It was a nasty gash. It would need sowing and it would leave a scar. Well, scars are cool. Nothing wrong with a good scar, especially one that did not ruin his handsome face, but just stretched across the left-upper side of his head. It was probably good he could not remember how he got it, so if anyone asked, he might as well claim it was from a broken bottle. Perhaps, hint he got it from a bar fight.<br/>Billy was not a fan of lying, but he was entirely for framing narratives. Let people come to their own conclusions, believe what they wanted to believe. If Billy claimed he got slashed with broken glass during a wild night of partying, it was true to a certain extent, and if others thought that meant it was a bar fight, that was their own fault.<br/><br/>He really needed to get it professionally cleaned, though. Getting a nice scar was one thing, getting an infection was another entirely. There was dirt in the wound which he tried to clean, but he was not in any capacity a nurse. The flower lady, Feign, would no doubt clean his wound too, but this seemed like a time for antibiotics and a trained nurse, or better yet, a doctor. Was there a nurse in this tiny town? He wasn't much for getting anything recorded about him at the best of times, and certainly not now when he was still figuring out how to turn his shitty situation into something amazing. If he was reported missing and a mountain doctor updated his online medical records there'd be police here within hours. This was not an option.<br/>Fuck the antibiotics out of a bored nurse looking for a bad boy, perhaps? Not likely, but it was an amusing thought.<br/>Which transitioned too...<br/><br/>"Thanks, love. How's it looking?"<br/>He turned from the mirror to the flower lady and posed a bit, showing his mostly-cleaned forehead gash.<br/>"I appreciate your time. Real sweet of you. How's about I repay you with dinner and you can tell me all about this place? Interesting people and places I gotta see?"<br/>He paused a bit, looking her over. She had not been shocked at the blood or his general appearance, so perhaps there was more guts to the girl than he'd first thought. She had not skipped a beat to set up a joke, neither. Billy had mentally awarded her a point for that. And then there was her accent. He hadn't spoken to anyone else here, but unless he had driven his van<span style="font-style: italic">far</span>further away than he'd thought, it was not the common hillbilly dialect of the area.<br/>"And you could tell me where you're from and how you ended up here. I asked for the interesting people, and I've a hunch you're top of the list, love."<br/>He lighted his cigarette and inhaled. Christ, he needed that. He offered the flower lady the packet and wondered how likely it was she knew him. Not his target audience, but many a sweet person have a wild side.<br/>"I'm Billy. Billy D. Blayde."