Molly trudges down the hall, letting out a huge sigh at the thought of her next class. All she wants to do is go back to her room and start arguments online. Her friend, a heavily pierced civet, rambles on about the many injustices and faults of an animated show with the passion of an animal in the terminal stages of rabies.
"And they had the audacity to kill off the protagonist again even though they clearly established—" She abruptly shuts off the faucet of words as something catches her eye.
"What's wrong?" Molly asks, though her voice betrays no concern whatsoever.
"What the hell is this?" The civet asks, pointing at a garishly colorful poster pinned onto the extensive bulletin board that lines the corridor wall. The two goths stop and walk over to the notice that certainly wasn't there the day before.
In a playful, bubbly font, the poster reads:
"WE ALL SCREAM FOR ICE CREAM!
Spring is here, and with it, the heat! Why not cool down with some delicious ice cream? Panther Toma invites you to the cafeteria at Monday 4:30PM for Noah's Arc's first ever ice cream social! Make new friends while choosing from over fifteen flavors of sweet creamy goodness suited for both carnivores and herbivores!
Everyone welcome!"
The females raise their brows.
With a final lick of her fingers, Hafsa backs away to admire the final setup. Three cafeteria tables are covered with tubs of ice cold confections, glass bowls filled with sprinkles all colors of the rainbow (some even shaped like rainbows), rows of syrups, stacks of waffle cones, and finally, empty bowls and spoons waiting for the momentous afternoon ahead.
"This should do it!" She announces, tail triumphantly swishing.
"I just finished hanging up the rest of the banners." Brian trots over from the end of the cafeteria. "Toma was my stepladder."
He waves to the sweating black cat struggling to strap a party hat around his chin, who gives a timid wave back.
"Isn't this a tad bit overkill?" Solomon asks, grimacing at the lurid poster pasted on the cafeteria's entrance. "I mean… 'sweet creamy goodness?' Did we really have to phrase it like that?"
"Hey, Brian wrote it." Hafsa shrugs.
"I designed the poster too!" The bird chirps.
His caracal classmate is not amused. "This all reads as a bit… juvenile, does it not? Is this really the image you'd like to cultivate for a Vice President?"
HIs girlfriend tuts, shaking her head as if pitying him. "Oh poor Solomon… you underestimate the power of teenagers. They'll do anything ironically."
"Is that so…" His frown deepens. "Perhaps the nuances of this political strategy are too complex for me."
Brian pokes his sides. "It's free ice cream, at least."
"Technically, I paid for it." Toma hobbles over to them, party hat fastened on his large head but crooked to the left.
The serval stretches to adjust the hat, aligning it neatly on the center of his dome. "You look great! People are going to love you!"
Despite the panther obediently bowing his head, his eyes betray fear. "Are you sure this is a good idea…? I can't even taste ice cream."
"Neither can I." Hafsa chuckles. "We might not taste it, but herbies can, and they love it. Remember, this isn't about the ice cream; it's about showing Noah's Arc what a great guy you are."
Toma gulps. "That's what I'm worried about."
"You have nothing to worry about. Just play nice, keep calm and don't forget to smile!" She traces an upwards curve on her cheeks, and like magic, a smile appears on her face. She nods her head expectantly at him.
Whatever expression he muscles up on his face, it's certainly not a smile. A cold chill runs down Brian's spine, frightening his feathers into standing on end.
"Like this?" The panther growls through gritted teeth.
"No, not at all." Hafsa says, her throat now drier than ever. "It's fine, we can work on that while I add some finishing touches on you. Brian, Solomon, off with you. I'll see you guys when we're open for business."
The two say their farewells, one much more chipper than the other, until only the spotted and black feline remain.
"No time to lose," Hafsa claps her hands together. "Let me get my makeup kit!"
"Makeup? Your face looks fine."
The serval lets out an amused giggle. "Thanks, but it's for you. I wanna touch up your scars."
"Oh." Unable to think of a segue, he sits down on a lone chair and waits until the female fetches something from her backpack. She returns to him, pouch in hand, and tilts his chin up to better catch the light.
"I don't know if I have a shade dark enough for you…" She mutters, digging around the pouch stained with powers and pastes. "I'll try the one I use for my spots."
