Breya stayed on the couch, studying Mica's freakout carefully. It had really shaken him, though no more than Breya predicted. It wasn't often that loved ones appeared to you, in seemingly flesh and blood. Mica's hand went through her—Thomas' chest. No flesh and blood, but very much still appearing to be there.<br/><br/>Thomas let out a laugh. "Yeah, I'm dead. Deader than a doornail, whatever that means." Mica sat for a moment, trying to squeeze reality away. "I just wanted t-hey, where are you going?" Thomas sat up, frowning as Mica jumped from the couch and headed toward his desk. He lifted himself from the couch, striding over, body language impatient, annoyed.<br/><br/>"No-you-do-not 'need a drink'," Thomas said, pausing after each word for emphasis before finishing off with a flourishing quote-unquote finger move. He watched as Mica downed the shot, biting his finger in annoyance.<br/><br/>"God I wish I could grab that from your hands," Thomas muttered, "and what's with all the swearing?" He shook his head. "Anyways, can't fix all of your problems, just answer your questions. Sit!"<br/><br/>Walking back over to couch, Thomas was once again in a lounging position. "So, some of the basics. I got here by dark magic, you're definitely not dead, and neither are you off your rocker. Yet." He paused. "The dark magic thing was a joke. I'm not entirely sure how I got here, but I think I know why I'm here."<br/><br/>Breya felt real tears begin to sting her eyes, shown to Mica through Thomas'. This was why she didn't like getting into people's heads; it always added their pain into yourself. And Breya was a blank slate with an empty past. She had nothing to cry about until today, no struggles of her own that she could remember, loved ones she herself at lost. Stupid, stupid.<br/><br/>Damn, she wanted that shot right about now. But not vodka, tequila. She deserved some god-damn tequila. Actually, she deserved a god-damn medal.<br/><br/>Back to pretending to be someone's dead brother.<br/><br/>Thomas drew himself up, eyes flashing with light moisture and a darker undertone. "You're wasting your time," he said, "on all of this." He gestured vaguely to the whole area around them. "Just because I left doesn't mean you were supposed to stop." He didn't have to mention Mica's art for him to get the meaning.<br/><br/>"And that's why I came, to tell you to stop being such a pussy."<br/><br/>Never had Breya gone into a case so personally before, and so quickly. But Mica was interesting; much more interesting than all of her other short cases added together. She felt that if circumstances had been different, they could have been friends. And now she was trying to help him instead of causing the usual torment she loved to inflict. Maybe it was a step of growth for the ghost. Or maybe she was just bored, and wanted to try a different angle.<br/><br/>Breya couldn't really tell which one it was herself.