right outside of a black market.

Beyond the contorted bars of the open gate is a wall of smoke, vile to a sheep's sense. Within the haze flickers colorful harsh lights, no doubt neon signs of the… businesses inside. Muffled shouting and clanging seep out of the miasma, hinting at the market's tumult. There must be many carnivores inside, shopping for…

Desmond's eyes water, and his nostrils suddenly ignite with repulsion. The smell is unbearable, ungodly. He'd never smelled anything more vile. The smell of burning flesh, of fresh blood, of carnage. What would a carnivore find appealing about this? He stumbles back, hurls himself on his knees against a nearby wall, and vomits. Humbert jogs up to him, squatting so he can rub the retching ram's back, but this only worsens the trembling. He settles for backing up a few steps and observing Desmond until he settles down. Eventually, he empties his stomach, and the heaving ceases, leaving Desmond panting and drooling over the puddle of puke.

"There, there…" Humbert hands him a napkin from his pocket. Desmond's quivering hand takes it, and feebly wipes the leftover chunks from his lips. "Leave the rest to me. I'll go on ahead, so go get some rest."

"N-No." Desmond chokes. "I'm fine. Brian's in there… I gotta find him."

"You're a good friend."

"No, I'm not."

Humbert frowns. "Why would you say that? I think only good friends go into black markets for their friends."

"If I was a good friend, he wouldn't have run. H-he wouldn't have kept you a secret. He's scared of me." Desmond spits.

The penguin places a gentle clawed hand on his shoulder. "You're not the problem here, Desmond. Brian likes you so much, he's scared of what you'd think if you found out. He ran because you're a good friend."

"That's—! That's bullshit." Desmond's upset gut forces him to lower his voice. "Brian's good to me. H-he doesn't judge anyone, or look down on anyone. H-h-he…" He chokes on his words, his vision suddenly blurred with tears. "He told me differences shouldn't matter. So how could I ever think badly of him?"

Humbert sighs, a fond expression playing on his face. "That's Brian for you. So eager to give others the benefit of the doubt, but never willing to do the same to himself. I don't mind keeping our relationship a secret for his sake, but I think he doesn't know how much he matters to others."

With a grunt, Humbert rises to his feet, and extends a hand. Desmond takes it, and is heaved up by the bird.

"Let's go find him and chew him out together, okay?"

"…Yeah."

The black market is as horrible as Desmond always imagined it to be. It's a surreal feeling, actually being in such a dreaded place you had only ever heard horror stories of. It's like being inside the belly of the boogyman. The only major difference from the imaginary black market he had conjured from years of hearsay is the presence of… very normal-looking carnivores. Salarymen, housewives, even some children litter the dirt pathways, stopping outside of stalls to admire the chopped up pieces of herbie corpses as if there were bushels of corn in a farmer's market. Something about the averageness of the clientele made the whole thing far more unsettling. He could easily imagine Ms. Lily buying a platter of mutton chops, chatting with the butcher with her signature smile…

The two huddle together far away from the action of the market, hoping to sneak in and out unnoticed (a hard feat for two pairs of horns and flippers). After their noses had at least grown accustomed enough to the smell of grilled flesh so as to not trigger their gag reflexes, they try listening in on conversations hoping to catch any news of a strange rock dove walking around the market. Desmond half expects to hear about freshly chopped pigeon thighs for sale.

The deeper they go into the illegal fair, the more the flashy, lively stalls and shops begin to thin out in lieu of smaller, sketchier businesses. To make matters worse, the crowd had dissipated enough to make a Jacob sheep and a Humboldt penguin stick out like two, delicious sore thumbs. They could almost feel the shopkeepers leer at them as they scurry by, licking their lips.

"Where the hell is he?" Desmond grumbles to Humbert.

"He couldn't have left by now. All these black markets only have one way in or out."

"He must have realized where he is by now. Surely, he doesn't want to stick around. Let's check the entrance again."

