Mica's computer chair rolled through Breya's body with complete indifference as her case jumped up, causing the chair in question to roll back, and began fiddling with the perfectly functioning machine that in his eyes, was severely malfunctioning. In his frustrated state he tripped. Twice. It was like slapstick.<br/><br/>Yet, even as Breya had ignored the chair, when Mica fell on his ass in front of her, she flinched as if he could hit her. Old habits died hard, she figured. Literally, in her case. She snickered, watching the facade fade from his eyes and reality crawl back in. He checked his precious equipment, testing for heat. Something Breya couldn't feel anymore.<br/><br/>Then Mica seemed to check his own equipment by hitting his head repeatedly on the desk. Breya twisted her mouth. Pain was something she didn't miss. Or maybe she did, a little bit. It was a reminder that you were alive.<br/><br/>As Breya followed Mica to the kitchen, she began to wonder if he could even cook properly at all. Breya had so many memories of amazing tastes in her mouth, from sweet to savory, sour to spicy. Specters on her ghostly tongue. How could someone just throw those experiences, those pleasurable sense, away to save such an insignificant portion of time? If Breya were ever given the opportunity to taste and touch and smell again, she wouldn't waste it on things like instant noodles, minute rice, and microwaveable meals. Not like him.<br/><br/>It wasn't like that chance would ever come. Breya was dead, and nothing could change that. Not even The Boss.<br/><br/>Or could he?<br/><br/>Breya had heard rumours, whispers and hisses, about The Boss' blue flames and glass jars. An incomprehensible storage of<span style="font-style: italic">souls</span>, an anchor that kept them tethered to the Underworld. It was said that if you could somehow get behind The Boss' throne, there would be an entrance that led to this soul-chamber. And, if you could somehow locate your own<span style="font-style: italic">soul</span>, you could regain your mortal body and cheat death.<br/><br/>When had the rumours started? And who had caused them? Of course, it must have been long, long, long ago. Senior ghosts spoke of it with dull tones and cynical eyes, a distant memory of fresh-faced desire. As for who started it, Breya had a few theories. It sounded like a false hope, the kind of torture demons loved to inflict on the lesser dead.<span style="font-style: italic">Or maybe</span>, a tiny voice would always add whenever Breya contemplated it,<span style="font-style: italic">the rumours came from someone who had succeeded.</span><br/><br/>Breya hated the tiny voice. If only she could crush it.<br/><br/>Shaking hands brought a glassful of vodka to greedy lips. There was one taste Breya wished to forget. Straight vodka. Dreadful. Mica seemed to have enjoyed it, though. Too bad he didn't know that alcohol assisted in helping a ghost trick the human mind.<br/><br/>However, Breya wasn't looking to turn the man into an alcoholic just yet. She rested on the counter, watching his blonde mop covered head retreat back to his computer, then return to the kitchen with new purpose.<br/><br/>No new purpose, apparently, as he grabbed the vodka again, as well as some OJ. Wasn't he aware he had work in the morning?<br/><br/>Of course he was aware.<br/><br/>Mica's next step was to go back to exactly where he was before, hunched in his chair, staring at his screen. He slipped a nice pair of headphones over his ears with twitchy movements.<br/><br/>No noise cancelling headphones in the world could stop a ghost. Unless the headphones were enchanted.<br/><br/>Then that would be a whole different issue.<br/><br/><br/>Breya stayed in the kitchen, resting her elbows on the counter and putting her chin in her hands. Should she continue for tonight, or take a break? She glanced at the clock-face nestled in the design of a ship's wheel and anchor. She wanted this job to look real damn good on her resume. Causing Mica to go completely batty and end himself before her six month stint was up would not serve that purpose, but neither would falling behind and letting him get off this haunting easy.<br/><br/>"You're ignoring me, Mica. You can talk to me, champ, more than you can to that vodka bottle." Breya threw the 'champ' in there because she felt it was important. Ghostly intuition and all that. Though maybe it would unnerve Mica more if it was a word that<span style="font-style: italic">Thomas</span>wouldn't used. Breya would wait and see.