[ This place hasn't been used in years, from the look of it. The tables are dusty and unattended, the coffee maker doesn't work, the mugs and plates are half shattered, and the door has to be forced open with a groan of protesting metal.

That doesn't mean it isn't occupied, though.

Ashraf sits at one of the old tables, a blurry form across from him. There's a bloody butter knife on the table between them, and the white shoulder of his robes is stained deep red. He doesn't seem that bothered, though. He's addressing the figure across from him reproachfully, inches away from scolding it. ]

I'm listening. You've got my full attention, I promise.

[ It sort of looks like a woman -- a woman in her late 50s, dressed in heavy armor, hair long and full. She's difficult to see, like a reflected distorted by the glare of light. She flickers, and Ashraf purses his lips. ]

Look -- I'd make you tea if I could, but I don't know how most of the appliances in here work. Maybe we can chat without it.

[ There's a crash in the cinema. There's a crash in the cinema, because there's a fight in the cinema. Ashraf ducks behind the counter as a ghost that absolutely isn't his little friend uproots a bench in the lobby to throw it at where he'd just been standing. ]

Look, I'm trying to help! If you could just --

[ It will not just, and here comes a hail of glass from a broken door at the front. Ashraf ducks away almost unscathed, though a few shards catch his cheek. And still, stubbornly, the ghost just won't enter the exorcism circle he's drawn for it in the center of the theater lobby. This is turning into a really inconvenient exorcism. ]