Cathedral tour. Marcus shoots him an undisguised but sullenly mute acidic look over the top of the offered liquor. Takes a gulp before he remembers you're meant to sip, Christ, that was a bad decision — he did the same thing the first night with Tim.

He exhales, and his shoulders relax as he decides to give up. "So," he says, drawing out the vowel bright and conversational, and wandering to the desk so he can lean a hip against it. Fidgeting the glass. "So, fuck this. Never been good at the subtle stuff. More of a brute force kind of bastard, personally." He smiles at him tightly, lowering the glass. "Just easier, innit. You know what I do, I know what you do. Where's that leave us?"