Monroe

Chapter Two Hundred and Thirty-Seven. Family.

Monroe licked his paw and applied it to his whiskers. His human-servant had brought them back to where they'd lived before, where the air was always slightly stale and smelled just a little bit foul. He'd forgiven him when he was given a shoulder ride in the warm sunlight, and now he'd just finished being served a decently sized fish.

A small human-servant had devoted herself to applying a slicker brush to his fun, and his primary human-servant was scratching his ruff. The world was as it should be.

"I can't believe he ate that entire bowl of tuna," Rachel shook her head.

Bob smiled down at the feline of mass consumption. "He's a big boy, and it takes a lot to keep him going. Also, due to the time difference, his breakfast was a few hours later than normal, which makes him certain that he'll never be fed again."

"I can't believe that heckin' chonker used to be a regular size cat," Bryan added as he pushed his plate away and tossed his napkin on top of it.

"He was always a big kitty," Bob replied, "about twenty-four pounds, so on the upper end for a Maine-coon."

"Kind of makes me want to take the familiar skill," Rachel said wistfully.

"Some of the guys did," Bryan agreed, "although they are having their familiars fight alongside them, leveling them up as they go."

"They'll hit a wall at level sixteen," Bob said, "At that point, they'll probably have to retire them from direct combat, or they'll have to tier them up, but that could backfire."

Bob had discussed the topic of familiars rather extensively with Trebor. While you technically could apotheosis your familiar to match your own tier, your familiar would be given the option to dissolve the bond. Historical data showed that the leading factor in a familiars decision to remain a familiar was the time they'd spent as one and how they'd been treated. A familiar who had only been with their companion for a few months, all of which were spent in brutal, painful combat, was much less likely to sign up for more of it.

That was without adding in the rather tricky proposition of the familiar becoming sapient, which was entirely possible, depending on the apotheosis the companion selected.

"If they have familiars that they acquired specifically for the purpose of fighting alongside them, the familiar might not want to remain a familiar. Treating them well helps, of course, but when they choose an apotheosis, they also have to be certain that the species either is or is not sapient, depending on their desires." Bob sighed, "Which, of course, brings along with it a moral minefield. Is it right to force sapience on a sentient being?"

"Those are some heavy thoughts for an early lunch," Bryan shook his head.

Bob shrugged, "They are, but if you've some friends who are considering going down that path, it's better to let them know what the road looks like."

"What route are you going to go with Monroe?" Rachel asked.

"I can feel his emotions through the familiar bond," Bob replied, "which he chose to maintain when I pushed into tier six. He's happy and loves his life. If he ever starts to indicate he wants to become sapient, I'll think about that path, but for now, when I move him to tier five, he'll remain sentient."

"If he's this big at tier four, how big will he get at tier five?" Bryan asked as he watched Amy apply herself to brushing out Monroe's long coat with diligent industry.

"I think he'll end up around eight feet long, nose to butt, and probably close to five feet at the shoulders," Bob shook his head. "One of the reasons I've been putting it off is convenience. I can get away with a bobcat-sized Monroe, but a smilodon-sized Monroe might cause a bit of panic."

"I can see the cause for concern," Bryan agreed slowly, clearly mentally picturing just how magnificent Monroe would be at that size.

Not that he wasn't already the pinnacle of feline perfection, but Bob was certain that if Monroe were tier five, they'd be mobbed by supplicants where ever they went, all of them eager to touch if only for a moment, their Divine Feline Overlord.

"So, you've lived over there for two years now, right?" Rachel asked.

"Yes," Bob agreed.

"What would you say we should take with us, as far as necessities?" Rachel had pulled a notepad and a pencil out of her purse.

"Hydroelectric generator and a barrel, as I doubt you'll want to give up your electronics," Bob explained. "LED lights and such. I'd make sure to bring only sturdy clothing, as you'll be spending most of your time in the great outdoors." He paused for a moment to consider the question again before asking his own. "Bryan, I haven't really been involved. Are you going to be able to keep some of your crystals?" Bob asked.

Bryan looked surprised for a moment, "Of course," he replied, "I have to give up ten percent to the King, ten percent to the Dungeon Fund, ten percent to the Medical Fund, and ten percent to the Mess Fund, but I can keep sixty percent of them Not that I do," Bryan hastened to assure him "I've saved up the crystals I need to hit level five, along with enough of them for both Rachel and Amy, and I'm just dumping the rest of them into the Medical Fund."

