"Pass me the mascara, will you?"
Molly extends an open palm towards her roommate, gaze focused on the mirror in front of them as she lines the bottom of her eyelid with dark makeup. Hafsa is similarly mesmerized by her own reflection, bumping the shorter feline with her hip to make more space for herself as she applies the final stroke of her lipstick.
It's nigh impossible to see Molly up before eight in the morning, even though classes begin at eight thirty. Yet she insisted the previous night that Hafsa wake her when the serval's six AM alarm rang, a task easier said than done. The Pallas cat had to be physically dragged out of bed and even then, Hafsa still had to kick her a couple of times before her eyes finally opened. But it was all worth it, for Molly got to see the sun rise on her favorite day of the year: All Animals' Eve.
As far as holidays are concerned, Molly can only offer an eye roll. In her opinion, they are all cringeworthy displays of normies trying too hard to make something fun, when, in reality, it's just another boring day with the same old routine. Lupercalia, Rexmas, the Meteor Festival… they're not only boring to tears, they make everyone around her act like a complete buffoon, especially her try-hard roomie. But not All Animals' Eve. That's special.
A holiday celebrating the macabre, the supernatural, and all things horror… A day when no one can tell her to 'dress appropriately' or 'stop creeping them out'! And of course, the candy. The wonderful candy. What other day encourages dressing up like a ghoulish monster while rewarding you with treats?
Last year's All Animals' Eve was a total bust, what with the real horror movie taking place in Noah's Arc Academy, so Molly had to wait an extra three hundred and sixty four days before she could finally unleash her pent-up spookiness. But now that the fabled holiday has arrived, she intends to go all out. And her dedication to celebrating is completely evident from her costume. Where once stood a normal Pallas cat, now stands a horrifying zombie, complete with fake blood, prosthetic scars and gashes, and tattered clothes. She'd spent all of October getting everything together, even going to specialty stores for makeup artists.
"You look disgusting." Hafsa grimaces disapprovingly as she finalizes her own, far prettier makeup.
"Thank you." Molly smiles, something incredibly rare for her to do. "I look like the real thing, don't I?"
"I haven't seen an actual zombie before, so I wouldn't know." The serval shrugs. "Can you at least tone down the blood? This is still a school."
"Pretend I'm a living anatomy lesson then, nerd." Her roommate sticks her tongue out. "See, I even got a fake brain sticking out."
"Yes, I noticed, and it's completely repulsive. You're lucky this doesn't technically violate any academy rules."
"That costume contest is as good as mine."
"If the judges aren't too busy throwing up to announce the winner." Hafsa shoots her a final glare before reaching for a brush, smoothing out her fur.
The serval's costume is a far cry from Molly's gorey vision; she instead coordinated a couple's costume with Solomon (one of the greatest benefits of dating, in her opinion). Hafsa is also a fan of dressing up, but on the complete opposite spectrum of Molly: All Animals' Eve is a simply another opportunity for spectacle, to wow the other animals with her beauty. Why would any self-respecting female actually stick to the prompt of horror and monsters? No, this holiday is, as most holidays are, about showcasing her superiority, to drop male jaws and destroy female egos. Thus, it took considerable rumination between her and Solomon to decide on the ideal heart-captivating costumes. He is to dress up as the phantom of the opera, meaning she is cast as Christine. A perfect blend of eeriness with traditional beauty that would surely net them a month's worth of compliments, at least.
The dress truly makes the female; it took her an ungodly amount of time to find the perfect gown, but once she laid her eyes on the floor-length, pearly-white fabric, she knew it was perfect for the role. Having slipped into it, or rather, strapped herself in it (a corset is a nightmare to put on no matter how slim the animal), she's delighted to confirm it indeed looks stunning on her: how the angelic ivory frilling around the collar and sleeves gives her a feminine, almost regal grace, how the bodice hugs agains her curves perfectly until the waistline, whereupon the fabric puffs out into a gorgeous silhouette of cascading silk, hinting at the female's money-winning legs underneath. The only flaw is the neckline, thought it is really not a flaw at all. It rests halfway down her shoulder, exposing everything above the collarbones, which unfortunately includes her scar. She spent most of her preparation time trying to cover up the unsightly thing, yet despite her mastery over powder and paste, the gash still ghosts over her right clavicle, barely visible but inevitably…there.
