Still holding Natalya's hand, Tycondrius put another steak on the grill.
He salted it.
He put a bit of oil on it, infused earlier with some aromatics.
Then, he closed his eyes. He silently thanked the more-silent gods.
At least he still had his senses.
He'd heard war gave some people a sordid taste in their mouth-- some losing their sense of taste, entirely.
But that didn't happen to him.
So he was thankful.
Beef was still delicious.
Everything else could fuck right off and wait.
All Tycon wanted... was to relax...
...and eat another steak.
And that goal, he was in the process of achieving.
He was in good company-- great company.
Meat. Wine. Beautiful woman at his side.
Life was *great.*
Life was *fucking* perfect.
He stared into the fire of his lovely grill-- and he took note of his lovely-er wife.
