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"Charlena T. Jones, attorney-at-law! Pleased to make your acquaintance!"

Currently, her roomie was doing something fascinating in the bathroom, with stirring noises: these things involved something labelled 'drinking yoghurt', cream soda and a blackberry tablet, all of which she had stolen judiciously from the twenty-four-hour kitchen. When she swept into Lucy's room she was wielding a tall glass in her hand with a pink-and-purple concoction in it; dark hair scraped up in a ponytail, looking far more normal than she had last night. Jeans, cutoff t-shirt, rainbow flip-flops. Admittedly the t-shirt was decorated with a smiley face that had been shot in the forehead, but it was at least a t-shirt. "Actually, I never went to law school, and my middle name doesn't begin with T; call me Charley. Only the coroner's gonna call me Charlena. Here, drink this slowly, hold your nose, and don't barf."

The glass was passed over; the tablet had been dropped in the mix and was fizzing wildly. It smelled like raspberries. "Charley's All-Powerful Hangover Cure," her roomie explained helpfully. "You smelled like a truckie. Remember, if you die, don't sue. Poor Luce. I think some jerk spiked the punch. Want me to go rough someone up? Because I totally can."

"Hell if I know. I just have a thing that follows me. All I do is say to it 'Okay, so long as you don't watch me undress,' but I'm pretty sure I shopped at the wrong ghost shop." Charley leant in the doorway. "I mean, there was Ghostbusters s**t at that party! Who you gonna call and everything! There was a chick being amorphous in the shrimp cocktail! That was madass cool, frankly. Mine just looks like Tinkerbell that got sick, at best."

She glanced down at her watch. "And the time at present is two pee-em, Lucy-loo, on a goo-oorgeous day here in sunny ol' Albra. Don't know whether we do anything but sit and be pretty; Allie said something about dance therapy. Maybe they exorcise us. It's been years since I saw a good exorcism. I don't think we're possessed, though, I haven't seen your head turn around once. If you get the urge to speak in tongues, lemme know."

Lucy's roomie stuck her hands in her pockets and ambled out of the door and into the apartment proper, calling back to her. "We could go for a wander, I guess; there's a beach out there with the whitey whitest sand I ever did see. I nearly got snowblindness. I'd wash up, though, you smell like a senior prom."

Charley grinned at the cracked-door widely and parked herself on the wall, next to the door. "Hey, whatever works. We didn't get to talk much last night. And it's not like I'm gonna peer in and stare at your butt or something. - Hey, saw you dancing with What's His Face at the party. He's hilarious."

"Awwwwww," Charley chorused, poking absently at her own wisp hanging in mid-air; it didn't seem too incredibly interested about going in and perving at Lucy, but you never knew with ghosts. "That's kind of sickeningly adorable. You're no longer a dance virgin. Of course, the guy was kind of totally insane - Isaiah? Isaac? - but there are way worse guys to have your first dance with. I mean, did he put his hand down your top? If not, ten points."

Charley obediently slathered the available bits of flesh on herself with sunscreen, making faces as she prodded at the available parts of her stomach with the stuff. She smoothed it into her eyebrows and forehead and cheeks until she looked less like a porno movie star or a snowman; then she strode to the front door, opened it, and gave Lucy a low bow.

"To the beach, madam. - We should build a sandcastle. Can we build a sandcastle? I dig sandcastles. Did you get that. 'Dig'. Man am I hilarious, they should lock me up."

"That's what my mom always said," her roomie announced brightly, closing the door behind them. "Ho! Ho! Well, you're not what I expected either; you kind of remind me of my little sister, only you're about ten million times more hilarious. - Let's go, the day is young."