Grandeur Defector

XII

"No no, you have to move it here."
But I like the table near my cot.

"But that is foolish."
Truffles glared at the table, annoyed.

"Nah, it's the rules."

I am not an Animalia soldier-!
Truffles rolled his eyes again. He moved the little plastic table back to its corner, struggling with his chained hands. He turned to Flippy, hoping to bargain. Truffles pointed at the table.

"Like this?"

Flippy narrowed his eyes, thinking. Then, he shook his head. He eyed Truffles' cot; Flippy looked back to the feline, looking unamused.
"Nope. It has to be a yard from the cot."

That's such a dumb rule!
Truffles sighed dramatically, kicking the table with one leg into the correct spot. The plastic table rattled from the force, flopping over onto its side unbalanced. Truffles sighed again, shifting himself forward to grasp the table back upright. The Animalia soldier observed him silently, his foot tapping on the red and brown marbled dirt. Truffles made a hand motion towards the fixed table.
Flippy flipped his hand dismissively, but cracked a small smile.
"God, you're so dramatic."

He leaned to the side, moving one of his shoulders over the other, stretching it. He paused, pondering silently, as if searching for something to say.
"Question."

"Yes?"

Flippy ran his fingers through his hair, fluffing it. He held no emotion in his gaze, blankly staring.
"Why are you so different from the rest?"

Truffles turned, flabbergasted and taken off guard. His blood ran cold, and shivers traveled down from his scruff to the top of his tail. He held his tail in place, the end twitching with curiosity.
Oh no. You're too smart for your own good.
"How so?"

Flippy's eyes searched Truffles, scanning every inch of what was visible; from Truffles' spiked combat boots, to his slender striped tail, to his paw pads barely visible from his fingerless gloves, and the fur pattern on his facial structure.
"You're more blue, kind of spiky in a way, and you have those little dots on your ears... I've never seen that before."

You're getting too close to knowing who I am.
He shifted his weight to one hip, curling his tail closer uncomfortably.
"I am what all tigers look like."

Flippy shook his head, not believing him. He seemed distracted, his mind running after something else.
"Right."

Truffles sighed, feeling obligated to explain the complicated topic in some level of truth.
"I am not purebred blue."

Flippy perked up.
"What? Purebred?"

"Do you know how The Tiger Nation is divided, like yin and yang halves?"
He passed his tail into the dirt, drawing a rough picture of his home. The tail tip dragged a line across the picture, dividing the country's image in two.
Flippy sat up, his shoulders rolling back alert. He leaned close to Truffles, who sat down next to him. Flippy pointed, knowledge rimming his eyes with confidence.
"That's the north side, right?"

Truffles nodded, impressed.
"Correct."
He circled the top half, labeling it "N". On the lower half, he labeled it "S". In the middle of the northern section, he drew a small crown shape.

"We exist as two parts. The south tigers are orange, while the north tigers are blue."

Flippy nodded in agreement, opening his palms face-up.
"I remember soldiers saying they saw orange rebels, but I didn't believe them at first. I'd only seen blues."

He turned to face Truffles directly, still sitting close to his friend on the other side.
"Why is that?"

He couldn't help but begin explaining with enthusiasm over the tale.
"Long ago, two tigers sailed to the uncharted land to find a home for themselves. Both were orange, as bright as the sun above. Their country before lay in ruins, tigers being hunted for their pelts as prized rugs and teeth necklaces. Creatures of beauty so loved, they were no longer people to the world. They were chained to gold leashes, kept as pets despite their regal nature until there were almost none."