"Fertilizer?" Tom mutters, huffing out a displeased (albeit disturbed) sigh and stepping from one foot to another briefly, as if he was minding the dirt below him in a different light. He watches Duncan for a moment, following his line of movement before glancing away expectantly. He's most likely seen this in action before...it doesn't make him uncomfortable at all, it just feels like a private interaction between a spirit and the man, and nobody else really has a right to get involved. So Tom, aware of this with a knack, tends to stay out of his way. He moves to the side when Cassie jumps in to take a photograph.
He simply listens to the explanation Duncan has to give about the dead man. Rather than laughing, he nods, brow furrowing with a mixed look-- Tom gets quiet on these sorts of jobs. Something about hearing the evidence that whoever passed on had a working life, nothing to do with the ghosts, and it was cut short by something like this...He's a tough guy, but it's sobering, and he usually lets it pass over him for a moment. You know, out of some solitary respect.
He does give a little smirk at the rest of the responses, though. Nothing anyone can do anymore-- hell, he doubts anyone but the boogie monsters hiding behind the walls of the broken-down house will care much about how they treat the thought of the victims.
Leon's voice does cut through the silence, save the softened voices of the rest of the cast as they surveyed the very real evidence in front of them-- the remains of a human body, long since decomposed into the ground, as perhaps the spirits meant it to be. But rather than being soft, with some element of fear or awe, it's brash, like a child. Following this exclamation, Leon's powers come into play; he's heard something already? Tom pauses.
Used to this type of behavior, he shrugs and crosses his arms absently. "He's not gonna crack, Duncan." He says lowly. "It's a habit of his. Keeping secrets. We'll probably find out what he's asking soon enough, anyway...considering a good half of us are psychics, right?" Tom admits mentally that whilst it isn't his forte, he's already felt sort of an odd, heavy feeling across the open plain to the old plantation home, and he moves a rock with his shoe. "I've got a gander that anyone who stepped around here would sense something, too." He remarks, his piercing eyes narrowing like a hawk as he attempts to tilt his head to look around at a dirty window on the other side, or a board hanging off. Not that he needs visual evidence to know the suspicions. "There's something in the air...and the ground."
Finishing his own soliloquy, he flanks Duncan as they walk inside without a word. "Right, let's take the job." He puts his hand in his pocket and feels the smooth hilt of his pistol, the only lethal weapon he carries, cold like an ice cube in the half-frozen joint. He leaves his fingers on the ridged edge and glances up calmly at the dark that is presented in front of them on the interior after checking that every single one of the cast was awaiting entry.
This should be interesting.