Nigel was sat in the shed outside of the mansion. Being a ghost was hard, especially with not having many people to talk to, other than Isaac, ofcourse. Despite the fact that many other ghosts inhabited the mansion, he resided in the shed, outside, away from all of them.

The shed was slightly too small. In the two hundred and fifty years, nearly three centuries, that he'd been dead for, it had barely changed one bit. He remembered being a Lieutenant in the British Army, in the eighteenth century, he remembered using that very shack as a base to hide from American attack, but..it was home now.

Different, but home.

His romantic, on-and-off relationship with Isaac hadn't stopped in all the years that the two had been undead for. Isaac visited him, but Nigel was always the one having to practically plant ideas into his head, they hadn't even shared the same room yet. In their two-hundred-and-fifty year old relationship.

Nigel adjusted the gun around his waist, which he carried with him at all times. He was stood infront of a tool panel on the shed wall, there was ants scuttling about the floor, beside the dingy mattress he slept on.

But, he didn't mind. Nigel was used to sleeping quarters that weren't..up to par with the nowadays health standards; in fact, he was fascinated by all bugs — he found them extremely interesting, he never learnt much about them, limited knowledge available at the time he was alive.

He had perfect, straight posture, which had been drilled into him in the army, and he was just..sophisticated. in every category.

Nigels arms were behind his back, professionally. He heard the latch click on the shed door, he could just walk through it and check, as he was a ghost, but he couldn't be bothered. He liked to feel more alive.

Oh. It was Isaac. Nigels heart fluttered, he smiled, warmly, as Isaac stepped inside. He smoothed out his army blazer. He had so much respect for Isaac, being a fellow comrade, even if he WAS American.

"Oh, Isaac. What must you be in my quarters for, hm?" Nigel hummed.