Turning the key inside the lock proves fruitless, as it turns out to be unlocked already. Desmond peers into the student council office, bright and saturated from the warm rays of Sunday sunlight that shine through. The fact that the curtains are drawn proves she's here then, despite the president's desk being unoccupied.
The Jacob sheep enters, desperately trying to will the frenzied rush of blood coursing behind his ears to shut up. Already preparing a nonchalant hand of greeting, he turns to face the back of the room.
"Hey, Haf—" The remaining words get stuck in his throat. He expected her to be meandering around the bookshelves or sitting on the wicker chair by the lounge area, but is met with an unconscious serval, sprawled on the sofa in a deep slumber.
Taking a nervous gulp, Desmond hesitantly approaches the sleeping cat, careful to avoid the floorboards he knows creak when stepped on. He silently gazes at this rare scene from his improved view. Unlike her nap on the lawn, this sleeping Hafsa is much more proactive. Her whiskers, gilded by the sunshine, twitch and pirouette in response to some oneiric turmoil, while her expressions and tightly-shut eyes follow a similar distress. The resulting spectacle is a veritable circus performance of the sparkler-like whiskers to the background of oscillating spotted fur. Her mouth is slightly agape, hinting at the ivory weaponry that lurks inside with a devilish glint. Meanwhile, her hands (one atop the backrest of the sofa and the other on her abdomen) are at one moment tame and in another pawing at leather and fabric. The hooked daggers that protrude from her cuticles with every gentle scratch appear and disappear quickly as if it were playing a game of peekaboo.
The entre scene almost feels unnatural; an odd blend of tranquility and violence. Though the feline is resting, everything about her behavior conveys an extreme power, one that bleeds through the debilitating mantle of REM sleep. Her ferocity pounds on the door, begging to be set free with every convulsion. Yet in between these bursts of passion remains a sweet tranquility that only ripens with each rise and fall of her chest. A sweetness all the more incongruent when the next fit of rage begins.
This is the slumber of a carnivore.
This sleeping contradiction is so fascinating, Desmond nearly forgets what he is staring at. But a sudden gurgle of his stomach breaks the bizarre silence, and he is once again grounded in the reality of the situation. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he tries to make his presence known. The serval's ears snap towards the direction of the sound instantly. A few seconds later, her whole body follows suit, slowly rising from the sofa with a wide open-mouthed yawn (a sight so razor-sharp that the herbivore nearly passes out himself).
Her groggy eyes scan her surroundings, struggling to accurately relay the information to her brain in a logical manner. Once her gaze falls on the sheep standing before her, her thin pupils finally dilate to their usual roundness as her eyes go wide with shock.
"Buh?!" She sputters. "What time is it?"
"Eleven twenty."
"AM or PM?"
"Step into the sunlight and ask that again."
She looks around once more until the setting finally makes sense to her. When realization finally sets in, her face quickly blooms a bright red.
"I guess I must've fallen asleep waiting for you…" She chuckles sheepishly. "The sunlight was so nice and warm, ha ha… You know what they say about cat naps…"
Desmond suppresses all thoughts that contain the word "cute" and seethes at her with mild frustration. "We agreed to meet up at eleven thirty. What time did you get here?"
She strikes a pose. "Ten fifty!"
"And why did you come here so early when the dorms are a 5 minute walk from here?"
"Well…" She looks away, hiding a shy lopsided grin. "I figured you'd try to be the early one and I know you don't like waiting by yourself."
Now it's Desmond's turn to go red. "W-what makes you say that?"
She doesn't answer immediately, only glancing at his trembling hands. "Just a hunch." She suddenly shoots up from the couch, now at her true height. "Anyways!"
She trots over to her desk with her newfound energy. Still standing, she hunches over the desk, placing both palms flat out on the smooth wood. "You may be wondering why I've gathered you all here today…" She snickers in a conspiratorial tone.
"You mean why you texted me saying 'let's meet up to talk about Peter'? I have no idea."
