[center][color=yellow][h3]Gruyere Emmentaler Caerphilly Yarg[/h3][/color][/center]

Despite the gnawing pits in their stomachs, the group who’d come to Gru for food didn’t seem too eager. If someone else offered them charity they might have descended upon their benefactor in a ravenous throng, pushing and shoving one another to take whatever they could as fast as possible, but when faced with Gru their mixed feelings were written plainly on their slovenly faces. With the manner of a circus barker he’d made himself look like a charlatan, and all of them were wondering whether or not they should bother with the terms and conditions of this shady-looking character instead of looking for handouts elsewhere. These people wanted cuisine, not contracts. Gru gave them a thin, knowing smile. They needed temptation.

“What’s this now, friends? I thought you were hungry? Oh, I know. How about a sample? I think…yes, yes. The camembert.” He snapped his fingers, and as the confused petitioners looked warily on, the Chuck Wagon started to rock back and forth. When he held up his key, Pepper jumped down from atop his head and took it, then recruited a handful of rats from his live collar. With them cradling her on their backs, they raced toward the wagon, climbed up its steps, then stacked themselves in a fuzzy multicolored tower to reach and unlock the door. Immediately it burst open, a miniature tide of rats surging out into the open. While the peasants recoiled, Gru didn’t move an inch. Instead he stood there with his arms crossed, patiently awaiting his delivery. “That’s it, over here, loves.” His pets came racing toward him carrying a handful of parcels, including a wooden stool and an entire table. Gru stood by, lending a hand as necessary, while his rats set up the table and then placed the stool behind it for him to sit upon, facing his potential customers.

When they handed him a round wooden box, the first hints of a strong aroma began to radiate outward. After opening the box, he gently listed out, set down, and unwrapped the delicate cheesecloth within to reveal a round disk a couple inches tall, sugary white in appearance and lined with creases of gray like the first powder snows of winter fallen upon the well-trod cobblestones of a busy city street. He held out one hand, palm expectantly upward, and the last troop of rats approached. These ones bore the strangest -and most dangerous- cargo of all, a cheese knife the size of a sword, boasting the familiar curve and double-pointed tip characteristic of its smaller brethren. With a lot of effort, the rats grouped up into a swelling mound that lifted the knife higher and higher until they could finally slide it into their master’s waiting grasp. “Thank you, lovelies. Such a talented bunch.” Gru took it in hand, produced a handkerchief from his jacket, and then used it to pinch the other end of the blade without risking any smudging from a direct touch. Now holding the knife like a guillotine, the cheesemonger made a single precise cut, front to back, to split the rind of the cheese wheel end to end. Then he set the knife down on the table and spread the halves of the cheese out so that everyone present could get a good view.

“Ah, here we are!” Gru took a deep breath, drinking in and relishing the rich, earthy smell of the camembert. “Now that’s the stuff! Nothing else like it on the face of the earth, no sir.” It was strong, too strong for some perhaps, but it was memorable, an odor that few would soon forget. No doubt it was already tickling these loggers’ taste buds and twisting their stomachs, and the cheese looked even better than it smelled. Unlike cheeses that featured a constant consistency throughout, camembert was soft, creamy, and melty, flowing out slightly from the rind now that it had been unleashed. Very light yellow in color, it looked like butter, never cracked or crumbly. Withdrawing a much smaller cheese knife from his person, he pulled a cloth sleeve from his belt and untied it to slide out a row of thin hardtack crackers, their surfaces pitted with the classic pinholes in the manner of distant constellations. “I keep some on me at all times,” he explained with a purposefully sheepish smile. “Never know when you’ll get a bit peckish, hm?” Perhaps these hungry fools would see in that statement the wisdom they lacked. If they didn’t, at least they might be amused by the humanity of the portly man’s admission. With a practiced hand he scooped up a bit of camembert and spread it over the cracker, then opened wide and placed it in his mouth with indulgent, tantalizing slowness. The loud, pleasing crunch…the one-of-a-kind flavor…the timeless combination of cheese and cracker, given new life by the flavors of a true artisan…he made sure the petitioners could see just how genuine his enjoyment was.

“Mm. Mm. Mmm. That is some fine cuisine, if I do say so myself. Fit for a king, but accessible and affordable to all.” With a smile, he pushed the cheese and crackers to the other side of the table, then gave his customers a wink. “But don’t you worry, ‘cause this one is on the house.”

That guarantee, backed by the sights, sounds, and smells of preeminent quality, was all the people needed. They crowded together like ducks in a pond to get whatever measure of food they could, some foregoing the cheese knife to scrape camembert onto crackers with their bare, filthy hands. The sight made Gru’s skin crawl, but he told himself that the cheese wasn’t his anymore. A necessary write-off. At least he had plenty more crackers, and he didn’t expend any apples despite them being the accompaniment of choice for camembert. At the same time, one cheese was hardly a feast. This wouldn’t fulfill these people so much as it would taunt them. All too soon, the wonderment and joy of flavors they never would have imagined turned to disappointment as they realized that was all. They wanted more, so Gru would provide.

“And there’s plenty more where that came from,” he told them. “Sadly, only the first one’s free. My supplies are very limited, you know. If you’ve got the coin, then they’re yours. Of course, nobody deserves to go hungry. If your pocketbook’s a little light today, we could cut a deal. Just sign a little paper showing you agree to pay me back, or work off the debt, and you’re good to go.” He crossed his arms. “Not that I have any work currently, mind. It’ll be on an on-call basis, once we reach…” He looked around the Emerald Forest. “...Greener pastures. Ironic, I know.”

Gru and the loggers made arrangements, not sweating the details but getting the food into the customers’ hands as quickly as possible. The details of repayment timeline and work conditions he left nebulous while assuaging nerves as much as possible. Toward the end of the negotiation, however, something strange happened. A riotous noise, a light across the sky above the forest canopy, and finally a tremendous impact. Stunned into silence by the unexpected turn of events despite his distance from the impact site, Gru swallowed and licked his dry lips. He turned to see a gang of rats already at his side with Reggie and Rick in the lead, awaiting orders. “Find out what happened. Now.” With a chorus of affirmative squeaks, the horde raced off into the underbrush, relying on speed, smarts, and safety in numbers. Any Pilgrim with half a brain would know that such a swarm belonged to Gru, and wasn’t to be messed with, but if they ran into someone -or something- not from the Caravan, things could get risky. Once picked up, the scents of Gadri Abzan and Madame Morvanne would help them zero in on their destination.