With watchful eyes Breya leaned her elbows on the counter and gazed as Francois wandered around his apartment. He had a bothered energy, which pleased the ghost. An unsettled human aura was good for the complexion.<br/><br/>Despite her partial detachment from the physical world, the sight of trash still sent Breya's skin crawling. Clearly there were some issues from her time in the land of the living that had followed her as she died. But now, at least, she didn't have to endure the scent. As a ghost, most senses were heightened compared to that of a physical person, but it seemed that the senses of smell and taste were downgraded to only the dullest hints of their former state.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">So he does know how to throw out the trash,</span>Breya thought, mockingly impressed. Yet still, he left his half-eaten bun on the counter.<br/><br/>Probably an unwashed counter.<br/><br/>The bun looked glossy too. Maybe sticky.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">This isn't just me obsessively cleaning, no. I'm not a housekeeper! That isn't my job. I could just... tidy a bit, on occasion. Maybe stir up some feelings of unaccomplishment and lackluster behaviour, with a bit of a confusion bonus. Really grate his cheese mentally. It's very justified.</span>Breya consoled herself, finding a justification for her actions as she telepathically delivered a plate from the cabinet and placed the bun on top of it.<br/><br/>"And that's the last trick like that for now," Breya mused out loud, determined to not just become a pedantic roommate.<br/><br/>Breya wondered if Francois had plans to leave the house today. He wasn't a completely hopeless case; he did have a job. As a sandwich<span style="font-style: italic">artist</span>, no less.<br/><br/>Though she couldn't recall if he had any friends to speak of.