Trash: Chapter 113 Clearing My Head and Other Actions (Patreon)

Chapter 113

Clearing My Head And Other Actions

(An Hour Later)

It’s amazing the clarity that running can provide. How your mind can see and experience events that seem jumbled and compressed, and only after having a moment to run, can your mind begin to dissect parts that you missed, or didn’t quite catch at first.

How was I running now? Well simple, I like the other students was released from school for the day. But not before I saw something.

First the two ROW officers that had been hellbent on binding me to a terrible contract that would no doubt bind me to the ROW order for a lifetime quickly found a reason to leave. Their reason for leaving was none other than Mr. Karl, the giant monster of a man who can apparently rip doors from walls when his buttons were pushed.

As it turns out, his number one button is as I expected a threat against Madame Voyou. Then another thing that I thought was joke, but turned out to be true came through, for apparently Mr. Karl was known for ripping the doors from the wall. At the time he had joked that he had it written into his contract that he was “allowed three ripped doors a semester.”

At the time I thought it was a joke, but that did not turn out to be the case as shortly after the ROW officers left and the three of us just stood there in the now double wide open interrogation room, Mr. Karl looked disappointed in himself. Then he seemed to lighten up as he saw someone outside the hallway.

“Hey Mick!” Mr. Karl called out jovially, his giant paw of a hand waving around as he called out to someone in the hallway. Only for Mr. Mickelson, the lead janitor appears a moment later.

“Christoph! Already, got your first door of the semester?” Mr. Mickelson asked knowingly, coming over to inspect the giant opening in the wall, and look at the broken and bent metal door that lay on the floor outside.

“Yeah,” was all Mr. Karl could muster as a reply as he scratched his giant right paw of a hand into his hair. The same hand that had moments ago been hot enough to cut through the rebar in the wall and allow for the frame to be removed that much easier.

“Was it a kid mouthing off again?” Mr. Mickelson asked, mostly out of curiosity. Almost like the way someone would ask why they didn’t do their homework this time.

“No, it was my fault,” Madame Voyou cut in, her voice pleasantly apologetic. Hearing Madame Voyou from right next to me, Mr. Mickelson’s entire face changed as he realized there was company to this.

“Oh, is that you Viv?” Mr. Mickelson asked, though now I could understand why Mr. Karl referred to him as Mick, as it seemed that they all had some connection to each other. Then Mr. Mickelson paused as he looked at me. Though he seemed confused by my seemingly relaxed appearance and the way that Madame Voyou, or Viv as Mr. Mickelson referred to her, apparently had her back to me.

“Yes, I apologize on behalf of the big lug,” Madame Voyou commented. Her words seemingly enough to cause any animosity that Mr. Mickelson had to fade.

“No, I fully get it, if it was for you. That said, I hope you feel lucky kid, just be glad you are still alive,” Mr. Mickelson said gesturing to me, as he clearly saw me as the apparent instigator of this whole ordeal. Just as I was too shocked to reply coherently, that is when Madame Voyou came to my rescue.

“Oh, sorry for the confusion. This is my temporary ward. What happened was I was defending my ward here from two ROW officers trying to bind her with a servitude contract. They then threatened me, and did so within earshot of Christoph,” Madame Voyou explained, I was still reeling over the idea of being called a temporary ward, but I guess it made sense as to why the title applied. They were trying to show an alibi. One that Mr. Mickelson seemed to realize something.

“Wait, they threatened your temporary ward?” Mr. Mickelson asked, trying to gain clarification as to why I would be her problem at all.

“Yes, this Madame Bloom’s foster child, and as she is currently busy. I came in to act on Madame Bloom’s behalf,” Madame Voyou commented. As she spoke a light of recognition seemed to glow in Mr. Mickelson’s eyes as he put more of the actions into context within his mind.

“Wait, you’re the General’s current foster child?” Mr. Mickelson asked, turning his gaze from Madame Voyou to me.

I nod.

“So, they tried to gang press the General’s foster child into an indentured contract?” Mr. Mickelson asked, a note of incredulity in his voice.

“We assume they didn’t know who was fostering her, nor any other relationships she might have,” Madame Voyou replied. At that Mr. Mickelson just nodded as that was the most likely course of action.

“So, they threatened you without council to sign a trumped-up enlistment offer,” Mr. Mickelson began by pointing at me. Then turning to Madame Voyou he continued, “then when you stepped in to prevent such a contract, they threatened you.”

Madame Voyou nodded as he was right so far. With that, confirmation Mr. Mickelson then turned to Mr. Karl, “you heard, and ripped off the door?”

Mr. Karl nodded, a sheepish look to him as he genuinely seemed sad by the events that transpired.

“And that’s all you did?” Mr. Mickelson asked, then holding up his hand, he took a step into the open room and made a look around on the walls and floor, in an apparent attempt to look for blood or signs of conflict. Only after analyzing the room and seeing that nothing was out of place, other than the missing door frame and section of wall, he turned back to Mr. Karl and waited for a response.

“Yes,” Mr. Karl responded. There was a long pause, before finally Mr. Mickelson acted, moving forward his actions were not stopped by Mr. Karl at all. Apparently whatever Mr. Mickelson would do, Mr. Karl would allow.