At some point, she pried herself away from her brushes, convinced overworking the job would simply make it stand out all the more, but even as she finalizes the rest of her look, she can't help but steal frustrated glances at the phantom scar every now and again. Still, at least she's notaddingscars like Molly.
"I am now ready to eat some brains." The Pallas cat eventually announces with a final flick of the mascara wand.
"Try not to say that stuff out loud." Hafsa reprimands, slipping on her white pumps. "You're still a carnie."
"We're all carnies on All Animals' Eve…" Her roommate murmurs in a cartoonishly spooky voice.
Hafsa's ear twitches. She almost prefers Molly when she's too gloomy to speak. Though the cat is not entirely wrong: the holiday is said to have originated from herbies dressing up as monsters to scare off carnies, even hunting them down in darker tales. Still, that's hardly the kind of atmosphere Noah's Arc should be fostering, especially now of all times.
Well, no matter. Molly will spend the day with her creepy goth friends trying to summon a ghost in the bathroom or something. Meanwhile, Hafsa will spend her day in the spotlight where she rightfully belongs. Nothing of DAVID, or CHAMP, or any other stupid acronym. Today, she's Christine.
She and her stout zombified friend exit the female carnivore dorms, passing by females who look upon them with awe (and distaste, in Molly's case). To Hafsa's surprise, she finds Solomon waiting for her in the chilly autumn morning. As promised, he sports a sightly tuxedo complete with a white bow tie, knee-length cape, and the phantom's ever iconic porcelain-like mask that covers the right half of his face. His handsomeness paralyzes every female within a ten meter radius, causing a large cluster of cooing girls to stare at him at from a faraway huddle. Hafsa flashes him a brilliant smile, both as a greeting and as an expression of joy from seeing that their plan is already working perfectly.
The phantom looks equally pleased. "Good morning, Christine. You look radiant." In a swift movement, he reveals a red rose and hands it to her, causing the audience of females to erupt in a squealing cacophony.
"My, if it isn't the phantom of the opera!" Hafsa continues the ruse. "Aren't you worried Raul will catch us?"
Before the couple can continue their rosy-cheeked flirting, Molly waves her arms frantically in between them. "Okay,okay,enough of this! You should be ashamed of yourselves, tainting the spirit of this scared day with your sappy normie role-play! I don't wanna see this garbage!"
"I hate to break it to you, Molly," Her roomie crosses her arms with a wry smirk. "This is what All Animals' Eve is to like, most people nowadays."
"Lies,lies!" The Pallas cat wails. "I won't allow my precious day to be ruined by hot people!Neverrrr!" The zombie cat flees, her final 'never' trailing off with her as she runs towards some unseen All Animals' Eve in the distance. Solomon and Hafsa laugh at her outburst, finally settling their warm gazes on each other.
"She's quite lively today." The caracal notes, linking his gloved hand in hers.
"It might as well be Rexmas for her. I almost feel bad for spoiling her fun." She tilts her head with a mischievous grin. "Almost."
"She's got plenty of time to regain her good spirits, at least. It's a shame her costume is so… hard to look at." He lowers his head to whisper in his girlfriend's ear. "You, on the other hand, look breath-taking."
The female blushes, sheepishly swatting his shoulder. "If you say so. You're definitely the looker out of the two of us."
"Please." Solomon scoffs. "I almost regret this idea. The other males won't know how to act around you. Should I take you somewhere far away, all to myself?"
"The opera, perhaps?"
"Perhaps."
They continue their teasing smalltalk until reaching steps of the Noah building. Once inside, they spare a passing wave to the ever-diligent Mrs. Cally, now sporting shiny red devil horns. But something makes Hafsa skip a beat, holding a step for a bit too long. She can't quit place what it is. However, before Solomon can think to ask what's wrong, she's already shrugged the feeling off. The gown and the makeup must be messing with her senses. So, as one forgets about a random chill down their spine the second after it passes, she continues meandering with her lover until they reach the base of the main staircase.
"I have art first period." Solomon says, unlinking their hands with a bittersweet expression. "So I'll have to leave you here."
"I'll see you at lunchtime, then." Hafsa offers a final kiss on his unmasked cheek, staining his rusty fur with her lipstick.
