Mr. Grimgore was having a slower day than usual. This was not a bad thing. He had gotten a surprise delivery this morning. There was more paperwork than usual, though it was all in order, and the delivery was discreet. Just an unmarked van with a big cardboard box that took two delivery people or one Mr. Grimgore to carry. Now he needed to figure out what to do with sixty pounds of dragon liver.
He stood at the processing table, a huge lump of sleek red organ sitting in front of him and leaking blood onto the polished stainless steel. The processing room reeked of antiseptic and blood. He loved this smell. The dragon liver reeked too, warm and rich. He didn’t want to cut it, to violate the sanctity of the organ before it was consumed. But he would need to. Too much meat for one person. He washed his hands in the sink, cold water and rough scrubbing, then left the liver on the table and walked out the door to the front of shop.
He tapped the kid at the counter on the shoulder and she scooted in back to work on more cuts. Mr. Grimgore took her place behind the register and thought about how to price the dragon meat. He didn’t get it often. He didn’t really want to. He had to price it high, partly because it was so rare to get any, but also to keep stupid kids from buying it just to say they’d eaten a dragon. He’d eaten a lot of stupid kids, but you didn’t see him bragging about that.
He looked to the window and surveyed today’s display. Coils of sausage, rows of chops, racks of ribs, all locked safely between the inner and outer display windows. The front of shop had a different smell. Mostly antiseptic, with the slightest tang of meat. No blood. Shame. He liked the smell of blood.
He stood at the processing table, a huge lump of sleek red organ sitting in front of him and leaking blood onto the polished stainless steel. The processing room reeked of antiseptic and blood. He loved this smell. The dragon liver reeked too, warm and rich. He didn’t want to cut it, to violate the sanctity of the organ before it was consumed. But he would need to. Too much meat for one person. He washed his hands in the sink, cold water and rough scrubbing, then left the liver on the table and walked out the door to the front of shop.
He tapped the kid at the counter on the shoulder and she scooted in back to work on more cuts. Mr. Grimgore took her place behind the register and thought about how to price the dragon meat. He didn’t get it often. He didn’t really want to. He had to price it high, partly because it was so rare to get any, but also to keep stupid kids from buying it just to say they’d eaten a dragon. He’d eaten a lot of stupid kids, but you didn’t see him bragging about that.
He looked to the window and surveyed today’s display. Coils of sausage, rows of chops, racks of ribs, all locked safely between the inner and outer display windows. The front of shop had a different smell. Mostly antiseptic, with the slightest tang of meat. No blood. Shame. He liked the smell of blood.