With that, she gets to work. Instinctively, Toma shuts his eyes as soon as her hands get too close to them. He scrunches his nose at strange sensation of his eyelids being brushed.
"Hold still." Hafsa chides, an amused chuckle escaping her lips.
"Sorry. Do you use a lot of makeup?"
"No. I find makeup doesn't look as nice on fur as it does on skin and scales. But it's nice for foundation and concealing."
"Sure…" Toma doesn't really know the different between the two, or what they even mean, but she sounds confident enough about it.
"Since I cover up my scar every day, I've gotten pretty good at concealing. It'll be like they were never there!"
"That'd be nice."
His voice is quiet, softened by hope at her words, as if behind his closed eyes, he dreams of the world where his skin is unmarred. Hafsa observes this as she brushes his shudderings lids. The blemished marks are thin, no wider than a toothpick, and seem to be the remains of a quick, singular slash.
"How did you get them?"
The panther remains silent.
"It's okay. You don't have to say." Effortlessly, she moves on. "I have an uncle with a scar on his forehead. He was trying to shoo off a fly and ended up scratching himself!"
This succeeds in making him laugh, leaving his throat rich and deep. "Poor guy. I met a hawk in juvie who did the same thing on his chest. There was a little bald spot right in the middle." He points at his own chest, showing where the mark would be.
The two continue their banter until at last, Hafsa brushes the tuft of fur on his forehead to the side. "There! All done!"
She offers him her smartphone, and with the selfie mode, shows Toma her work. Like she promised, there is not a trace of the scars the sliced through his left eye. Even squinting at his mirror image could not reveal where the wounds had once been.
"Wow, you weren't kidding." He remarks, still fascinated with the results. "Females are terrifying."
"If you'd like, I can teach you how. It shouldn't take more than ten minutes a day."
He shakes his head. "Don't worry, it's cool. My depth perception couldn't handle it. Thanks anyway."
"Sure!" Before she can turn around to put away her things, Toma jolts up from his seat with a start.
"No really, thank you." He insists. "You and the others are doing all of this for me… I don't really know why you were ever nice to me in the first place. Looking the way I do, coming from where I was, and all. But it's nice to have… a friend here."
The serval wraps her arms around his thick neck, covering up the scratchy nylon collar with golden brown fur. "It's nice to be your friend, too."
Toma can't remember the last time he was hugged. All he can think of is that right now, the sensation is so wonderful, no ice cream could possibly compare in sweetness.
"Now let's go make some friends."
The two open the cafeteria doors wide, observing the empty hall beyond. Hafsa checks her phone. It's 4:25. Visitors should be arriving any minute. Panther and serval exchange nervous smiles. For now, they'll just have to be stuck in the nauseous anticipation of being one of the last kids picked for dodgeball, or a girl on prom night waiting for someone to ask her to dance. All they can do is wait.
After what feels like five minutes, Hafsa checks her phone again. 4:26. Seriously? Time always seems to stop and smell the roses when it should really be on its way!
Suddenly, her sensitive ears pick up movement in the distance. Movement and chatter. Headed this way, no less. She can hear the vibrations of their footsteps, the reverb of their voices bouncing around the walls, closer and closer.
The commotion finally turns the corner, revealing themselves to be Brian and Solomon. The other felines let out a disappointed groan in unison. Though it's nice to see the rest of the student council, they don't really count as constituents.
"Hey guys!" Brian calls out, quickening his pace. "Guess who we found on the way here!"
As if on cue, another group of animals peeks out from over the hall corner, and Hafsa immediately recognizes the sound of rowdy jocks.
The ram fighting club, in all its sweaty, swearing glory exchange heated remarks to Solomon, who answers them with a dignified smile. The largest bull of the group, Elmer, snaps out of the conversation when he sees the student council president.
"Hey, Pres!" He greets, prompting the other herbivores to clumsily follow along.
"Elmer! Glad to see you could make it!" The serval chirps back.
"Yeah, us too." He points to the cluster of bovids. "We were supposed to train today, but the Cap said he was busy so he cancelled practice. Basically forced us to come."
Hafsa's smile falters. "He did?"
"I mean, who are we to deny free ice cream?" The yak shrugs. "Student council's got the right idea here, I think. Maybe we could serve ice cream every day."