A raspy yet enthusiastic voice interrupts their mutterings. "Ah, greetings, Kin of Luca!"

The two animals jolt. The owner of the voice jogs out of her small, unlit store up to them. A formidable bearded vulture, her beer belly covered by a stained apron, looks at them expectantly with a wide grin on her face. Well, looks at Desmond in particular.

"My shop welcomes all members of the Kin, good sir," She continues in a dulcet tone. "I don't believe in refusing service, so please come buy everything you need right here!"

"I-I-I'm not interes-rested." Desmond stutters in the most brazen voice he can muster, which only amounts to pathetic bleat.

The vulture's unsettling blood-tinged eyes observe him curiously. "Are you… not part of the Kin?"

"We don't know what you're talking about." Humbert snaps. "Leave us alone."

The butcher's beak drops. "Huh? Why else is a sheep in the black market?"

"W-we're looking for a pigeon." Desmond mumbles.

"Pigeon? Well, I have some of that. What do you want, breast, wings, drumsticks, or whole?"

"He means a person, you creep! Our friend is lost and we're looking for him!" The penguin snarls.

"Ohhh," The shopkeep wipes her hands on her already greasy apron. "You two kids went all the way here to find your friend? Man, that's youth for you."

Cackling, she returns to the porch of her shack, the paint peeling and wood worn, and sits down with a resounding creak, rattling the whole establishment. The dangling lights and laminated posters that dangle above on the rafters shake in unison.

"Thought you looked too nice to be in the Kin. It's a relief you aren't too, I hate serving them bastards. But damn if they don't wipe out my stock."

"What's this kin you keep talking about?" Desmond asks, now with a bit more confidence after confirming the vulture is harmless.

"If you've never been here before, it makes sense you don't know them." The vulture smirks, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her apron pocket. She silently gestures the pack, offering it to the two teens, who only look at her with distaste. She chuckles. "Good noodles."

"They're kind of infamous here in the black market." She explains, lighting the cigarette clenched in her beak. "They're called the Kin of Luca. Bunch of weirdo cultists or something. They don't live here but they come by once in a while and buy a shitload of meat. They're great for business but most vendors won't even serve them."

"Why's that?"

"Cuz they're fuckin' creeps!" She crows. "Most butchers don't wanna look a herbie in the eye when they're handling the meat. Makes us feel bad."

"Wait, herbies?" Desmond interrupts. "They're herbies? Buying meat?"

The shopkeep takes a long drag of her cigarette, and blows the smoke into his face. Ironically, it smells much better than what he had been breathing in for a while. "Sheep, like yourself. Recently they've been stopping by a lot more often. Guess what they're buying? Sheep meat."

Number three.

"Sh-sheep meat?" He can feel his vision falter, but desperately grabs onto his consciousness. "So the rise in sheep predation is…"

"I'd say they're involved, yeah." The vulture nods nonchalantly. "What they can't buy in here, they get out there. Common knowledge in the black market. You bet your ass the police knows it too. Mainstream never gets told what really goes on, you know? Who knows what they need it for, but that ain't none of my business."

One look at Desmond's face tells Humbert that it's time to drop this conversation and leave. Grabbing him by the shoulders, the penguin guides both of them back around to the direction they came from. "Well, if you do see the rock dove, tell him to meet us at the entrance. So long."

"Wait, wait, wait!" The vulture's demonic eyes widen, and with a guttural "oomph", she lunges herself back on her feet. "You shouldn't walk around on your lonesome. You'll be in trouble if people think you're from the Kin. Tell you what, I'll ask around and see if anyone's spotted your little friend. You sit tight in my store. No funny business here, I pinky promise."

"Except contraband, right?" Humbert sneers.

"Hey now, all my products are procured… ethically enough. No predator kill."

"You don't need to advertise on us."

The butcher squawks with laughter. "I like your sass, Flippers. Bird after my own heart. I'll be right back."

