As per his agreement with his now-partner in investigation Hafsa, Desmond had to find some way of getting Peter alone to discuss why a him-scented animal was skulking about at night. He figured the best way to go is under the guise of a friendly meetup. However, it could come off as suspicious if he asked that only the bighorn sheep meet up with him instead of the usual group of rams, so he was forced to utilize a… less preferable strategy.

"A sleepover at your place?" Peter repeats incredulously over the phone.

Desmond cringes. "Can you not call it a sleepover? We're not preschoolers."

"I mean, I'm down to go, but why are you askin' all of a sudden?"

"My mom's been pestering me to visit for ages." The monochrome sheep explains. "Once in a while I gotta go so she doesn't have an aneurism. I figured having a friend there might make it more bearable. Plus, there's only one spare mattress so I can't invite the others."

"Aw, Captain, you chose moi as your distraction?" Peter purrs with mock coyness.

"I can change my mind, you know." Desmond warns mirthlessly.

"I'll be there!"

"Good. I'll send you the address and the time."

"Awesome, can't wait."

"Yep."

"…So, what are you wearing?"

Desmond hangs up the phone. An amused sigh escapes his lips. Peter really is a dope. Placing his cell back in his pocket, he turns the corner of the street, where his parents' apartment complex awaits at the very end. It's not very big, especially for once having housed six sheep under its roof, but Desmond had long since gotten used to the cramped space. He approaches the building and hesitantly presses the intercom button. In less than three seconds, he is met with the familiar voice of his mother.

"Desmond?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"There aren't any carnies nearby, are there?"

"Can you just open the door?"

His mother huffs, the buzz of the door opening eventually goes off.

"Goodie." Desmond mutters under his breath as he pushes the handle. After climbing three sets of stairs (the building was sorely lacking in elevators), he sees the front door of interest, still closed. He plods up to it, making sure he is visible to the peephole.

"Still just me, mother. No… carnies."

Those were apparently the magic words, triggering the long series of clicks and snicks that Desmond knows to be the dozens of locks on the door. It eventually opens up a sliver, where the hazel, bag-infested eyes of Desmond's mother peers out from. Confirming the safety of the situation, she opens the door the remainder of the way and ushers her son in.

"I hope you've seen the stories too," She scolds while giving him a tight hug (a disproportionately strong one for an ewe her size). "Carnies force their way after the intercom buzzes and ransack the house. I've seen it on the news. You've got to make sure you're completely alone before the door unlocks."

"Yes, yes." Desmond awkwardly pats her back. "My friend's arriving at dinnertime."

The ewe's eyes brighten. "I'm so glad one of your ram fighting buddies is coming over! I've not met one since you joined the club, and I've been simply dying to see how they're like."

"They're just normal animals, Ma. And we're gonna be in my bedroom for the entire time, so you can relax."

"You've always liked your privacy, haven't you, my little lamb? Your brothers drove you mad in that little room." She chuckles over Desmond's eye roll. "Oh, I should get started on supper now. Come with me, you can help while you tell me about your school."

Desmond agrees wearily. This is gonna be one long night.

Desmond sprawls out on the couch, flipping through TV channels without much enthusiasm. Dinner's just about ready, the only missing ingredient being Peter. The buzzing of the intercom echoes throughout the house, and he shoots up to answer it. Picking up the handset, the low-resolution image of the entrance reveals the bighorn sheep's muzzle far too close to the camera.

"Hey, Pete." Desmond greets.

"Hey, Captain! Phew, good to know I got the right place."

"Ask him if there are carnies around!" His mother yells from the kitchen.

Desmond ignores her. "We're on the third floor." He hangs up the intercom, and goes to unlock the door, knowing it will take about as much time as a three-floor hike up the stairs. Sure enough, his first sight upon opening the door is Peter's head poking out from the stairwell. He grins and climbs up the remaining steps, revealing the rest of his body.

"Captain!" He rushes Desmond, seizing his neck in the crook of his elbow and delivering a solid headbutt. The clacking of their horns reverberate off the cement walls.

"Hey, Pete." Desmond gives a small smile, but pulls the other ram closer. "Don't act like an ass in front of my mom." He mutters under his breath.

The bighorn sheep remains unfazed by his command, and makes his way into the apartment. "Wow, nice place you got here!"

