"Business, suffering? Tell me about it."

It could be left at that, but Deacon isn't moving, in no hurry to be anywhere else. Pallid skin is that slightest shade of less-than-pasty to mean he, himself, isn't starving any time soon, eyes a bright blue that shifts their gaze off towards wee woman at the taller man's side. His mouth quirks into crooked cynicism, and if it's unfriendly, it's because that's just how Frost's face is. "And what, you bring her here to watch?"