She dawdles off, leaving the two teens alone outside of the now abandoned shop. They share a perplexed glance, concluding they should probably go along with what the crazy buzzard is suggesting. She's a little twisted, but at least she shows no interest in eating them. They don't have the courage to actually enter her store (the lack of a door reveals glass displays of merchandise that would be off-putting for herbies to share a room with), they settle for lurking in the corner of the porch, hoping no other animal would pass by until her return.

After a surprisingly short amount of time passes, the stout vulture returns with a smaller bird at her side: Brian.

"Hey, kiddos!" She calls out in her gravelly voice. "Is this your bird?"

"Bri!" Humbert shoots up from his slouch and sprints towards the pigeon, colliding with him in a tight hug. Unlike before, Brian doesn't make any move to recoil from his touch, rather sinking into the embrace as if enveloped by a nice warm blanket.

Desmond remains on the porch, content to give the couple some space. Upon seeing Brian, a sudden feeling of sheepishness engulfs him. As much as he wants to see if his friend is okay and unharmed, the possibility that Brian is still uncomfortable with his presence is enough to keep him rooted in place.

However, the trio of birds return to him. The vulture gives Brian a conclusive pat on the back and chuckles. "Don't run off like that again, sport. You'll worry your friends."

The pigeon blushes in shame. "I'm really sorry for the trouble."

Humbert enthusiastically nods in agreement. "Really, truly, thank you. Sorry for the trouble."

"Well, you changed your tune fast!" The eldest bird chortles. "Anytime, Flippers. After all, it's the adult's job to help out in these types of situations."

"That's a surprisingly wholesome outlook." Humbert mumbles.

Desmond suddenly clears his throat, which immediately catches Brian's attention. "Wh-where were you?"

"O-oh," Brian looks to the side, his voice growing even more embarrassed. "I guess it was a similar situation to yours."

Brian's gazed remained fixed to the litter-speckled dirt path beneath him, not daring to look in any other direction. He was sweaty, dirty, and tired. So so tired. The one thing pigeons are slightly above average at is their stamina, but after a day of running around the city, that endurance has long since burned out. The only thing that kept his legs moving was fear. So much fear.

He's had nightmares about this. Not about being in the black market. Being chopped up and served for dinner was the least of his worries, and seldom a subject of night terrors. No, he's had countless nightmares of being caught with Humbert.

Humbert is an amazing animal. He's funny, and talented, and as handsome as a falcon. But he'd never be someone Brian could bring home for dinner with his family. He'd never tell jokes to Cooper or bring gifts to May. And he'd certainly never be the person his father would accept.

Brian wondered whether it was courage or audacity that kept him going all these years. That propelled him to get up out of bed each day and face his loved ones with a smile, knowing full well there is something wrong with him. Knowing that there is a side of him that will always and should always remain hidden, locked up, and never disclosed. Knowing the shame of being different is only second worse to the shame of making Humbert meet him in alleyways and secret spots.

On second thought, it must have been audacity. Because Brian was as far from courageous as it could get. Courageous animals wouldn't give a shit, and just do whatever they want with pride. He's seen enough of it on the news (albeit not presented in the most positive light) to at least know it's a possibility. He'd be gambling away his family, friends and public respect, but it's a possibility. But Brian wasn't brave enough to do that. Because above all else, he needed his family, even if he could only show one part of him.

Animals are different. He'd known this, and embraced this all his life. But maybe he was… too different. This too, was his audacity speaking. A lightbulb, even if it is bright, must shine the right color, or else it is useless.

The pigeon's thoughts were interrupted by the taste of dirt. He had fallen, apparently, and remained sprawled on the floor, practically inviting the nearby meat-eaters to dig in.

"Might as well," he figured. "After today, being stew doesn't seem so bad."

A forceful hand grabbed the back of his collar and lifted him up, mildly asphyxiating him in the process. To Brian's surprise, he wasn't gobbled up on the spot, but was rather set back down on his feet. He rubbed his throat, still sore from the rough handling, and looked up at the towering figure before him. A lion of extraordinary size scowled at the rock dove. His gaze was intense, though a large carnie's indimidation is often just due to their overall stature, and his unkempt mane blocked out the light sources behind him, making his face even more ominous in the darkness.