Desmond's mother peeks out of the kitchen, inspecting the guest. Once deciding the coast is clear, she goes to greet him.

"Hello, there! You must be Peter." She bows her head, the typical greeting of bovids. "Desmond, close the door."

Her son complies while Peter returns the bow. "And you must be Desmond's sister. Funny, he didn't mention having one."

Desmond wishes he were a carnie so he could bit his head off. But his mother only giggles at this cheesy line. "Ohoho, I hardly look that young…"

Peter sniffs the air. "Wow, this whole house smells delicious. I hope I didn't make you wait to eat whatever smells this good."

The ewe's ears perk up at the reminder of supper. "Oh no, in fact, it's not quite ready yet. Do you mind waiting five minutes until it's finished?"

"Take all the time you need, it's no problem!" The bighorn sheep gives a lopsided smile, which contrasts to Desmond's extremely exasperated expression. His chuckling mother returns to the kitchen, leaving the two rams standing by the entrance. Peter shoots his friend a smug look.

"What'dya think? Moms love me."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I hate you." Desmond grunts.

"I'm good with dads too. Say, where's Papa Desmond?"

"He's still at work; doesn't get Saturdays off. Probably only gonna be back after dinner. If he's lucky, he can avoid you entirely."

Peter playfully yanks one of his friend's lower horns. "And if you're lucky, you'll be calling me 'step daddy' by the end of the month."

"How about I call you moron?"

"—And we couldn't believe what we were seeing!" Peter exclaims before stuffing another spoonful of cabbage soup in his mouth. "You know, this weird little Jacob sheep, this random freshman, just waltzing in and pinning Leslie down in the first five minutes!"

Desmond's mother nods wisely. "Well, Desmond's always loved ram fighting. He's been going at it since he was… about 8 or 9."

"Mhm," the bighorn sheep agrees while chewing. "So we're like 'okay you obviously pass the tryouts'. But he goes, 'I'm actually gonna be the team captain'. Right to our faces! Can you believe it?!"

"Desmond!" The ewe snaps at her son, who is facedown on the table. "Don't tell me you actually did that! Didn't I raise you to have better manners?!"

"No, but you won't believe this," Peter continues before Desmond could even think of responding. "Les, who was the captain at the time, actually said 'you know what, you can be captain this season, and if we win the SWNT, you get to be captain full time'."

"I'd like to meet this Leslie fellow and thank him for putting up with my son."

"But guess what we did? We qualified for the SWNT and won it! So that's how Desmond became captain of the ram fighting club!" The ram chortles as if he's just told a joke.

The ewe wipes her mouth with a napkin and looks at her son. "You've never told me that story."

"I didn't think it was important."

His mother glares at him and swats him with the napkin. "You never think anything is important! A carnie could tear your arm off and you wouldn't think to call me."

Desmond silently brushes aside the fact that he had nearly been attacked by Hafsa and never told her about it.

"But it's a good thing you've taken up ram fighting," She continues. "It's important for a sheep like yourself to have methods of self defense. Gives you a fighting chance. Now, if a bloody carnie tries anything like that bobcat did—"

"Mother!" Desmond barks. "Enough."

She stays silent. Their guest quickly tries to break up the tension. "Well, we always say Desmond is more dangerous than any carnie out there. And that's only because of his temper!"

"If only that were true…" The middle-aged sheep gazes wistfully at her soup. "It's just not fair, for good folk like us to have to live alongside those monsters… No good can come of it. For us, at least."

Both rams twitch nervously.

"So… weather's been nice lately, huh?"

Peter sets his silverware on his plate, pushing the latter aside with a hearty exhale. "Ahh, that was great! Thanks for the food, m'am!"

"Are you sure you don't want any more?" Desmond's mom fusses about, already grabbing the ladle resting in the soup pot on the center of the dining table. "We've still plenty to spare!"

He nods his head. "Oh, no, I couldn't eat another spoonful! Four bowls for me is plenty. Best cabbage soup I've eaten in my life."

The ewe frowns, dissatisfied with the answer. "Well, if you'd like, I could pack some for you to eat at home."

"Oh, I'd like that. If it's no problem, of course."

"No problem at all! A nice ram like you has got to eat well! Desmond could learn from you."

The Desmond in question rubs his temples. "For the love of…" He whispers under his breath. "Okay, great meal, mother, thank you! Pete and I are gonna go to my room now. And stay there."

