Re: The Companion/The Regret-me-not
Mike did not know his Bible except that some man had lived centuries ago and people were still calling and worshipping his name like words would save them from anything. Or everything. He never quite ascertained which they were hoping for, but to remembered like that? To have made such a lasting impression? That he could get behind.
Purity? Piety? No, even if those things were cash in hand and food on the table, they were as diamonds and he was coal, free and not yet compressed by weights he knew nothing about and didn't care for. He watched her for a moment, uncaring of how the wind could blow into his open shirt before he strode off the footsteps and closer to her. One hand shoved into his jeans pocket, and a second later he brought out a battered silver zippo.
"Need some help, Miss?" He asked, all American charm and smiled at her, sweet as fucking apple pie. "I don't mean to startle, but you look like you could use a hand."