"No lie down here," He rumbled in broken English. "Better place to sleep out there."

"I-I-I-!"

"Go away."

The pigeon swiveled his head from side to side, now realizing he was unaware of how to get from "here" to "there". This only further riled him up, and his feathers quickly puffed out in distress. The lion observed him with cold eyes, unmoving.

"Come with me." He changed his demand. Brian didn't even question what a lion would want with a pigeon, and followed the hulking beast like a newborn chick. To the outsider, it would come as a great surprise that the lion did not lead him into his stomach, but rather to a small shack separated from the outside with only a tattered curtain of beads. He pushed the bird onto a rather soft bean bag near the entrance and made his way behind a counter and into a room concealed further within, this one with an actual sliding door.

The pigeon trembled on the fabric, creating a rattling sound with the beans within, and tried to make out his surroundings. It appeared to be a store, but there was not a bit of meat, marrow or mush to be seen anywhere. In fact, the store looked like quite a standard affair. Neatly labelled bottles and packets were displayed in the racks behind the counter, along with a variety of herbs and plants inside a sealed glass container that could be better observed by the customer. An apocathery?

The lion slid the door back open in a flash, causing the pigeon to jolt up. He crouched in front of him and offered a glass of water incased inside his rough hands. Brian accepted the glass, more out of instinct than anything.

"Drink." The carnie growled, and stood back up, returning to behind the counter. He silently leered at the bird until all the water was down his gullet. Though Brian was not in the greatest control of his senses, even he noticed that the water he ingested without a thought tasted… not like water. The delayed flinch in noticing this flavor piqued the lion's interest.

"Good taste?"

"Uh… did you just drug me?" Brian asked.

This caused the lion to grimace. "No." He responded flatly. "I put sugar. Taste good so you calm down. I do this with baby."

"Oh…" The bird mumbled, tilting his head. "Does this actually work?"

"You tell me."

The rock dove did actually feel a little better; at least in a good enough state to continue talking. "What kind of shop is this?"

"Shop for seasoning and spice. Spice good for meat, but not sell legally. I sell all sort."

"I-I see." Brian glanced around some more. On further inspection, many of the labels on the products did indeed have illustrations of meat and smiling carnivores.

"You feel good now. You go home." The lion grumbled suddenly. "No come back again."

"H-huh? I mean, okay. Sorry to disturb you. I just got lost and… scared."

Upon hearing this, the lion's ears perked up from the tangle of mane. "You lost? No come here to die?"

"I… what?"

The carnie's expression softened a bit, in what Brian could only assume is a relieved expression.

"Sorry," He apologized, scratching some area beneath his mane. "I thought you here to die. Herbie come here and lie on ground until carnie pick up and drag them away. 'Predation suicide', you say."

"Does that really happen…?" Brian mumbled.

The lion nodded. "I see it. I not like. Herbie not meant to lie down and die." A strange twinkle of compassion lit up his eyes. "What is your name?"

"Brian. What's your name?"

"Jasha."

"Nice to meet you, Jasha."

The lion, Jasha, gave a small smirk. Without a word he walked back into the inner room, and came back out with a small plate. On it was a small generic-brand flan in a cup and a dirty spoon rattling next to it.

"Eat."

Brian complied. As he gulped up spoonfuls of the jiggly desert, Jasha whipped out a phone from his back pocket.

"You need me call mommy and daddy?" He asked, pointing to the phone. "You know number?"

Brian's eyes widened and shook his head quickly. "Oh, no, no no, don't worry about it. I think I can probably make my way back now. I was just in such a panic I wasn't really navigating at all."

"You in danger?" The lion asked gruffly. "Carnie chase you here?"

"No, no," Brian denied again. "I was actually running from… my friends. I was caught doing something wrong, and I freaked out."

Jasha nodded sagely. "Drugs."