His mother tilts her head. "Do you boys not want dessert? We've ice cream in the freezer—"

"Which we will eat in my room." Desmond cuts her off. "Pete, let's go!"

He practically drags the other ram by the horns out of his chair all the way to his room (but not before snagging the tub of ice cream and some spoons). Once there, he slams the door shut and tosses Peter onto one of the two bunk beds.

Peter only laughs, covering his eyes with a hand, while the other ram huffily settles on the bed opposite him and stabs the frozen dessert with a spoon.

"M-man, what's up your butt?" He asks between guffaws.

"You and my mother are up my butt!" Desmond snarls. "Why can't we just eat dinner in silence?"

"That's kind of unreasonable." Peter pushes himself up, trying to face him. "You don't need to be so snappy with her."

"Yes, I do…" Desmond sighs. "She's the type that will spiral indefinitely if you don't stop her. I need to cut her thoughts at the bud."

The bighorn sheep shrugs. "Well, I guess you care in your own way. Pass me that spoon."

The two sheep hunch over the tub of unthawed chocolate ice cream and hack away at it with their spoons.

"Cute room." Peter comments.

He scans the area. It's a small room, mostly taken up by the two sets of bunk beds. Further in are two small desks, chipped and faded from use, but now devoid of any schoolwork. Behind those is a formidable closet, also beaten (it seems nothing escapes the wrath of four rowdy rams). Major scratches and cracks have been hastily sealed by stickers or posters of famous sheep athletes. Atop the closet sit dusty trophies, most of them Desmond's for his excellence in ram fighting. To the right of wardrobe is a small window, where a view of the street behind theirs festers in dusk. It's not a pretty room, not even charming, but there is an undeniable appeal to its unspoken history, like seeing an abandoned shoe in a park.

"Sure." Desmond snorts. "Beats sleeping on the streets. Most of the times."

"Aw c'mon, I have a bunch of siblings too. You gotta admit, we'd be worse off without 'em."

"Aren't you wholesome." The four-horned sheep murmurs, but his expression is far softer. "But they're not the problem."

"Huh?"

"Anyways," He cuts Peter off, stretching nonchalantly and in the process poking the very punctured upper mattress of the bunk bed with his horns. "Get comfortable. Do you wanna take a shower or something?"

"I probably better. Then we can watch a movie or something."

The two boys carry out the evening in a typical fashion. After Peter returns from showering, they change into their nighttime apparel, quickly devour the remaining chunks of ice cream and mess around on Desmond's computer until deciding what movies to watch. They burn through the supply of chips and other snacks Peter brought and joke around until late into the night, only stopping to greet Desmond's father returning from work.

Into the late hours of the night they remain, talking over movies and foraging for something else to eat. The parents had gone to sleep some hours ago, so they use great effort to keep their voices at an appropriate volume. However, even teens tire eventually, and decide to wrap things up for the night. Each ram settles into the lower bunk of the two beds before Desmond finally turns off the light.

They lay in silence for a few minutes before, in typical sleepover fashion, someone begins another round of conversation.

"Hey, thanks for inviting me over today." Peter starts. "It was cool getting to see where you live, and your parents and stuff. You never talk much about yourself."

"Not much to talk about." Desmond replies tersely. "But I should be thanking you. Being alone with my parents can get intense, so… thanks."

"…"

"…"

Here we go.

"There's actually something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Yeah?"

"Okay, so." Desmond swallows. "Don't ask me how I know this, but I know that you were out on campus grounds super late Thursday night. And that same night, there was somebody watching the student council out by the lawn."

He hears the ruffling of sheets in the bed next to his, and knows Peter is sitting up straight now.

"Listen, man," Desmond continues, steadying his voice. "You're part of the ram fighting team. I know you're a good kid. So just be honest with me and we'll sort this out. I'm responsible for this sort of stuff now."

Peter stays silent for a while.

"You got some reliable-ass sources…" He says in a quiet voice, breaking the silence. "Yeah, I was out late that night. I wasn't even trying to keep it a secret really, but…"

Now Desmond sits up so he can properly look at his friend, though it's near impossible in the darkness.

"It's more embarrassing than anything…" The bighorn sheep starts. "Y'see, I was out waiting by the gym. I just stood around for an hour."

"Waiting?"

