"Not," she points out, "that there's really anyone to protest to anymore, or any media to appear in. Or politics. Or, y'know, anything. No, I'm afraid you're doomed. Sorry."
"Well, let me know when you do," Jenny sighs. "I'll be busy drifting about, or possibly wringing my hands melodramatically. I might even try floating through walls, if the mood strikes."
"Don't let me put a damper in your plans or anything," he says, finally, in tones of great seriousness, "but I'm not sure you can wring your hands as a ghost. Wouldn't they go straight through each other?"
"I'm pretty sure ghosts are solid to themselves," Jenny points out. "I mean, they wring their hands and stuff like that all the time. They just can't touch anything else."
She's eyeing everyone a bit warily. She does that a lot.
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"Don't let me put a damper in your plans or anything," he says, finally, in tones of great seriousness, "but I'm not sure you can wring your hands as a ghost. Wouldn't they go straight through each other?"
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"I mean, you'd sink."
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Preston grins, suddenly.
"Think I could sign up?
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"If I died, Gwen'd probably kill me. No other bassists."
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