Lovino switched on some lights, and walked into the kitchen. He opened the fridge to, as suspected, find it empty. He threw all the produce items and the meat into the refrigerator, not bothering to place them inside in an orderly manner. After all, it wasn't like anyone else would be eating around here...unless of course potato-ghosts of potato-ghosts, Lovino still didn't know what to make of that apparition floating around like he had inhaled too much helium. The thing just starts to torment him and throw stuff at him...Lovino swore he still had that bruise on his midriff from the...whatever it was it the bastard had thrown at him took the bread, and set it on the table, before looking around. He was admittedly a little surprised that the place still received electricity and whatnot. Other than that floaty bastard, it didn't seem like anyone had lived here for...decades, perhaps. Probably because of the potato. Lovino knew that if there was a potato anywhere, he wouldn't want to live there. It wasn't like he wanted to be here with a potato anyway! He was forced to do it!Lovino glanced around, before walking out and into a place that he assumed was the living room. It looked like a living room. A little...all right, very dusty, but otherwise it was passable. He looked around once more, before heading over to where the apparition had designated his room to the door, he blinked as the top sheet of the bed began to move, and hollow moans sounded from underneath it. Lovino rolled his eyes. "Get off the sheet, bastard, you'll crumple it. And don't expect me to do the fucking ironing in this place unless I want to either!" Although his words were harsh, there was a smile tugging harshly on the corners of his lips at the ghost's felt a little guilty as he saw the look of dejection in the ghost's eyes. But it wasn't like he was going to apologize! Besides - it was the damn bastard's fault for being so immature anyway. He watched as the potato vanished before his eyes, and he sat down on the noted the fact that all his clothes had been unpacked and set away for later usage. He frowned. Did that damn potato not know anything about fashion? If there was one thing Lovino got peeved about far too easily, it was his wardrobe and the treatment thereof. The Italian was known for an impeccable fashion sense and, other than his priest's apparel, wore brand-name clothing chosen and matched by himself. If there was one thing he knew he could do decently, it was choose clothing. Not even his brother would be able to spot a fault in his attire. He began to sort through the folded garments, and sorted them through until he had rearranged the piles of clothing to suit his own interests. There...that was better. With a sigh, he fell down on the bed, staring up at the roof. Damn potato...he just didn't understand them.