"I had kiiiinda promised Priya that I'd show her the old DVDs of the club competing in nationals. The ones we keep in the storage closet. We were supposed to meet up and she would pick out the ones she wanted to watch."

What.

"Priya?" Desmond repeats, slack jawed.

"It was supposed to be really quick. I didn't want keep inviting her during club hours, since you know, it would distract the others, so I thought it's be like, get in, get out, wham, bam."

"How would you even get in? You don't have the keys!"

Peter chuckles. "Bro, I know where you hide the spare one. We've all seen you fuck around with that loose brick."

"So you're telling me you went to get a bunch of DVDs in the storage closet in the middle of the night with a tiger? Are you fucking suicidal?!"

"Hey, keep your voice down!" Peter hushes him, panicked. "Besides, she didn't even show up."

"W-what?"

Peter smoothens his beard. "Yeah, I didn't even end up going in. I just waited around for a while and went straight back to my dorm. Pinky promise."

That must be what Hafsa saw, then…

"So… you weren't the animal on the lawn?" Desmond asks tentatively.

The other sheep shakes his head. "No. No idea what you're talking about."

Desmond collapses into his bed with a huge sigh. "Thank fucking God."

Though he seems relieved, Peter wears a nervous expression. "Hey, if someone else was out watching you… that sounds serious. Is something going on?"

The Jacob sheep is not swayed by the concerns. "It'll be fine… If you're not involved… Whew…"

Peter doesn't move, still staring at Desmond's figure let out reassured puffs of air. "Wow, you were really worried, huh?"

"I'm far more concerned for your mental capabilities, if you think creeping around the gym with a tiger is somehow more okay."

Peter plops back down on his pillow, dramatically grunting. "Oh, lay off. You know Priya, she's a nice girl."

"They say eight out of ten predations are committed by someone the victim knew."

"It's not like that!" Peter bleats. "She can't even eat meat—!" Peter's eyes widen and slaps his muzzle shut with both hands.

Desmond's ears perk up at this. "What did you say?"

"Nothing, nothing!" The other sheep says in a muffled voice.

"No no," he once again sits up, his brows furrowed. "You said she can't even eat meat?"

Peter remains frozen for a while. Eventually, he slowly removes his hands from his mouth, dejectedly sinking into the mattress.

"Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Promise." Desmond lies, knowing full well Hafsa will be receiving a detailed report of what is about to follow.

The other ram flips to his side, facing away from his friend.

"…She's a hybrid."

"…H-huh?"

"One of her ancestors is a herbivore. Her grandmother or something. Whatever it was, she inherited the lack of predatory drive. She doesn't crave meat at all."

"H-how do you know she's telling the truth?"

"Can you stop being so suspicious?" Peter huffs. "Trust me, I can tell. You can see it in her eyes. She's really not interested in eating meat."

Desmond stares at the back of his head. "Okay. If you say so."

He can hear the other sheep snort. "You suck. Even if she wasn't a hybrid, she still wouldn't do anything. Trust between a herbie and a carnie is possible, you know. Hell, we left you alone with the student council president after practice yesterday. You could've been eaten."

"That's different."

"No, it's not."

That is the last sentence spoken that night. Peter soon falls asleep, belting out bed-shaking snores. It might have been a nuisance for Desmond on any other night, but just for tonight, the exhaustion wrought from this day knocks him out better than any sleeping pill could.

The next morning, Peter leaves the house as gracefully as he entered it. With a hefty plastic container filled with cabbage soup in tow, he bids a hearty farewell to Desmond, his mother and his father. Desmond chastises himself for the amount of paranoid conspiracy theories he had conjured up before asking about Peter's alibi. He should've known.

Peter's an idiot, through and through.

AN: Thanks for reading! Yay for 50 kudos; I feel like I always have something to celebrate with each new chapter.

We're in deep plot twist territory now, fellas. It's only the tip of the iceberg. To mostly my excitement, I have some fun ideas planned for the future. Taking some time out of my day to develop the plot and think of future chapters is really enjoyable. Sorry that this chapter turned out a bit longer than usual, I may have to make next chapter shorter to compensate. Or not, I am at the mercy of future me, who is easily carried away during the writing process.

Also, side note. Desmond calls his mother "mother" when he is stressed out with her, and "ma" when he is not. He does not call her "ma" often.

Take it easy and stay safe.