Mish's heavily silhouetted face simply had a look of apathy on it, as if disapproving of the group giving the male explosives in the first place. For some reason she didn't choose to scold them, through, and sunk further into the darkness of the elongated corridor, adding a peep no more than "Those doors were probably supposed to keep that thing inside, but..."
Indeed, being a ball of contorted limbs made one's mind disregard her shadow automatically. The brain just wasn't designed to pick up something so... ignorant to the laws of nature.
Leaving the group behind, she swiftly crept ahead, and checked to see if the door at the far end of the hallway was either locked or trapped.
The thing was smashing against the door, leaving a few indents here and there, but for now the door seemed to be holding.
The door did not seem to be locked, and Mishky found no traps. Which of course simply meant Mishky found no traps.
Then again, with giant flesh golems stomping around, did you need traps?
Breathing in deeply, Mishka then briskly opened the door with her more gnarled hand, and cautiously veiwed what was on the other side.
The doorway led to a large office/study of sorts. There were numerous bookshelves along the walls, lined with books on anatomy, fleshcraft, and a bit on alchemy and necromancy. There was also a desk with many papers and a jar or two with organs on it. In the corner of the room was the corpse of the late Lord Burnside, apparently the poor fellow had starved to death down here while his house lay besieged by the Undead.
Oh, and there was a Flesh Golem. A more lithe, human-like, one that called to mind some of Mishka's finer creations. On the bright side, it wasn't attacking, although it was looking right at Mishka. Also on the bright side, Burnside's corpse wasn't trying to eat her.
Mishka kept a close eye on the thing, but couldn't help but feel a little empathy mixed in with the self-disgust that observing the patchwork being brought to mind. It made her grafted arm ache, even after all the effort that Abigail had put into enlightening her.
"...You're not going to attack me just for having a little look-see, are you?..." She gave it a hoarse, weary sigh, without really expecting a response.
Going through the paperwork was immensely rushed buisness, with half of her attentions constantly on the room's other occupant. She was certainly cafeful not to touch anything unless it could definatively be of use to her beloved, of course...
The Flesh Golem just watched Mishka in silence. Apparently whatever its last instructions were, she hadn't done anything to trigger a violent response from it.
Mishka found some books and notes that looked like they might be useful for Abby's work. The Flesh Golem didn't seem to mind her taking them, and just continued to watch her.
Then there came a hollow, echoing, voice. "Oi! What's all this then!?" Came the literally ghostly voice. "Who're you!? Why're you touching my stuff!? Who're you?! What're you?!
The room felt colder. It's a g-g-g-g-g-g-phantom!
"WAH!" Titian actually jumped up in the air when the spooky voice echoed through the study. He landed on his feet, thankfully, and backed up against a wall. Then he spoke, while his eyes frantically stared for any signs of movement, "Are y-you... Lord Burnside?? Uh- Uhh.. how are you doing today??!"
The second the strange voice began to bellow, Mishka reflexively bolted up the side of a bookshelf and managed quite effectively to squash herself into the shade of the ceiling.
"...M-m-m-mister Burnside?..." It took her a moment to put two and two togeather, alrough her voice was as sweet and polite as it had been when she first met the other humans. "...I'm sorry sir, for intruding... but... Is it really you?... Were you the man in contact with Mister Godwin, by any chance?... His daughter Abigail... She s-s-sent us..."
"Oh, you know. Starved to death a few years ago. Trapped between lives as a ghost, living every second of my un-life in agony the likes of which you could not begin to imagine. Feeling my grip of sanity slip daily as the pain becomes more and more unbearable, somehow.
I'm dead! And a ghost! How the fuck do you think I am you right stupid bastard!"
The voice sounded closer to Mishka now. "Oi, and what in the Nine Hells are you supposed to be?"
Mishka shuddered a little bit with panic and let out an uncombfertable squeek as she crammed her spindily bulk even flatter against the baroque upper coving. Both hands came to her mouth, and her crimson wings wound tightly around her shoulders.
"...I-I-I... P-Please don't..." The drider stuttered uncontrollably, then gulped deeply before continuing. "I-I-I'm Abigail Godwin's handywork... You k-know her don't you?..."
What could they do against a monster they couldn't even see? One that should have been dead already? The only solution the drider could think of was to keep namedropping mister Godwin until it stuck. The dead had to remember something of their lives, surely...