"Ah, oops." She hurries to wipe the rouge off, but he gently grabs her wrist, halting her fussing.
"Leave it as it is." He returns her kiss and offers a final debonair wink. As he saunters off, cape swishing in his wake, Hafsa can only hope to smoothen out the frazzled hairs on her tail. Damn that flirt!
As her face cools, she begins climbing up the stairs to the second floor, easier said than done with the cumbersome gown. As much as she adores the attention thanks to her five star costume, a smaller, nerdier side of her also enjoys admiring the looks of her peers. Though few other animals had gone to such lengths of costuming detail, it was still a treat to see a more creative side to her fellow students; one could glimpse at what shows they enjoy, what stories captivate them, what characters they relate to. Even the costumes with a budget of five bucks had their own certain charm.
She wonders what her acquaintances are dressed as. Brian, Toma, Desmond, the cheerleading team. Hell, even Eloise and Priya, if they could dress up. The thoughts cradle her until she reaches the second floor, the location of her locker. She needs a couple of textbooks for her first block of classes. The hall is littered with only a few other students, mostly preoccupied with chatting and showing off their costumes to each other. It's still early, after all. As the student council president passes by, they chirp out compliments on her dress, some even recognizing her as Christine.
Hafsa parks herself outside of the door of her locker, which perfectly eye level thanks to student council privileges allowing her pick of the litter at the start of every semester. A neighboring student, a peahen dressed as a flapper who she recognizes as a drama club member, strikes up an excited conversation.
"Wow, pres, you look amazing! Are you Christine from Phantom?"
Something smells a bit strange.
"Thank you!" The feline smiles. "Yeah, I am, good eye! I expect nothing less from a thespian!"
The bird circles her curiously. "Wow, what amazing stitchwork! Where'd you get this? I need to let our costume guy know about this if we ever wanna mount a Phantom production."
Hafsa palms her dial padlock and twists the knob. Left, right, left.
"Sure, I got it at this adorable little boutique near the center! I think they also make wedding dresses."
The hen giggles. "You do kind of look like a bride! I bet Solomon is already planning a proposal now!"
A final twist and the padlock clicks open. Hafsa shimmies it out of the way and pulls on the indented handle. It's a little stuck.
She laughs along. "Yeah, I bet."
She tugs on the handle once more, to no avail. Did a paper get jammed?
"Did you guys get matching costumes? Oh, is he the phantom or Raul?"
Hafsa jerks the handle with more force, relieved when the door finally relents. She goes to swing it open.
"He's—"
A cold and foul sensation drenches her chest.
She looks down at her red gown.
Wait.
Red?
The peahen screams, stumbling away from her.
What?
Paint?
Hafsa doesn't react at first. She looks down at herself. Then up at her locker. There's a plastic container inside, tipped over and stained in shadows. A red substance drips down to the floor with a rhythmicplip, plip, plip,vanishing into a lake of the same color.
Her nose recognizes it before her brain.
Blood.
Real blood. Red blood.
Down the hall, she hears a clatter, the sound of liquid hitting the floor with an unforgiving splash, and more screams.
A lizard, wailing and panicking, fumbles back and slams into the opposite wall of lockers, desperately wiping his shirt. His costume, some kind of pirate getup, is dyed a violent crimson that leaks out of him and onto the linoleum floor in messy splotches. Surrounding students trip over each other, shrieking, but those who manage to not get shoved aside end up slipping in the viscous puddles of gore.
"Ahh…" Hafsa's mouth opens involuntarily, in protest or surprise or some other inscrutable reason. Her jaw is sluggish, fangs and tongue encumbered by an ungodly amount of saliva that seeps out before she can stop it. The spit dribbles down and loses itself in the blood below with only one or two bubbles floating in its wake.
The serval hastily shuts her maw, covering it with an embarrassed hand as if it's something as trivial as a hiccup. She swallows, but can feel another wave of saliva replace the previous one in seconds.
She looks down again. Her gown, once devoid of color, has a thick, bleeding trail of ruby red that consumes most of its upper half but peters into thin, messy splatters near the end, although the hemline is completely stained by the mess on the floor. Her exposed collarbones are similarly wet, saturating her once tan fur as if she was looking out of colored shades.
Is this… real?
Am I dreaming?
This would have to be a nightmare.
