Now he was at a crossroads. Kristoph Gavin, after a brief repose of but a few days to let his first two instalments sink in, was getting caught in a dilemma.

Suddenly, and with great astonishment, he realised that he was irrevocably thirsty.

Looking up with blue eyes narrowed he wondered if it would be considered rude to leave his brief civilisation unattended.

Kristoph Gavin was not silly; of course he could leave his sandwich half made

He'd locked all the doors and windows before he'd started.

Reassured, Kristoph went to his fridge to retrieve an opened bottle of wine he'd had there since yesterday.

A mystery presented itself to him - the bottle was gone.

He frowned, looked over a half of the kitchen counter to his graciously decorated living room to answer the mystery. His best girl Vongole sprawled on his immaculate leather sofa, snoring softly, hiccupping every now and then.

Deadpan, Kristoph sighed, having long ago regretted teaching her how to open the fridge and pour herself a glass of the bad juice.
Much in the same way he regretted teaching her how to use the bathroom… it always unnerved him, first thing in the morning especially.

Countless times had Kristoph Gavin's good nature backfired on him.

That aside, he made a trip to his wine rack, situated in the cellar for proper temperature and selected a decent vintage, luckily his alcoholic dog didn't hear him uncork it or his sandwich making would have to be put on hold for an even greater period of time trying to wrestle away the bottle.

He took a sip of the slightly cool white wine and sighed as the gentle tang filled the back of his throat, before he swallowed it down with a mild hum of appreciation.

Kristoph Gavin knew how to enjoy a glass of wine.

Now, he said, pointing his hand in the air with dramatic flair and a most interesting flourish of flailing limbs. It was time to select his vegetable. He sprang forward to his half-finished creation.

Now, naturally tomatoes were out, as was any form of onion. They would clash horrifically with the tang of the much-needed cranberries and neither of them afforded any sort of descent economical privileges. Not to mention he only had a choice of red and green… what a horrible clashing depravity *that* would be.

As if Kristoph Gavin would be that naïve.

Glancing at the oven with which he planned to toast his sandwich he decided against lettuce. Such a water-based vegetable could only endanger his new law enforcement, they needed to be tough on crime… not wilt and become tasteless at the first sign of heat from the common man and oven. It had to go.

Being careful to keep everything linear he picked up apples and bananas, cucumbers and the delightful mini zucchini he found in the French market last Tuesday and carefully packet them back into the fridge.

In the back of his mind Kristoph was no longer just freelancing it, he had in his head an idea of how his country… he meant sandwich would turn out. He hummed under his breath in anticipation.

It was just his little game revolving around a common form of megalomaniacal psychosis. He carefully began to cut slices off three different colours of pepper.

In his darker mind there was an idea that perhaps what his knife was cutting was somewhat human, but the only thing compared to size was that of a man's hand and Kristoph Gavin was not a maniac.

He just had a very strange view of what was really acceptable in this day an age. Blackmail and philandering to gain ones perfect results to name but a few - the mutilation of men's hands not being one of them.

He chuckled at the irony of his own thoughts, oh what a silly man he could be.

He continued to slice. Kristoph Gavin was not a maniac but his eyes darkened and that smile was not one of serenity either.

Once finished with he placed them to the side of his chopping board and reviewed the rest of his foodstuffs. He still had relishes, sandwich fillers, extra sauces… even some jam… all-waiting to offer their services

His fingers twitched.

Kristoph realised that he was endanger of over indulging his new civilisation. Too much sweetness, or extra flavour would do no one any good. He carefully began packing all them all away before he got too drunk with choice.

His mind made, he thought of something fromagé based.

There was, after all, nothing like a bit of cheese to put in a mans sandwich to keep him happy and inquisitive.

This was probably his most arduous task. So many delightful cheeses stared back at him, hopeful, for him to take his pick from them. What else could he do but stare at them in fascination?

Then, the unthinkable happened!

The doorbell rang!

End Book 3

Dun dun dun! Shock! Horror! Calamity! Mystery! Intrigue! Drama!
Tune in next week to see what the hell is interrupting sandwich time!