The door swung open and with the usual easy swagger Frost stepped into his apartment, higher up in the building he owned. Tossing his keys and jacket over a near-by counter, he dug into his pockets until he touched the familiar shape of his cigarette pack. Stopping a few feet from the door, he cupped a hand over the tip, which burned cherry red as the fire brought it to life. Why he smoke? Force of habit mostly, his body was no longer affected by the posions he inhaled now as Elijah stepped into the darkly decorated room.
"Take a seat, make yourself at home," he said, some of the retained smoke in his dead lungs escaped on his speech before he expelled the remainder.