"Excuse me," said Nick. He managed to squeeze his way into the anImate building, trying to find Mint amidst the brouhaha, preferably before she got competitive and punched someone into the stratosphere. He didn't know how it felt to have a seven hundred page cook-book thrown against his face when he went in. He did now.
In an attempt to make small talk, Aeon adressed Deathwatch. "So. You're a ghost, huh?"
"Not a ghost, per se," replied Deathwatch, expertly polishing his scythe, "A phantom; a spirit; the soul of an aged man, kept alive within a black cowl and skeletal torso. It's quite different."
"I do have a sense of humour, yessir. Deathwatch, yessir. Hyeheheheheh."
"Another thing," said Aeon, "Why do you always say 'yessir'? It's freaking creepy."
"Verbal tic, yessir. It's a character trait, yessir; comes with the job. Just like you and Deathwatch's time-warping abilities and penchant for bladed objects, yessir."
"...I guess genre saviness comes with the package too?" asked Aeon.
"Correct, yessir."