The Lynx and the Llama: FUC Academy, #41

1

Shit, I can’t be late today, Quinn said as he rushed to get in line for coffee in the WANC cafeteria. The Working and Administration Networking Core, main building at the Academy, was full of others trying to find some fuel for the day.

He let out a sigh as he mentally counted how many people were in front of him.

Richard will kill me if I’m late with his reports.

At the cashier, he purchased two coffees then juggled them while carrying Richard’s laptop and reports, along with his own briefcase and a bag of bagels. It amazed him he made it clear across campus without spilling a drop.

Once he entered the office, he placed the bag of bagels and the coffee on Richard’s desk. Richard nodded and grunted as his thank-you. Glad Richard had no comments about his lateness, Quinn turned on his heel and headed out the door to the main office area, where his desk was. A stack at least five inches thick of CRAP—Campus Reports Accounting Petty-cash—lay in wait for him to input. As Quinn thumbed through them, he noticed some of them dated back six months ago, which should have been on last year’s budget.

What is this crap? Quinn asked as he turned to face Richard’s open door.

I forgot to give you some of the Campus Reports Accounting Petty-cash to file.

No, Richard, I really mean crap, as in stuff you’d describe being on the bottom of your shoe. Richard, we should have filed many of these reports on last year’s tax forms. Why did you wait this long to give this stuff to me?

Richard waved a dismissive hand in the air as if that explained the dick move.

That’s Dick for you, Quinn muttered under his breath, though he’d never call the boss that to his face. That was reserved for Richard’s ex, Carol. The former FUC—Furry United Coalition—now turned BS—Bonifide Security—agent had the right above anyone to call Richard a dick to his face. And she was probably the only one who could get away with it.

It’s nothing you can’t handle, Richard called back. I’ve seen you work on stuff like this all the time.

Just because I’m an excellent assistant doesn’t mean you should take advantage of my talents! Quinn couldn’t help it. He’d started his day off on a stressed note, and now his llama nature had to let some of it out, no matter how Richard might react. I’m a FUC, and I have the diploma to prove it. So, for once, I’d like to come in here and have a simple day. You know, like sending out emails, scheduling appointments on your calendar, and typing up whatever needs to be typed. I shouldn’t have to sift through a mountain of CRAP to figure out where we can balance the budget over two years! I’m your assistant, not your accountant!

Yes, you are an assistant and a damned good one. You’ll find a way to make it work. You always do. Richard, also a llama shifter, had a better handle on his temper, but Quinn knew not to push it.

A sigh almost escaped his lips in front of Richard, but he knew better. Richard would just say something stupid again. And then Quinn would shrug it off, like he always did, as he worked on the reports and filed them. It was almost like a dance they did daily. Richard would make that stupid motion with his arm, and Quinn would shrug a shoulder as if he didn’t care. Because why should he? It wasn’t like Richard was capable of human empathy or anything. Nope.

Quinn sat down to glare at the stack of CRAP on his desk. Every day it was getting harder and harder to care about his job. Pushing papers wasn’t what he wanted to do, but what other options were there for him? Despite finishing training at the Furry United Newbie Academy—FUCN’A for short—he’d not been able to obtain an apprenticeship in a field office. For some reason, the higher-ups thought he would do better working under Richard, as though the senior llama shifter might be some kind of mentor to Quinn.

But seriously, though? Who was he kidding? No one here thought of him as a real candidate for fieldwork. He was just an orphan and a botched shifter experiment. Well, if he was honest, he was more like a pincushion and not a science project. Nothing Zagan had done to him seemed to work. Quinn had never become anything more than a llama shifter. He wasn’t a hybrid, like Zagan, who was a bull-griffon. Somehow, that fact made Quinn feel even worse—if that was possible.

He winced at the thought. He’d been far from a people-pleaser by any stretch of the imagination, and he certainly hadn’t wanted to be friends with Zagan. But Quinn had to admit he missed being surrounded by people who enjoyed his company. He hadn’t had that in so long.

