"A room for two, please."
The hotel receptionist, an elderly anteater, raises a brow at the feline couple sweating bullets from across the counter.
"One bed or two?"
The male caracal's ear twitches.
"One."
The anteater smirks, though it is barely noticeably on his tiny mouth. "Let me check what's available."
As the receptionist clunkily types away at his keyboard with his long claws, neither one of the young cats take their eyes off of him. The female inches closer towards her boyfriend, still fixated on the anteater's clearly befuddled expression behind his thick frames, which reflect the outdated registration portal on the monitor.
"We can go if it's too expensive, Solomon."
The rust-colored feline doesn't respond, at least not verbally. At this distance, Hafsa notices his jaw clench. She doesn't dare speak anymore.
The pitter-patter of the keyboard drones on and on, long enough for Hafsa to temporarily forget why they are even here, instead finding comfort in the almost hypnotic clacking sound as if each key press were a raindrop falling on a windowpane. Inevitably, the symphony of typing, as well as the serval's delusion, abruptly comes to an end.
"You're in luck." The anteater's muted voice interrupts. "We have an available room that should suit your tastes. Queen sized bed, equipped with air conditioning, fully stocked minibar, flat screen TV, dual baths and shower."
"Excellent, that will do."
In a somewhat ironic twist, the serval can't help but feel impotent as she watches Solomon finalize the final steps of the booking. She laces her fingers together, preventing her anxiety from manifesting in the form of hand wringing or any other kind of fidgeting. Of course, it's natural to feel nervous. It was Solomon's idea to go to a hotel. Once he processed her request, that is.
"If you truly want to…" He spoke up after a nerve-wracking silence. "Then we'll do it the way you deserve."
By that, she assumed somewhere far from parents' prying eyes, school property or cramped backseats. As long as he didn't go for a tacky love hotel, she'd be fine with anything. The one he ended up picking was far more upmarket than she expected— scratch that, she perfectly expected that from him. Solomon would probably rent out the Taj Mahal if it were available. Perhaps just arriving at a hotel of any kind would have brought a jolt of realization to her: this was really happening.
Before she knows it, they're following the anteater's bushy tail down the hall, into the elevator and up several floors. The night is relatively young for hotel life; several animals (all older) pass them by in the illuminated corridors, all sparing half-lidded glances of partial disinterest at the new guests and a courteous head nod, which they stiffly return. By the time their chaperone halts in front of room 444, their necks were sore.
"Here are your room keys." Their attendant hands Solomon a slip containing two plastic card keys. "The continental breakfast is from seven to eleven tomorrow morning."
Serval and caracal thank the anteater a bit too hurriedly.
"Please enjoy your stay." With a final bow, the old longnose begins to take his leave. His beady eyes catch Hafsa's, twice their usual size. He gives her a playful wink before trodding off.
Solomon taps one of the card keys against the door's smooth black scanner, which welcomes them with a beep before flashing a green light. The door opens easily, revealing a decently-sized room awaiting them, smelling of freshly pressed linens. Compliments were due to the cleaning staff, as not a speck of dust can be found on any of the furniture nor floating in the air. Behind a frosted glass door is the formidable bathroom that easily houses sink, toilet, shower and bathtub (the latter large enough fit too, much to the reddening of the couple's ears) along with the typical toiletries neatly wrapped and lined on the counter.
After poking their heads in the restroom, the two proceed deeper into the room. Every step sends a tremor down Hafsa's stomach. Despite the room's perfect temperature (according to the thermometer, a comfortable 21C), she feels her fur stand on end.
The queen-sized bed occupies most of the available space, leaning its stylish headboard against the western wall; opposite to that hangs the mounted flat screen above a small desk area where the hotel phone, mini-fridge and other amenities are. Slipping around it, one could walk up to the windows, now concealed by light-blocking curtains.
Hafsa internally admits the room is quite comfortable. She's always been fond of hotels, at any rate, just as she is fond of anything luxurious. The bed is especially tempting. To sleep in. But of course, she's not here to sleep. Timidly, she turns her head. Solomon looks down at her. For all of the times he had remained completely unfazed by stressful situations, this is the closest he's ever gotten to resembling shaken by anything.
"Is it… to your liking?" He asks.
"Yes, of course. It's lovely."