"Oh, this isn't the student council's doing." Hafsa corrects. "The whole event was all Toma! I just helped out as his buddy a bit."
She points to the panther who has been frozen stiff in his corner ever since the others arrived. His eyes nervously dart up, down, and all around the herd of herbies.
"Uh." He croaks out. "Hi."
"Oh. Hey." Elmer responds, taking a nervous step back.
Awkward silence.
"T-Toma's actually running for Vice President!" Hafsa jabbers, eager to keep the conversation rolling.
The panther nods hurriedly. "Y-yep. That's me."
"Cool… uh. Necklace."
Toma looks down at his shock collar. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows dryly, moving beneath nylon strap and unfortunately only making stand out more.
In an instant, the tiny green light displayed on the main device turns red.
The panther almost instantly falls to his knees with a gag, trembling as waves of electric convulsions seize his body. The other animals instantly run to him, unsure of what to do.
"Holy shit!" Elmer exclaims. "Did I kill him?!"
"I-It…" Toma gasps, sticking an unsteady arm out to stop the rushing crowd. "I-It's f-fine… J-just give me a s-sec…"
The others are left to nervously watch as the carnivore, now on all fours, hacks out ragged breaths until his paralyzing punishment stops. Once the current ebbs, so too does his strength, and he finally collapses on the linoleum floor.
"Toma!" Hafsa exclaims, rushing to pick him up by the armpits.
"I-I'm chill…" He rasps. However, his limp body seems to be anything but chill.
Wasting no time, the remaining bystanders step in, and using their combined force, manage to heave the gargantuan feline inside the cafeteria and onto a chair. Now all of them pant from exhaustion, and for a while, no words are spoken; only gasps of air.
The first one to catch his breath is Solomon. "How are you feeling, Toma?"
"I'm fine, really!" Toma insists, his voice a bit stronger than before. "I-It just caught me by surprise. The shocks aren't that strong, I swear."
"That didn't look like a hand buzzer shock to me, pal." Marcel interrupts. "Is that what that collar is for?"
"Well, it uh… sensed that my heartbeat went up. So it did that."
The springbok whistles. "Wow, so they really do make carnies wear shock collars in jail."
"J-juvie."
Elmer pipes in, shoving his smaller teammate aside. "Hey man, I'm sorry if I scared you or something. To be honest, I was a little freaked out myself. No offense, but you're a pretty big dude. And that's coming from a yak."
"No, no!" Toma protests. "I get that all the time. You didn't do anything wrong. I just… get a little nervous with new people. God, that's so lame to say out loud."
"Nah, bro!" Derek gives the panther a pat on the back. "Everyone's got social anxiety nowadays. Cuz of phones and shit."
Jordie squints his eyes at the gerenuk. "Phones and shit?"
"Yeah, that's why everyone our age is all mentally ill and shit. It's the phones. I read it somewhere."
"Did you read it on your phone, dumbass?" Marcel narrows his eyes.
"Maybe. That's why I'm mentally ill and shit."
"You're a moron, is what you are."
"That's mad ableist, bro. I got hella HD. Eighty of them shits."
Meanwhile, Toma's eyes have been darting to and from the bovids, glimmering with excitement of being in close proximity of a friendly conversation. The atmosphere is completely flipped to what it was not five minutes ago. The student council looks on at the playful huddle of males contentedly. Though it was chaotic, it's not a bad start to the event.
Out of the corner of their eyes, they spot some scattered animals entering through the double doors, attracted by the ruckus inside. They're mostly carnivores, but to Hafsa's surprise, she can even spot some herbivorous faces trickle in.
Now is the time to do what the student council does best: schmooze. With a single nod of their heads, the trio moves out to greet the newcomers, touring them around the buffet of frozen desserts and of course, encouraging them to take a seat close to the panther of the hour himself. Within twenty minutes, the event has accrued a respectable amount of guests, including the ram fighting club, a lively pack of wolves, some couples happy to get a free date out of the ordeal, a party of mice, and a couple of dozen miscellaneous students. The most surprising guest is Molly, accompanied by a civet that Hafsa recognizes as one of her weird goth friends.
"What are you doing here?" The serval asks her roommate, who digs into a bowl of nothing but sprinkles.