Everyone, even Zagan back then, piled a ton of crap on him, not that Quinn wanted that kind of attention at eighteen, but this was different. Back then, he’d fit in. He’d felt appreciated. Special. It had been everything he’d longed for, having his boss like him and make him feel like he belonged somewhere for the first time in his adult life.

After Quinn’s parents died in a car crash when he was seventeen, he became a product of the foster care system. The homes seemed more like revolving doors than places to hang his hat. It made him learn it was best to mostly keep to himself and expect little from people. Quinn had been much older than most of the foster kids, and after turning eighteen, he was an adult with bills. So, yeah, there was that. And sadly, being eighteen with no real ties, he’d been an easy target for Zagan.

Quinn had to remind himself that the years with Zagan weren’t so rosy. No, while Zagan had him brainwashed into thinking he was special and appreciated, he was really setting Quinn up. The five years in the lab that followed had been hell, and once Quinn had been rescued, he made himself a promise. He would never get close to anyone again—friend or otherwise.

But lately, it was the otherwise that concerned him.

He began sifting through the files on his desk, grumbling to himself. Why hadn’t the top folks of FUC allowed him an agent position? If they had, he wouldn’t be stuck at his desk, day in and day out with too much time on his hands. Sure, the paperwork kept him busy, but it was so repetitive and mundane that his mind often wandered onto topics such as this.

Relationships.

It was one thing not to be friends with the people he worked with. In fact, some people swore it made life more complicated if you did. Even so, he yearned for some folks he could go to the pub with and share some after-work drinks.

More than that, though? He wanted someone to share his life. Someone he could confide in and trust. That would be heaven, especially now that he’d been through and graduated from the FUCN’A cadet program and was turning twenty-four in his human years—or at least that’s what he figured. When FUC found him, he remembered only bits and fragmented pieces of his former life. His parents’ names were a blur, even though he knew they had died. His birthday was unbeknownst to him, as well as his birth surname. That was one of the things he wished for the life of him that he could remember. He wanted to carry on his parents’ legacy. And what better way to do that than to have children bearing his surname? Instead, the FUC gave him the common surname: Taylor.

Quinn longed for a mate, for family, but that just didn’t happen for someone like him. Nor would becoming a FUC agent. Which was why he’d decided he was better off keeping to himself and setting some new goals that extended well beyond the campus walls of FUCN’A. Farther than the borders of Canada, even.

He’d decided to join BS and head to the SHIT in Greece. The Shifter Hellenic Island Talks.

Carol, Richard’s ex, had suggested it to him. Sure, Quinn realized that Carol was likely just trying to give Richard a hard time by poaching his assistant, but he couldn’t help but feel proud that Carol had asked him personally.

His last hurdle was his interview with Stan, which was scheduled during his lunch break that very morning. Sure, it would have been nice if Dick had given him time to meet with Stan during the actual workday, but his boss didn’t believe in a work-life balance. And that was probably why Quinn could only take his lunch at ten thirty in the freaking morning! God forbid he took it at a standard time because, nope! Richard needed his nap, or the guy would be a cranky llama.

When finally the time arrived, Quinn ordered his favorite, MMM—Maude’s Meatless Meals—to go. He rounded his shoulders a bit while in the pickup line and silently cheered when he saw that today featured Maude’s famous meatballs. Yum!

He paid and darted across the building as fast as his feet could carry him. Thankfully, Stan was just down the hall from Richard. This way, Quinn wouldn’t be late getting back to his desk and the mountain of paperwork that awaited him—because, of course, he’d barely made a dent in the CRAP so far that morning. He’d only tackled a little over a quarter of it before lunch.

But if the interview went right, he might just be able to tell Dick what to do with all that CRAP…

Thank God!

2

Stan peered at the clock on his desktop. It read 10:20 a.m. Quinn would be in his office soon.

Stan stretched his arms over his head and pushed his seat a little away from his desk. Quinn was a great kid who’d tugged at Stan’s heartstrings on more than one occasion after Stan had been part of the team