"Good, that's good."
Well, that's the end of that conversation. A new bout of restlessness seizes Hafsa, and she inches towards the bed, running a hand across the silky smooth sheet. Her body follows as she sits down at the edge, trying to make herself as small as possible. Solomon lowers himself to sit next to her. Neither of them attempt to look at their partner, just focusing on sitting still as possible as their kneecaps touch.
Hafsa can hear her boyfriend's breaths. If she wasn't familiar with his normal disposition, she might have thought he is perfectly calm: no breath is too hasty nor deep. Felines are typically silent creatures, even in moments of panic. The serval herself must be breathing in a similar way, not that she can even register her own respiration right now.
If only the cheerleading club could see me now. God, they would burn me alive for acting so meek. As a former head cheerleader, I ought to be ashamed for being such a prude. It's just sex, you silly brat! Everyone's done it by now! Even Solomon? Oh no, I didn't even ask him what his sexual history was! For an animal as handsome and popular as he is… there's no way he's completely inexperienced. Poppy said experienced guys don't like vanilla sex… Do I have to go… non-vanilla? Will he be bored otherwise? Oh God, what I catch something? Is it too late to get tested?
He's looking at me. Say something, idiot.
"Sol—"
"Haf—"
Their voices cutoff, making way for the other one to speak, but they just end up nervously chuckling.
"You go first." Solomon offers.
"No, no, please."
"I-well— fine," he murmurs. "I… May I freshen up in the restroom?"
"O-oh, yes! Of course, go right ahead! Take your time!" Hafsa babbles with a bit-too-eager smile plastered on her face.
His eyes narrow in thanks, and he places a gentle hand on her knee before rising and absconding himself in the bathroom. Under the filter of the frosted glass, Hafsa can only make out his blurred silhouette over the yellow light the sound of running water can be heard.
Hafsa needs to freshen up too.
Nervously, she slithers over to the mini-fridge, ducking to peruse its content. She finds a bottle of what she's hoping for: a small bottle of white wine. Even holding the dark green glass in her hand makes her feel dirty. She's not eighteen yet, even if her birthday is only a few months away. But there are greater things at stake now, even greater than being a law-abiding citizen.
There's no way she can do this sober.
With dexterous fingers, she peels off the golden wrapper, tossing it in a nearby waste bin, and unscrews the lid, careful to avoid any loud noises (thankfully, this bottle doesn't have a cork to pop). A final inhale, and she places the bore to her mouth and vigorously swigs down the wine in one, two, three, four, five gulps. The cold liquid tastes foul, causing her eyes to pinch shut in disgust, but she can't give up. Once the bottle is at last empty, she yanks it away with a pop and a gasp. The serval has to stop herself from flinging it against the wall out of relief. She opts instead to hide it inside a nearby drawer, still contorting her face in horrible grimaces in a futile attempt to dispel the rotten flavor
Just as violently, she shakes her head, finally stilling it with two firm slaps to her cheeks. Fishing around the fridge one more secret, she also sneaks in a couple of chugs of a bottled lemonade, both for energy and to erase any evidence of alcohol from her mouth. She can only hope that was enough liquid courage to get the job done. Now would be a horrible time to discover she secretly has an absurdly high alcohol tolerance. Her ears flick as she hears the sound of footsteps. In a single bound, she hops back on the bed trying to look as "didn't just squat-chug a bottle of wine" as possible.
Solomon looks more composed at least. With a freshly washed face, he returns to her side with a smile and two of his shirt buttons undone. He's bold enough to look at her as well; in fact, he's staring at her a bit too intently.
"Your face is red." He notes, gliding a hooked finger past her cheek. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Y-Yeah, of course."
Not a lie. Wine kicks in fast.
"You surprised me, you know. I didn't expect you to suggest… taking our relationship to the next level." He places a hand over hers.
Hafsa flushes. "I-it was too forward of me, wasn't it…?"
"Sometimes, forward is good."
Solomon gently pushes her down on her back as he arches his own to meet her lips. Steadily, he laces his legs in between hers, each kiss growing deeper. All his partner can do is try not to drown in the sudden intensity of the situation, only letting out the occasional gasp as she keeps up.
Perhaps sensing her consternation, he withdraws to reassure her. "I'll be as gentle or as wicked as you want. Say the word and we'll stop. All I care about is making you feel good."