Molly rolls her eyes. "We're here ironically. Duh."
Hafsa flashes a smug expression at Solomon.
Though the other students hesitate to approach Toma, they can't help but notice how well he's getting along with the ram fighting team. Some of the bolder animals dare to join in, some are hailed in by the rams who are eager to speak to them. The resulting tableful of animals is chaotic, but hilarious.
"That collar... It goes off when your heart starts racing?" Marcel asks again, pointing the tip of his spoon at Toma's neck.
"Uh, yeah. It's pretty inconvenient."
"Does that mean you can't… do it? Or you have to go like… really slow?"
Despite Toma's dark complexion, his face heats up. "Uh… no. I don't think I could."
"Maaan, that sucks!" Marcel wails. "It's basically a chastity belt around your neck! I couldn't handle that."
"What are you talking about?" Elmer knocks the smaller bovid upside the head. "You handle that every day of your life, perma-virgin."
The group laughs.
"How was juvie, anyways?" A curious otter asks.
Toma hesitates. "Ah, you know… Rough. The food sucks. The other males are always picking fights. The guards keep telling you to go here and there, and if you don't, they punish you."
This only further intrigues the surrounding males, especially the carnivores.
"Did you get into fights?" A fox asks.
"Uh…" The panther remembers Hafsa's advice to only talk about his positives. "I'm not the fighting type."
The herbivores nod approvingly.
"But how'd you get so yoked? You're like double the size of a normal panther!" A nearby wolf blurts out.
Toma instinctively flexes his muscles at the question, causing a group of females to giggle over his tensed pecs. "I used to swim a lot. Built up muscles doing that."
The others ooh and aah at his words. Many seem relieved his answer is so normal.
Suddenly, lightning strikes the feline's brain. "A-and as Vice President, one of my first goals is to… petition for a swimming pool here in school!"
A wave of impressed cheers makes rounds at the table, coaxing a crooked smile from the panther.
And so, the evening, much like the ice cream, melts into a sweet puddle as the sun sets. Once the night chill makes the students begin to shiver as they scoop up spoonfuls of their desserts, the ice cream social unofficially draws to a close. One by one, teenagers begin to file out, bellies stuffed and sleepiness beginning to dull their senses. Toma rushes past Hafsa and the rest to stand by the exit, bidding farewell to each and every student, tail jittering in elation behind him.
The ram fighting jocks are the last to go, and they each give the panther a spirited punch on the arm as they leave. At last, only he and the student council remain.
"Guys!" He calls to them, jogging up to them (tripping once or twice in the process). "Guys, I did good, right?"
"You knocked it out of the park, Toma!" Hafsa raises both hands above her, palms wide and waiting for a double high five.
The darker cat shyly taps his palms against hers, laughing. "They thought my juvie stories were cool! They liked my hat! And, and, I used all of those words you said to use, like 'coexistence'! Some people even gave me their numbers! Though, we might have to build a swimming pool now."
"That's wonderful!" Brian cheers. "You were a regular social butterfly!"
"I'd say today was a great success." Solomon nods.
"It's all thanks to you guys." Toma exhales, ducking his head briskly. "Thanks. For real."
"You can thank us once you're Vice President!" Hafsa giggles. "And after we've cleaned up! Let's get started before it gets too late."
The four animals scatter, scanning over the cafeteria tables and misplaced chairs to pick up empty, sticky bowls. They wipe down the surfaces, sweep up a desert's worth of sprinkles off the floor, and pile the used cutlery and dishes in neat stacks outside the kitchen area for the staff to clean later.
All that's left is to take down the decorative banners from the walls. Easier said than done for a balance-impaired panther, so Hafsa decides to let him and Brian take a breather; they are the ones who hung them up first, after all. She and Solomon head to the depths of the cafeteria.
The caracal grabs a nearby chair and steadies it as the female steps up to the seat, reaching for the colorful ice cream-shaped banners dangling above.
"Don't you dare look up my skirt." She teases.
Solomon chuckles. "You're wearing pants, beloved."
"Don't make any excuses."
She pulls off the banner until it comes loose, and with a few more tugs, the rest of it pops free from the tape keeping it fixed to the wall. With a flourish, the decorations flutter to the floor.
