"We all become little trivialities to someone, sweetheart." he said smashing his cigarette down into the ashtray on a nearby table. "The point I make is unless you can magically look like a twelve year-old schoolgirl, there's nothing doing." He sat up and stretched his neck, "I got some really nice pamphlets when I came here. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but a ghost doesn't need to feed. It just fulfills a very special directive that was branded up on it in the throws of death. Of course, this is assuming it's a ghost and not some other spectral entity..."<br/><br/>He trailed off tilting his head back, lost in his own train of thought. Feigning disinterest in the conversation he was just in. Waiting for the proper reactions to take place.