The joke was so in character for him that Victor was almost grateful for it, although it might not have been in the best taste. It made the whole conversation feel a little less... clinical. "I hate to break it to you, but your schedule wasn't actually a consideration in whether I stayed on or not," he returned. His mind flitted over but did not dwell on the issue of whether or not he had made any consideration in whether to stay on or not. He couldn't remember whether he'd been aware of his death before it had happened, or whether he'd chosen, and that was unsettling.

But for his actual question... "My choice of... haunting residence," he echoed. It was a strange way of phrasing it, at least to his ears. It was probably perfectly logical when one examined the facts, but put in the context of his life — or afterlife, as it were — it seemed too impersonal to fit, like clothes that hadn't yet been tailored.

"This is my house. I live here," he pointed out. "Er — lived, I suppose. But — it's not like I chose it. Or like I'm haunting it. I'm just... here." And would be forever, presumably. Victor hadn't done much research into ghosts while he had been alive (and wouldn't be able to do any now that he couldn't turn the pages in books) so he had no idea if ghosts... faded, or something, after a certain point. The prospect of being here in this house forever was a little daunting. After everyone he knew had lived and died, what was he meant to be doing here?

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