"Easy as that." She hops down from the chair and goes to pick up the liberated ornaments.
A subtle hand stops her mid step, gently latched onto the tips of her fingers. Hafsa looks up perplexed at her companion, who in gazes looks down with a complicated expression. His normal debonair face cracked with worry, and his dark hazel eyes seem to probe hers for information, understanding. Or at least they try.
"Hafsa…" He starts, in a voice soft enough to reach her ears alone. "You haven't been yourself these days."
The serval tilts her head. "What do you mean?"
"Ever since you suggested Toma to run for vice. It's just… very out of character for you."
He waits for her response, but is only met with confused stammering.
He tries again. "You have to know, that even if he wins, this will look bad for you. Your reputation, especially among herbivores, will take a considerable blow. Like it or not, you're supporting a criminal. Someone who has attempted predation. Associating with him at all is risky."
The spots on Hafsa's face contort. "Why… are you saying this now?"
"Because I'm concerned. Because I want to know what you're thinking."
"Solomon…" Her expression hardens. "I support Toma because he's in danger. We're in danger. If we do nothing, then the future of the carnivores of this school is in danger. This is more important than my reputation. I am a carnivore."
Solomon flinches, like she said a filthy word.
"Aren't you?" She asks, her tone urgent.
"It's late."
The caracal lets go of her hand and turns away, his long strides taking him to the others, and further from her.
It seems this is yet another argument that will never be resolved.
Though Hafsa cannot unclench her heart, she settles for unclenching her jaw, and returns to the rest as if nothing had happened.
"Let's call it a night, then?" Brian yawns. "I'm beat."
"Yep." The president agrees. "We should get some rest for tomorrow!"
"Toma," Solomon turns to the larger male. "If you'd like, we can go to the dorms together."
This catches Toma off guard. A conflict plays across his face, as if he is torn between something. "C-can I talk to Hafsa for a sec? It'll be quick."
Solomon raises a brow. "Of course. Should Brian and I wait outside?"
"Uh, yes please."
The two seniors excuse themselves, resigning to the exterior hallway. Hafsa already feels drained from her conversation with Solomon. She certainly doesn't need more drama.
The panther doesn't give her time to wait. "So, uh… Elmer and the others told me about what happened last year. With the tiger."
"…Oh."
"They told me that she killed their friend. That she nearly killed you and Desmond."
"…Yeah."
"Why wouldn't you…? Nevermind, I get why you never mentioned it. I probably wouldn't want to talk about it either if I was you." He sighs, stripping off his party hat and scratching at his mop of fur. "I guess I'll just say that… I'll do my best. To make everyone trust me."
His smile is is weak, unsure. The smile of someone who doesn't really understand what he's talking about, but someone who still means every word. Hafsa smiles back. The smile of someone who has nothing to smile about, but still has faith.
A bull elk launches himself down on the common room couch with a grunt. Eyes closed, he adjusts his antlers on the pleather cushions to better rest his head as he lifts up his shirt to scratch at his sides. Nearby, a hippo glares at him impatiently.
"Well? How was it?"
"Gimme a minute…" The elk mutters. "My stomach hurts."
"You ate too much fucking ice cream, shithead." The hippo lambasts him. "What are you, four?"
"Yeah, yeah…" The cervid waves off his harsh words. "Had to play the part, didn't I?"
"Just get on with it. I bet no one showed up."
"I thought that would be the case too, but…" The elk's expression grows bitter. "A lot more students showed up than I expected. Even herbivores."
"What?!" The stout herbivore exclaims. "Fucking traitors!"
"I still don't think he's a serious threat, but I don't think he's the pushover we thought he was either. The others won't be too happy about this. Especially Zeke."
"He did say to keep an eye of for that black-furred criminal just in case. Since he's the spotted bitch's favorite."
"They must have something up their sleeves, then."
The hippo smirks. "So do we. If they get too dangerous, we'll step in."
The elk burps. "Amen."
AN: Thank you for reading. A bit of a longer chapter. For research purposes, I had to look up pictures of ice cream socials. Needless to say, I am craving ice cream. Posting this very late at night, so I cannot think of anything else to say. Good night.
Take it easy and stay safe.
