"'course it is, luv," comes the response, all blatant disregard for any kind of niceties. Neither of them is the kind to ask how someone is or about their day even without their unusual partnership. The main politeness Constantine can show is the fact that there are, in fact, a couple of windows open and an uncannily accurate breeze that seems to filter the smoke that rises from his cigarette towards them and out into the evening air.

Constantine himself looks similarly worse for wear, tie even more askew than usual, shirt and skin alike marked with grime and dried blood and a couple of bruises starting to blossom in places. The coat is tossed aside and shirtsleeves rolled up, a sign he's been here longer for a few moments, and he's sitting in one of the expensive chairs with two bare feet up on the desk and what he hopes is some important paperwork. All the better to get a rise or at least leave a sign he was here at all.

Once Bruce is closer, he does give him a once over, although there's enough heat in his gaze that it's clearly not just checking the state the billionaire had arrived in.

"Looks like you could use a release, luv. And it just so happens I could do with something to take my mind off things too."