As if the wine didn't make her delirious enough.
"Sol… I…" The serval breathes.
"Do you want me to continue?"
He looks down at her, his eyes filled with intensity and concern and passion and lust. And hazel. Hazel hazel hazel.
The room is spinning now, or maybe it's just Hafsa, or maybe it's just her head, or her brain, spinning like soppy mushy clothes in a washing machine. Spinning and twirling like a ballerina, a great one, the prima donna of the Nutcracker. The Hazelnutcracker. Hazel hazel hazel.
She needs to grab onto something for balance, and she chooses Solomon the hazelnut. The fabric of his shirt will do for now, along with his lips. He seems a little surprised at her sudden move but doesn't retreat. Has she impressed him? She's gotta make her cheerleading forefathers proud.
Captain's log. Significant progress made with Hazelnut. Second base has been reached, on steady course for third base. ETA: unknown. She can feel her body entering hyperdrive. Whatever that means.
God damn, does wine hit you all at once. It's like she's being kissed from the inside out. No wonder underage drinking is such a crisis. She should really do something about that. Or someone should. Illegalize all alcohol. That should work. She can feel his hand intertwine with hers. His is bigger but it feels like holding her own hand. It's just as ugly. Desmond's was…
Her eyes peel open, horrified. She should not think of him. Absolutely not now. Instinctively, she flinches, and the warm body on top of her instantly backs off, exposing her abdomen to cold air.
"What's wrong?" Hazelnut's voice is smooth and swirly, just like his face.
"I…" Is that her voice? It sounds so raspy. She mentally chides herself into sounding more normal. "Hazelnut, baby…"
"Hazelnut…?"
She nods. Big mistake. Her head can't handle that kind of movement.
"I gotta…"
Without another word, Hafsa trips out of the bed and darts to the bathroom, though her lack of coordination results in a totter-stumble-crawl instead of a proper dash. Her lack of agility makes it easy for a bewildered Solomon to sramble off after her, jaw nearly dragging on the floor along with the serval.
Her name is repeated several times, none of which she actually registers. Right now, the only thing on her mind is reaching the toilet. Due to sheer willpower alone, she survives the arduous four meter journey. Flipping the lid open with a crash, she juts her head in before spilling out all of the wine and lemonade (as well as her expensive Korean barbecue dinner) into the water below.
Solomon hovers over her, rubbing her back. It seems like his questions will have to wait. After a frankly impressive amount of vomit, Hafsa exhausts her stomach and strength, leaving her to rest her head on the toilet seat in utter defeat. After concluding she has nothing left to puke, her boyfriend helps her up and guides the shaking cat to the sink to wash her mouth, though they both decide that sticking toothpaste and a toothbrush in there is too risky for now.
"You should lie down." Solomon suggests, gesturing an arm towards the bedroom, but Hafsa's feet remain planted where she stands. The thought of lying on something soft like a mattress distresses her. She'd prefer something solid and cold. Her mind made, she hobbles over to the bathtub and clambers inside, landing rather inelegantly in the safe porcelain crib.
"I suppose there is fine as well, as long as you're comfortable." The caracal mutters, squatting to meet the spotted cat's level.
"I'm gonna kill myself…"
"This isn't the first time I've seen you vomit, love. Are you feeling better?"
Hafsa just groans.
Solomon sighs. "What happened? Food poisoning?"
"Wine…" The female admits, avoiding his gaze. "From the mini-fridge…"
"What…!" He glances back at the room, then back at her. "Wine—! What possessed you to drink alcohol?"
"I thought… I don't know what I thought."
The caracal's expression is genuinely helpless. Hafsa's never seen that. "You've been acting strange since the escape room. Since…"
He trails off. For a while, none of them speak. Solomon stares at her, his pupils darting to capture every minute detail of her face with a silent, calculating desperation to find something.
"Hafsa… why did you suggest we do this? Honestly."
Hafsa considers lying. It would be incredibly easy to do so, and with a few clever excuses, she could be rid of the conversation in four easy sentences. But she owes him the truth. He deserves the truth.
