"...And no matter what I try, the thing just keeps dropping off at the slightest hint of strenuous activity. Of course, I bandage it back on and let the tissue regenerate as much as it will, but it breaks off the next time I lift a stack of books, or try to unstick my door. Once it came off as a client was shaking my hand. Of course, I immediately-”
“'Course you did,” said the banshee, cutting off the mummy's raspy, droning speech. “I think I've heard all I need to. Should be a simple fix.” Khaemtir leaned forward, looking pleased. “Really? Excellent! I was worried it would-”
“Yeah I'm sure.” The banshee had intentionally interrupted him again. How irritating. She stopped brushing her hair and looked at him. “Okay, so first? You're a mummy, and an old one. You shouldn't exactly be lifting weights. Hell, it's a miracle you haven't crumbled to dust already.” The mummy stiffened, the smile dropping from his lips.
“I'll have you know, young lady, that aside from this temporary condition I am in perfectly physical-”
“And secondly,” She continued hurriedly, “All you need to do is wire it on for a bit. It should fix itself after a month or two. Just needs some time to strengthen up.” Khaemtir smiled, but only slightly.
“Very well. I thank you for your assistance.” He began to stand up.
“Thank your wallet. Hey, where do you think you're going?” She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him down, but it instead tore away from his shoulder with a sound like a snapping twig. “Oops, sorry. Yeah, but maybe it'd do you some good to try having [i]fun[/i]. Live a little, gramps! You know, metaphorically speaking.” Khaemtir glared at her and snatched up his arm. He stuck it back up his sleeve and muttered a few words of ancient egyptian. A warm glow blossomed and then faded beneath the cloth at his shoulder- a spell of healing just strong enough to keep it from falling off from its own weight. Only when he was done did he look back up at the banshee, who had been watching a skeleton juggle his own head and a good few mugs. 
“I'm not a grandfather,” He said. The banshee slowly rolled her head back towards him.
“With your attitude? Honestly? I didn't expect you to be. I'll be over there with the cute ghost.” She drifted directly through Khaemtir, bathing him momentarily in a sensation not unlike being stuck out in the arctic for several hours. Had he been alive he probably would have shivered.

He was left sitting alone at a table in the corner of the bar, with loud music all around and the skeleton close by, who was now juggling an inadvisable amount of objects. Dressed in a old brown suit, clutching a book, and sitting stiffly in his seat, he felt and looked very out of place. He snorted.
“Hmph. Bitch.”