[being decapitated after death, versus living in the shrubs for a month. which one sounds more nuts. hard to say.]

Congratulations on not dating a psychopath.

[something you always have to look out for, in her circles.] That's a bird's name, you know. 'Finch.' What's he like when he's not doing that?

You're very upbeat and romantic for a guy who's had his head chopped off post-mortem.

Really? War zone?

Funeral home? Your mum and dad were professional taxidermists?

What? You mean, ghosts and such? Thought that was all ... seances and no offense, con artistry?

Oh, shit. Well. Sounds terrifying, but you come across well-adjusted. Congratulations.

[a beat's pause.]

Not trying to be funny, but my uh. Call sign, was 'Ghost' back in the old world. Nothing arcane. I can just phase through material objects. That kind of thing.

I can. Done it more than a few times.

[also shoved her phased fist through a few necks, threatened to take out their jugulars and whatnot, but. that's neither here nor there.]

Want me to try?

[her face crinkles with laughter, too. pleased enough, at that.]

Well, thank you. Could have done without the 'ew,' from a guy who fraternizes with spooky spirits all the time. But I'll take it.

No! There's no light inside of you.

[a beat.]

Is there?

Then you're safe. You and your. [a gesture at his willowy person, the presumably innards.]