Yet again, another lit cigarette makes its way to Constantine's lips.

“Again?”

He grimaces at the all too familiar voice he was getting sick of it—he should figure out a way to ward their ass out.

Grunting to break the silence that fell afterwards, his dark brown eyes flick up to yours, "don't you get bored of this whole 'holier than thou' get up?" He queries, knowing how it makes you bristle.

"Besides, still don't see why I–of all people–need a guardian Angel."