"Go away," Mihai mutters.
He is no stranger to the tantrums of the dead. There's little to be done about the overly aggressive ones, those who have the power to manifest beyond whispers and light touches, without a full on ritual to eject them from this plane. He heaves a heavy sigh of irritation as he rises from his seat. In truth, he feels no better now than he did this morning, or the day before, or this time last year. In fact, he may feel worse, because now he has a hundred paper clips to pluck from the floor, and a week's worth of research and paperwork to put back into proper order for his upcoming trip.
Whether or not Adela really leaves, or stays perched on his desk to make fun of him while he cleans up the mess, he doesn't care. He lowers down to his knees to begin the process. Paperclip by paperclip he refills the holder as he craws about on the floor. Paper by paper he refills his file folders.
He doesn't look up to see if the woman remains, but he speaks to her anyway:
"Neither of you have any idea of what you speak, woman. Neither of you know me half as well as you think you do. I am not sick. I do not need medicine, and I certainly do not need another fragile young lady trying to fix me."