Hafsa's expression sours. "Must you ruin the drama of it all?" She plops into her desk chair in a huff. "Well? Report, Watson."
A smile escapes Desmond's lips. "Sure thing, Sherlock." He grabs his chair and rolls it over to her desk, but makes sure to pump up the seat a few inches higher before sitting down.
"Long story short, Peter's innocent." He begins. "He wasn't whoever was stalking us, so much so that he was outside the gym the whole time waiting for Priya. The idiot was trying to sneak in to grab some DVDs for her. But apparently she never showed, so he just went back to the dorms after waiting an hour. That's probably when you spotted him."
The serval nods, grinning in calm satisfaction. This makes Desmond raise a brow.
"You don't seem terribly surprised."
"It all checks out," Hafsa says, her eyes glimmering with confidence. "I'll have you know I did some investigation work of my own and stumbled upon a similar conclusion."
"You really don't have to help," Priya insists. "I'm used to doing this by myself."
Hafsa continues filling the watering can, ignoring the tigress's words. "All the more reason to help out. Besides, don't the new members of the gardening club take care of this place too?"
Priya looks helplessly on. "They just show up every now and then to inspect the plants. They really only joined to help me meet the minimum requirements." She gasps. "Maybe I shouldn't be saying this to the student council president…"
The smaller cat laughs. "I won't tell if you won't. If you weren't around, all of these lovely flowers would be goners."
"That's very nice of you, Miss President." Priya says sweetly. She shuts off the garden faucet before it overfills the watering can. "And sorry to use your help. I'm sure you'd rather be spending your Saturday with friends."
"You wound me. Aren't we friends too?" Hafsa asks, somewhat pouty.
"O-o-oh, of course!" The tiger stammers. "I mean, if that's okay with you… I don't have many friends myself…"
Hafsa, watering can in hand, heads to a nearby flowerbed of snapdragons and starts spraying the colorful foliage with water. Priya ducks down the opposite end of the patch and begins pulling out the weeds.
"Come on, now!" Hafsa chides. "A cute white tiger like yourself, you must have tons of friends."
The other feline giggles nervously. "I believe others animals are a bit too intimidated to approach me. Perhaps because I'm a white tiger or perhaps because of this." She gestures towards the nasal cannulas under her nostrils.
"Peter's not afraid of any of that, and he's a herbie!" Hafsa points out.
"That's true…"
Good, now's my chance to ask.
"But you know, Desmond told me something funny," The serval says in her most nonchalant tone. "He said he caught Peter walking around the campus super late at night. I think it was on Thursday. Since you're his friend, do have any idea what he could've been doing?"
"Thursday night…" Priya tilts her head, deep in concentration. Suddenly, she perks up, seemingly having come to a conclusion. "I'm afraid that might be my fault…"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I had asked Peter for some old ram fighting DVDs. I would've been okay with him just handing them to me after school but he has a way of intensifying things… He ended up convincing me to meet with him at night so we could sneak in the gym and get them."
Hafsa's ears perk up. "Really?"
"He's so silly, isn't he?" She giggles. "Always chasing excitement… In any case, we agreed to meet up outside of the gym. But… I let him down." She sighs, her expression suddenly downcast. "That night, my health started acting up, as it often does. I felt too tired to even leave my bed, let alone the dorm. I fell asleep without even texting him to cancel the plans. He must have waited there for so long…
"I wanted to apologize in person the next day, he'd been avoiding me. By the end of the day, I was forced to call and explain myself so he wouldn't spend the weekend mad at me. He was very understanding, though. We're on good terms now."
Hafsa's heart overflows with relief. Desmond will be so happy to hear this!
"I'm glad everything worked out in the end!"
"Yes, me too." Priya gazes into the snapdragons fondly. "He's my closest friend. I'd hate to lose that."
"A tiger and a sheep, huh? That's an odd combination."