The carnivore's senses are completely overstimulated, yet she feels nothing. The horrified screams of her classmates sound leagues away. The metallic, salty, demonic stench of freshly spilt blood is all she can smell, feel, see, taste. She is drowning in it, floating aimlessly in its suffocating richness, frying every nerve in her body, and yet, it feels completely comfortable. She hasn't moved at all. What would she even do?
But then, an animal bumps into her as they run away, and the sudden blunt sensation kicks her out of her stupor, somewhat.
This is no dream.
She tears her eyes away from the all-encompassing red and looks for something,anything. She doesn't understand what is going on, but she knows that she needs to do somethingnow. On the wall behind her, some paces away, is a fire alarm. That'll have to do.
She traipses towards it, struggling to stay on two feet as she repeatedly trips over her dress, and breaks the small glass cover with her own fist. She only remembers about the hammer once the switch is pulled.
The alarm bell blares above her, deafening her sensitive ears for a while, and she shakes off the bits of glass from her hand. She might be bleeding, but that hardly matters now. A hiss overhead catches her attention amidst the ringing of her eardrums; the sprinklers come to life, showering the halls with cold grey water. Hafsa can feel some of the blood caked in her fur wash away. Not entirely, but enough to ease its hypnotic perfume and further ground her back to reality. Her head swerves to address the remaining animals who are shocked into stillness.
"EVERYONE, EVACUATE THE BUILDING NOW!"She yells.
Clutching the fabric of her dress high, she runs to shepherd the others down the hall and towards the staircase. As the sprinklers continue to pelt them with rain, the dark spills of blood creep into the rising water, spreading as hazy veins across the clear liquid until the splashing footsteps of animals mixes everything into a pink pond.
The student council president counts the descending students as they vanish from sight. Eyes frantic and teeth grit, she manages to exhale a puff of hot breath. Her dress is now a soiled gradient of blood red to light pink, and weighs twice as much as before. She considers shedding the entire thing but thankfully, she still has enough sanity to reject that idea.
What should she do, then? Join the others outside? No, there's more to be done.
It's clear who did this. All this time, Hafsa wanted to believe DAVID, as vile as it is, would do anything but actual physical harm to the students of Noah's Arc. But this is no practical joke. This is an intentional attack, this is chemical terrorism. Bathing the school in blood isn't just a sick demonstration, it's essentially setting off a bomb of carnivorous bloodlust. Even a carnie who's never eaten meat in their life could snap at the sight (and smell) of so much raw gore.
But of course, that's what they want. They want animals to die today.
Fuck.
She can't let that happen.
First thing's first, she needs to make sure everyone is evacuated. She'll have to check all seven floors of the Noah building. Hopefully, campus security will clear the Emzara building, gym, dorms, and other parts of the academy by the time she's out. She can only be so helpful, considering she's a carnie barely containing her urges herself.
With a rudimentary plan set, she starts putting in it motion. The splashes of her footsteps are drowned by the still-ringing alarm, reaching the stairs to the third floor. As she leaps over each step, Mrs. Cally's voice rings out from the PA system.
"Attention all students and staff. The academy is experiencing an emergency situation. Everyone is to follow protocol and immediately head to the outdoor field. This is not a drill."
She repeats the announcement two more times, and by then Hafsa had reached the next floor. The hallway is in a similar chaos as the one below; it seems DAVID rigged at least two lockers per floor, likely most of them. The herbies have fled, but some carnies remain, hungrily swallowing the pink water. The serval winces at the sight; hunched down on all four, they truly resemble mindless beasts.
"Everyone, you gotta leave now!" She announces. The other students look up, chins dripping with bloody water and eyes shimmering with tears.
"Just a bit more…" A black bear growls. Hafsa wades to him and grabs him by the shoulder.
"Pull yourself together!" She spits. "Come on, let's get out of here!"
"I… can't…" He sobs. He lowers his head again, licking at the water, but the female forcefully seizes his snout and drags his face back up.
"I know it's tempting! You don't think I want it, too!? But think of the herbies! What would they think if they saw you like this?!"
Fat tears roll down the bear's cheeks and blends with the rain droplets. "I know… I'm disgusting…God…"
"Come on, fight it!" The serval pats his back, urging him to stand on two legs. "You're better than that!"
