Kristoph Gavin was never a man to use a sport metaphor in everyday life, but the term 'end game' was flitting through the back of his head as he surveyed the various hams and meats he had laid out before him, knowing that he was mere minutes away from ecstasy.
It was filling him with butterflies, just to think of what he could accomplish with the right kind of sausage.
For the meat, Kristoph Gavin would often surmise, was the lifeblood of civilisation, its law and order. It's system of prosecution and defence.
If you are not now poised upon the edge of your seat like this man would be if he were sitting, then I don't know what this last month has been about.
He turned first to the salami basket. He had a very decent butcher, the aromas wafting to him speaking volumes of quality.
He enjoyed the French variety, so light, but the Italian kind was always so robust and moist, inherently smoky.
Italian? Parma, now there was a ham. Honey roasted, smoked, brazed, and cured what more choice could be possibly desire?
That would certainly keep people in fear of the hand of the law, a healthy dose of tolerable cruelty to inspire those to keep in line.
A frown – there was something lacking…
There was a rather prominent looking sausage at the back of the basket… darker than all the others he'd ever sampled, slightly roguish in taste, tangy. Klavier.
A gift from one of the many Gavinner's tours, Klavier would always joke how, no matter what, he knew Kristoph liked German sausage best.
Kristoph was getting weary of all the sausage talk and innuendo that entailed.
He was a boy of his roots after all… even after the pains to make himself seem like a gentleman. Something told him that was the way forward.
A soft nose butted the side of his leg softly. He blinked and looked down, a sleepy looking Vongole gazing up at him, the smell of meat all too tempting for her. He reached down to pet her head gently.
"You've decided to join us finally?" he asked teasingly, she brushed her ear against his thigh "I suppose you were woken up by that banging earlier?" he asked her in a conversational tone, taking his hand back.
A small grunt of accent that made the choosing that much more complicated. He glanced down; she saved him his breath of compassion by ambling over to her water bowl and drinking as if it were a 40 year-old sauvignon.
Kristoph Gavin paused; his perspective was having things put to it.
Kristoph Gavin was many things, sandwich aficionado, coolest defence in the west. Some called him cold, heartless, it was true he was always in control. Indeed, Kristoph never had time for things like sympathy or compassion. In a court of law, such things were a luxury you could ill afford when the fate of a life or reputation was at stake.
Bluffs were all very well in the courts of law, but there were some times you just had to face it.
A large, fluffy looking dog with a hangover and large, beseeching eyes was an indulgence Kristoph could afford to have.
Musing, as was his want, he decided that he would be far happier if his system of law was more academic than stern, more defined than full of dangerous passion, something sturdy that wouldn't upset the stomach.
Parma ham was all very well and good, but the allure of thickly cut hollandaise ham was too much for him.
He took his knife and small pitching fork and set to work carving some slices.
The rich flavour would provide depth and compassion, while it's firm body would ensure stability. A full and enchanting aroma would enable clarity of thought.
Most thrilling was the large, rounded slices he would cut, making sure that reason and logic, above all others, prevailed.
Setting those pieces upon the soft mozzarella, and placing on top the slice of carefully cut bread that would make his sandwich complete, he stopped and gazed at it in rapturous awe.
Just for this moment, we all waited.
His perfect city, full of pride, foodstuffs and good clean morals… it was beautiful.
Devouring it would be exquisite.
End Book 5
Tune in tomorrow for the gripping conclusion!