The tigress smiles gently. "Do you think so? I'm not so sure." With a small grunt, she lifts herself back on her feet and offers a hand to her upperclassman, which the latter takes and is lifted with surprising force.
"I don't believe herbivores are ever truly afraid of carnivores," Priya says, still holding Hafsa's hand. "Whatever fear they think they feel is really just a manifestation of their will to live. When a herbivore says 'I don't want to be devoured', they really mean 'I want to keep on living'. How could I resent such a wonderful sentiment?"
"That's… a really refreshing way of seeing things." Hafsa mumbles, dumbfounded.
Priya's blue eyes shine with an unexpected warmth, the warmth of an animal willing to take care of flowers all by herself on a Saturday afternoon. "It's how I've chosen to look at it."
"So you knew Peter was clean before you even texted me?" Desmond asks incredulously. "What was the point of meeting up today then?"
"So you could see my adorable face, of course." Hafsa teases, leaning closer to the sheep so that he could get a closer look at her complexion. "It's my job to bring joy to the members of the student council, even on weekends."
"How noble." Desmond deadpans. "It's a shame that face comes with your personality."
Hafsa haughtily sticks her nose up in the air. "Hmf! If that's how it is, I suppose I won't be giving you your reward, then!"
"Reward?"
As if on cue, the serval gets up and skips to the lounging area to peers over the right arm of the couch. She reveals a small bag from behind it and returns to Desmond, crouching so she can meet his gaze. The sheep glances down at the ornate purple bag, his faces equal parts bewilderment and anticipation.
Hafsa grins at his expression before softening to a more sincere countenance. "I wanted say sorry for getting you wrapped up in this mess. Actually, I should say thank you. It all worked out in the end, but I still feel like I owe it to you. Not just for this, too. For… everything, I guess. It seems like whenever you stick around with me, things end up weird."
"I… don't mind weird." Desmond mumbles, clutching his horns. "Can I… may I open it?"
She places the gift on his lap. "It isn't gonna open itself!"
Gingerly, he opens up the petite bag. Inside are an assortment of sweets: small chocolates of all flavors, candied nuts, colorful toffees, even some macaroons protected in a beautiful container.
"I recall you asking to 'send candy next time.'" She reaches in her shirt pocket to reveal a crinkled, tightly folded note and waves it around playfully. The note he had sent her on Lupercalia.
"I…" The sheep desperately tries to think of something, anything, to say. He comes up at a loss. No thank you could cover what he feels right now. Words feel inappropriate, disrespectful even, because it would be a complete misrepresentation, an underestimation. So he resorts to something else.
He snatches his bag from the floor and desperately fumbles inside of it while Hafsa looks on curiously. His hands fly out of the bag, leaving it to drop once more to the floor with a loud thud. Clutched highly in his sweaty hands are a jumble of energy bars, most strawberry-flavored.
"It's not much!" He bleats. "But it's all I got right now."
Hafsa looks at him. Then she looks at the bouquet of energy bars. And bursts into uproarious laughter.
Doubling over, her head falls to her knees, making her lose her balance and fall on her tail on the floor. This only results in more laughter which then infects Desmond. Suddenly, it's just two idiots laughing for no reason.
After a long, long while, they eventually compose themselves enough to resume talking.
"Well, I guess this ends the saga of Sherlock and Watson: Noah's Arc edition." Hafsa pants, wiping tears from her eye.
"At the end of the day, we never did figure out who the stalker was." Desmond notes. "We just know it's not Pete. Or Priya for that matter."
The serval shrugs. "That's all we can do for now. We can only hope it wasn't anything serious."
"Frankly, the most interesting thing out of this whole ordeal was learning that Priya's a hybrid."
Hafsa's jaw drops to the floor.
"She's a WHAT?!"
AN: Thanks again for reading! I wrote the description of Hafsa sleeping while looking at my own cat, asleep on my lap. She is my muse. Right now she's licking her butt. I don't think I'll make Hafsa do that, though...
Take it easy and stay safe.