The bear, still sobbing, obeys her words and totters down the hall. He looks back with a concerned expression. "Aren't you coming with?"
"I gotta make sure everyone's okay. Tell the teachers I'm handling it, and to focus on other parts of the academy, got it?" Her eyes sharpen. "Stay away from herbies, and put on a muzzle when you can."
"Okay…" He sniffs. "Good luck."
"You, too."
She runs to the remaining carnies, who look on with pathetic gazes. Whatever harsh words she may have towards them remain unsaid. The clear shame in their eyes shows her that any criticism wouldn't matter; they know it's wrong. They tremble from the freezing water and pure adrenaline, fangs chattering as they dunk their chins for another taste of the slight saltiness of diluted blood. The serval almost wonders why she doesn't join them.
Slowly but surely, she coaxes them to their feet and herds them down the stairs. After checking the classrooms (all empty), she concludes that the third floor is clear. Thankfully, no one had predated any herbies. The faster she works, the less chance of that happening. She's ready to sprintto the fourth floor, when her nose suddenly detects something that freezes her in her tracks.
Or rather, someone.
He couldn't have worse timing. It's only after she's sniffed him out that her ears, distracted by the drizzling water, catch up, detecting his hoarse voice bleat out names that bounce around the damp academy walls.
"Marcel! Elmer! Toma! Anyone?!"
Hafsa's brain commands her to run in the opposite direction. But that command is instantly disobeyed. Instead, she yells out into nothingness.
"Desmond!Desmond, is that you?!"
A pause, short and baffled. She can hear the water around him churn.
"Hafsa!"
Two simple syllables, a name she's heard a thousand times before, but she feels her heart practically leaping from her ribcage. Just hearing him call her drains the strength from her legs. Composure escapes her.
"Desmond!"She practically sobs. "Desmond!"
"Hafsa!"
In a flash, the sheep erupts from the descending staircase, stumbling over the final steps and just barely managing to land on the third floor. His outfit, a simple soccer jersey and shorts, cling to his similarly drenched wool now darkened by the indoor rain. Hunched over and panting, his chest heaves with every breath, but his eyes widen once locking onto the lone serval.
"Hafsa."
A hushed tone, meant for himself. He launches from his slouching position and begins sprinting towards Hafsa. Instinctively, the carnie takes a step back, hands up in protest.
"Desmond, stay away from m—"
He collides into her, pulling her into an impossibly tight embrace. Desperate hands clench the fabric of her gown, squeezing out some pink droplets that weave around his fingers, as he buries his face into her bodice. She can feel sweet stinging pain as his sharp horns dig into her sides, but it's quickly doused by the frigid water lashing down from the sprinklers above.
"Oh, Hafsa, thank God… Thank God you're okay."His voice is quiet and yielding, quavering with emotion.
Any pretense of dissent melts and pools down Hafsa's buckled knees, joining the sea of pink blood. She sinks into Desmond, burying her face in his neck and her exposed claws around his waist. She hugs him desperately, folding and bending to completely envelop him as if he is all that remains of a once-familiar world. Despite the cold sting of the surface, she can feel his undeniable heat the closer she pulls him, his manic heart and labored breaths, the rushing of his blood in his veins, and yes, his warmth, hisheat, his proof of being alive.
She wants to hold him tighter. So tight he snaps and implodes, and she's sucked into the black hole along with him. She wants to rip him open and feel his warmth drench her in a steaming crimson deluge. She wants to tear his throat out and disembowel him and grind her teeth against his bones until his scent is all she can feel. God, she wants to kill him right now. That's how much she loves him.
"H-Hafsa…" The ram croaks beneath her, reaching his hands to her neck to tap it in caution. "Relax—"
The initial stirring of protests sends Hafsa in a panic, like a child being told to give up her favorite toy. She tightens her grip, and he cries out in pain. The sound is at once horrifying and delicious.
"Ha-Hafsa, p-please… It's m-me…"
He sounds so small, so fragile. He can barely cough that out. One more push, and she'll really break him. And then he'd be all hers. She can feel his red hot warmth leaking out from underneath her claws. She tentatively opens her jaws. One bite and he's hers.
Just one bite.
AN: Thanks for reading! How do you pronounce Pallas cat? I say 'payas', like how once would pronounce paella.
Take it easy and stay safe.