"Wha—! No, I wasn't doing drugs!" Brian sputtered. "I— I was with my boyfriend!" He flinched at his words. But, to his surprise, the lion hardly reacted to this.

"That not wrong, Brian. Drugs wrong. That not wrong."

"But it is, though!" The bird cried. "If everyone else says it's wrong, then it is!"

Jasha let out an unimpressed sigh. "Everyone say carnie wrong for eating meat. But we born to eat meat. If we not eat meat, we die. We not control. We not want. But we born like this. Same with you. Not wrong."

"Yeah, but most carnies try not to eat meat, because they know it's wrong."

"Eating meat not wrong. Hurting animals wrong. Different. I not evil because born as carnie, and you not evil because born herbie. Evil when choose to hurt. You not hurting anyone."

Brian chewed his flan in silence. Jasha shrugged, seemingly contented with the end of the conversation. Suddenly, someone knocked on the outside of the shop. As the lion stomped his way to the entrance, Brian could see the head of a bird of prey poking inside.

"Hey. Jasha, you wouldn't happen to have seen a pigeon walking around here, right?"

The vulture shopkeep waves at the trio of males until they turn the corner, the black market finally out of sight.

"I can't believe that just happened." Humbert exhales, the weight of an elephant suddenly on his shoulders. "Never in my life did I think I'd ever step foot in a black market."

"It was actually better than I thought." Brian muses, mostly to himself. "There are a surprising amount of nice animals in there, huh?"

"I'd still prefer to take my chances with the nice animals out here." Desmond shivers.

As dusk finally cools into a clear, indigo night, the three arrive at a small parking lot where Humbert's small silver car awaits. He gives Brian one last peck, and after offering them rides home (which they declined) he gets in and starts up the engine. Before he takes off, he rolls down the window.

"It was nice to meet you, Desmond. Let's hang out some other time, all three of us. Make sure Bri gets home safe, okay?"

Desmond nods and feebly waves him off into the night. And then, only sheep and pigeon remain.

"Y-you don't have to walk me back." Brian speaks up, somewhat sheepish. "I promise I can get home safely. I won't wander in any more black markets, haha… ha…"

Desmond's complete lack of amusement deflates his forced levity. "Listen, Desmond, I'm really sorry about everything. I know I'm not quite what you thought I was, and I made you go on a wild pigeon chase in the black market even though you hate carnies so much, and I'm really not worth all the trouble I cause… Just say the word and I'll leave you alone from now on."

Desmond smacks Brian upside the head.

"You're a real fuckin' simpleton, you know that?" He bleats. "Nothing you just said matters at all. If you'd just stuck around instead of freaking out and flying off you would've seen that whether you're dating a male or a cactus, I'd still be around. Hell, your boyfriend is cooler than you are! Do you really think Hafsa or the secretary would care either? Maybe I would've cared before you drilled all of that kumbaya shit into my brain. But you still thought... God, what a piece of work you are!"

"So, we can still be friends?" Brians chirps quietly.

"That was never even at fuckin' stake!" The ram grips his horns in frustration. "You're the only damn herbie I can stand in school! I'd have shot myself by now if I only had the ram fighting club to listen to!"

Brian's small eyes fill up with tears twice their size. "Deeesmooondd…" he wails. He launches himself at the ram and squeezes him tightly. Desmond flinches at the sudden impact, but slowly reciprocates the embrace, gently patting the bird's back as he sobs into his filthy t-shirt.

"Alright, alright," He coaxes, his tone equal parts annoyed and amused. "Lemme get you home before I throw up again."

"You threw up?"

AN: I live... I LIIIIVE! Apologies for my absence, I was living through the worst week of my natural born life. Here's hoping it stays the worst... Thanks very much for reading. I actually finished most of this chapter a while ago, but couldn't bring myself to end it. I hope it's sufficiently juicy for now.

Jasha was very fun to write. I imagine him having a thick Slavic accent.

Take it easy and stay safe.