<span style="font-style: italic">Oh damn,</span>Breya thought in distress as Mica gave an answer she hadn't been expecting.<br/><br/>Battleship.<br/><br/>...Maybe the real Thomas would have expected it.<br/><br/>Breya wracked her brain, trying to remember the game. It was two players, she knew, and you were supposed to find the other person's ships using a grid system. Had she played it in her life? She seemed to remember the basic rules, so she must have at one point. From Mica's memory, Thomas was an ace at it, winning almost every game they'd ever played. And they played a lot. Thomas had some sort of strategy, that Mica had unfortunately never discovered.<br/><br/>If only she could jump from Mica's mind and to Thomas', and find that important piece of strategy she would need to beat him.<span style="font-style: italic">I mean,</span>she thought, running her hand down her face and letting her fingers pull at her skin until she looked ghastly,<span style="font-style: italic">I can't just say 'no', can I?</span>If she did, it would be like the Make-A-Wish Foundation coming to a kid with cancer, saying he was getting a free trip to Disney World, and then going 'April Fools!' at the airport. She couldn't do that, no matter how twisted she was.<br/><br/>Breya's brain whirred. She could play the "oops I'm a ghost" card. She, or more appropriately, Thomas, could say that he didn't quite remember the game, and he can't touch the pieces. It would work better than him giving a harsh answer. This could work, without leading to Mica bursting into pathetic tears and making Breya feel like a terrible person. Bittersweet, it was supposed to be.<br/><br/>"I'm not sure if I can remember how to play right," Thomas said slowly with a chuckle, watching as Mica pulled out a dusty blue and gray box with bold orange lettering on top. "I've been...gone for a while."<br/><br/>He stared at the box that Mica held out in his hands, reaching out as if to touch it. His hand went through the game, arm extending past Mica's stomach. He pulled back and shook his arm as if he'd just done something indecent, and gave a mildly annoyed shrug. "I can't touch any of the pieces," he said, "I don't think this would work." Thomas rubbed his scar in thought.<br/><br/>"I'm sorry," Thomas said, "it wasn't supposed to be like this. At all." There was a pause. "Well, I'm not entirely sure what I was expecting. It's not like you're super predictable, is it?" He grinned wide. "You were always off doing what you really wanted, while I was pretending to be manly and crap like that." He gave a dumb flexing pose before swaying his arms gracefully. "I wanted to be a dancer, you know." He was joking around, the kind of thing they did all the time.<br/><br/>"Bring the game out anyway. Even if we can't play, it'll be nice to see again. Is this seriously ours, and you stashed it after all these years?" Thomas looked around the house. "You obviously haven't kept much else."<br/><br/>Breya and Thomas were in agreement on the seriously depressing state of decor.<br/><br/>Was she starting to develop multiple personality disorder from the exercise of keeping this up? Would she have to share space in her head for Thomas forever? Could ghosts even develop disorders? She knew that physical ailments were healed in The Underworld, judging from the fact there were no wheelchairs, crutches, or anything along those lines. She couldn't guess if 'brain cured' was on the docket as well. It would be interesting to know.<br/><br/>She'd ask a demon next chance she got. They usually knew about all the admin stuff. The problem was getting the snooty bastards to answer questions that was the problem. They put on friendly faces to the newer ghosts, then quickly became elitist pricks. Most of them had worked the jobs so long, they'd forgotten what it was like to be freshly dead themselves.