"I'd say consider holding a few more back," Bob shook his head. "There is a shop called Nikki's in Holmstead where you can purchase a tent eleven hundred crystals." Bryans's eyes widened at the number, but Bob continued, "It's six foot by eight feet when unpacked, but inside it's a two-bedroom house with a bathroom, kitchen, and living room. It has central heating and cooling, as well as hot and cold running water."

Rachel's eyes had brightened, and she was rapidly writing down every detail.

"The downside is that you'll be pushing twenty mana crystals a month into it, keeping up with the enchantments, but it's worth it, in my opinion," Bob finished.

He'd been a mostly uninterested observer of human behaviors and interactions before he'd arrived in Thayland The nature of the simpler life there had caused him to take a more active interest in the people around him. Two years ago, he wouldn't have noticed the subtle glance Bryan directed towards Rachel, nor would he have understood that the man was checking for her level of excitement about the idea.

"That's a good idea," Bryan nodded along with Rachel, who was beaming. "I'm used to sleeping rough, but I think Rachel and Amy would prefer a little more comfort. Also, 'used to,' is not the same as enjoying it."

Rachel reached over and squeezed Bryan's hand.

"Any other recommendations?" Rachel asked.

"Spices," Bob replied "You won't have a problem getting meat or vegetables, but the spice pallete over there is a bit different and quite a bit simpler Also, you might want to consider divesting yourself of your assets over here," Bob lowered his voice a bit, "in a year and a half money will be worthless, so consider liquidating and looking for something to invest in over there."

Bryan nodded slowly, while Rachel looked confused for a moment.

"After integration, crystals will be the only currency that matters," Bob explained.

"How would we invest in Thayland?" Bryan asked.

"There's a guy named Jack Scalligo who spent his entire life savings from here buying cellphones and the equipment to build a cellphone tower," Bob replied, "He also built a movie theater, which I understand is doing quite well. He purchased things from here and brought them over to there, where he could charge crystals for their use. I'd talk to him, his current project is building an entire city."

"We could put a few communications satellites in orbit," Bryan murmured thoughtfully. "Old Guard Cellular."

"Something like that, yes," Bob replied with a nod.

"Mommy," Amy's voice came from underneath the table, "can I have a kitty like Monroe?"

Tilting his head and leaning slightly, Bob could see that Monroe was sprawled out, with Amy laying behind him, arms wrapped around the massive cat's chest while he purred.

Walking back to the Admissions Office, Bob let his mind run free Watching Bryan and Rachel interact with Amy had served as a reminder of just how cold and lonely his childhood had been. He knew that he should have had a warm, loving family and that his situation had not, in any way, shape, or form, been his fault. But knowing was different than knowing, especially as a child, and over a decade of wondering why had left scars that ran deep.

Seeing his mother had only exacerbated those emotions.

Bob paused yet again as Monroe took a detour to investigate an interesting smell. He had decided to let Monroe walk on his leash rather than carrying him, giving the big floofer a chance to walk off some of that tuna.

He knew that might be a bit of a stir, but he'd had to stop over a dozen times to explain that yes, Monroe was a pet, and yes, Monroe was safe, and yes, Monroe might accept a bit of petting if they followed the international standards for kitty supplication.

Monroe had accepted the worship with dignity and grace.

"That is a big cat," His mother's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Bob sighed. "Yes, he's a very big handsome boy," he agreed. "What do you want?"

"When Dean found me, I had hit rock bottom and kept on digging," she said quietly, wringing her hands together. "I was in awful shape, the doctors have told me that if I had kept going, I probably wouldn't have seen the end of the year, But he got me into a program, and then a support group, and then a job I know he was looking for a percentage of the settlement, but he didn't have to go as far as he did to help me."

Bob waited for her to finish.

"He lost his son in a car accident, and he sympathized, I guess," she trailed off for a bit, her eyes shimmering before wiping them and continuing, "I didn't know it at the time, but I became an addict after you were born, and that addiction not only wrecked my life, but it ruined yours I know there isn't anything I can do right my wrongs, but I still have to tell you how sorry I am You might not ever forgive me, but part of staying clean is forgiving yourself."

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I can make all the excuses in the world, but the truth is I didn't take care of you. I was a terrible mother."

"I just had lunch with an acquaintance, along with his wife and daughter," Bob began, his voice flat. "I'm almost thirty years old, and I still feel an ache when I see a real family interacting with each other. It wasn't until a year ago that I had someone I was willing to call a friend." Bob shook his head. "I'm broken. Do you understand that?" He demanded but didn't wait for an answer. "I'll never have anything like that family. I wasn't that child, and I could never be that father."

