<strong>Name: </strong>Jack Harth<br/><strong>Time: </strong>About eight months ago<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Elena<br/><br/><strong>"No, as a reminder. Compassion. That's what she resides over. She features in quite a few stories in the religion."</strong>He flashes her a smile.<strong>"Maybe you do, and don't know it. But then again, I've never been one to place faith in anything I can't observe as existing."</strong>The part of him that was philosophical, and even a little religious, was always held in check by the fact that he was, first and foremost, an empiricist.<br/><br/><strong>"I taught myself, actually. Some stuff I learned from my adoptive mother, but most of it I've just picked up on my own, over time. Reading cookbooks and recipes posted online, and experimenting on my own."</strong>He put a few small dollops of ketchup and mustard on the buns, and then put those condiments away. Giving the burgers another flip, he turned off the stove, and placed each one on a bun. Then came the slices of tomato and lettuce, followed by pickles.<br/><br/>He got down two plates from the cabinet, and transferred each of the burgers from the cutting board to the plate. He offers her one of the plates, and goes towards the fridge; again.<strong>"Want some more water? Or a coke, this time?"</strong>Whichever she wanted, he'd grab a can or bottle for her, and a can of coke for himself, and bring them over to the dining table, along with his plate.<br/><br/>Their was a freshly, fulled filled glass pepper and salt shaker set in the middle of the table. He sat in one of the chairs on the side close to the door, and waited for her to join him.