"We've both said it before… how alike we are. I like how similar we are. But recently… no, not even recently. For a while now, I find myself thinking that I don't know you. And you don't know me. Or maybe we do, and we don't like what we see. And we're dating, and I really like you. I want us to be honest around each other. I thought that maybe… this could be a way to get closer…"
To this, Solomon stays silent for a while. Hafsa's eyes begin to droop by the time he speaks again.
"I suppose…" His voice is low, and reverberates through the bathtub walls. "There are worse reasons to drink."
Hafsa lets out a weak chuckle. "Even now… I don't know what you're thinking."
His fingers peer out from the edges of the tub, grasping a hold onto the white surface.
"I'm sorry. I've been hurting you all this time. I…" He pauses. "That's precisely the problem, isn't it? Animals like us… if we let our guard down, all we do is hurt others. I can't do that. Not to you."
"But I—"
"You are good, Hafsa. You are rare, and wonderful, and deserve far more than a creature like me. Every day, I try my absolute hardest to resemble something even close to being worthy of you. How could I be honest to you?"
His grip on the bathtub's edge tightens, whitening his fingertips. "Call it selfishness, or selflessness, I don't care. They say a good partner brings out the best in you. And I promise, you bring out the very best in me. That part just happens to be… smaller than the rest of me. I will never show you anything less. Can you understand why and stay with me nonetheless?"
"Then… who would you be honest with?"
"Whoever decides which afterlife to send me to."
"…You know this means I can't be 100% honest with you either, then."
"Isn't that what's always been asked of us?"
"Of carnivores like us?" A feeble smile plays on Hafsa's lips, her voice barely above a whisper.
"…Yes."
Whatever her response is, it remains halfway spoken before a heavy slumber overtakes the serval.
"You look well, Hafsa. I'm glad."
As strange as it was to hear that coming from her, I believed her. Priya had that effect on people; the overwhelming aura of sincerity she emitted.
I wish I could've said the same for her, but it was hard to tell if she looked well. She was sickly by nature, sure, so it didn't surprise me to see she was still thin, ghostly white and generally not what a tiger should look like at all. And missing an ear, of course. I couldn't help but feel a little guilty looking at that dark patch of fur where it once was. But locked up in a prison… there's no way an animal could be well in those circumstances. Especially when she was so young. The muzzle covering the bottom half of her face and chained up hands only confirmed that.
I tried to shrug off the annoying wave of sympathy I was starting to feel. There's only so much goodwill I could spare to the female who tried to devour me.
"How's prison life?"
"Little blessings here and there." She answered patiently. "They're considering transferring me to the same facility as my fam— as the surviving cult members'. I'm getting all the tests cleared and whatnot."
"They would really trust you to let that happen?"
"It's a big leap of faith. But even prisons take a chance sometimes. Besides, if anything goes wrong for them, it would be easy to kill me."
I grimaced. "I see you still have a backwards view on the value of life."
"Just my life." Priya corrected. "Hopefully, I'll find more reasons to stay alive soon. I hear the other prison has a garden. Besides, your visit is reason enough for me to be here today."
"I didn't think you'd be happy to see me."
"I've never hated you, Hafsa. I've never even disliked you. In fact, I've always admired you, right from the beginning. If things were different…" Her eyes clouded for a moment, but she quickly snapped herself back into a state of faux-cheeriness with a dismissive head shake. "No, let's not think of meaningless hypotheticals. What happened happened. But I like you a great deal. Which is why I'm rather curious as to why you're here."
I crossed my legs, pondering her words. It was a good question. I wasn't sure why I was there myself. Closure wasn't the right term for it, and I wasn't so saintly enough to visit out of the goodness of my own heart. But with everything going on in Noah's Arc, and much of it caused by the aftershock of Priya's attacks… It just felt like something I should do. Call it a gut instinct.
"Who knows…" I mused. "I've always been a gossip. Maybe I just needed a fresh pair of ears to listen. Sorry, ear."
The tuft of fur that was the tiger's right ear twitched maliciously. Seems she wasn't immune to a mean-spirited joke after all. Nonetheless, she was eager to know what became of the academy. I recounted the entire drama as succinctly as I could, aware that my hour limit was on the horizon so my famous embellishments would have to be cut short. Priya listened intently, never interrupting.
"Wow…" She said at the end of my spiel. "Yikes."
"Yikes?" I repeated, ears flattening. "That's all you have to say?"