He took a deep breath, reeling Monroe in and picking up, cradling the big cat in his arms, taking solace in his weight and warmth. "The damage is done, and the die has been cast," he said quietly. "This world and the people in it did their level best to destroy me, but I'm still here. I might be broken, but broken bones heal and become stronger at the point of the break. I'm strong, and while I may never have a family, I have friends, and they know my worth."

Bob started to move past her, then paused and turned. Her expression was crestfallen, and her tears were making a mess of the light makeup she wore. "I told you the truth earlier, that I don't need you. Consider yourself forgiven because it costs me nothing to do so," Bob said quietly before continuing toward the Admissions Office, leaving his mother standing alone on the sidewalk.

"Jack," Mike acknowledged the handsome Italian. He was attending to the bane of all organizations; paperwork The file open on his desk at the moment detailed a request to increase the number of rituals cast each day by the druids, citing a dozen cases of malnutrition.

Mike rubbed the bridge of his nose. It wasn't that they didn't have enough food, it was that left to their own devices, there were a lot of Marines who would subsist solely on a diet of BBQ, beef jerky, and crayons.

"You should have a staff if you have that much paperwork," Jack gestured to the waiting stack of files."

"Not that many combat-wounded paper pushers," Mike muttered, scribbling his approval on the increase, as well as making a note in the margins suggesting stews, chilis, and meat pies as a solution for making sure the men at their veggies "What can I do for you?" Mike asked.

"The city is coming along nicely, thanks for asking," Jack grinned, taking a seat at Mike's gesture. "The walls are going up, and the Dungeons are going down, but I made a slight miscalculation when it came to how quickly the Dungeons would be finished."

Mike chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. "You used Bob as a benchmark, right?"

"I did," Jack admitted, "it turns out I hadn't realized just how exceptional our friend really is."

"We did the same thing," Mike nodded, "had to adjust our expectations. Sorry for being so curt, I'm just a bit overworked," he gestured to the paperwork waiting for his attention.

"You could use a bit of stress relief," Jack suggested with a grin, causing Mike to groan and shake his head.

"I've got enough troubles," he muttered.

"I was talking about D&D," Jack winked, "you were the one whose mind went straight into the gutter. You should stop by the D&D Guildhouse, they have games going every night, and you really do look like you could use a break."

"I'll think about it," Mike responded as he rolled his neck, wincing at the tension.

"What I really came here for was to see if I could hire some of you to provide security for my builders," Jack explained, leaning forward. "They can handle themselves well enough, and the highest level monsters we've seen are level six or so, but they have to stop working every time they one shows up, and it's dragging things out. If the Dungeons were complete, there wouldn't have been any monsters," he grumbled.

Mike nodded. They had a sentry line that handled the occasional monster that wandered toward the encampment, but the single-floor Dungeons they'd built kept monsters from appearing in the camp itself. "How many builders in how many groups?" He asked.

"Ten builders in each of the twenty groups," Jack replied.

"Single monsters showing up?" Mike pulled out his tablet and pulled up a spreadsheet.

"Sometimes groups of two or three, but no more than that," Jack assured him. "The highest frequency of attacks was once every ten minutes."

Mike nodded and considered the spreadsheet for a moment. The tab he had opened listed Marines he'd labeled as 'Restless.' "You understand that the personnel I have available for this sort of task are currently level one. Obviously, we can provide the crystals to level them up to five, but the Dungeons we built out up here are level one. If they jump ahead level-wise, I don't know when they'll be able to earn crystals again."

Jack shrugged. "I'm building over two dozen Dungeons," he said, "so we'll agree that the Marines I'm hiring can delve my Dungeons daily, although we'll have to work out an agreement as to which Dungeons, and what levels."

Mike nodded. "That sounds fair, let's plan for a five man team to provide overwatch for each group, so one hundred Marines You'll be responsible for feeding them," he sighed, "and making sure they eat their vegetables As far as pay goes, I'll talk to the men, but I'm pretty sure I can find a hundred of them willing to do a bit of security work for ten crystals a day if only to get a break from the glacial shelf."

"I'll likely need them for three months," Jack said, "and the pay sounds fair." He stood up and then paused. "Vegetables?" Jack asked with a grin.

"If only they could figure out how to make crayons out of spinach," Mike lamented.