Owen rarely put much effort into cleaning his flat beyond the general tidiness he was used to keeping; there were still beer bottles and shotglasses on his countertop from the drinking he'd been doing almost every night since Jack had disappeared (in this time, at least, which was a real goddamn buzzkill), and he still had pizza boxes and other take-away containers in front of the television.
Still, Owen rarely had to entertain a guest like Elektra, who was definitely well-off, and he rarely had to try too hard to show off the fact that he was by no means in the poorhouse. Torchwood paid very well, and his flat was modern and sleek enough to show that he not only had a designer sort of taste, but also a designer pricetag attached to it. The people who came by either knew him well enough to expect this, or were impressed even when there was garbage lying around, but Elektra wasn't from these parts, and so he made a vaguely concentrated effort of cleaning up before she joined him.
It didn't help that he'd had a few drinks already, but that was how he seemed to be working lately and God knew he wasn't going to stop for Elektra of all people. Candy, maybe, but Elektra could handle some dour drunkeness from him.