Enquire to a GENTLEMAN

I’ve cheated death, I’ve cheated taxes, both sure things in life, but the fact of the matter is that dying will not keep you from the claws of those you owe debts too— especially if you’ve accrued those debts after you have passed from this mortal plane. I’ve always enjoyed betting on horse races, but I am not, as one might expect from such an illustrious gambler, the most accurate pick for a winning racer. There’s something of a humdrum routine in my afterlife: borrow money from Squire Shade on a “sure thing”, lose- I am certain that he fixes them, mark my words, I know he does- and have to pay it back three times what I took or have an Nth metal-wielding demon repossess my ectoplasmic remains. You’d think after the cycle repeated so often- after the constant throat-clearing and knuckle-rapping from Shade over late payments- I would learn my lesson, but the thrill of victory always surmounts my common sense. I always was an “instincts first” kind of gentleman, because if you aren’t opportunity may pass you by, just as misfortune will occasionally deign to visit…

And, of course, I have living souls whom I associate with that enjoy spending money on their own earthly delights. I enjoy facilitating this enjoyment, for entirely altruistic reasons. The fact that these individuals are inclined to let me get close and intimate with their warm, living flesh after the exchange of payment is merely a side-effect, an unintended happy benefit…

I appreciate your effort to play matchmaker, my little ghast, and this is an excellent suggestion, with one caveat… While his sense of style does complement my own, and his surfeit of wealth is more than enticing, I regret to tell you that Mr. Chippendale has a moon-sized ego and that simply makes him incompatible with someone like me.

I only have room for one diva in my unlife; whomever I share my spiritual afterworld with shall simply have to be calm, sensible, and modest, or at least, modest enough to not carve their name into a celestial body.

Unless the bat is magical, spectral, or otherwise harmful to the spirit world in nature, it is the problem of someone else.

[Distant Arguing]

Gentleman Ghost: -- my night this -- hear -- me, a bad time -- Shade --

Squire Shade: -- upset -- much right as anyone -- Crane -- ?? Horses -- ?

Is that how it works?

Does that mean when Nth metal touches as shows your "true form" you are always with a raging...

Far be it from me to be prudish, but I think the less detail I engage in the better.

Yes, it's complicated, no, and no, in that order.

[Shadow-Thief]: Call.

[Squire Shade]: Raise.

[Gentleman Ghost]: Hold on a moment, dear fellows, that silly little device that my darling Edward gave me is making one of its little irritating chirps ...

...Oh, I have an inquiry about Hawkman.

[The Shade]: Oh, let's not get started about Hawkman tonight. Someone's still bitter over--

[Shadow-Thief]: Shut up, Shade. What about him, Craddock?

[Gentleman Ghost:] It's asking if I've had the pleasure of his acquaintance, and if so, how well I get along with him. As you three are aware, I do know the fellow-- the big bird-man with wings and a rather crude Nth-metal cudgel as his primary weapon. I avoid him like the plague, when possible-- I thwarted his chance at love some years ago by stealing the heart of his woman, and he's still sore over it.

[Shadow-Thief]: Life.

[Gentleman Ghost]: Eh?

[Shadow-Thief]: You stole her life, not her heart.

[Gentleman Ghost]: Oh, yes, I do believe you are right. It's all semantics to me, anyhow.

[Squire Shade]: Richard. Call, raise, or fold.

Show me a woman of marrying age, and I'll show her a good time.

I’ve seen two indisputable upsides to the modern times: 

The Internet, and by consequence, more readily available titillating content. (Thank you for your assistance in setting it up for me, Edward!) 

As for the downsides, I have a volunteer who tried to stop me from robbing him earlier this morning. Just a second...

Uff. I swear, people have gotten heavier over the century. Regardless...

... just look at this. Ugh. Isn’t it absolutely dreadful? Those hideous “frosted tips”, as the fashion magazines call them; the scraggly wisp of chin-beard, like a pubescent's sad attempt to prove he’s matured; the pointless fingerless gloves that completely clash with the rest of the outfit; the chunky sunglasses that do nothing to add to the overall aesthetic; the striped silk shirt and stupid golden chain, like he’s a don that tried to buy his way into a chain gang! 

(Well, I took the chain, but you know what I mean.)

I'll answer the second first:

No.

As for the latter question: I found Doctor Crane to be an altogether pleasant, refreshingly mature, and charismatic individual. We had discussions-- ones that I did not find particularly painless, mark you, but needed to hear nevertheless.

Let men cower in witless terror in his wake; let them cry in fear upon witnessing his shadow; witness them tighten their fists as he passes in anticipation of his ill deeds: I know him better than that, now. My contrite heart bleeds for the pre-judgments I rendered upon the doctor, and the rudeness that I delivered to him without fully understanding his amiable, disquisitive nature, or the true yet obfuscated circumstances of our meeting.