[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/xOwoo7E.png[/img][/center]
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Two of the four officials spoke to Mark after being more or less forced to recognize his, [i]persistent[/i] presence. One of them had a small amount of laughs at his expense, but Mark and subtlety mixed together like fine wine and motor oil, so the behavior went ignored. After registering the different components inside of their brief sentences as "advice" and "praise", the dopamine receptors of his human-esque brain began to fire off at full speed, adding a third exploding zeppelin to the earlier analogy. The young boy's milk chocolate tail ambushed the rest of his stiff body via hyperspeed wagging, acting less like an extension of his human parts and more like an angry weasel trying to escape his pants. He turned to the enormous man first, exposing his flaw of not knowing what an indoor voice was. This was inevitable, and if you would've tried to fill him in on the concept he would have probably cocked his head and informed you that both of you were outside. After addressing his first superior he turned to his second and did the same.

[b]"SIR YES SIR."[/b]

"THANK YOU SIR, MY TIME IN FACT WILL BE -VERY- PRODUCTIVE, AND I HOPE TO RECEIVE -MANY- REWARDS."

The idea of a woman in such a high position of power was an anomaly to the orphaned, propaganda-chugging Mark. His brain couldn't fetch a respectful feminine equivalent to 'sir', so sir was chosen. His tail continued to wag, his head simultaneously generating images of standard army awards and the absolutely lewd and shameless act of being patted on the head.

[hr]

Mark had eaten in the same cafeteria his entire life, so the sight of such a familiar area calmed him as much as anything could, which is to say, not much. This effect was immediately discarded as soon as the room's contents sunk in. It seemingly had every food imaginable, along with whatever [i]un[/i]imaginable horrors awaited in the southeast quadrant. He feverishly stacked a metal tray high with raw meat and fruit, alternating between the two while excitedly smelling everything in the room. Of course, he let nearby humans serve themselves first out of courtesy, but not without gulping down the pavlovian drooling caused by the trays surrounding him. At home Mark would regularly eat dog food in order to connect with his ancestors and enhance his core strength, but the absence of such a delicacy caused a small sag in his ears.

The cafeteria's activity levels were in full swing, and it seemed like most had already acquainted themselves with one person or another. Back at the orphanage, Mark knew everybody down to the color of their underwear, making the change of scenery disorienting. Of the many, many, [i]many[/i] unnecessary things he had packed into his XXL army inspired backpack for children was an absolutely unsalvageable book on making friends. Mark considered studying the ways of friendship before telling himself that reading in the cafeteria was absolutely harmful to the school environment. Luckily, there was an empty grouping of seats in the southeast quadrant, most likely due to humans not wanting to associate themselves with chimera food. 

Mark set forth on his journey of [s]a thousand[/s] less than one mile and propped his body up like a pianist tied to a pole. He began wolfing down every giblet of raw meat and every chunk of fruit as if it were a matter of life and death. Any stray berry that tried to escape his bare hands was quickly met by Mark nearly slamming his head onto the table in an attempt to suck it up. Eating out of a bowl was an advanced soldier strategy in Mark's point of view, as it let you abandon appendages and tools in favor of direct and violent consumption. Attempting to do this with a tray predictably resulted in a very messy ending. The seats near him remained spotless and empty as he continued his soldier's duty.[/color]