“That’s good,” Mr. Mickelson exclaimed excitedly, reaching up to pat a surprised Mr. Karl on the shoulder. “That’s shows a lot of growth, you meditating?”

“Yoga,” Mr. Karl corrected. Then added, “three times a day.”

“Oh, well it is working,” Mr. Mickelson said, then looked at the wall, and took in a deep breath he seemed to come to a conclusion. “Look, you help me get it back into place and melt the rebar brace back into position and I won’t even note this as one of your three repairs for the semester.”

“You won’t?”

“No, I’ll note it as standard maintenance and improvement,” Mr. Mickelson declared. At that, Mr. Karl’s face lit up like a child who had just been offered candy and cookies.

“You mean it?” Mr. Karl gushed, his hands going onto Mr. Mickelson’s shoulder. Seeing the gesture, and apparently well used to the strength hidden behind those massive paws, Mr. Mickelson paused for a second and then raised his own hands to stop any involuntary violence that might ensue next.

“Yes, yes, just make sure to tell the General about this, and my help of her foster child,” Mr. Mickelson said, before turning to me and seeming to truly take me in for the first time. Not the creepy stalker way some adults do, but the look granted by someone who wants to record to memory the face of someone they deem important.

What happened next was a mix of industrial magic and sheer strength. Together Mr. Karl and Mr. Mickelson grabbed the stone slab on the ground and lifted it up into place. At which time, Mr. Mickelson put his magical Skills to work, by calling forth silvery stone materials to bend and melt together to form a seamless wall once more. Even the metal frame slowly bent into place by Mr. Mickelson simply running his fingers along the ledges of the frame. As this went on, I felt my jaw drop, not that I didn’t think these types of works were impossible, but that I had never seen someone who was clearly a master of their craft be labelled as a simple janitor.

Seeing my amazement, Madame Voyou chose the moment to comment on something that had been bothering me for a bit, namely everyone’s seeming familiarity with each other.

“James, I mean Mr. Mickelson here was one of our team’s support members,” Madame Voyou commented.

“Support?” I asked, parroting back her response and almost expecting a negative response, but once again was glad that Madame Voyou did not practice such petty games.

“Yes, all combat teams boil down to seven total members. Four combatants, one healer, and two support,” Madame Voyou made sure to point at me when she noted the healer.

“Support come in multiple types, everything from food, clothing, artifact creation, to structural support,” Madame Voyou raised her hand and gestured to Mr. Mickelson when she said structural support. “Now, your team can have any two support you want, as each will ultimately offer benefits that the others won’t. Having a Strong structural support member means that you never have to sleep on the ground when in the field. Then when they get strong enough, they can provide a defensive position, for when you need to hold the line against the enemy.”

Hearing that I just nodded, understanding that there was likely something far deeper being explained in her comments. It was only now that I was running and had the time to truly analyze everything being presented that I understood what had happened. Somehow Mr. Karl, Madame Voyou, Markan, and Mr. Yi all made the four combat members of a team. Where Mr. Mickelson was apparently one of the two Support staff. Judging by his frame, it was clear he could likely defend himself, but that wasn’t his primary role in the military. While in the field Mr. Mickelson was apparently in charge of creating and maintaining a shelter of some kind that everyone could go back to.

This new level of insight really brought home how cohesive the bonds of war were. For it was even though the unit had long ago met their time enlisted to the military, it was clear that they all still had a deep camaraderie with each other. Even going so far as to still cover for each other or waste their Saturday morning to help train a child of one of their former squad members. That level of devotion, of dropping everything at the drop of a hat for just a favor, that seemed invaluable. I had friends in my past life, but none that would drop everything at a moment’s notice to waste a Saturday morning fighting monsters. At least, I don’t believe that there were any such friendships in my past life. I know I wouldn’t have done so for any of my former friends; we just didn’t have that bond. But here, in this world, that seemed to be something that just happened. Granted, part of the reason for these deeper bonds was the real threat of monsters. While I did have a few tight friends that would wake up early to help me move on a Saturday, that wasn’t the same. At least I didn’t think it would be the same.

Now that I knew monsters were real, I could see the importance of having such lasting friendships. And for a moment, I almost wished that I could have such friendships on my own. To have my own group of friends who I could call upon at the drop of a hat to help support me, when I need them.

I was thinking of that and realized that the military did offer a lot of benefits, Classes, though I didn’t have to worry about that for the moment. Job security, lifelong friendships, and access to new and powerful Skills and trainers. For a moment, I thought about the future. I also wondered exactly why Madame Bloom couldn’t come, as it seemed that Madame Voyou and Mr. Karl both knew that Madame Bloom would be otherwise occupied today?

I thought about this and more as I made my run to my one task that I left unaccomplished this morning. Just getting on main street, I could already smell the sweet scent of baked sugar and cakes as Ronaldo’s Confectionery shop came into view. At that beautiful sight, all my previous thoughts melted away as I went towards the meal that was by far my favorite of the day. Any meal involving lemon custard was what truly made the world worth living.