[ Marcus's attention flicks to the cigarette with still low-key but more sincere interest than the prospect of exciting liquors, identifying a vice he seeks out outside of luring people into social rituals. He nods his thanks and takes the offering, lighting the end with a small, practiced gesture, flames rippling off his fingertips, flickering out.

He brings the cup closer, once filled, but doesn't drink from it yet either. ]

You're a busy man, [ Marcus says. ] I didn't take it personally.

[ He also did not do the rounds, necessarily, nor felt the need to. ]

I've been to the Crossroads, and befriended rifters, and killed snow monsters. Riftwatch has a way of keeping you occupied.