Notes: What's this? Me writing something that ISN'T Hetalia? Is the world coming to an end? Alas, that is not the case. It's just that she got a plotbunny. That is all.

Disclaimer: HiNaBN belongs to Vert-is-Ninja, but I think everyone around here knows that.

The apartment of Hanna Falk Cross, Paranormal Investigator, was officially in a state of chaos. Total, utter, indescribable chaos. Not that any innocent bystander would be able to tell the difference between that or the apartment on a normal day, and not like it bothered either of the apartment's occupants in the slightest.

(Well, perhaps it irritated Hanna's roommate a little, but he wasn't about to complain because any effort by Hanna to remedy the situation would undoubtedly make the whole thing worse. And he was planning to clean anyway. Sometime. Eventually.)

The floor had lost view to the world beneath the general detritus of life that tends to accumulate over time. Old Chinese take-out boxes, laundry, assorted notebooks, and the occasional rogue sharpie sticking up out of the mess to injure or at least seriously color the foot of the unsuspecting passer-by were only a small fraction of the total mess. A small space between the couch and the secondhand television had been cleared by the tried-and-true method of kicking the mess until it was somewhere else. That spot was occupied by Hanna himself, holding onto a video game controller and staring intently at the TV screen. His roommate sat on the couch, also wielding a controller, although he seemed rather less absorbed in the game.

The game erupted in cheerful, slightly tinny music and Hanna pumped a triumphant fist in the air. "Hah!" he exclaimed, turning to grin at his opponent. "That's the fifth game I've won. Admit it, Donatello, I'm undefeatable!"

"I never said that you weren't," the newly-dubbed 'Donatello' (formerly Tybalt, formerly Orpheus, formerly Aalim, formerly…) replied, choosing to refrain from pointing out that being technically dead meant that his small-motor skills weren't exactly the best. And that he was fairly certain that video games weren't quite as popular when he was still alive. And that he wasn't entirely sure what some of the buttons on the controller actually did. So, overall, beating him at Super Smash Bros. really wasn't much of a challenge.

Hanna shrugged and carelessly tossed the controller closer to the television (the zombie had a fleeting thought of this is why so much of your stuff is held together by duct tape and runes) when a knock sounded from the door. "I've got it!" Hanna called, presumably to whoever was knocking, and nearly tripped over a small pile of junk in his eagerness to reach the door.

With a resigned expression – or perhaps it was just his normal look – the dead man left the game where it was, with Princess Peach dancing in victory while Marth looked rather depressed in the background. Hanna was already in conversation with the visitor, an old and rather irritated-looking man, betraying a surprising turn of speed when money was potentially involved.

"An' the missus mentioned that she was talkin' to some girl in the store 'bout it, an' the girl mentioned you," The old man grumbled in a manner that suggested he had no other tone of voice.

"So, what exactly is happening? I mean, I know you say that your place is haunted but you'd be amazed at how often someone thinks that it's a ghost causing trouble when they actually have gremlins or something," Hanna remarked excitedly, looking as though he were about to explode from happiness. "Oh, Peisistratus, this is Mr. Turner. Mr. Turner, this is my assistant Peisistratus."

Half-wondering where Hanna got his names from, Peisistratus (formerly Donatello, formerly Orpheus…) said, "Nice to meet you."

The old man stared at him skeptically for a second. "'ere, you're dead," He pointed out.

"I'm aware."

After a second's hesitation, Turner shrugged it off. "Guess I shouldn't be too surprised 'bout that sort of thing." Turning back to Hanna, he said, "Y'know, it's pretty hard t' explain. Why don' ye come an' stay over t' see fer yerself? The missus wouldn't mind. An' if you manage to fix whatever's happenin', I'll count it as your payment for the stay. In addition to yer normal fee."

"GNEE!"