At Mishka's words, the ghost materialized a few feet away from her, the spectral being resembling a wispy, semi-transparent, and ethereal version of the late Lord Burnside.
The ghost moved about Mishka, not touching her, but examining her grafted wings and arm. "Abigail did this? Godwin's little girl?" The ghost sounded incredulous, before muttering to itself "Gods but she's good."
The ghost went on, it's voice less grumpy, and more mournful now. "Is she well? She is a lovely girl. How is her father? The pigheaded dolts from the churches haven't been bothering them, I hope?"
Mishkala continued to hide behind her wings, not quite wanting to look at the disturbing, ethereal character, but not quite able to avert her eyes either. "I-I-I'm afraid that he has passed away also, Mister Burnside. It was quite a few years ago now, before I met Abigail... and h-he doesn't seem to be q-quite as active as you are, either..."
The papers she had taken from the desk raised up in her hands, to make a show of the fact she wasn't trying to decive him. "...But she is not lonely with this kind of knowlage, at least... It might not be technically correct to call the place 'alive', but it's close enough, these days..."
"...I'm sorry, did you want me to put them back? We are a-awfu-.... We are a-awfully s-sorry about intruding, also, sir..."
"That's a pity. He was a good man, and a good friend." The ghost said, wistfully. "I trust he rests well? His soul, anyway." The ghost resumed fawning over Abigail's work. "Can you move it much? How are the sensations? Does she have to replace it periodically, or is it permanent?"
"I haven't seen him, so I guess-" Mishka was doing her best to speak politely, but was interrupted by the enthusiastic bumbling of the old ghost. Well, ghost of an old person. Did that still count?...
Through still uneasy and holding her left hand to her face, the drider still meekly held out her crimson-plated right arm to show it to the mansion's owner. "It aches some times. P-Pretty bad... But I guess that's... good, right?... The sweetheart hasn't had to take it off again...and... I-I think the w-wings had something to do with soaking more... ah... outsider-ness?... i-into the blood..."
"B-but r-r-really, we d-don't mean to kick up a fuss... Is t-there anything you want in return for the p-papers, my good s-sir?..." Just speaking up over the spectre clearly terrified her, but if she was struggling to be polite just for Abigail, or if it was purely a defence reaction, was unclear.
One thing was certainly of note; The arachnid wench had managed not to mention Mr.Burnside's male-ness at all...
"Yeah, there kind of is." The ghost vanished and re-materialized by his corpse. "You lot will give me a proper burial or I'll kill you all." He sighed and shrugged. "Well, you look kind of tough, so I guess I'll just haunt you for the rest of your lives and make sure you never enjoy a moments worse. Which is, I think, worse. I'm dead. I've nothing else to do." The ghost shrugged again. "Do tell Abigail I said hi. She's a nice young girl, you know. You lot best not be planning on ripping her off or anything."
Titian raised a slightly trembling finger to the ghost and asked, "Uhm- Ah.. Is there a... certain place you want to be buried?"
"In a graveyard you tosser!"
What a nice former man.
Mishka's skin crawled, no pun intended. She was okay with touching dead body parts, since she helped Abigail out all the time and all, but there was something of an extra disturbing layer attached to draging around a person's corpse whilst they watched you do it...
"D-Do you have a c-c-coffin or something we can put your... ah... b-b-bits i-in?" The drider stuttered uncontrollably, trying and failing miserably to act warm towards the dead man. "Honestly, s-sir, I owe my Abigial everything, s-so you don't have to worry about that... I'd d-do anything to accomidate a f-freind of hers..."
"Your Abigail?" The Ghost asked confusedly before getting angry again. "Of course I don't have a coffin you tosser. I wasn't planning on starving to death in my lab while hiding from zombies! Get me one!"
Lucy butted in with her disjointed voice, being uncharacteristically democratic. She was also a lot calmer than the rest of the party, though that was probably because she spoke in a monotone and you couldn't see her face.
"Come now, Lord Burnside. Be reasonable. It's terrible that you've died without the correct rites, but you needn't take out your frustration on us. We only want to help you to find peace."
Miska felt the same voice invade her head and make petulant demands. For the love of the Saint, you're useless! Pick up his corpse and get on with it.