Chapter #3Shy, Intelligent Fox by: oldshep   Your head hits the surface of your desk with a sickening, yet entirely purposeful thud. You groan, not out of pain, but of sheer spectacular boredom. You look up at the pile of papers that you feel could scrape the sky for all you know. Dr. Sorensen has been giving you so many papers to mark it's not even funny. Seriously, who let's a professor assign one teaching assistant to a first-year math course of 1 200 students? A class where you had to mark and lead tutorials each week?
You want to cry. You flip over the page, look at the student's name, Richard Deacon. Ugh, you're not even five letters into the alphabet with this test that you need to get marked, filed and inputted into the system by noon tomorrow. No worries, you glance at the clock, it's half past 8. That gave you just over fifteen hours... Yay...
You return your attention to the page, you black gloved paws moving deftly over the written answers. Fucking Richard, fucking teeny tiny handwriting you can barely make out. You thought guys were supposed to have big handwriting. What is that? A four? No, maybe it's a a five? Either way, it's wrong. You delight in the big fat circle you draw next to the question in red ink. Dumbass, serves him right for not writing bigger. You flip the page, and BAM, you're confronted with a wall of text. You thought this was a math course, not comparative English literature. You scan the immaculately written piece, desperately trying to find the right words. There, dy/dx is positive, therefore unstable. That's all you needed. Why did they always insist on writing after that? You'll never know.
You finish up marking the one test and set it aside in your done pile and sit back. You sigh and look at the clock. Well, that only took... fifteen minutes. Ugh, you're never going to be done in time. You prop your head in your paw and get back to work.
You're beginning to nod off by the time you get to the 'F's, something you wish you could just give to everyone in the course right now so you can get some sleep. An knock comes at your office door, the door swinging open to reveal a lithe stag.
You feel the weight on your chest come off, for a second there you thought it'd be a bandit or something; not that you're paranoid... okay, maybe a little bit paranoid. The deer gives you a strange look and enters, closing the door behind him.
"Hey, dude, still working on those papers?" he asks. You find it rather hilarious, the way he speaks. Always trying to talk like a 'bro,' but whenever he opens his mouth, a purse practically falls out every time - a byproduct of his parents always asking him to act 'more like a man.' He's as camp as they come; born without bones in his wrists, could lecture a fashionista or two, not to mention he's the one who decorated the shared office (fabulously). He's quirky, but you love him for it. You give him a smile and turn the picture frame of you and him together so that you could see it - a flamboyant stag smiling next to a rather weedy looking fox with glasses. You had turned it away during office hours. You were open about it, but you're definitely not going to advertise it to your students, some of whom quite frankly scare you.
The deer sits himself rather daintily on an office chair and pushes off. He rolls towards you and on his way by, kisses you on the cheek. He eventually comes to a rolling stop and shuffles his way back to your side, peering over your shoulder to gaze at your pitifully small pile of finished tests.
"C'mon, take a break," the deer coos, giving you a decent back massage. "Jordan and the rest are waiting for us at the Drake."
You chuckle and playfully fend him off. "Sam, I don't have time tonight, okay? We can go drinking another night."
With all the drama of a full blown queen, Sam tilts his head onto your lap and pouts. "Please, please please? We've been planning a night out with the guys since school started."
"No, Sam-"
"Okay, how's about this, you come for an hour, and I'll get as many of the bros to come help mark the test?" he pleas, his hands squeezed together as if in prayer. Hmm, now that sounded like a good deal, trade one hour for extra sets of hands on this crappy test? Sounds like a good deal. You smile and nod your head. Sam gets excited and pulls out his phone, presumably calling 'the bros' to tell them you're on your way.
You sigh. Oh well, you could really use a beer or two anyways. Especially since you need to forget the way Sam just said 'bros,' you cringe every time he does. You love the guy, but he just can't pull it off.
***
You're bundled up in a thick sweater and a scarf, while Sam struts beside you, a slight sashay to his movement, fabulous as always - wearing a velvet coat to 'match' his velvet covered antlers. You always roll your eyes to that, the guy constantly complaining about the itch at this time of year. You tell him to just scratch the velvet off like he's supposed to, but he tells you that that's 'an affront to fabulosity.' You usually retort that his antlers aren't that big anyways and neither is he where it counts. He'd huff, but get over it eventually.
Sam opens the door for you and you enter the Drake, you of course immediately get carded. It's a running gag amongst your friends that you look like a kid. Hell, the students you hold tutorials for look older than you; you always chalk it up to hormones in the milk these days or something. You distinctly remember the first day you had to get up in front of the class. Palms sweating, hands shaking. You were never a good public speaker and you could see the collective eye roll of your students when you stumbled with your words as you worked through the first problem. God, those kids are monsters. And you haven't gotten started when they come for mark disputes; sometimes it just makes you want to curl into a corner.
You push your driver's licence back into your wallet and tuck it into your pocket, sighing as you look for the guys in the dim lighting of the bar. The Drake is the pub operated by the graduate student society, named by the history nerds after the great Sir Francis Drake, winning over the math department's bid to name it the Pascal. To you, it really didn't matter, the food's crap and the only thing it's really good for is a quick pint on campus.
You spot Jordan, he's pretty hard to miss; it's not everyday you see a sloth that could probably weigh three times as much as you. The big guy easily towers above everyone else, a 6'6'' wall of muscle and fat. He used to be a linebacker for the university's football team, but as luck would have it he's not exactly the most talented player. He wasn't the most talented student either, but that didn't stop him from getting into graduate school. The big guy spots you and Sam, and beckons you two to join the rest of the rag-tag bunch of grad students.
You idly chat with the bunch, talking about your research, which you haven't had a chance to touch yet due to all the mountains of work you're getting in your classes as well as the one's you have to teach. Overall, it's pretty much what you always do when a bunch of grad students get together: a massive bitch-fest.
As you bide time, all you can think about is your papers and the looming deadline. You think about piping up and asking if anyone would like to help you mark, but of course, you're a little too shy to do it.
Sam however, has no such inhibitions. With the most camp bro-speech possible, he manages to drum up support from a couple of the guys. Overall, you'd say it's a worthwhile trade, you spent an hour of your life drinking and having a bit of fun, and some of the nicer guy's have agreed to help mark. Even if maths isn't their area of expertise, you promised it'll be easy enough to mark.
As you walk out of the bar, slightly tipsy mind you, you're followed by your quirky stag boyfriend, Sam, the big, burly and possible slow sloth, Jordan, and probably the only guy smaller than you there, Louie, an itsy-bitsy Papillon with big attitude, usually foul mouthed at his students, but harmless to his friends; a guy with a true Napoleon complex. With the four of you going at it, you're pretty sure you'll be done in no time. You couldn't wait to hit the hay and finally get some rest.
The four of you walk down by some of the older buildings on campus, the ivy climbing along the outer walls, strangling the structure. You're about the make it to the old maths building that houses your office that you share with Sam when suddenly a night that was meant to be spent marking turns into something much much more.
Right beside you, you notice an odd unnatural light glowing. You look into the ground floor window of the...  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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