"There's not much else to say." The tigress shrugged. "My condolences?"
She was a lot cheekier than I remembered her.
"Yeah, I'll need all the condolences I can get." I grumbled. "I gotta find a way to fix this mess and I have no idea how."
Her shackles jangled as she brought a hand to her muzzled mouth, concealing a giggle. This too pissed me off.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing, nothing…" She said mirthfully. "It's just very you."
"What does that mean? What do you know about me anyway?"
"Making it your business to singlehandedly fix the intertrophic divide… because you've convinced yourself it's your responsibility… it's very you. That's the attitude that got you voted student council president."
I suddenly felt embarrassed, like I had been caught playing a childish game. "I have to do something! Or else everything will go to hell!"
"Things have been in hell for a while, Hafsa." The tiger countered sweetly. "Would the Kin have been founded if carnivores and herbivores ever saw eye to eye?"
"So you agree with them? With Ezekiel? Herbivores and carnivores should stay far apart?" I spat, exasperated.
"I never said that." The sudden gravity of her voice shook me. "I've been thinking a lot. That's all you can do in a cell, really. About the Kin, about the animals I called my parents, about what they believed in. I realized that I never really believed what they told me. All that talk of gaps, and reincarnation, and Luca… even when they made me kill those animals, I never thought it was for a just cause."
"So why…?"
"I guess because I felt powerless to defy them. If there is something they did get me to believe, it's that the role I was given was inevitable. Unshakeable. I saw no alternatives."
Through the bars of the muzzle, she smiled sadly. "That's my greatest regret. I know now my fate was never set in stone. I could have made different choices… If only I had more faith in myself and others."
A million unsaid words hung down her chin like barbed wire. It must have hurt.
"That's the problem with faith. It's always destroyed."
To this, Priya shook her head. "Not destroyed. Wounded maybe. Don't be so dramatic."
The answer was so petulant and yet so poignant, I could only let out a bemused scoff.
"You're still trying, aren't you? You and everyone on your side. You may think it's out of obligation, but it's still your faith. The hardest part is to trust that which you cannot predict, but it's also the most important part. If the world is as you say, I should be dead. You never should have saved me when you had no benefit in doing so. I never would have imagined you'd do that. Yet, you did. And I am here, even if I didn't plan for it."
By then, my heart and my head were throbbing as one confused mess. The conversation had derailed long ago.
"I don't know why I came here…"
"Because you wanted someone to tell you to not give up." She raises her hands, balled up in encouraging fists. "So don't give up!"
My jaw dropped, but strangely I also started laughing. Real, pure laughter, ugly and snorting. Priya joined in.
"Sorry, I guess this conversation has been a mess… Maybe I'm just too happy at having someone to talk to." She wiped away errant tears (as best she could with her guarded hands).
"I should be the one apologizing." I said despite myself. "This isn't your issue anymore. I don't know why I expected you to fix it."
"Maybe you had faith in me, despite everything." She mused. "I think the herbies of Noah's Arc also has their faith wounded. Because of me, or because of life. I wish I could help, but maybe you're the unpredictable variable that will set things straight. You won't close the gap, but maybe you can make things good enough to live with."
"That doesn't sound like a very good solution."
"You don't need to be the solution for everything. It's fine to just be good enough. Others can pick up your slack, even if you don't want them to."
A clang behind me told me the guard was on his way to fetch me. Seemed like my hour was up. The conversation ended rather abruptly, but that's to be expected with timed and monitored visitations like that.
I still don't really know what to make of it. Even know, the bitter feeling of frustration wells up in the pit of my stomach thinking about it. Mostly because it's a shame Priya is so good to talk to. It would be easier if she were awful. Hating her would be easy. Hatred is always easier.
Drunk in a bathtub, I dream of that conversation. I don't know why, but I feel a little better.
AN: Thank you for reading! Thank you for your patience, as always. I've been juggling a lot of other personal projects recently, and it's been very fun, I'm quite happy! Unfortunately, that means less time to write S&S. Nevertheless, I soldier on. I'd consider cloning myself, but I don't trust my clone to be productive.
This chapter was very fun to write. Dialogue heavy chapters are my favorites. Next chapter will be the return of the main conflict, and we'll finally get to see how Toma boy is doing.
Take it easy and stay safe.