Breya almost laughed derangedly. It was a strange feeling: she didn't find the situation funny as much as she felt that laughing would be a good release of the sudden tension that boiled in the room like thick soup.<br/><br/>Damn it, she was thinking about food again.<br/><br/>It was weird, when your body's signals didn't match up with emotion. Crying when you're happy, laughing when you're sad. Despite her reactions, Breya had the suspicion that, as a ghost, she couldn't feel as much as she could when she had been alive. It was like she was just out of alignment, slightly detached, a little more cynical. Or maybe that was pop culture's influence on Breya, her assumptions on what a proper ghost should be like affecting the way she behaved.<br/><br/>But if Breya couldn't remember who she really was, was her personality altered anyway? Was she a shadow of her living self, a copy, or something else entirely? The thought made her head spin.<br/><br/>She busied herself in watching the shot glass sail through the Thomas apparition and shatter on the floor. Now that was something that deserved a laugh. Apparently it was easy to forget that a ghost was untouchable.<br/><br/>Thomas glowered at Mica, looking back at the mess now created on the floor. "You think it was my choice to die?" He spoke in a harsh whisper, a tone that can be even more cutting and harsh than an angry shout. "You think it was my choice to leave you with dad? You stand here and act like all of the mistakes you made while I was gone are my fault.<span style="font-style: italic">I should've lived a few god-damn years longer, is that what you're saying?</span>" Thomas ran his finger over the scar by his ear, a habit Breya had seen in many a memory. "That's pretty fucking selfish of you, dude."<br/><br/>There was a lot of anger in the room. It was like Mica was moving through the five stages of grief all over again: first denial, now anger. Where would they stop next? Depression? Bargaining? Breya could imagine Mica, rubbing his temples in frustration, saying something like "<span style="font-style: italic">I'll do whatever you want, just go away, okay?</span>". Or maybe they'd eventually reach acceptance. Then Thomas would no longer be a useful device to use and bring out emotion, just another routine of Mica's life. That was why you didn't mix up emotions with work. You weren't meant to make your case happy, but haunted.<br/><br/>It looked like Mica was cycling straight to depression as big drops of tears rolled his cheeks. Breya admired that there wasn't a single shake or sob to accompany them. "Hey hey hey," Thomas admonished, "I died ages ago, what's your deal? I didn't come here to make you cry, I came here to be a brother." He looked back at the shot glass. "I guess I'm doing a pretty bad job."<br/><br/>Thomas crossed his arms. "If you tell me to go away, I'll go away," he said, "but I really did think we'd have a better talk than this."<br/><br/>Breya glanced at the clock again. Time seemed to become something one was hyper-aware of as a ghost, despite it no longer counting down the seconds, minutes, and hours to your death. Ghosts didn't sleep. Didn't have to, and couldn't really anyhow. Breya had tried, to escape the extreme boredom that came during the nights alone while she was on a case, but with no results. Maybe the boredom was a punishment for the wasted time on Earth, or for all the sins committed or something. While she couldn't manage true sleep, she did manage some form of meditation that seemed to move life quicker, but she fell out of it easily, being a spacey and distracted person. It was why she was dead, and hadn't achieved enlightenment or nirvana or whatever parties deep thinkers got to attend after they'd left their mortal shackles.<br/><br/>Poltergeists probably had more fun at night, being able to manipulate things physically and all. Breya wasn't entirely sure what the extent of said abilities were. Could they go on the internet, turn on the TV, play darts? All she had as a schizo was her own imagination, which dried up pretty quickly when she was by herself. Her only hope was that The Boss put an end to poltergeists' fun at night in some way, so that they could endure the same pain that she and other schizos did.<br/><br/>"Mica?"